Page 25 of Devoted (Love and Burlesque #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

KNIGHT

You’re the whole enchilada.

“ I t smells great in here.” Vivian’s voice carries through the kitchen as I set down the hot casserole dish fresh from the oven.

After my rehearsal with Dom, I came home, cleaned up, and got to work on preparing dinner for our non-date tonight.

When Vivian called it a non-date through text earlier, it irked me beyond reason.

Inviting her over was never intended to be only a sex call; it’s been nearly a week since I’ve seen her, and I want to spend time with her.

Twice already, I’ve let her take pleasure from my body with the sole expectation that she graces me with her presence. If tonight ended in a similar manner, where I’m only used for her pleasure, I would say “thank you” and ask when she’d like to use me again.

We may have a label of keeping things casual, but she’s wrong about this being a non-date. She is in my home, and I’m cooking her dinner when I don’t even cook for myself: this is a fucking date.

An overnight bag slung over her shoulder, Vivian enters the kitchen with a shy smile.

Her blonde hair is pulled back with a hairband, and she looks as stunning as ever with her pajamas already on.

My chest tightens at the sight. I’ve never known her to be shy about anything, and I’m honored to see an expression just for me.

She’s not the only one who is nervous for tonight.

We are still treading dangerous territory here, even with our agreement to remain casual.

I should have realized my traitorous lie the moment I muttered the suggestion.

There isn’t a scenario where I don’t fall in love with this woman, not when the feelings have been there from the moment I saw her.

“Are those enchiladas?” Vivian asks, appearing beside me.

I must have drifted enough to miss her crossing the kitchen.

The kitchen is only dimly lit, since I am not one for bright overhead lighting.

A cozy feeling spreads through my body, but I refuse to acknowledge any other contribution to the feeling other than the warm lighting.

“Yes, it’s one of the only dishes I know how to cook,” I reply. “Thanks to your brother.”

Her arm bumps into mine as she cautiously dips a finger into the enchilada sauce and brings it to her plump lips.

A little moan sounds from her as she tastes the sauce, and I’m incredibly proud of myself. It might be the easier version of Alek’s recipe, but it still requires a lot of work and focus on my part, so I’m delighted to see she enjoys it.

“That’s really good.” Turning to face me, Vivian peers through her long lashes while her hand covers mine, still resting on the oven handle. “You cooked for me?” she asks, and the way the question sounds has me wondering if she hasn’t experienced this from a partner before.

“I did, but I want to apologize preemptively for the food not being as good as Alek’s.” With a tip of my lips, I take a second to appreciate the difference in our height as we stand face-to-face.

Stripped bare of her usual work attire and fashion accessories, the top of her head barely reaches the bottom of my chin. It’s hard to believe all that personality is packed into a tiny, feisty package.

“I can’t wait to eat it.” She leans her hip onto the counter, going silent as it looks like she turns a thought over.

“Did Alek teach you how to cook when you guys dated?” she asks, and I should be surprised she would be so bold to outright ask about my short-lived past with her brother, but not much she does surprises me anymore.

“It was the one recipe that stuck, and I assumed it would be something comforting you might enjoy,” I reply, leaving the conversation open if she wishes to continue her questioning.

A part of me is afraid this might be too awkward for her, even though what happened with Alek feels like lifetimes ago.

“That’s really sweet, Knight. What can I do to help set up for dinner?” Vivian asks, already shuffling to open up some of the cabinets. I point out where the plates and silverware are stored, and she begins to gather the items. “I already knew about your past with Alek, by the way,” she comments.

“Is that so?” I focus on splitting the enchiladas into groups of two.

“At least Alek’s side of it. He’s kind of a gossip, but he respects his friends too much to throw their business out there,” she replies as she brings over our two plates.

“I would say that’s an accurate assessment of him.” I let out a small laugh before balancing enchiladas on our plates. “I’m not shying away from the subject if there is more you wish to know.” Catching her eye, I try to reassure myself that I am ready to talk about that time of my life with her.

Turning around, she heads over to the opposite side of the counter and sets our meals down in front of the black barstools. “I lived in that house, too. I didn’t have it nearly as bad as Alek and T, but I was there,” she begins.

Her hands are flat on the gray marbled counter, like she is bracing herself to continue. Rage simmers beneath my skin when she mentions the mistreatment of the Delgados by their parents.

