by July Hall
Then, while her sister’s eyes grew ever wider, she told Kristen about the chance thunderstorm that had led to her and Charles being stranded in the North Shore house overnight. “And then, we got to talking,” she concluded, “and—it just happened.”
Kristen folded her arms. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound like a rebound at all,” she said. “Or a revenge fuck. Definitely not.” She shook her head when Sandra started to protest. “Okay, I get that it might be more complicated than that, but what were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I wanted him,” Sandra said, looking her sister dead in the eye. She wasn’t going to listen to that rebound thing one more time. She deserved better than that, and so did Charles. “More than anything, and I felt that way before Bradley screwed up.”
“I guess it explains why you weren’t more upset when you broke up with him,” Kristen mused. “I thought you were in denial or something. I mean, he was your Prince Charming, and then all of a sudden he wasn’t.”
“He wasn’t,” Sandra agreed. “He never was.”
“But his uncle is?”
Sandra bit her lip. “No,” she said. She meant it. Charles might be trying to give her some kind of fairy tale, with sparkling diamonds and trips to faraway lands, but surely fairy-tale love couldn’t be this frightening. Surely Cinderella had never worried that Prince Charming would wreck her heart and leave it for dead on the side of the road.
“How does he treat you?” Kristen asked. “Is he good to you?”
Maybe it was because Kristen had just gotten her thinking about Charles’s dick, but Sandra blushed even more. “Yeah,” she croaked, and then cleared her throat and took another sip of coffee. “He’s great.”
“I remember what Bradley complained about,” Kristen said. “He said his uncle was totally cold and didn’t know how to connect to people.” She held up a hand. “I know not to take his word for anything, but are you really telling me this is Mr. Warm and Fuzzy? He practically used that note to summon you.”
“Summon me?”
“Yeah. He might as well have whistled.” Kristen winced. “Although…there was also that stuff about him waiting for you, which I guess…”
Sandra wished for the ground to open up beneath her.
“Yikes. I don’t want to know. Are you really going to see him tonight?”
“I think I have to,” Sandra said. “Not because he ‘summoned’ me. I need to talk to him about this. It’s so crazy. He knows I freak out about fancy gifts.”
“But he still gives them, and now you feel bad about turning them down. Yeah, that’s a good sign. This guy sounds like a real control freak.” Kristen leaned back until she rested against the windowpane, ignoring the barista who cleared his throat loudly. “What would happen if you didn’t show tonight?”
“What do you think? He’d call me to see what was up.”
“And what if you didn’t answer?”
Sandra rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t do that, because I’m not twelve years old. I’m going to talk to him, Kristen. We’re both grownups.” Then she realized what she’d said and sighed.
“What?” Kristen asked.
“I’m just waiting for you to make a crack about the age difference,” Sandra said. “Might as well get that one out of the way too.”
Kristen turned pink. “I wasn’t going to,” she said. “I don’t think an age difference has to be such a big deal.”
Oh. Well, that was a pleasant surprise. “You’re telling me you don’t disapprove of everything about this?” Sandra asked. She’d meant to sound light, but it came out petulant. Oops.
“I don’t care that he’s older,” Kristen said. “I don’t…I don’t even really care that you haven’t known him that long. Sometimes people can make—um—instant connections, you know?” She was still pink. She looked back down at her phone. “Uh, it’s probably time for you to get back to work.”
“Is it?” Sandra looked at her watch. “Oh shit! Yeah, we better move.”
“I’ll walk you back,” Kristen said. “I think I might have left something in your office.”
Sandra opened her mouth. She was going to offer to bring Kristen’s stuff home that night, whatever it was. But then she saw her sister going even redder.
And she thought about older men, and instant connections, and Kristen’s nice clothes, and the way she’d really been angry with her pencil last week.
And she felt like a giant idiot.
“Oh my God,” she said. “You’ve got a crush on Arnaud.”
