‘Of course not.’ I snorted. As if a girl would ever be embarrassed to take home a guy like him.
‘Are you afraid your family won’t like me?’
‘No.’
‘Well what is it then? How come we never go there? You never let me pick you up there, you hardly ever let me take you home, and if I do, you run inside without ever inviting me to come in.’
I was silent, again, studying my hands in my lap. What could I say? I could tell him the truth, but there was a good reason I hadn’t told him; the same reason I didn’t want him to see it for himself.
I looked up at him, standing there a few feet away. He stared back at me, frowning, not angry or anything, but obviously it was bugging him. I tried to imagine how he’d react if I told him the truth, that I was ashamed of my home and my family, not him. That I was afraid once he saw where I came from he’d realise how different we were and that we shouldn’t be together. He had liked my hair its natural colour, sure, but I didn’t think that was a terribly reliable indicator. What guy didn’t like a blonde?
He looked back at me steadily, and for the second time it all hovered on the brink of coming out. Maybe I could tell him. Maybe I could trust that he liked me enough to not mind.
‘You wouldn’t like it,’ I finally said. Yeah, OK. I choked. I just couldn’t bring myself to risk it. Maybe he was going to find out, and maybe then he would pack it in with me. But I didn’t want to bring that on if I could hold it off a bit longer. Who knew what could happen in the meantime?
‘How do you know I wouldn’t like it? Why wouldn’t I? That’s bizarre.’
‘It’s not like this house.’
‘So? Don’t you get that I want to see where you live?’ Sebastien came back to me, put his hand in my hair and pushed it back from my face. He cupped his other hand on the back of my neck, so he held me there, looking into my eyes. My heart thudded hard against my ribs, and my skin crinkled and tingled, heat rushing along just under the surface. I couldn’t hold his gaze, the way he stared into my eyes like that, I had to take it in little glances. I had to resist an urge to slide back along the counter, to put a little distance between us. Usually I couldn’t get enough of him, couldn’t get close enough to him, but this, this was a little confronting.
‘I want to know about you, Jess. When I text you at night, I want to be able to picture what your bedroom looks like. I want to see what books you have on the shelves and what posters you have on the walls. I want to know you.’
‘You know me.’
‘Not really.’
‘You know all the best bits,’ I said, trying to make a joke. I tentatively put my hands on his shoulders, let my thumbs rest on his collar bones. I was afraid he’d pull back, but he didn’t. He ran his fingers through the hair that fell beside my face, like he usually did, and then pushed it back over my shoulder.
‘I want to know the bad bits too,’ he said, and I dropped my gaze. He slid his hand down to cup my jaw, and titled my head up. ‘Is that what you’re hiding? Do you have some deep dark secret you think will turn me off?’
‘Of course not,’ I said, and made an effort to meet his eyes calmly when he stared at me.
‘Well then what is it? You can tell me. I won’t be offended.’
‘Nothing to tell.’
‘Then why have you never invited me to your house? How come I’ve never met your parents?’
A tiny shudder travelled up my spine at that. Had I really kept it all so close that I’d never even mentioned my father had shot through? Maybe Anna actually hadn’t ever said anything about me to Sebastien. That was a little odd. Unless she didn’t want Sebastien knowing what she was up to. Hmm.
‘I’m not ready for that,’ I blurted, and blinked in surprise. Hadn’t meant for that to come out.
Sebastien did pull back then, and gave me an odd look that was no less piercing for being so hard to read.
‘How, not ready?’
‘I just, well, I’m not ready for you to meet my — them.’
‘I thought we were serious, here.’
‘Are we?’ It was my turn to give him a hard, searching look. ‘I could turn this back around, Sebastien. We do go to your house, sure, but never when your family is home.’
Sebastien opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He frowned, then shut his mouth. Yeah. Nothing to say to that, huh. But he recovered better than I ever did.
‘That’s just a timing thing. You have school, they have jobs. You’ve at least met my family, though.’
‘Not since we’ve been seeing each other,’ I said, and frowned. It hadn’t really struck me until that very moment.
