The Commitment (The Unrestrained #2)

by S. E. Lund

  "The lady said no," he said, his voice firm. Keith was not as well-built as Drake but he was as tall and could probably have taken Drake on if he wanted to.

  Drake stopped and put his hands on his hips. "Take it easy," he said, his voice tight. "I was just playing around."

  Keith glanced at me, a frown on his face.

  "It's OK," I said. "He was just having fun. He knows I don't want him to see it yet."

  I took Drake's hand, trying to diffuse the situation.

  Keith held up his hands and backed away. "Sorry."

  "This is Keith," I said. "He's one of the artists who uses Nathaniel's studio. Keith, this is Drake, my…" I hesitated. Boyfriend sounded so juvenile. Partner sounded so professional. I certainly wasn’t going to say Dominant…

  "I'm her boyfriend," Drake said authoritatively.

  Keith nodded and went back to his drawing table.

  We returned to the apartment in Chelsea and I showered once more, then dressed in something really pretty, spending extra time on my makeup and hair. I put on perfume and chose my cream cashmere sweater with the mother of pearl buttons and made sure to leave a few buttons undone. I did everything I could think of to look my best so that Drake would be glad he had me, when I did tell him the truth.

  So instead of walking to my father's as I had planned, Drake drove us. I'd tell Drake about Kurt after lunch, after we had sex when he was basking in some nice post-orgasm endorphins. I'd tell him the truth – that I was trying to escape Kurt, but he wouldn't let me and I had to finally run away from him and tell him to leave me alone, that I was happy with Drake.

  I hoped it would be enough so that Drake didn't get the wrong idea, but I felt so incredibly guilty about not telling him right away, I wanted to kick myself in the butt. If he was mad, he had every right. I'd accept his anger and apologize for not telling him. I'd promise to always tell him everything from then on.

  I hoped it would be enough. Drake said he was very jealous and even though he had no reason to be, I knew the photograph was suggestive. If I didn't know better, even I would think there was something intimate going on between us after seeing that picture.

  I hoped that Drake never saw that photo and that I would merely have to tell him that I had spoken to Kurt and that he was as annoying and upsetting as he had been before.

  During the ride to my father's, I crossed my fingers and hoped that would be the case. Then I remembered the video of him with Sunita – one more thing I hadn't told Drake.

  I swallowed back my anxiety and tried to smile but it was empty.

  We arrived at the apartment on Park Avenue and Drake dropped me off. He said he had an errand to run and would be back in fifteen minutes. When pressed, he wouldn't reveal what it was so I gave up and went upstairs by myself. I was greeted by the scent of something delicious – fresh garlic and white wine. Maybe pasta or crepes – Elaine made both and very well. After hanging up my coat and removing my boots, I popped into my dad's office but he wasn't there for a change. I heard him in the bathroom, humming away while he shaved. He was late getting ready. Probably taking it really easy after being sick for the past week.

  "Hi, Daddy," I said through the door.

  "Hey, sweetheart," he said, opening the door a crack. "Glad you're here. Elaine's in the kitchen making your favorite – Chicken Alfredo. You go in and say hi. I'll be out in a minute."

  "Great," I said, smiling as he closed the door.

  I popped into the kitchen and watched as Elaine finished tossing a salad, the Chicken Alfredo cooking in a saucepan. To the side was a carton of heavy cream, a triangle of Parmigiano Reggiano, and a bottle of white wine. A bag of fresh fettuccini noodles sat to the side.

  "Hi, honey," she said when she saw me standing in the doorway. "Where's Drake?"

  "He said he had an errand to run so he dropped me off first. He should be back soon."

  She put down a cloth she was using to wipe the counters and came to me, giving me a hug. Then she frowned and looked at me firmly.

  "Did you read this morning's papers?"

  I sighed, knowing immediately what she meant.

  "You mean the Weekly?"

  She nodded. "I didn't know Kurt was back in the US. Why did they say he was your escort? What happened?"

