"Will you?"
She doesn't answer the question. She turns away. Looks to the floor.
"I'm fucking this up."
She doesn't reply.
"I'm sorry." The words rise in my throat. They're obvious. Impossible to ignore. But this isn't the time. This is the worst possible time. "Tell me what I can do. How I can help."
"You can't. You have to accept that."
I don't know if I can do that.
But I know I can't lose her.
"I don't want to hurt you," I say.
"I know."
"What would hurt you?"
"Pushing too hard. Insisting I eat. Trying to control what's on my plate. I'm not saying you would—"
"Don't apologize. I want to know."
"Okay."
"What else?"
"It's something I do when I feel like my life is out of control. So anything… anything that adds to that."
"What about sex?"
She crosses and uncrosses her legs. "What about it?"
"What do you need there?"
"It's good."
"Good?"
"What we're doing… it's good for me. The focus on my pleasure. You're very generous."
I'm greedy, but I know what she means.
"And the mirrors… It helps to see myself in a different way. To see my body as a vehicle for pleasure, not a thing to critique."
"Is there anything I shouldn't say?"
"Nothing you would say."
This isn't right.
It's still too hard. Too firm. Too demanding.
She needs soft.
I need to be soft.
I move around the table. Offer my hand.
She takes it. Lets me pull her into my arms.
"I won't pretend I'm good at this." I pull her closer. "I care about you. I hate seeing you in pain," I say. "But I want to be what you need here. Not what I think you need."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
She nestles into my chest.
"Can I tell you how much I enjoy your body?"
"Not if it sounds like I'm your fuck toy."
"How gorgeous you are?"
She nods into my chest.
"How much I adore your thighs?"
"Yes."
"That I'll want you no matter how you look?"
"You mean that?"
"I do."
"What if I shave my head?"
"Especially," I say.
Her laugh breaks the tension in her shoulders. "That's your fetish?"
"The truth is out."
"If I shave the eyebrows too?"
"Even hotter."
"I might call your bluff."
"You won't," I say.
"No." She wraps her arms around me. "I won't."
I pull her closer.
"I'm a mess."
"I am too."
"You don't show it."
"I will."
"I… I care about you too." She looks up at me. "Can we not talk now?"
I nod.
She rises to her tiptoes and presses her lips to mine.
She tastes like basil and need.
All of hers pouring into me.
All of mine pouring into her.
I can't explain the way she can. Not yet.
But it's there. It's bright enough to fill the room.
I push her robe off her shoulders.
She does away with mine.
I lift her onto the counter. Drop to my knees to warm her up.
She falls back, falls into this, as I bring my mouth to her cunt.
I'm not patient. I'm greedy and rushed. I lick her through her orgasm. Then another.
Then I rise, wrap my arms around her, bring her body onto mine.
She holds me close as I drive into her.
Again and again.
Until we come together. A sweaty, sticky, groaning mess in the middle of the kitchen.
After I clean up, we shower together.
I order lunch. I try not to watch carefully. She doesn't call me on my excessive concern.
We watch an old movie on the couch. Have sweet, slow sex in my bed. Lie there, tangled in each other, until my phone buzzes with Opal's reminder.
"Is it really six?" Vanessa runs her fingers through my hair.
"Almost."
"Can we have another day here?"
"Yes."
She smiles. "I already RSVP'd."
"Cancel."
"Would you?"
"Yes."
"Really?"
"I would."
She traces the line of my jaw. "Opal will be here in fifteen minutes either way."
"We can stay here all night."
"How about ten minutes? Then I put on a robe. And we get dressed and you attend as my date?"
"Deal."
"Do you see everything as a negotiation?"
"Don't you?"
She smiles, guilty. "Some things."
I pull her into my arms.
"Not everything." She melts into my chest.
Chapter Thirty-Five
VANESSA
I drag myself from Simon's bed right as Opal arrives.
She catches me sneaking to the bathroom in my robe. Goes to talk to Simon.
I'm pretty sure she goes to high-five Simon, but I can't really complain. If it was Lee offering a congratulations?
Fuck, I like him.
I really like him.
I change into the long black dress he bought for me—not quite formal enough but better than last night's gown—and text Celine to check in.
She offers her own congratulations. Insists she's fine. Enjoying the alone time, actually.
What did Tammy say?
I need to enjoy my weekend for once. To take a break from saving the entire world.
I can't do that, exactly. I'm attending a gala tonight. That means asking for money.
But everything else—
I'm okay.
Better than okay.
Amazing.
I thank Celine. I fix my hair. I step into the main room and try not to smile in a way that says I really love fucking your brother.
Then I let Opal lead me to her extremely pink room.
I sit at her desk.
And I let an eighteen-year-old girl do my makeup.