‘Yeah you have.’
I had to think about that, to make sure I hadn’t ever run into Mr or Mrs Bell, or Anna. But no, not since that first time, at the concert.
‘Nope, not once. Only that first night. The night I met you.’
Something came over Sebastien’s face then, and a lot of the tension melted away. He stroked my hair again, and I ran my thumbs over his chest.
‘I remember that night,’ he said. ‘It was like being hit with a hammer.’
‘What?’ I laughed, tickled at an image of that Hemsworth guy as Thor, whacking Sebastien on the head with that big mallet.
‘When I saw you, with your flaming hair, and that little black skirt and such long beautiful legs, it was like all the air had been punched out of me. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t speak.’
I wasn’t laughing after that. My heart had seized in my chest and my mouth had gone dry.
‘Me too,’ I croaked, and I grabbed him to me, wrapping my arms around his back, hugging him tight. He leant into me, and I felt his arms go around my back, his head press against mine, and I shut my eyes and wished we could just stay like that, freeze time, to give me long enough to savour how it felt.
The front door slammed and keys jangled as they hit the coin dish.
‘I’m home!’ Anna yelled, and I heard the clack of her heels on the timber in the foyer, growing louder as she came towards the kitchen.
Sebastien’s head lifted. His arms slid to my waist, and as he stepped back he lifted me off the counter and set me down on the floor.
Another moment interrupted.
Chapter 20
‘I want to take you out,’ Sebastien said.
Lying in bed, buried under my doona, I wiped a strand of hair away from my mouth. ‘I thought that’s what we were doing,’ I whispered into the phone. I was well tucked in under that doona with my bedroom door shut, but I still didn’t want to risk anyone hearing me. I’d get told to shut the fuck up and go to sleep if I was lucky. I didn’t really want to think about what might go down if I wasn’t lucky.
‘No, I mean properly. I want to take you out somewhere nice.’
My heart thudded briskly against my ribs. ‘What, like a fancy restaurant or something?’
‘Exactly like that.’
‘You know, Sebastien,’ I murmured, heart pounding some more, ‘You don’t have to buy me dinner to get me to sleep with you.’
‘I don’t?’
I huffed more hair out of my face. It was baking under the doona but I daren’t risk kicking it off until we were off the phone.
‘Nope. I’m yours if you want me.’ Shit, that was stupid. I’d done exactly what my brothers warned me about, I’d gone ahead and been too eager. Not that it ever seemed to bother them; eager chicks seemed to be exactly their type.
‘Oh, I want you alright,’ he said, and my skin grew even warmer at the way his tone deepened. ‘But I want to do it right.’
Oh my, it really was hot under here. I flipped the edge of my doona up and down a few times to let in some cold bedroom air.
‘Do it right, huh?’ I teased him, when I had breath enough to speak. Oh yeah, I was on a roll.
The low, husky chuckle in my ear lit a slow burn equally low in my belly. If I was on a roll, he was on fire. I just hoped he burned for me as much as I did
for him. Now that I was starting to believe him, believe in him and that he wasn’t too good to be true, I could hardly wait to get naked with him. If he wanted to take me to some fancy dinner first, fine.
‘… or something?’
Oops, I’d wandered off in my own little X-rated fantasy there.
‘Sorry, pardon?’
‘I was asking if you had a nice dress or something.’
‘Define ‘nice’,’ I said cautiously. ‘Do you mean like what people were wearing to your concert?’
‘Yeah, like Mum and Anna had on. They call them their party frocks, if that’s any help.’
‘Yup, got it,’ I said, losing some of my happy glow. I didn’t have a dress like that, but I’d seen enough around to know how much they cost.
I was ruminating on that and wondering how I could find out if a less dressy alternative was acceptable when I heard Mum’s bedroom door open.
‘I gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow,’ I whispered hurriedly, and ended the call. I held the button long enough to turn my phone off, just to be safe, and stuck my head cautiously, turtle-like, out from under the doona.
