Folsom (End of Men, #1)(6)
My mom pulls me from my thoughts when she sits beside me at the table. I can tell by her smirk that she knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“You put this all in motion, you know,” she says. “Your dream begins today.” She laughs and leans over to kiss my cheek. “Now eat up and Phoebe will draw your bath.”
“Will it hurt?” I call after her. I don’t know why I asked it, and my face grows hot as I wait for her to answer me.
She presses her lips together and glances up at the ceiling as she considers this. I wait with my hands clasped in my lap, flexing nervously.
“Depends on his size,” she finally says. She seems content with her own answer because she leaves me alone then with my very conflicted thoughts.
I’m twenty-five and have never had sex, not even with a woman. I want a baby, and while all kinds of research and progress is being made in the Red Region, we still need a man to make a baby. The sperm banks dwindled long ago and our technology isn’t as advanced as it used to be. Science took a backseat to war. We’re doing the best we can with what we have left.
Phoebe comes in and applies a softening mask over my entire body. I try to relax, but I keep thinking of our exchange in the bathroom. It’s been two weeks, but I can still remember how nervous I felt being so close to him. I wonder what he’s like, what he cares about…
My skin is softer than velvet after the mask is thoroughly rinsed off. I put on a dress, nothing new and fancy like Sophia, who had hers made just for the occasion. But, it’s attractive on me, hugging all of the right parts. Phoebe arranges a few sprigs of gardenia in my long, wavy hair. I’ll take them out right before I see him, just to leave the impression of the scent.
And then I wait for what seems to be forever, but every time I check the clock only ten minutes have passed. Finally, after an eternity, my mother peeks into my room.
“He’s driving through the gate now.”
I walk to the window and see a dark car coming down our tree-lined drive. It’s too far to see him right away, but I watch as it inches toward our estate. The driver gets out and smooths her hair before opening the door for Folsom. Resting my elbows on the sill, I watch with interest, as two long legs appear then the top of his dark head. He looks around, light glinting off of his sunglasses. When his head turns up toward my window, I duck out of the way so he can’t see me.
I laugh at myself. “Stop it,” I say out loud. “You’re being ridiculous.”
I step away from the window and yank the gardenia from my hair, tossing the white blooms in the trash before walking toward the stairs. My mother is waiting. She puts her hands on each shoulder and looks me over.
“You’re beautiful. He may have had many, but he’s never met anyone like you.”
I smile at her gratefully, knowing she’s supposed to say that. I have a great mother.
“Would you like to meet him in the foyer? Or shall I bring him up here?” she asks.
I don’t know why I haven’t told her we met at the Ball. I liked tucking away that moment with him and keeping it to myself. I wonder if he’ll remember.
“The foyer,” I say, decidedly. I want to greet him head-on, as an equal, not be a simpering girl stretched out on a bed.
We go down the stairs together. Sophia is already downstairs and ready to answer the door. The oldest and always letting me know it—I should’ve known she’d want to make sure he saw her first. Sophia is far more beautiful than I am with her high cheekbones, thick, blond hair that reaches her waist, and the legs that most describe as “endless.” I see that her dress is tight and short. I try not to hold her body against her. She looks like an angel, but I’m not sure angels feel the endless need to compete as she does.
Mother puts one hand on Sophia’s back and the other on the door. “Allow me,” she says.
I laugh to myself. Until the day I die, my mother will be trying to practice fairness with her girls. I’ve tried to tell her it’s a waste of time—I don’t care. Sophia obviously does; let her win these small victories. Mother just shakes her head and forces equality between us. It’s probably lost on both of us.
When the door opens and he’s standing there, his hulking frame filling the space, I begin to rethink everything. How did I think I could go through with this? He’s so much more…of everything. Introductions are made. His dark eyes do a silent assessment of my mother, move on to my sister, and then land on me. I start to shake all over and feel the heat rise to my face. And what he sees in me seems to amuse him. The corners of his mouth twitch as if he’s suppressing a smile.
Great. Nothing like mortification when you want to appear sexy. Then I catch sight of his boots, and I’m completely distracted.
His voice is like raspy sandpaper dipped in whisky. It feels indulgent just to listen to him speak, though I don’t know what he’s saying because I’m still looking at his boots. And then I realize he was speaking to me.
His lips—oh his lips—curve up and he laughs. I feel the sound in my gut and drop my hand, teetering between laughing and crying. Normally the calm, laid-back sister, I’ve clearly lost it.
Sophia steps up to him and puts her hand on his shoulder. His laugh dies down and he slowly looks away from me, toward her. I feel the loss acutely and it unsteadies me. I back into the wall as Sophia runs her hands over his arm.