SEVENTEEN ARABELLA

SEVENTEEN

Arabella

DINNER at the Lancaster residence is quite … entertaining.

Whenever I was at my parents’ house, which was never often and never for long, we rarely had dinner together. My father was always working late, or my mother would be out with her friends at some sort of party or gathering. Charity gala or bullshit ball. Most of the time I ate meals in the kitchen with the servants, who’d always watch me with pity filling their eyes.

Those rare times when we ate dinner as a family, my mother and father would mostly ignore me. They’d talk about their day and what happened, never really asking me any questions until near the end of the meal, when they’d realize that I was there and it was only polite to have me join in the conversation. I was an afterthought, always.

At the Lancasters’, the conversation is lively. Constant. And they include me in it, so I don’t feel like an outsider. Any private reference or inside family joke is explained by someone so I’m not left out and I love it.

Love it.

Rowan’s Uncle Grant is grumpier than he is, and I can see where he comes by it naturally. The man scowls at everyone at the table, save for his wife. He looks at her as if the sun rises and sets on her head, and that is the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. My romantic heart can barely take it. His parents are just as in love with each other, always sharing secret glances and fond smiles. I watch both couples unabashedly, enraptured with the way they speak to each other and include all of us. The adults at the table ask me plenty of questions, some I have no problem answering, while a few others make me a little uncomfortable. Such as the fact that Grant realizes he knows my parents.

“We’ve definitely crossed paths over the years,” he tells me. “My brother sold them their penthouse in Manhattan years ago,” he explains to me.

I hate the penthouse in Manhattan. It’s sleek and modern and cold as ice. “I have fond memories there,” I lie to him with a fake smile.

Grant bursts out laughing at my lie and shakes his head. “That apartment is very …”

“Cold?” I supply for him.

“Yes. That.” His gaze is full of sympathy, and I hope he doesn’t feel sorry for me. That is the last thing I want.

The food is amazing. Fine restaurant quality with a multitude of courses that grow more impressive every time the next dish is brought out. Dessert is a pumpkin cheesecake with caramel sauce drizzled over the top that has me moaning in delight every time I take a bite.

The look on Rowan’s face each time I moan is worth me making an extra big deal about dessert. He seems pained by my reaction and I love it. Sitting next to him is part of the bonus, though it’s also torture. Whatever cologne he’s wearing I don’t recognize because he doesn’t use it when we’re at school, and I want to take a giant bite out of him. But that would make me a cannibal and that’s literally disgusting so I restrain myself.

Barely.

When dinner is over and we’re leaving the dining room, Rowan touches my arm, causing me to stop and turn to face him.

“Sorry if they made you feel uncomfortable.”

I’m frowning. “Who? Your family? They’re wonderful.”

“Even my uncle?”

“Especially your uncle.” I smile at him. “He reminds me of you.”

Rowan shoves his hands in his pockets and I blatantly stare at him for a moment. The light blue shirt he’s wearing has a few buttons undone at the neck, giving me the perfect view of the strong column of his throat. The bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows. I take a deep breath, inhaling his scent as subtly as possible when he speaks.

“My dad says I need to entertain you this week.”

“Entertain me?” My voice is hollow, my imagination running wild. “Like how? Will you sneak into my room and kiss me for hours every night and it’ll be our dirty little secret?”

The moment the words leave me I’m pressing my trembling fingers against my lips, shocked. Embarrassed. He hasn’t said anything, and I feel like a fool for blurting my most secretive inner thoughts out loud. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“But you did.” He is grinning.

Might I add he’s grinning widely and looking terribly pleased with himself.

“But I did,” I whisper, shaking my head as I drop my fingers from my mouth. “Seriously. I don’t know why I said it. That’s not what I want.”

His brows shoot up.

“I don’t! I swear.” I mark an X across my heart with my index finger.

“That’s not a very friend-like thing to say, Bells,” he drawls.

I glance around, realizing we’re the only ones left in the dining room. I don’t know where Beau went but I’m glad he’s not nearby to overhear this conversation.