Holding my breath, heart thudding unpleasantly, I listened to the sleep-heavy thud of Greg’s feet go past on his way to the bathroom. When the door snicked shut, I quickly reached out from under the doona with both hands and plugged my phone into the charger on my bedside table, then wriggled back under the covers, turning on my side with my back to the door, ready to pretend I was asleep.
I heard the bathroom door open, no flush, no running water (yuck, gross) and Greg’s feet shuffling back past my room and in to the room he shared with my mother, the sounds cutting off with the closing of the door. And I turned my thoughts off at that closing door too, thanks very much. Bad enough I had to track him in and out of the bathroom, but that was self-preservation. Disgusting, but necessary.
Shoving my pillow into a more comfortable lump, I lay in the dark with my eyes open, too wound up to go to sleep. Where the hell was I going to get a ‘party frock’ without having to raid my savings? A funny little flutter went through me at the thought of going on a proper dinner date with Sebastien, and no, not the turning my blood to molten lava type of flutter thinking of him usually gave me. I didn’t want to embarrass him or me. It felt like we’d finally muddled our way to some kind of understanding, but I also felt it was all pretty delicate, like the slightest mistake would rip everything to shreds.
But I’d looked at price tags in shops like Events and Cue and I couldn’t imagine spending $500 on a dress I’d probably never get to wear again. I guess I could have got a cheap imitation from eBay but Sebastien had given me the impression he was talking this weekend, only a few days away, not long enough to get something through the post. And actually I didn’t have a credit card anyway. One of the little tricks I had to make sure I saved instead of spending, but a pain in the butt it’d be now I had to shop in a hurry. Finding bargains took time and planning, it didn’t really go with spontaneous shopping sprees.
I’d have to call Michelle, with her knowledge of weddings and debutantes and shit. She was about the only person I could think of who’d maybe be able to help me.
On Saturday night, I waited on our porch, my high heels incredibly loud against the tiles whenever I forgot about keeping still and started pacing again. Fabric slithered against my legs every time I moved, unfamiliar and clingy, and the dusk had brought with it a cold breeze to sprinkle goose bumps across my almost-bare back. I crossed my arms across my boobs, trying to minimise the no-bra jiggle, nipples gone painfully tight in the cold. I still wasn’t convinced about the whole commando-boobies idea but the dress was too low cut for any of the bras I owned, and the only one I’d seen in the shops that might have worked was $80 and so uncomfortable I couldn’t get it off fast enough.
And hey, I did want to get the guy into bed, didn’t I? Surely a bit of jiggle wouldn’t do any harm? And besides, I had bought myself a fancy pair of black lacy cheek-revealing undies so I actually looked like I wasn’t wearing any under the slinky dress. It was a totally weird sensation to feel so dressed up and well, almost elegant, and yet rather naughty at the same time.
I shivered, but although it was tempting to blame the fast-chilling air I could admit to myself at least that it was awfully close to a case of cold feet. I was skating pretty close to the edge, and I knew it, but I wanted him so bad I was willing, finally, to risk it.
Although I almost wasn’t ready to face that, and so this date had almost died before it even started. Sebastien had insisted he had to pick me up from my house. I kept coming up with reasons why I couldn’t do that, and they all sounded more and more lame even to me, and then he asked me pretty sharply if I wanted to go out with him or not, and of course I did, so that was that.
So now I paced, from nerves, from cold, from growing panic that if Sebastien didn’t get here soon my whole family would be here to witness his arrival. I swung between a somewhat hysterical happiness that Sebastien cared enough to do this, and knee-wobbling terror that everything was about to go completely to shit. What would Sebastien think of my brothers? I had a fair idea they’d think he was a rich poser, and that was a recipe for disaster right there. If they did get home while he was here, I hoped they wouldn’t be too drunk or, worse, high. They were always more ready to pick a fight if they were on chemicals rather than just alcohol.
There’d been cars non-stop up and down the street for the past half hour, but now that I was anxious to see one turn the corner, nothing had been along for at least ten minutes. OK, five maybe. There were a couple of cars I was hoping not to see, and one I wanted to see real soon, and God, what if he didn’t come? What if he’d changed his mind?
