Say the Word (11 page)

For the most part, my best friends were pretty awesome.

The one exception to this was when they turned their chic eyes on
my
wardrobe and decided to make what they considered “necessary” changes. Three separate times over the last two years I’d returned home from a run in Central Park or a trip to the grocery store, only to find the two of them huddled in my closet adding new items and confiscating things they considered out of vogue. And that was only counting the occasions I’d caught them in the act — god only knew how many times they’d broken in without my knowledge. 

I really needed to get my spare key back from Fae.

Simon waved us over from the corner of the conference room, where he’d staked out three seats by the window. As soon as we’d settled in, he turned to me with wide, curious eyes.

“Lux, baby, who was that delicious man you were talking to earlier? I sensed a vibe.” He looked at Fae. “Did you sense a vibe, or was it just me?”

“There was definitely a vibe,” Fae noted.

“Very Tarzan and Jane,” Simon added. “So brooding and tortured.”

“No, to me it’s more a forbidden Victorian romance. Stolen glances and muted conversations,” Fae chimed in, adding her two cents.

“Guys!” I protested. “You don’t even know the real backstory yet.”

“Yes, baby, but that’s what’s so fun about it. We have all day to fill in the blanks with our guesses, and then all night to hear the real story,” Simon explained. Apparently, he was ditching one of the posh parties he typically frequented on Fridays in favor of crashing our girl’s night. “I can only hope that the reality lives up to my mental version,” he said.

“Did you see the way they looked at one another?” Fae asked him. “So tormented. So angsty. It’ll live up, I can tell.”

I huffed. “Well, maybe I won’t even tell you guys the story, since you’re enjoying your own speculation so much. Maybe you don’t deserve the real version.”

Fae and Simon looked at each other and burst into laughter simultaneously.

“I really hate you guys,” I muttered.

“No you don’t, baby,” Simon said, leaning in to kiss my left cheek.

“You love us,” Fae added, with a light arm squeeze.

I heaved a martyred sigh, but didn’t protest.

They were right.

“You’re crazy,” I whispered, attempting to tug my hand from Sebastian’s grip.

“Crazy for you,” he countered, leading me into his kitchen through the back patio door.

“You’re ridiculous.” I rolled my eyes.

“Ridiculously infatuated with you,” he revised, tugging me along behind him.

“Sebastian!” I protested. This was not a good idea.

“Lux!” he mimicked in a falsetto, towing me past gleaming stainless steel appliances.

“I hate you
,” I whispered.

He spun around so fast I didn’t have time to react, and before I knew it I was pressed tightly between the countertop and Sebastian. His hard body dwarfed mine and I struggled to remain calm and collected, not wanting to reveal how much his closeness affected me. I felt my own inexperience rolling off me in waves of uncertainty, saturating the air around us. I clenched my clammy hands into fists, hoping he wouldn’t see through me. Praying he couldn’t tell that I’d never been this close to a guy before — besides Jamie, of course, but considering the fact that we shared nearly identical DNA, I wasn’t counting him.

Sebastian leaned down into my space, catching my eyes. Abruptly, he hitched his hands around my waist and lifted me so I was sitting propped on the countertop at eye level with him. I felt my lips part on an exhale as his hands skimmed lightly from my hipbones down to my kneecaps. Gently, he nudged my legs apart and stepped between them, so our bodies were flush against each other.

“You don’t hate me,” he whispered, his breath warm against my neck as his head dropped forward to rest in the hollow between my chin and my shoulder blade. Acting on some deeply ingrained instinct, I arched my head back to give him better access. His lips trailed down my neck to my collarbone, and I shivered. “In fact,” he continued between butterfly kisses. “I’m pretty sure you lo—”

“Sebastian Michael Covington!” The smooth southern accent did nothing to detract from the outrage in the voice that pierced the air and interrupted our moment. We instantly sprang apart, Sebastian stepping fully out of my space as I scooted forward off the counter and landed roughly on my feet with a jolt that made my arches ache.

“Hey, Mom,” Sebastian said, casually lifting one hand to rub the back of his neck and grinning at the scandalized woman standing in the doorway to the kitchen. Though my fashion knowledge was limited to trips to Walmart and the local Goodwill, even I could tell that her clothing was designer. I found it strange that she was wearing both high heels and a set of pearls despite the fact that she didn’t work and likely had been home alone all day, but what did I know about the glamorous life of the rich? Her platinum blonde hair was coiffed elegantly, and it was clear where Sebastian had gotten his looks — Judith Covington had bone structure any model would kill for and
stunning blue eyes that nailed me to the floor with a single glance.

