Page 43 of One Bad Knight

“He’s moved around a lot,” I explained for him.

“Army brat?” Gabe guessed.

Gatsby grunted. It might have been to keep from choking on his food, but my family took it to mean assent.

When Gatsby finished cleaning his plate, he sat up to find everyone looking at him. I poured myself some more French roast, as I sorted out the warring feelings I had sitting between the perfectly proper family and the man I let do bad, unspeakable things to me.

“What did you think of Kat’s gallery show last night?” Gatsby asked.

Suddenly I wanted to shrink into my seat until I disappeared. The sting of my uncle’s critique was still fresh.

When my uncle had seen my painting,the Boy in Darkness, he’d known it was the same boy I’d spoken of as a child. He sharply whispered to me that I needed to control myself before people found out. That his entire reelection was at risk. Then asked if I only cared about myself?

The shame burrowed to my core.

My uncle set his elbows on the table and threaded his fingers together. “It was… fun.” His tone suggested it was anything but.

“Why weren’t you two there?” Gatsby asked my cousins.

I sunk a little further in my seat, but my eyes lifted, wanting to know the answer. I’d never asked them anything like this before.

An uncomfortable silence descended on the room as Gatsby pinned them with his probing gaze.

“I had to work late.” Dave glared at Gatsby before throwing me a lofty excuse. “Sorry, Katherine, had I known sooner, I would have been there.

“I sent you an email a month ago. You replied that your assistant would block off that time,” I said, not believing I spoke up.

“I did?” Dave said it as if it were a question, then said more resolutely, “I did. She did. But work interfered. You know how it goes, Katherine.”

I didn’t. But I couldn't say his excuse surprised me.

Still, I opened my mouth again. “You couldn’t be there one time? How many of your polo matches and fundraisers have I shown up to?”

“Are you really her assistant?” Gabe asked Gatsby, turning the conversation around.

“No,” Gatsby said.

“He’s my boyfriend,” I rushed to fill in before he could say something inane, like he was my bodyguard. That led to too many questions.

The table went mute. Even Gatsby stared at me, as if he struggled to comprehend what I’d just said. I thanked the heavens he didn’t contradict me.

But I knew the shock wouldn’t last, so I grabbed Gatsby and yanked him up. “And we have some errands to run before tonight’s soiree. And Bear needs to go for a walk, so we’ll just get to it.”

I ushered Gatsby out of the room. As soon as I exited the breakfast room, Bear was there, his nails clip-clopping on the wood floors, excited he heard the W word. Once I had him leashed up, we went out through the garage.

Before I could hit the button to raise the door, Gatsby grabbed my arm. I dropped the leash. Bear sat down right where he was, as if he’d given him a command to wait patiently.

“You told them I was your boyfriend,” he said, searching my eyes, as if he couldn’t believe his own words.

“Well yeah,” I shrugged. He didn’t let go of my arm, and I didn’t mind. “They will be less inclined to ask questions about that than if you were my bodyguard.”

Gatsby’s hand dropped, and I held either arm, trying to make up for the loss of his touch.

Whatever awe had been on his face was wiped away by his usual hard scowl.

“Why don’t you tell them, Kat?”

I didn’t like his tone. It warned me that he was about to push into one of my soft, vulnerable parts.