  I bit my bottom lip. "He wasn’t my escort but he was there. As soon as I saw him, I left. You can ask Nigel. Kurt followed me outside and wouldn't leave me alone and so I took a taxi home. But before I could get away, someone snapped a picture."

  "Has Drake seen it?"

  I exhaled heavily. "No," I said, covering my eyes with a hand. "I didn’t tell him about Kurt being there. I honestly didn't think anyone would publish any pictures of us. Besides, Drake was sick and well, I decided I would tell him when he was feeling better…"

  "You didn’t tell Drake?"

  I shook my head. "I tried to tell him later but he put me off. I know that was wrong, but I didn’t want him to have any doubts about me. It meant nothing to me to see Kurt again. It was just upsetting. Drake's really jealous and—"

  "Oh, honey, you should have told him right away," she said, her voice filled with warning. "Honesty is the best policy. Tell him as soon as you get a chance, in case he does see it."

  "I will. I know it was a mistake."

  My dad popped his head in the kitchen. "What was a mistake?"

  I shook my head and gave him a hug. "Oh, nothing Daddy."

  He hugged me back and laughed. "What's this for?"

  "Just glad to see you."

  He squeezed me and then kept his arm around my shoulder when our embrace ended. "Where's that man of yours? I didn't see his coat in the closet."

  "He'll be here soon," I said, swallowing hard, my anxiety growing about seeing Drake. "He's running an errand of some kind."

  "Hope he gets here soon. I'm starved."

  "Me, too," Elaine said, putting the salad in the refrigerator. "Let's go wait in the living room."

  I followed my father and sat next to him on the couch, while Elaine went to the music system and put something on – her usual favorite jazz. After some chitchat on my father's campaign, I checked my watch – it was already 12:45 and so Drake had been more than fifteen minutes. That wasn't like him at all – he was usually exceptionally conscious of appointments, and was often early. I began to have a bad feeling about things.

  The three of us sat and talked about the weather, which was nice but cold, then we talked about their viruses, and how their symptoms cleared up. We talked about my father's new videoconferencing app on his phone. When I checked my watch again, it was one o'clock and there was nothing from Drake on my phone or email.

  He had to have seen the photograph some time when he was out, and was upset.

  That had to be the only reason.

  Finally, at about ten after one, almost an hour since he dropped me off, the door opened and in came Drake, a scarf around his neck, a bunch of roses in his hand – yellow roses and baby's breath. His cheeks were rosy and he looked fine, a smile on his face.

  "There you are, young man," my father said. "We were beginning to worry about you."

  Elaine got up and went to Drake first, catching my eye on the way. I rose and went to the entrance behind her.

  "Sorry I'm late," he said, his voice soft. "I wanted to stop and get you something on my way. Here," he said, handing the bouquet of roses to Elaine. "Something to brighten up the table." In his other hand was a bottle of champagne.

  Elaine accepted the bouquet and smiled, then leaned over and kissed Drake on the cheek.

  "Why thank you so much, Drake. Fresh flowers are always nice." She went past me and raised her eyebrows. "I'll go put them in some water."

  My father stepped up and took the champagne. "I'll get some glasses," he said, smiling. "We have lots to celebrate."

  I went to Drake, relieved that he seemed none the wiser about the photograph. In fact, he seemed really happy. After he hung up his coat and removed his boots, he leaned
down to give me a warm kiss.

  My father returned with four champagne glasses on a tray, the bottle in a chiller. We all sat down while my father opened the bottle.

  Drake turned to my father, who poured the champagne into the glasses.

  "Ethan," he said. "Good to see you're feeling better."

  "You as well, young man. You're a hero with all that's happened this past week."

  Drake shook his head and put his arm around my shoulders, leaning back. "I'm no hero," he said. "Liam's my son. It was the least I could do."

  It was then I noticed the New York Weekly folded up on the side table. My face heated when I saw it, and all I could think of was keeping Drake busy so he wouldn't read it. I turned my back to the paper as if I could use my body to block his view. Elaine came in with the vase of flowers, and expertly put the vase down on the side table, removing the paper as she did. I watched as she surreptitiously held the paper behind her back and then left the room, depositing the paper in a magazine holder by the door.