“What?” Kristen gave her a wide-eyed look of sheer horror. “No, I don’t!”
Sandra leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms, and just looked at her.
“Shut up!” Kristen said. “I don’t. He’s…cool, that’s all.”
“He’s an Upper East Side capitalist pig,” Sandra pointed out, feeling the first pricks of pleasure she’d known all day. “Same as Charles.”
“He is not,” Kristen flashed. “He’s not a billionaire, he’s not old money, and he’s not up his own ass! You told me his parents were immigrants. He’s worked for everything he has!”
“And he’s hot,” Sandra said. “Smoking.”
Kristen hid her face in her hands. “Stop,” she wailed. “Oh my God, I know it’s so stupid. No, I didn’t say that. We’re talking about you, not me. I don’t have a crush on him!”
“Great. So you can take pictures of us when he shows up to take me to the wedding,” Sandra said. She couldn’t help smiling. Now the glass slipper was on the other foot. “We’ll both be all dressed up. You can make it look like a prom photo. Me and my date.”
“He’s your boss,” Kristen growled. “Not your date.” She swung her feet and scuffed her shoes against the polished wooden floor. “He gets enough dates anyway, from what I hear.”
Sandra stopped smiling. Charles could make her jealous too, and it sucked. She wanted to lie—wanted to say that Arnaud would never break Kristen’s heart, that Kristen was exactly his type and they were made for each other. But from what Sandra could tell, Arnaud didn’t have a type. If he did, they didn’t wear hoodies and Chucks.
If she wanted to catch Arnaud’s eye, Kristen would have to change, and she’d have to change more than her clothes. And Sandra—who was routinely driven crazy by her careless, slobby sister—found the idea appalling. Whatever was going on with her and Charles, at least he wanted her for who she already was.
She could tell Kristen there were other fish in the sea or something equally unhelpful. Instead she said, “Well, cheers to us,” and lifted her coffee cup in an ironic salute. “The Dane sisters, ladies and gentlemen.”
“At least you’re getting laid,” Kristen said, but she clinked her coffee cup with Sandra’s. “Is he gonna be mad when he finds out that I know? Or are you not going to tell him?”
“Of course I’m going to tell him,” Sandra said. She’d be furious if Stephen or Rosalie found out and Charles tried to keep it from her. “Don’t worry, I won’t let him take out a hit on you.”
“He doesn’t have time when he’s so busy assassinating the working class,” Kristen said, but it sounded almost automatic this time. Or maybe even a joke, but Sandra didn’t dare hope for miracles. “Oh, man. This was the weirdest lunch ever, and we didn’t even have lunch.” She set her cup on the windowsill and stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets. “You don’t have to sneak around anymore,” she added. “No more dumb excuses about ‘Larry.’ And I won’t tell Mom and Dad.” She rubbed the back of her neck and shifted from one foot to the other. “You’ve been good about not telling on me with the weed.”
“I’m not a snitch!” Sandra protested.
“But,” Kristen continued, “if this looks like it’s fucking you up, I’m gonna say something about it, even if you don’t want to hear it. And I want to know what goes down tonight, okay? I want to know how he handles this, if he understands what he did.”
“Oh, believe me,” Sandra said. She stood up and hoi
sted her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll make him understand.”
Too bad she couldn’t make herself understand first.
* * *
Charles had told himself the jewelry was a bad idea from the moment it occurred to him. He’d known it was foolish. It was exactly the sort of thing Sandra had told him she didn’t want.
So it wasn’t surprising when Sandra greeted him at eight o’clock with a pale face and a wary expression, but it was disappointing. She carried nothing to indicate that she would stay overnight. Damn.
Best to get straight to the point. As soon as Emilia left them alone in the sitting room, Charles said, “You didn’t like them.” The words left a literal bitter taste in his mouth.
