Mom strolls in through the swinging dining room door and sweeps up the flowers Christopher brought. “Well, that explains Puck’s foray into the greenhouse.”
“Sorry about that,” Christopher mumbles. “He must have snuck in with me, and I didn’t notice.”
She pats his back gently. “It’s fine.”
As Mom sets them gently into a crystal vase, I realize that the flowers he picked—roses, dahlias, delphinium—are my favorites. Christopher picked my favorite flowers and made a bouquet.
Did he do it for me?
Glancing my way, Mom smiles. “Now, this is much better than Tweety Bird. That sweater on you is so lovely.”
“Thank you,” I tell her. “At least someone here likes my outfit.”
She frowns, glancing toward Christopher. “What’s wrong with what she’s wearing?”
“Nothing,” he grumbles, sawing viciously into the bread.
Mom shrugs, walking past me. “Either of you want some wine with dinner?”
“God, yes,” Christopher says.
“Just a splash,” I tell her as she sweeps up the bottle of white Christopher set on the counter and tears off the seal around the cork. “I shouldn’t have too much now, since I’m going out after dinner.”
The knife clatters to the cutting board. Christopher’s stare bores into me from across the island.
“Out?” Mom asks distractedly, struggling with the wine opener.
“Mm-hmm.”
Christopher rounds the island and says to her, “Let me.”
She steps aside and leans against the counter, wide smile, eyes sparkling. “Out where?”
“Fee’s maybe? A club? Who knows.” I return to the salad, sprinkling some chopped almonds across the top. Then I scoop up a handful of pomegranate seeds, adding those, too. “Wherever I go, I imagine it’ll end up being a wild night.”
The cork flies out on a loud pop. Christopher stares at me, jaw tight, fire in his eyes. “Of course. I forgot.”
Mom glances at him. “Forgot what?”
“That I’ll be going with her,” he says, unwinding the cork from the corkscrew.
My stomach knots. I have no idea what he’s talking about. Granted, I’m making up shit, whatever I can think of to provoke him, to get under his skin the way he’s gotten under mine. Maybe he’s just bullshitting right back to mess with me.
“Going with her?” Mom asks. “Why?”
“I asked Kate if I could keep her company tonight, make sure she can have fun and stay safe.” He glances over my mom’s shoulder, holding my gaze. “She said yes.”
Thank God my mom has her back to me. My eyes practically bug out of my head.
“Really? How sweet of you, Christopher,” Mom says to him. I wipe the shock off my face just as she glances over her shoulder at me, her eyes bright and happy. “Isn’t that sweet of him, Kate? What a gentleman.”
“Very sweet and gentlemanly.” Never to be outdone by Christopher, I force a bright smile at my mother as Christopher drags an empty glass his way, pours himself a hefty glug of wine, then throws it back like a shot. “He’s on a roll, lately. Christopher was such a gentleman last night that he saw me home after our paintball group outing and made sure my every need was met before he left.”
Christopher chokes on his wine.
Mom slaps him on the back. “Serves you right for shotgunning a gorgeous Sancerre like it’s moonshine. I’m going to take this with me and attempt to extricate Bill from the book I saw him pick up as soon as I left the room. Wish me luck.”
Sweeping up the bread Christopher half massacred and the wine bottle in the crook of her arm, she disappears through the swinging dining room door.
He watches the door fall shut, then rounds on me. “Give me a chance to explain first, before you go on some vengeful bender tonight.”
I hold his eyes, nerves coursing through me. “Fine. Explain, then.”
“I—” His eyes rake down me slowly, then slip shut. He hangs his head and pinches the bridge of his nose, blowing out a slow, heavy breath. “Christ, Katerina.”
“What?” I ask, hearing how defensive I sound, but frankly, it feels justified.
“I can’t think straight, let alone talk right now, looking at you.”
“Why not?”
He groans, dropping his hand. “You know what you’re wearing. You know how beautiful you look. And you know it’s killing me.”
Warmth crests up my throat and spills into my face. I set a hand against my cheek, trying to cool it. “Maybe I wanted to wear something . . . a little eye-catching. I was feeling vindictive. I woke up this morning, and you were gone, and I was . . . upset. I wanted to make you pay for leaving me like you’ve left every other woman you—”