  She smiled at me from the doorway. "Katie, do you want to help me in the kitchen?"

  I sighed, glad she thought to hide the paper. My father would keep Drake occupied until lunch. I would tell Drake about the photograph, but not now and not here at my parent's apartment. I didn't want any drama to happen in front of them.

  I stood up to leave, but when I got to the door, my father's cell phone rang and he looked at the call display.

  "Oh, damn," he said, shaking his head. "Gotta take this, Drake. You relax for a bit, read the paper, watch some headlines."

  My father handed Drake the channel changer and glanced around for the paper, but luckily, he didn't see it.

  "No problem, Ethan. I had a busy morning so I'm glad to take it easy for a moment."

  Drake leaned back on the couch, his arms spread wide on the back. He put his feet up on the coffee table, a huge wooden antique crate. Several magazines littered the surface, Architectural Digest, National Geographic, and the New York Review of Books. In that position, Drake reminded me of that first night at my apartment when he waited for me to make a choice – kiss him and signal I wanted to have sex with him, or do nothing and let the chance pass.

  Was he doing that on purpose? Sitting like that? Offering me the choice to confess or keep the secret about Kurt?

  Was I imagining a hint of disappointment in his expression?

  Drake caught my eye. "Were you going to help Elaine?"

  I stood there, frozen in place, wondering whether he'd turn on the television or find the paper when left alone.

  "Of course," I said, stammering. I tried to force a smile, but couldn't and probably ended up looking pained instead of pleased. I left the room with deep reluctance, my muscles tense, my heart pounding. I should probably sit down and tell him what happened, but if he hadn't seen the paper, I didn't want to cause a scene right then.

  I went into the kitchen and stood, staring at Elaine while she stirred the Alfredo in a saucepan. She turned to me. "Poor Katie," she said and put the spatula down. She came to me and took my hands. "Why don’t you tell him what happened? Better to get it out in the open rather than take the risk of him finding out on his own and misunderstanding."

  "I'll tell him after lunch," I said, my voice a bit shaky. "I want us to have a nice time."

  "OK," she said. "I put the paper in the magazine holder in case he thought about reading it. It was all I could do."

  "Thank you," I said. We turned back to the stove and finished preparing the meal, Elaine adding heavy cream, Parmesan, and parsley while I fixed the fresh pasta. Finally, lunch was ready and we took the bowls and plates to the table in the dining room. I set our places and then went to get Drake. He was alone in the living room, the Weekly in his hands, the paper opened wide.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I stopped up short and my heart fluttered. He turned down one corner of the paper and glanced at me.

  "Is lunch ready?" His voice was soft, with no hint of anger or upset.

  "Yes," I said, relieved that he hadn't read page six or seen the photograph. "Come to the table. I'll get my father."

  Drake nodded and folded the paper carefully, placing it on the coffee table and rising. I walked down the hall to my father's office, my body tense, and saw that he was still on the phone. I pointed down the hall to the dining room and mouthed 'Lunch is ready' to him. He nodded and held up two fingers, indicating he would only be two minutes. Then, he kept listening to whoever was on the other end of the line.

  I went back to the dining room to find Drake standing behind a chair, watching as Elaine put the salad on the table. They were chatting about Liam, Drake telling her about Liam's transplant procedure.

  He smiled when he saw me, and I finally relaxed a bit. He couldn’t have read the article yet or I was certain he'd be upset. He pulled out a chair for me and I sat, letting him move my chair in for me. He put his hands on my shoulders and leaned down, kissing my neck.

  It was the first time I relaxed since the morning. I smiled up at him when he pulled the chair out next to me. Maybe we'd have a nice lunch with no drama at least. I didn't look forward to the conversation I'd have to initiate with him later, when we were back at the apartment, but for now, I'd try to enjoy the meal and company. He slid his hand over and took mine, threading our fingers together. It made my throat choke, a surge of affection for him that he wanted to touch me, needed to maintain a connection. My guilt about not telling him about Kurt – and Sunita's video – grew even more heavy.

