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My date is someone who works at the company, and I wish he wouldn’t have done that, but it’s only dinner and a showing.I don’t want the guy to think his job depends on how the evening goes or if I like him. It’s what Stella thought when Zane promoted her.
Zane only shrugged and said he trusted him. He’s a good worker, treats others respectfully, and doesn’t lie.
Because of our histories, honesty is a must.
Ingrid lounges on my bed and watches me dress. She suggests dusting a bit of glitter over my collarbones, and I do, liking the sparkle. She hugs me quickly, wishes me a good evening, and retreats to her room.
Stella’s half a staircase in front of me, and I hear my brother hiss, “Christ. Stella.”
When I reach the bottom, he's kissing her, and his hand is inside her dress, gently kneading her breast.
Displays of affection churn my stomach. Zane loves Stella and he shows it in the way he touches her, but if I can't let a man touch me, how will he show me affection? How would Zane show Stella he loves her if she couldn't tolerate his touch?
It’s something I worry about.
“I’m so lucky,” he murmurs into her hair.
Brushing a kiss against his cheek, she says, “Don’t forget it.”
She’s teasing, but he says fervently, “Never.”
It’s a promise. An oath.
I need a love like that.
“Zarah, you look beautiful,” he says, turning to me. Hesitantly, he flutters a kiss over my cheek. “We have a table at The Hidden Fox at seven and the showing begins at eight. We’ll be fashionably late.”
“Who’s my date?” I ask as Zane holds my coat and I slide my arms into the sleeves.
“His name is Tate Knutson. My age and well-educated. Friendly. He’s looking forward to meeting you.”
We pass the hour into the city chatting about the company and how we’ll celebrate the holidays. It disappointed Lucille, but as a family, we decided to skip celebrating Thanksgiving this year. You could argue and say I have plenty to be thankful for, but I don’t agree. I can’t avoid Christmas, but I wish I could. Stella’s parents are flying in from Florida, and they’re excited to see her. They’ll only stay for a couple of days because her sister and her family can’t visit this year, but even two days will be too long.
I’m nervous about meeting them, and I wanted the first Christmas in our house to belong to only us. I would disappoint Stella if I told her that, and the last thing I want to do is hurt her feelings. Besides, if I say anything, she might celebrate the holidays in St. Petersburg, and I don’t want her to leave.
While we talk, Zane nurses a whiskey and Stella sips generic sparkling water that Zane, for some reason, likes to stock in our fridges. She doesn’t drink anymore, and I know it’s because she doesn’t want me to feel left out. I’m still on too much medication and I can’t, but I’ve told her I don’t mind. I miss sipping a glass of wine, and apple martinis will always be a favorite of mine and Stella’s.
Douglas lets us out on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, and when a hostess shows us to our table, everyone stares and whispers behind their hands. We’re heroes to a lot of people, but there are still thousands in the city who hate us for what we did to the Blacks. They did business with Black Enterprises and Clayton and Ash made them rich.
Tate’s already sitting at our small table hidden away from the other patrons in a separated alcove on the second floor, and he stands as we approach. He’s shorter than Zane and not as filled out in the shoulders, but his eyes are kind. His blond hair shines under the dim light, and he wears a suit well. Maybe Zane toldhim I don’t like to be touched as he only holds my hand in a brief, gentle clasp and says it’s a pleasure to meet me.
The food’s good, and Tate is a natural storyteller. I like him, but he doesn't give my stomach the fluttery feeling Gage does whenever he looks at me. Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe I shouldn't be looking for a tingle, a sense of anticipation. Maybe I need slow and steady.
Zane pays our bill, and in the lobby, Stella squeezes my arm and shoots me a thumbs up behind Zane’s and Tate’s backs. I'm comfortable enough to let Tate hold my coat, and his hands rest on my shoulders as I do up the buttons. He holds the door open for me, and we step outside onto the sidewalk, his hand lightly pressing against my lower back.
The weather is chilly and the bright city lights hide the stars, but it's pleasant to walk to the gallery two blocks away.
I slip on an icy patch, and Tate steadies me, his arm around my waist. “I don’t want you to fall. Can I hold your hand?”
Zane and Stella are a little ways up the block. They're talking about something they don't want me to hear or they're giving me privacy to relax. If that's their intent, it's working and I say, “Thank you.”
His hand is warm and soft, and he doesn't grab me too hard. “Are you doing okay?”
I bristle, but then I sigh. I don't want to be treated with kid gloves, but I need it. When it comes to men, when it comes to them touching me, I need them to go slow and I can't resent any man who gives me what I need.
“Yes. The meal was lovely.”
“It's a nice little place. Never been there before. Do you guys own it?”