Page 51 of Anti-Hero (Kensingtons: The Next Generation #2)

P link. Plink. Plop.

I make a face as I hit the notes in rapid succession.

I haven’t set up my keyboard, despite there being plenty of space in the penthouse.

Playing it seems silly when this is available.

But the Steinway that sits in the corner of Kit’s living room, overlooking Central Park, deserves much better than this lackluster performance.

I haven’t played piano—just played , not to practice for a performance or to get paid—in a long, long time. So far, it’s going terribly.

I rest my elbows on the music stand and groan.

“You’re improving.”

I groan again, then turn to face Kit.

He’s leaning one shoulder against the doorway that connects the living room to the front hall. And he’s wearing a tuxedo.

Panic spikes in my chest as soon as that detail registers.

I push the bench back and stand, scowling at him. “Is this a joke?”

“What?” he asks innocently.

“You’re not actually wearing that tonight, are you?”

He glances down, then nods. “I was planning on it, yeah. This is my favorite tux.”

“Kit!” I exclaim, exasperated. “I’ve been asking you all day—all week —what we were doing tonight. Precisely so I could figure out what to wear, and you …”

He twirls the tie he just pulled out of his pocket around like a lasso. “Maybe I should’ve been a cowboy instead of Indiana Jones,” he muses.

“I’m not wearing these”—I gesture to my striped pajamas—“on our date if you’re wearing a tux. I don’t care if you blindfold me so I can’t see. I’ll still know what I’m wearing.”

He chuckles as he walks closer. “That’s not what the blindfold is for, Monty.”

“Then what’s it for?”

“You’ll see,” he says, spinning me around, then knotting the tie behind my head.

I tense when my vision disappears. “I can’t actually.”

His hands land on my hips. “Trust me.”

Then we’re moving. My steps forward are tentative, but the solid heat of Kit behind me is reassuring .

We cross a rug, which I think means we cut through the dining room.

But then we’re back on hardwood, and I’m lost. Are we in the kitchen?

Is he cooking me dinner? Or maybe this is a surprise for the baby and he’s bringing me to the nursery?

But I can’t think of anything that would be a surprise in there.

We’ve discussed every detail of what to order and how to arrange it.

Plus, I was in there this morning, and nothing appeared out of place.

We’ve both been home all day, so I don’t know when or how Kit would’ve changed things around.

“Almost there … okay.”

The blindfold falls away. I blink at our bedroom, still confused. Because it looks the same as it did when I woke up this morning.

“You, uh, cleaned?” I guess.

He snorts, then grabs my shoulders and steers me to the left.

“ Oh ,” I realize.

A dress is hanging on the back of the closet door. And not just any dress. It’s silvery and silky and familiar.

It’s the dress I was wearing that night in the Hamptons. Except this version doesn’t have an Aperol spritz stain on the front, like the one I haven’t been able to bring myself to get rid of.

“Oh,” I whisper again, lifting a hand to finger the flawless fabric.

I still love this dress. Even more now because I’ll forever associate it with my first night with Kit.

I tear my eyes away from it to look at him. “How did you find this?”

I never told him the brand or where I bought it. It wouldn’t have been that easy to find.

He grins. “I’ve got connections, Monty. I spent a lot of time staring at you that night. I remembered the style and that the color was called pewter. My mom tracked down the rest. You said the original was ruined, so I thought you might like a replacement.”

“I would. I mean, I do. Thank you, Kit. This is …” I shake my head. “I can’t believe you did this.”

I mean, I can. It’s thoughtful and considerate and extravagant, something he knew I’d appreciate.

I just can’t believe he did this for me . That he’s mine .

He plants a swift kiss on my forehead. “Get dressed and meet me in the front hall.”

I snag his sleeve before he can step away. “I’m about to get naked, and you’re leaving ?”

“If I stay in here, we’re going to be late for dinner.”

“So?” I fist his tie. “We can stay in. Eat mac and cheese on the floor.”

“That’s not a mac and cheese on the floor dress, Monty. This is a date , and I’m buying you dinner.” He kisses me again. “I’ll fuck you later, as many times as you want. Deal?”

I pretend to consider the offer before I happily capitulate. “Fine. Deal.”

Kit grins before leaving the bedroom.

I strip out of my pajamas, then unzip the dress and pull it off the hanger.

It occurs to me halfway through pulling it on that my body is a different shape now than it was in August, but the zipper slides back up with no issue.

The bodice isn’t tight, the silk flowing freely to the hem.