“I understand why Alek would want to get away and how he’d take any means to do it.

I would never judge my brother for working as a sex worker or for taking clients,” she pauses, moving her gaze from the marble counter to meet my face instead.

“And I’d never judge someone for seeking out companionship after a divorce. ”

So she knows at least some of my story. She knows and she understands. My queen is as compassionate as she is fierce.

I fear I’m too overwhelmed to give her a proper reply. Too often, I find myself speechless in her presence. All I can do is give her a small nod, hoping my expression can speak the words currently stuck in my throat.

Thank you for truly seeing me.

“Drinks in the fridge?” she asks, already walking over to the refrigerator before I can answer her.

I know it’s a way to clear the air and continue our night away from the heavy conversation.

She opens the door and stops mid-reach. “You seriously got all the drinks I like?” Her deadpan look nearly makes me laugh.

“They were on sale at the grocery store.” I shrug, walking over to grab a drink of my own and the toppings for our entrées.

“I’m sorry, but you don’t look like a guy who would worry about things being on sale, much less do your own grocery shopping,” Vivian remarks, but takes a zero-sugar Sprite from the fridge nonetheless. “What don’t you know about me?” she asks as we walk over to the kitchen island.

“I’ve studied you very well, but I’m a man who thinks it’s important to always keep learning.” I smirk, pulling out the stool for her as I set down the prepared toppings. “For instance, learning what toppings you’d like on your enchiladas.”

“I’d like to think I’m an open book, can you say the same about yourself?” she asks, hopping a fraction to reach the barstool seat, making her thighs jiggle with the action. Instantly, I’m prepared to let this food go cold while I feast on her instead.

“I can say that I am giving it an honest shot,” I reply. Waving my hand at the food, I insist she pick her toppings before I get mine. “Do you have any questions you’d like to ask me?”

Vivian hums, thinking as she sprinkles cilantro onto her food. “Have you dated any other men?” I can tell from her expression, her head tilted in curiosity, that she isn’t judging, but is genuinely interested.

“No, it was a quick-lived foray for me.” I take a bite of my food after covering it with avocado.

“You’re not into men, then?” Vivian asks between bites of her food. She seems to like what I’ve made her, and I secretly hope she asks for seconds.

“I can admire the beauty and the aesthetics of men,” I admit. “But I’m not keen to do much beyond look, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, I get what you mean,” she replies between bites of food.

After taking a few bites of my own, I ask a question I’ve been curious about since I first started watching her in her apartment. “And you? How long have you known you are bisexual?”

She wipes at her lips and laughs behind a napkin. “It’s that obvious?”

“You have a bisexual pride flag hanging in your workroom, darling. Though I almost missed it completely when you were making a show of yourself for me the other night.” Licking my lips, I set down my fork and twist my body toward her.

“If you want season two of that show, you’ll stop with that smirk,” she laughs, but her sideways gaze sends a hint of warning.

“I guess I’ve known since I was about nine?

That was around when Alek left home, and I was terrified of what it could mean for me if my parents found out I was like him.

” She exhales deeply after sharing her story.

“I’m sorry you went through that,” I respond. Deciding she is too far away for my liking, I wrap my fingers around the edge of the stool and pull her so she nearly sits in my lap. I want to comfort her and make all the wrongs she’s experienced in life disappear.

“Once I finally got the courage to stand up to them and move out,” Vivian continues, and I rest my hand at the small of her back.

“Well, I was so grateful when Alek let me live with him while I worked and went to school for my design degree. I kind of felt bad that it took me so long to leave. At twenty-two, I was still in their clutches and hardly independent. I also missed the hell out of my brothers.”

Food forgotten, I give all my attention to Vivian.

Her story is one of courage and discovery, having gone through so much at a young age.

She continues talking about graduating from design school last summer and starting to work at The Garden of Eden.

I berate myself for not being more involved at the club until that fateful day when I needed Alek’s help… the same day I first laid eyes on her.

Seeing her made me a believer in destiny.

Perhaps her childhood is why I’ve resonated so much with her, despite how illogical it might seem to a person on the outside looking in.

My childhood and adolescent story isn’t one I’m willing to share so easily—so bravely—as Vivian has, but I feel the draw to open up to her.

Without a doubt in my heart, I know she will understand.

The wall I’ve built around myself still stands, even when Vivian is at the front, demolishing away with a hammer. It’s only a matter of time.