I felt completely at ease the rest of the meal and afterwards as we had our tea and some cookies Elaine had made that morning. We chatted about my father's campaign and Drake's donation, Liam's prognosis and our trip to Africa. It was very nice and relaxed and I was so relieved. I still wasn't certain that Drake knew, but at least we'd had a nice time. I'd tell him once we were back home and were alone. I was hoping he wouldn't get too upset and would understand my reluctance to say anything about my encounter with Kurt.
I should have told Drake right away about the meeting, so that when the picture appeared in the paper, he'd be prepared and would see it for what it was.
Nothing.
If he had seen the picture, he'd be upset that I didn’t tell him sooner – as if I didn't trust him with the truth.
I'd deal with it when the time came. For the moment, all I wanted was to get through lunch without any scenes.
We drove back to the apartment, the atmosphere still relaxed and pleasant. Drake took my hand as we drove and we talked about the corporate work he had been attending to. As we drove up to the building, and parked in the parking garage, anxiety started to bite at the corners of my consciousness.
How would Drake react if he hadn't read the paper? Would he be angry? Would he brush it off?
I had no idea.
Butterflies filled my stomach as we took the elevator up to the penthouse. For his part, Drake confined me against the elevator wall, brushing hair off my face, his expression only one of warmth and affection.
"How are you feeling, Ms. Bennet? I'm a bit sleepy after that heavy meal. What do you say to a bit of a nap? You said you were tired."
I nodded. "Sounds good to me, but we really should talk first." I unbuttoned his coat, pulling his scarf away from his neck.
"We'll talk after we fuck," he said. "I have it all planned out."
"You do? I said, smiling despite my anxiety. "I have nothing else to do and so I'm all yours."
"All mine?" he said, humor in his voice.
"At your disposal," I added, getting into the spirit. "At your command." I grinned up at him, glad he seemed so happy, not wanting to spoil it with my confession about Kurt. "I seem to recall a promise about harem girls and massages…"
"Oh, that's right…" He grinned evilly. "I do remember something about you being my slave girl and giving me a really sensuous massage, but maybe we should wait until after the nap." He kissed me softly and it was then I decided to delay telling Drake until after the nap – and massage. He was tired, as he had every right to be, considering the donation and medication and his recent sickness. He didn't need any drama right then so I happily pushed telling him about Kurt into the back of my mind. Later, before dinner, I'd pour him a drink and tell him.
I told myself that the incident was so trivial and unimportant that he shouldn't be concerned about it.
We took off our good clothes and crept into bed, Drake in his boxer briefs and me in my little lace nightie. I snuggled into his arms as he lay on his side, my back to him – the usual position we took when we went to sleep at night, although he was usually naked. I sighed when he kissed my shoulder and I closed my eyes, glad to have a nap after all the stress of the morning. I planned my approach to telling Drake. I'd wait until after we had sex, and then, when we got out of bed and were getting ready for a very late supper, I'd pour him some wine and after he had a glass, I'd straight out confess.
I'd deal with whatever fallout came because I chose not to tell him sooner, but I was happy to delay telling him about Kurt. Just as I started drifting in a nice warm, slightly aroused state, Drake's cell chimed. He had a text.
"Crap," he said and struggled up, reaching past me to the night table where his cell lay.
"Ignore it, Drake," I said, yawning.
"Can't," he said. "That's someone from the foundation calling."
Drake took his phone and read the text, then, he slipped out of bed on the other side.
"I'll be right back," he said and left the bedroom.
I lay in the semi-darkness of the bedroom and listened to Drake. His voice was low, his words indecipherable from the office down the hall. I wondered what the discussion was about but couldn't tell. After a few moments of silence, when Drake didn't return to bed, I got up and tiptoed out of the bedroom only to find Drake sitting on the couch, his arms spread out over the back in that familiar position. He didn’t look at me when I entered, the phone in his hand, tossing it up and down lightly as if lost in thought.
"Drake?" I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I stepped closer to the couch and saw that the Weekly was open on the couch beside him.
A shock went through my body, my blood feeling like ice.
"Drake," I said, my voice faltering. "I—"
"Don't," he said, holding up his hand palm out to stop me. "Don't say anything."