It drapes over the bulge of my bump like it was meant to be a maternity dress, the fabric chafing my skin a lot less than some of my other clothes have been.

There’s a massive mirror in the walk-in closet.

I stand in front of it, smiling as I survey my appearance.

The further I’ve gotten into my pregnancy, the less confident I’ve felt.

The stranger my own skin has seemed. I know it’s a natural, normal, incredible part of pregnancy—that the changes are to accommodate the life growing inside of me—but it’s still an adjustment.

An ongoing adjustment because I keep getting bigger .

Right now? I do feel confident. Sexy even.

And it’s not the dress. Not only the dress at least. It’s Kit, who’s said—and shown—how much he appreciates my body like this.

I hurry into the bathroom, applying a light layer of makeup.

I pull my hair out of its bun and run a brush through it.

And then, after pulling on the black wrap coat I wear to work, I make the reckless decision to wear heels.

They tap rhythmically against the hardwood as I walk down the hallway.

If Kit hadn’t indicated we were in a rush, I’d stop in the living room to sit at the piano and pretend I was performing at Carnegie Hall.

Kit’s leaning a shoulder against one of the entryway walls when I turn the corner.

He straightens at the sound of my approaching footsteps, eyes skimming over the silk swishing around my calves and journeying upward until they land on my face.

The appreciative expression on his makes the pinch in my toes worth it.

I attempted to dress up on New Year’s Eve, but aside from that he’s mostly seen me in baggy clothes meant to disguise-slash-accommodate my growing bump.

And I like that I felt comfortable enough around Kit to lounge around in my pajamas and no makeup most of today, but he’s also who I want to admire my effort to appear a little more glamorous.

And who I want to ruin that effort later.

“You look beautiful,” Kit tells me, pressing a soft kiss against my mouth before we head into the hallway and then inside the elevator.

“So, where are we going?” I ask as it starts to descend .

“You’ll see,” he replies cryptically.

I huff, but I’m not really annoyed. Mostly giddy. This is already the best date I’ve ever been on.

The elevator stops a few seconds later, only a few floors down.

I stiffen when the blonde who visited Kit at work walks in. Sadie … something.

I know there were other women before August. Since she visited him at work and apparently lives in his building, I’m guessing Sadie’s on that list. And I can trust him and love him and feel secure in our relationship and also be jealous.

I was jealous the last time I met Sadie, too, I just refused to admit it.

“Hey, Kit,” she greets sunnily.

“Hi, Sadie,” he replies.

Her eyes jump to me next. I’m expecting aloofness, maybe even rudeness, but she startles me by laughing. “ Oh . Okay. You were right.”

I glance at Kit, but he says nothing. One corner of his mouth is curved up though, like he’s restraining a smile. Inside joke, I guess?

“Hi. I’m Collins,” I say, not sure what else to contribute to the strange interaction.

Kit hasn’t mentioned Sadie since the day she visited, but they seem … close.

“Oh, I know,” she replies. “We met at Kensington Consolidated, remember? You’re Kit’s assistant.”

“I remember. But I don’t, uh … I’m not his assistant anymore.”

Sadie nods. “Good for you. It seemed like a stressful job.”

I’m not sure how to respond to that, and we stop in the lobby a few seconds later.

“Have a great night,” Sadie says, stepping off. “Nice to see you again, Collins. ”

“You too,” I respond, my smile slipping as soon as the doors close.

Kit makes an amused sound in the back of his throat.

I glance at him. “What?”

He shrugs. “Nothing. Just a tickle.”

I press my lips tightly together as the doors open again, this time in the garage.

I have no real reason to feel jealous. But it’s the same irrational surge I experienced when I saw him sitting alone out on the patio with that brunette.

I’d walked in on Isaac actively screwing someone else, and I was hurt and pissed, but I wasn’t jealous.

I never handed my ex the power to truly hurt me. Kit holds that ability.

“Which one do you want to take?” Kit asks, nodding to the line of vehicles parked ahead.

“What do you mean?” I scan them, looking for the sports car. “Which one is yours?”

His grin is boyish and a little sheepish. “All of them.”

“All of—” I study the row more carefully, counting eight and only recognizing two. I figured the car we drove to New Haven was a rental or something. I didn’t know he owned two cars. Along with six others.

The penthouse has started to feel like home, not a really nice hotel I won a stay in. But I still haven’t grasped the enormity of how much money Kit has. I’m not sure I ever will.

“You pick.”

He nods, walking toward a sleek black car. He pauses to grab something off the tire. Keys, I realize, when the lights flash.