Filthy Foreign Exchange(37)
I’m not sure if it’s the trying to keep track of her lies or my schedule that’s tripping her up, but I have Mr. Marshall for Biology as well…and there’s no test tomorrow.
I should call her out on it, but I settle for silently brooding as I drive her home. Why would she lie about that? Is she afraid to tell me she just doesn’t want to do the routine, or is she hiding something bigger?
“Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She climbs out, waving over her shoulder as she hurries toward her house.
I continue to stew the entire way home, and by the time I get there, I’ve worked myself into a frenzy of dark thoughts. My mother’s ominous comments about Savannah swirl in my head, and for a moment, I debate calling Sebastian. But what would I say? I have no proof of anything, just a bad inkling in my gut. And I can’t upset him over what might be nothing.
So I decide to clear my head the best way I know how. I run to my room, change quickly, and head for my tree. I climb so high up my silks that no troubles or worries can reach me, then swing, flip, and contort my body until I haven’t a care in the world.
After an hour or so, I feel more at ease, so I descend slowly and head to the house.
My mother greets me from the kitchen. “There you are! You just missed a call from Sebastian. Here, drink.” She hands me a glass of ice water. “Been working on the new routine?”
I nod with a smile as I quench the dryness in my throat. “How’s Seb doing?”
“He seems to love it, but says he misses us. I’m happy he’s getting this experience, though. Everyone should have a chance to see even a small glimpse of this big world.”
“Yeah,” I respond, wondering if I’ll ever get the same opportunity.
When I set down my glass, I change the subject and ask, “Where’s Dad?”
My mom grins in amused suspicion. “At the pavilion, fixing some wiring. Oh, and Sammy and Kingston are helping him.” Her mouth twitches. “Just in case that was your next question.”
“It wasn’t.” I divert my gaze to the opposite wall, lying to it rather than my mother’s face. “But that’s cool. Okay, I’ll be down after I wash up.”
I hop in the shower, and because I only expect them in the mornings, I almost miss the note on the glass door, rising from the steam.
Tonight, we talk.
I can’t decide if it’s a threat or a simple statement of fact, but either way, it sends a shiver of anticipation up my spine.
It also makes for the longest dinner I’ve ever endured. Have my father and Sammy always talked this much? And did my mother use every dish in the kitchen? It’s never taken this long to clean up.
When I am finally done and have excused myself to go finish my homework, my dad throws in another, totally out-of-character roadblock, and asks Kingston to join him in watching a game on TV. Kingston accepts, of course. But he sends me a discreet glance, his own impatience bristling in his eyes.
My reaction is heady, and I climb the stairs on wobbly legs.
~~~~~
I’m woken later with a gentle shake to my shoulder.
I didn’t even realize I’d fallen asleep, and it takes me a second to gather my bearings before I realize Kingston’s standing over me, at the side of my bed. With a silent yawn, I blink several times, just to make sure I’m actually awake and not dreaming up the mesmerizing image of him donned in nothing but plaid pajama pants that rest sinfully low on his hips. I pinch myself under the covers to confirm the scene is, indeed, real. He’s in my room, cast in the perfect amount of moonlight, and showcasing a lot of firm, defined flesh.
Heat coils in every body part below my neck, and I swallow down the lump in my throat. It obviously gets lost somewhere between my best judgment and shyness, though, because I’m somehow able to whisper “Have a seat” as I scoot over to make room for him.
Even in the near-darkness, I can make out a glint of satisfaction in his eyes, and the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. Every deep groove mapping out where one of his muscles stops and the next begins.
Neither of us speaks right away, afraid to pop the safe, silent bubble surrounding us. Here, in our own secret, moonlit haven, there’s an energy—an undeniable connection—that fuses us together, with no touching or words needed.
I’m the first to break our linked stares, looking down to where my fingers fiddle nervously with my blanket.
And he’s the first to shatter the silence.
“Tell me you weren’t serious about that picture today.” His voice is gruff and strained, as though any answer besides the one he wants to hear may break him. “Tell me, Echo. Because he’s far from worthy of you.”
“How would you know that?” I whisper, butterflies striving for escape from my tummy.
“I did my research. He’s a bloody imbecile, and only looking for one thing. It will be over my dead body that he ever gets near you again.”
His fierce objection could be taken like he’s just trying to fill the big-brother shoes Sebastian left open, but I know that’s not it. I’m reserved, not na?ve.
Kingston Hawthorne is jealous. And it’s a very attractive look on him—one I’m selfishly enjoying, immensely—so I decide to prolong it.
“Kingston,” I tut. “You shouldn’t judge Craig from whatever rumors you were able to dig up. That’s not fair. Besides, I’ve lived here my whole life and heard them all before. I’m a big girl, and perfectly capable of making my own decisions.”