My cheeks were probably as red as hers, though from embarrassment rather than stark disapproval. I smoothed my hands through my hair self-consciously and forced my shoulders not to curl in on themselves, never more aware of my second hand boots and threadbare jacket than I was at that moment.

“Hello, Mrs. Covington,” I said with as much grace as I could muster, stepping forward and offering her my hand. Her gaze moved away from her blatant appraisal of her son and she seemed to fully register my presence for the first time. Her eyes widened as she took me in. I wasn’t what she’d expected, that much was obvious — not like Amber, or any of the other girls who came from money and would’ve been considered a good match for her son. Ignoring my outstretched hand altogether, her gaze swept down my form, pausing to take in each minute detail of my attire. Her lips tightened, a crosshatching of stern lines appearing in the flesh around her mouth that no amount of Botox could remove.

It couldn’t be
clearer that she disapproved.

“Mom, this is Lux,” Sebastian offered, wrapping an arm loosely around my shoulders. I wanted to shrug off his touch, uncomfortable under his
mother’s hawk-like eyes. Not wanting her poisonous stare to ruin what had, until her arrival, been blossoming between us.

“It certainly is,” she murmured, her sharp focus lingering on Bash’s arm. Though the kitchen was warm, the air had become decidedly frosty since her arrival. “Sebastian, you know how I feel about having guests when the house isn’t tidy.
Greta comes on Mondays and Fridays, you know.”

Tidy
?

There wasn’t a dirty dish to be seen, and a
three-course meal could’ve been eaten off the floors, they were so clean. Greta, who I assumed was their housekeeper, should definitely be getting a raise if she alone was keeping the mansion in this unblemished state. But of course, Mrs. Covington’s protests had nothing at all to do with the state of her home. Southern manners demanded a certain modicum of respect be paid to all houseguests, even to those one so blatantly disapproved of. And she’d been bred a political animal — as the wife of a politician, she couldn’t say what she really meant, which was likely something along the lines of,
Get this trailer trash out of my house immediately.

In politics, image was everything. Propriety always reigned supreme. And it sure as hell wouldn’t be proper for a senator’s wife to demand that her perfect son remove the poor girl from both her presence and her pristine household, lest she soil something.

Like the furniture. Or the family name.

“Mom—” Bash began.

“Sebastian.” Her smile was arctic. I fought off a shiver. “Drive your…” Her beat of silence was timed impeccably — the work of a masterful conversationalist. “…
friend
home now, please.”

I wanted to point out that adding the word “please” to the end of an order didn’t detract from the fact that it was, in actuality, still an order, but I figured that would only make a bad situation worse. With her ringing endorsement hanging in the air, she glided from the room, her heels clicking sharply against the gleaming hardwood floors.

“That went well,” I joked lightly, eyes averted. “I think she liked me.”

“Lux,” Sebastian said, sympathy threading his voice. “I’m sorry about her. I thought she’d be at Pilates or a DAR meeting or one of her afternoon activities. I had no idea she’d be here.”

“No worries,” I said breezily. “This is her home, she’s entitled to her opinions and decisions.”

“Well, her opinions are wrong,” he said, leaning in to wrap his arms around me. I tensed in response, wary of his mother’s disapproving eyes. “Relax,” he whispered.

“We should go,” I told him, feeling completely out of my comfort zone and wanting to be anywhere on earth but in his kitchen. “Please.”

“Alright, come on.” He grabbed my hand and led me back through the kitchen to the patio door we’d entered through. “I want to show you something.”

Despite my continual requests that he give me at least a hint about our destination, Sebastian remained stubbornly silent. He led us out onto the patio, skirted around the perimeter of the house, and cut through the yard toward the back edge of the property. The well-kempt greenery of his sloping lawn eventually gave way to longer, wilder grasses and a copse of tall yellow poplar trees. As we wove through them, I stopped asking about our destination and silence descended over us. The poplars were old, soaring high above our heads with a majesty only Mother Nature can conjure. Walking beneath the shelter of their branches, we seemed miles from civilization rather than mere steps, as though we’d been transported to another world when we crossed the barrier from landscaped lawn to untamed wild.

There was serenity here, a hushed dignity it felt wrong to interrupt with words. Our footfalls were quiet against the mossy earth, and the only sounds were that of the wind whistling through the trees and the gentle trickling of a nearby stream as water flowed over the rock bed.

There was no trail — none that I could see, anyway — but Sebastian walked with purposeful strides, as though his feet had walked this path so many times he’d long since committed it to memory. After about five minutes, we broke through the dense-packed trees and came to a small clearing.