And then a car did turn into our street and my stomach almost tied itself in a knot. Not that it was a car, exactly.
A long, gleaming dark limo stopped outside our house, and Sebastien emerged, long legs and sharp black suit and slicked back dark hair.
I froze at the top of our steps, staring at him. He was just so beautiful, he didn’t seem real.
He stood on the neglected grass and stared back at me and I wondered what was going through his head, and that thought got me moving. I didn’t want to stay there with him staring at me, in case I’d gotten something wrong. I mean, I knew I didn’t look terrible, Michelle had lent me the new dress she’d bought for someone’s wedding, and shoes, and she’d done my hair and makeup and I looked as good as ever I could. It was still a bit of a shock to see myself blonde again when I looked in a mirror, but at least I could now do all Michelle’s generosity with dress and accessories and products some justice. With that crimson hair no matter what clothes I wore I looked a bit of a cross between manga heroine and an extra on CSI. But maybe I hadn’t judged the dress right; God knows I didn’t have any real experience of what people like Sebastien considered ‘fancy’.
‘Hi,’ I croaked, as I tap-tapped down the path in my unfamiliar shoes.
‘Hi,’ he answered, and as I came up to him he took my hand in his, and turning it over, kissed the inside of my wrist. ‘You are so beautiful,’ he said, his smoky-grey eyes locked on mine. He drew me towards him, and I jumped, startled as his other hand slid across my chilly bare back.
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I love this dress.’
He slid his hand a little lower, palm flat and hot against my skin, and his fingers brushed the top of the lacy panties I’d rushed out and bought. He shuddered, and pulled me against him, claiming my lips with his for a long, heated kiss. OK, yes, consider the price tag on those worth it. Mmm.
I pressed against him and returned the kiss enthusiastically, my hands full of a shawl and my little black beaded evening bag. I ached to put my arms around him, but it was also electrifying to have only our lips touching.
When he drew back, he lightly fingered the long loose strand of hair curling down in front of my ear.
‘Beautiful,’ he said again, and my insides fluttered crazily. This guy. Som
ebody save me.
As he guided me into the back seat of the limo, and slid in after me, I pretended I hadn’t seen the neighbourhood kids stopping to goggle at the car. They only saw luxe wheels like this when someone in the street was going to their year 12 formal, and they’d never seen one pull up out the front of our house. I hadn’t made it to year 12.
I pretended I hadn’t felt anyone watching or judging or wondering, and I refused to think about how quickly the news would get to my brothers, who were still so luckily not home, and to my Mom and Greg, and to Jay. I pretended, just for now, that I really was the princess, going with her prince off to the ball.
Sebastien had champagne waiting, and as he poured a glass and handed it to me, I already knew what I’d be secretly toasting to. I’d be toasting to a good date and an even better night, to us managing to stay in tune just that little bit longer. I craved just one magical night with him, although of course I’d secretly be hoping for more. Not that I expected to get it; happy ever after was only for fairy tales.
Chapter 21
If the success of a dinner could be measured by the glasses of champagne consumed and the number of miniscule beautifully presented dishes I was unable to do more than sample through sheer nervous excitement, then our date was awesome.
It also passed in a bit of a blur, thanks to the same combination of bubbles and anxiety.
After, the driver dropped us both at Sebastien’s (yes, excited about that, though trying not to show it) and as soon as the limo disappeared down the road, I stopped and took my shoes off.
‘Ow,’ I groaned, wriggling my toes in relief. ‘Whoever designed these things is evil, they absolutely kill. This is going to wreck my stockings, but I don’t care — aaahh!’ I yelled, as I found myself unexpectedly rising away from the ground.
‘Shh, I’ve got you.’ Sebastien grinned down at me, and I put my arm up around his neck and giggled. That champagne we’d had with dinner? Moet. I’d always wondered if people who went on about Moet were just wankers dropping a posh name but I owed them an apology. The stuff was fizzy awesomeness.
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