  My father came into the room just as Elaine started to dish out the pasta.

  "Sorry I'm late," he said. "Miniature crisis at the campaign office. Some mix up about my record as a judge, rulings on controversial issues. Had to clear it up. Don’t want false data circulating. Someone from the office gave out inaccurate information and we got a call from a reporter hoping to drum up a scandal."

  "Was the information good or bad?" Elaine asked, as she passed me the salad.

  "Bad for me, unfortunately," my father replied. "Some people don't like my rulings on certain cases, but my record is my record. Don't want anyone to think I'm being deliberately misleading."

  He dug into the salad, his brow furrowed. I sat with my mouth open. Was my father deliberately warning me? Had he read the paper, too, and was stating his disapproval? Or was this a coincidence?

  "Honesty is the best policy," Drake said, nodding as he took a sip of water. Did he squeeze my hand suggestively or was I imagining it? "In politics and life, it's better to clear up any misunderstandings as soon as possible, to avoid looking like you're being deceptive."

  "Absolutely," my father said, smiling at Elaine when she handed him a plate of pasta. "Get the facts out there so there's no misinterpretation."

  She raised her eyebrows slightly.

  Drake let go of my hand and then passed me the salad. I glanced at his face, but it was unreadable. If he and my father were doing this deliberately, there was no sign on either of their faces, but Elaine was flushing a bit.

  "You all right dear?" my father asked, turning to me. "Your cheeks are red."

  "Just the heat from the stove, I guess," I said, forcing a smile. Elaine glanced in my direction and I knew exactly what she was thinking.

  These two men were trying to manipulate us. Or else, we both had guilty consciences.

  "Did the person who released the wrong data do it deliberately to make your record look better than it is?" I asked, my hand shaking a bit when I picked up my water glass.

  "No," my father said, shaking his head. "He used data that was preliminary instead of the final data. It wasn't deceptive, just incorrect. Unfortunately, it makes my staffers look either like liars or bumbling incompetents, so either way it's not a good news day for me."

  "That's too bad, Ethan," Drake said. "What will happen to the staffer?"

  "He'll have to be reprimanded of course. He shouldn't have released the data until he cleared it with Greg, but I'll have to ha
ve a little talk with him, make sure he wasn't doing it to hurt the campaign. You know, sabotage it. Can't ever know what's going on in someone else's heart, can you?"

  He dug into his pasta and then made a face of pleasure. When he finished chewing, he turned to Elaine.

  "Darling, I do believe this is the best you've ever made."

  Elaine smiled at my father and then glanced at me, biting her lip. I turned to look at Drake, who was busy playing with the food on his plate, moving the hunks of mushroom around as if lost in thought.

  "Drake, is it not to your liking?" my father asked, as he scooped up another forkful of pasta.

  "Hmm?" Drake glanced up. "Oh, sorry," he said as if pulled back from some distant place. "No, I was just thinking about what you said." Drake lifted a fork to his mouth and then smiled at Elaine. "The pasta is delicious. Worthy of a restaurant. Bravo."

  Elaine smiled, her smile strained and then she turned to her own plate.

  I tried to eat, but my appetite all but fled due to the circumstances. I ate some salad, washing it down with copious amounts of water, but my stomach wasn't happy about the rich pasta.

  We four ate in silence for a few minutes, nothing audible except the clink of cutlery on china, the strains of Elaine's jazz recording in the background.

  My father chewed away with gusto. If he knew about the photo in the paper, he didn’t show it, but I suppose decades presiding over court cases had ensured his views on the guilt or innocence of a suspect were well-hidden. Unless he wanted you to know how he felt and then it was clear as day. Either my father knew and was hiding it, or he didn't know and was blissfully unaware.

  He glanced up and smiled at me. "Sweetheart, you're not eating your pasta."

  I put my fork down. "I'm not feeling all that well," I said, wiping my mouth with a napkin. "A bit tired, I guess. It's been a stressful week."

  He nodded and then turned back to his food.

  Drake continued to be silent beside me, pushing his own food around.

  He had to know and was waiting for me to tell him. To confess.