“They’re beautiful.” She didn’t kiss him hello but sat down on the edge of the settee. Not a good sign. “I’d be crazy not to see that. How did you get them?” She licked her lips and looked a little nervous. “They’re not family jewels, are they?”
He shook his head. She didn’t know how close she was cutting to his conversation with Stephen. “No. I found them for you. The better jewelers sell unique pieces that no other woman will have.” He tilted his head to the side. “I would have preferred to have something custom made.”
She swallowed hard. “You’re not kidding, are you?”
“Of course I’m not.” He stood before the burning fireplace with his hands behind his back. The room felt drafty. “Why have you never wanted presents?”
“Because I don’t,” she said. He raised his eyebrows. She lifted her chin. “You told me not to explain myself.” Hoist by his own petard, then. “Why do you keep trying to give them to me?”
“Because I can,” he said, and declined to elaborate as well. Instead, he waved his hand irritably. “The key to the deposit box is yours. Do whatever you want with the jewels.”
He waited for her to respond to that—tell him to take them back or something equally Puritan. Instead, she asked, “What did you mean by saying I’d ‘outshine’ everyone?”
That was even worse than refusing the gift. It was certainly more embarrassing. Charles sighed. This whole impulse had been stupid from start to finish. That was why he was never impulsive, as a rule—except somehow it kept happening with her.
Now she was looking at him with eyes that put Josephine’s sapphires to shame. Hell, she didn’t need jewelry. It was a prime example of gilding the lily.
He sat down next to her on the settee. She turned to face him, but nothing in her body language indicated that she wanted an embrace. “I’d like to blame Rosalie,” he said. “But I can’t.”
At Rosalie’s name, Sandra looked less wary and more confused. “Blame her for what?”
He told her about the family meeting, though he omitted Rosalie’s jabs at Sandra’s social standing. Instead, he focused on the other women who would be at the wedding, dressed to the nines, and concluded: “It rubbed me the wrong way. You deserve to be as splendid as they’ll be.”
Sandra’s lips twitched. “I don’t think anybody ‘deserves’ huge emeralds, Charles,” she said. She reached out and took his hand. Her fingers were cold. “But…that’s why you got them? Just so I’d look as nice as the other women?”
“Nicer,” Charles said firmly. During his explanation, she’d relaxed bit by bit. He wondered what she’d been thinking, what she had feared he would say. “Keep them. They’re yours.”
Her eyes sparkled. “The Dane Emeralds,” she said, and then chuckled at some private joke. “But you do know I don’t need that kind of thing, right? Don’t get mad,” she added quickly. “I’m not trying to get on the high horse.”
She bit her lip, as if she knew what he’d been thinking. For some bizarre reason, Charles felt the urge to apologize. He suffocated it.
“It’s just…that’s not why I’m with you,” she said. “You know that. I mean, you probably know that. Right?” Her eyes were wide with earnestness. She could have led an angel by example. “I just really want to make sure that you do know that.”
Then why are you with me? he wanted to demand. That dewy look in her eyes didn’t pacify him. Instead, he felt himself getting hot with anger. Sandra thought she was helping, saying something nice, insisting yet again that she wasn’t an opportunist.
As if he didn’t know that. Of course he knew that. But he didn’t know what else to give. What else could bind her to him, make her want to stay? If she didn’t want his money like any other sensible woman in her position…
Dammit. Something was happening to him. He was never reluctant to pursue what he wanted. But the harder he pursued Sandra, the faster she ran. She baffled him. Somehow he’d gotten himself trapped in a game where he didn’t know what the rules were, but that he could not afford to lose.
“Charles?” Sandra said, looking worried. She put her other hand over his. “What’s the matter? Did I say something wrong? I just wanted to make it clear…” Her voice trailed off.
“Never mind,” Charles said. “You’ve made it very clear.”
She was as pale as she’d been when she arrived. “Then why do you look so pissed off?”
