Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 107639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
I stared at him, barely remembering to help my aunt with her chair before turning to do the same for my cousin. Unfortunately, Kenji was on the opposite side of the table from me, making up the traditional boy-girl seating order most of us had naturally drifted toward.
Before I had a chance to study Nan and my father more closely, my aunt began her interrogations.
“I thought this—” She waved a hand between Kenji and me. “—was all for—”. She abruptly stopped speaking when the sous chef, who was clearly acting as server tonight, entered the dining room to begin serving the wine.
Aunt Lydia cleared her throat. “What I meant to say is, what do we know about the by-election, Everett dear? Has Teddy given you any idea of timing?”
At least this was a topic I could speak on. I explained the situation, my meeting with Teddy, his expectations for the process, and the PR campaign with the Winthrops.
“I don’t understand,” Lydia asked, setting her wineglass down carefully before allowing a carefully filled salad plate to be set in front of her. “Why are the Winthrops involved? What use have we for American new money?” She flicked a glance at Kenji. “No offense, Kenji.”
His dark eyes widened, and his nostrils flared, but he didn’t speak to oppose or excuse her.
“I’m offended,” Cora interjected with a polite smile on her face. “Jamie Winthrop is a nice guy. We’ve met several times at London Funders meetings. The Winthrop Foundation is doing good work with—”
Aunt Lydia made a huff of impatience. “Yes, yes. Fine. My point is they’re not involved with Parliament or the peerage. Why would they have anything to do with a Davencourt PR campaign?”
Kenji surprised me by speaking up. “Jamie and I returned together from San Cordova. The media is interested in some feel-good stories, and the PR team thought it would be a great way of getting Landry some positive press coverage. Two birds, one stone. Landry gets plenty of play as a doting husband, a caring friend, and an all-around good guy, without ever having to mention politics or Parliament.”
Cora grinned. “Exactly.”
Aunt Lydia seemed unable to counter his point, so she simply nodded before poking a bit at her salad. “Cora, dear, speaking of London Funders, Sir Malcom was asking after you. It turns out he is newly single after a breakup with… oh, what was her name? The one who showed too much décolletage at Ascot last year. Anyway, it hardly matters. He said he is looking forward to the Hearts of Hawling Dinner and hopes you’ll save him a dance or two. Isn’t that nice?”
“No, thank you, mother. Sir Malcom is not my type. Besides, I’ll be too busy running around putting out fires to promise anyone a dance.”
We spent the rest of the salad course with the two of them politely bickering about various titled men Cora should consider as husband material in the near future. By the time the main course was served, she’d poked me in the side of the thigh under the table with her fork twice.
I squawked the third time, finally realizing what she was attempting. “Yes, fine. So, ah, Nan… tell me about…” I inhaled, trying desperately to think about a new subject matter to introduce.
“Birds,” Kenji finally suggested. “And cats. Cora told me about the birds Olivia used to keep. Was Turkey around for any of that? If so, what did she think of them?”
Cora and I both shot him a look of gratitude as Nan began telling stories of the various animals who had inhabited Hawling House in the past couple of decades. In addition to saving us from more pointed questions from Lydia, it also made my father laugh, which was always good.
Unfortunately, it only lasted until the dessert course, when Lydia interrupted to pepper Kenji with questions about his background.
By the time the table had been cleared, my thigh was bruised from Cora’s fork, I’d called my aunt a regrettable name, and Kenji’s teeth were probably broken from biting back retorts to her rude questions.
None of that did a damn thing to distract me from the way I felt every time I looked at Kenji. There was something about seeing the man in his element, calmly parrying jabs and answering questions with calm efficiency, that was hot as fuck. I’d had my hands and lips on him three times that day, and it had only whet my appetite for more.
I was still too angry at him—and at myself—to actually do anything about it, though.
I said good night as politely as I could, rounded the table, and grabbed Kenji’s hand before pulling him up the stairs to my… our… room.
“I am so fucking sorry,” I said as soon as we were alone.
Kenji shrugged as he headed toward the dressing room, his slender shoulders and movement graceful as always. “She’s a product of her upbringing like the rest of us.”