I gasped when it came into view, in awe of the mammoth sentinel before my eyes.

At the center of the glade was a huge, red oak tree. It dominated the clearing, dwarfing the surrounding trees with its thick trunk and long-reaching branches. It was so wide that had Sebastian and I stood on opposite sides and stretched our arms around its circumference, our hands wouldn’t have touched. Its boughs were low-hanging, the bottom branches only about ten feet from the earth. It must’ve been a dream to climb as a child.

D
etaching my grip from Sebastian’s, I ran forward to skim my hands across the trunk, moving around it in a circle with my neck craned to catch a glimpse of the top. I felt a wondrous smile break out across my face as I made myself dizzy running in circles with my gaze trained skyward.

Giggling and breathless, I came to a halt with one hand planted firmly against the bark to steady myself. “Wow,” I bre
athed. It must’ve been seventy feet tall.

“This is my favorite spot on the property,” Bash revealed. I looked up to find him standing ten feet away, his eyes locked on my face. I could feel the color in my cheeks and I was warm in spite of the crisp air. My hair had slipped out of its ties during my mad dash and was hanging loose around my torso, a wind-tousled mess. “I hate that house,” he added, nodding his head in the direction we’d come from.

I could see why. The plantation-style mansion he lived in was gorgeous — certainly fit for a senator’s family. It looked like something off the set of
Gone With the Wind
, with its grand-scale white columns and sprawling front lawn. The circular drive leading to the house wound around a huge fountain, and the freestanding car garage was larger than my entire house. On our way to the woods, we’d passed a bean-shaped, in-ground pool in the backyard, as well as a stable which, from the soft neighing sounds and wafting fresh-hay smell, I’d bet contained more than one thoroughbred. Though I hadn’t seen much beyond the kitchen, I could imagine the rest of the interior was equally extravagant.

And yet, for all its apparent wealth, the house was cold, impersonal. Like some museum exhibit where everything was warded with
look-but-don’t-touch
signs, encased behind glass panels, and cordoned off with red velvet ropes. It was probably as pristine and unlived-in as the day it had been constructed.

No wonder Sebastian hated it.

“Have you ever climbed it?” I asked gesturing up at the massive red oak. I was genuinely curious but also hoping to steer his mind to happier topics.

Bash grinned. “More times than I could count,” he told me.

“I’d like to see that sometime,” I said, grinning back at him happily.

“Come here.” His command was soft, his eyes beckoning with a gentle intensity. My feet responded instantly, drawn like the proverbial moth to his flame. When I came to a stop in front of him, he leaned forward into my space so only a hairsbreadth existed between our faces. His hands came up to cup my neck, then slid back to wind into my hair. With the lightest of pressure, he guided my mouth forward to brush against his.

His lips were softer than I’d expected, pushing against mine with gentle insistence. I bent into his frame, bringing my body flush with his. My lips parted and Sebastian deepened our kiss, the unfamiliar sensation of his tongue brushing mine nearly startling me off balance. My mind raced at twice its normal speed and I prayed I wasn’t messing this up, making a fool of myself. 

“Is this okay?” he asked me softly, pulling away a fraction of an inch.

“More than okay,” I whispered back.

“Your heart is beating really fast,” Sebastian said, his right thumb skimming over the pulse point in my throat.

“I’m nervous,” I admitted.

“Don’t be nervous.
” He leaned down to brush a featherlight kiss across my lips. “It’s just me.”

“That’s exactly why I’m nervous,” I pointed out.

He laughed lightly, wrapping his arms around me and drawing me in for a comforting hug that warmed me down to my bones. Without fully detangling our limbs, Sebastian walked me backwards until we were standing directly under the tree. Stepping out of my space, he sat with his back leaning against the thick trunk and extended one hand up to me.

“Come sit,
Freckles.”

I sat next to him and within seconds he’d hooked one arm under my knees and swung them across his lap so I was settled on top of him. My head landed on his shoulder, and one of my arms curled naturally around his waist. I sighed contentedly when Bash’s lips pressed against the hair on the crown of my head.

We sat for a long time, the prince and his pauper, sharing a moment beneath the most beautiful tree I’d ever seen. I could only imagine what it would be like in a few weeks, when spring arrived and it was once again full of lush green foliage.

“Lux?” Sebastian asked, his arms tightening around me slightly.

“Yeah?”

“What’s wrong with Jamie?” He turned me in his arms so he could look into my eyes. “It’s cancer, isn’t it?”