“Which part? Me saying I don’t want that or suggesting you sneak into my room and kiss me?”

“Both.” He’s smirking. Acting extra flirtatious this evening. I have no excuse for what I said but I think I’ll blame the house and everyone in it. It’s cozy here and makes me feel far more comfortable than I should.

“I beg to differ. I think you sneaking into my room so we can make out in my bed is an extremely friendly thing to say.” I laugh at myself because I am truly being ridiculous. “You know I’m joking, right?”

He doesn’t move or make a sound. Just continues to watch me with his hands in his pockets, looming in front of me. Big and broad and slightly intimidating, I must admit. I might even start quaking in my black suede ankle boots a little bit.

“Is this how you ended up having sex with Bentley Saffron Jones?” he asks.

My frown deepens. “What do you mean?”

“Did you suggest sneaking around with him and making out and next thing you know, he’s balls deep inside you?”

I rest my hand against my chest at his words. Balls deep? Lord, I don’t even think Bentley was two inches deep before he orgasmed. The boy could barely stick it in without coming too fast. “We didn’t really kiss.”

“You didn’t?”

“I mean, we did but here’s where I confess that he was incredibly bad at it.” I shake my head. “But I don’t want to talk about Bentley.”

“I don’t either.”

“Then why did you bring him up?” He always brings him up.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about what you told me—that you had sex with that guy,” he admits, his gaze dark as it lingers on mine. “And how fucking jealous it makes me feel.”

I am full-on gaping. Jaw unhinged and swinging like an old-timey puppet on a string. Did he really say that? I remember that he kept sipping from a highball glass of amber-colored liquid throughout dinner. He must be drunk. And his parents are okay with this? Oh my God, why am I thinking of his parents at a time like this?

“Jealous?” I squeak. I sound like a mouse. “You can’t be serious, Rowan.”

“I am very serious, Arabella,” he says without an ounce of hesitation. “I am baffled by the fact that you had sex with a guy named Bentley.”

“Don’t forget the Saffron part,” I remind him, my voice weak. “That makes it even more baffling.”

“True,” he agrees. “I feel like every time I talk to you, I peel back another mysterious layer.”

“Mysterious? Please. I am not mysterious.” I laugh.

Rowan doesn’t, of course. He rarely does if I’m being truthful, and I think that’s a little sad. “You are to me.”

I stare at him, all of my laughter disappearing. “You are to me too.”

He glances around the giant dining room, spotting the servants starting to clear the table at the same time I do. Withdrawing his right hand from his pocket, he gently grabs hold of the crook of my elbow and steers me out of the room, guiding me toward the massive staircase that leads to the west wing.

Where our bedrooms are.

His parents must be idiots to put our rooms so close together. They should’ve put me in the east wing or a guest house on the property under lock and key because oh, the look on Rowan’s face right now as he turns to study me once more is … feral. And he’s studying me with that feral expression like I’m a tasty treat he’s hoping to enjoy later.

My mind is spinning. How is this already happening? Maybe I should blame the alcohol that I think he consumed. Because he is acting like a completely different person than the Rowan I know on campus.

“Did you mean it?” he asks.

“Did I mean what?”

He drops his hand from my arm and I immediately miss his touch.

“That you hope I sneak into your room so I can kiss you for hours.”

My throat goes dry and my ability to speak completely leaves me. All I can do is nod my answer.

“And you really didn’t kiss that Saffron dude?”

“Only a couple of times,” I whisper, glancing around like someone might be lurking in the dark and overhearing my confession. “It was so bad, Rowan. The entire experience was terrible.”

“But you kept going back for more.”

“We were fifteen and stupid.” I throw my hands up in the air. “I was hoping it would get better. It didn’t.”

I can hear people talking and I realize it’s Rowan’s parents. They’re drawing closer. And Rowan realizes it too. He takes a step closer to me, bending down and dipping his head so his mouth is close to my ear. “Leave your door unlocked.”

That’s all he says before he walks away to speak to his mom and dad, leaving me standing at the base of the stairwell alone, my entire body trembling.

For him.