Charles did a quick check. His poker face should still be in place. Damn her if she could see right through it. “It’s just the wedding and all the rest,” he said. “It’s not you.” That wasn’t even a lie. Sandra had done nothing wrong. He was the idiot in this scenario. He added, attempting to sound lighter: “I suppose this means you won’t be wearing the emeralds.”
He’d expected her immediate agreement. Instead, she said, “Well—I can’t wear the necklace. It’s a little too much. But I’ll wear the earrings.” She scooted closer to him on the settee. “They’ll look amazing. I’ll plan my whole outfit around them.” She stroked her fingertips over his cheek. “Thank you.”
Because he couldn’t stop himself, Charles took hold of her hand and kissed her palm. Her breath caught. He nipped the inside of her wrist, and she shivered.
Yes. If he couldn’t get her eternal devotion, he’d at least take the proof of her desire for him. He could make her scream his name and lose himself in her body. Nothing else existed when they made love. He could make it be enough.
Fuck, that was pathetic. He’d never settled for anything in his life, never been satisfied with less than everything. How had this girl done it, intoxicated him so much that he was willing to take whatever scraps she threw his way? Weak—shameful—no true Magister would—
“Um,” Sandra said, “I guess now is the time to mention there’s something else.”
He’d been about to drag her to his bedroom, but that stopped him in his tracks. She had a deeply apprehensive look in her eyes. This could not be good. “What?”
She took a deep breath. “Kristen knows about us.”
It took a minute for that to sink in. He looked at her, aghast. Well, shit, of all the things they didn’t need. “How did that happen?” he demanded.
Sandra hunched her shoulders and mumbled her way through a disjointed explanation about looking at the emeralds and her sister walking in on her and figuring things out.
She concluded, “And she looked at me like…” A mortified expression crossed her face. She turned to stare into the fireplace, and he watched the firelight dance over her profile. “She said I was fucking you. She gave me this look that made me feel like a total whore. Maybe that’s why I was a little, um, touchy tonight.”
The way to Sandra’s heart was probably not through killing her relatives. “She called you a…”
“Not in so many words, but that’s what she thought at first. We talked it through afterward,” she added quickly. “I mean, she was cooler about it after that. It’s just…” She gulped. “That was my own family, and I had to tell her stuff that was none of her business and answer all her questions—” Charles must have looked horrified, because she added, “Oh, no. No details about sex or anything.”
“Good,” he said faintly.
“So it wound up being all right. I think. S
he won’t tell our parents or anything. I’ve been quiet about her pot habit,” she added bitterly. “God. Now that it’s sunk in, she probably loves that I fell off the pedestal. But somebody knows. Someone who’s a real part of my life, I mean.” She looked sadly at him. “It’s not just us anymore.”
Which, of course, was all Sandra had ever wanted. “Fuck your sister,” Charles said, and then realized he’d said it out loud.
Sandra’s jaw dropped.
“Ah. That is…” Charles rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I meant…” He meant exactly what he’d said.
Sandra knew it. She yanked her hands from his. “Would you say that if Stephen and Rosalie found out?” she demanded. “If they looked at you like you were scum on the floor? Jesus, Charles. You don’t know how something like that feels until it actually happens, trust me.” She crossed her arms. “You’re the one who’s always talking about how family matters more than anything else.”
Yes. Family mattered more than anything. He had to get himself together. Two months ago, he’d never even heard this girl’s name. She’d done a number on him, but that didn’t absolve him of his responsibilities.
He cleared his throat. Since nobody was dragging anyone to bed, it was best to get this over with. “Well, speaking of things that family forces on us, there’s something that I probably ought to bring up too.” It was her turn to look nervous. “Stephen and Rosalie have insisted that an old flame of mine come to the wedding and sit at our table. Stephen’s got stars in his eyes about trying to find true love for everyone. He thinks I’m lonely.”
“Oh,” Sandra said, after a pause. She managed a weak smile. “Well, I remember, he did mention finding you a date. I forgot all about it, though,” she added quickly.