Chapter 78

#Chapter 78 – Late Night Chats Two hours later, I pour Victor his fifth glass of whiskey.

“This has gotta be the last one, Evelyn,” he says, his words only slightly slurred. But his face is happy, a little pink from laughter and drink.

“Penultimate, at best,” I say, winking at him and making sure it’s an extra-generous pour.

“Enough!” he says, laughing and pulling his drink away so that just a little whiskey spills on the floor.

“You’re trying to get me drunk, woman.”

“That is the name of the game,” I say, wrinkling my nose at him.

We’re still settled on the couch, long ago having carried the whiskey decanter, an extra bottle of wine, and some snacks over to the coffee table so that we don’t have to get up for refills. I’m wrapped in my favorite white knit blanket, curled up amongst the pillows, but Victor clearly feels no such need for warmth.

He’s seated casually, close to me, his one arm stretched along the back of the couch, the other holding his whiskey glass steady on his knee. His long body lounges, one of his legs stretched on the floor, the other tucked up beneath him. He’s smiling at me and I smile back, pleased to see him having some fun.

“When’s the last time you did something like this,” I say, taking another sip of wine.

“Like what?” he asks.

I shrug. “Like stayed up late, drinking, talking. Holding court in your own little secret pocket of the world, where nobody knows you’re here, where you can say anything you want and know that you’ll be heard.”

Victor shrugs and looks down at his glass. “I can’t remember,” he says, but I sense that he’s lying.

“What about you?” he asks, meeting my gaze again.

“Me and Delia used to do it sometimes,” I say, smiling at the memory. “In graduate school, when the boys were really little. They’d go to bed and we’d share a bottle and talk about all the things we wanted to do with our lives. It was nice.”

I give him a little kick. “So tell me,” I say. “I know you were lying before when you said you don’t remember.”

“Honestly?” He says, looking at me seriously. “It was probably that night with you, six years ago. The last time I was tucked away from the world, talking quietly with someone all night.”

I pause, surprised and a little touched. I suppose I remember…other things, from that evening. But it’s true, we did stay up talking, laughing, until the sun came up.

I blink back to the current moment and hurry to think of something to say. “So,” I begin awkwardly. “You and Amelia, you guys never…” I gesture around at the pleasant scene, encompassing drinks, laughter, intimacy, long secret talks.

Victor considers and shakes his head. “Honestly, no. Amelia and I don’t actually talk that much. Not like…deep conversations. We agree on pretty much everything, so it almost feels like…there’s not much to be said.” He shrugs and taps a finger on his glass. “At least, it used to feel that we agreed on everything.”

Not wanting the night to turn to further awkward subjects, I rush to lighten the mood. “Well, I’m pleased to be the one to usher you back into the tradition of the late-night drunk chat.” I say, laughing a little.

“And actually, I don’t think that night six years ago counts anyway. We weren’t drinking.”

He looks me dead in the face and raises an eyebrow. “As I recall it, we didn’t do that much talking, either.”

Any other day and I would have blushed at the memory, but tonight the wine has loosened my inhibitions, as well as my tongue. I laugh at him, blatantly. “We did too talk!” I say, kicking him again.

“We talked about all sorts of things, in between…” here I do blush, a little bit, but I refuse to let shame take over. It’s a happy memory.

“I remember,” Victor says, smiling, his voice low. “I remember lots of things about that night.”

The laughter falls slowly from my face and I take another sip of wine, studying him in the darkness, as he stares at his drink, in this secret moment where it feels like it’s just the two of us alone in the world.

The silence falls, peaceful, between us.

But I break it.

“What do you remember?” I ask, my voice low, velvety.

Victor raises his gaze to meet my eyes. Then he takes a long swallow of whiskey. “I remember the way my mouth went dry, seeing you cross the room in that ridiculous scrap of silk you were pretending was a dress.”

I smirk, holding my wine glass up against my mouth, enjoying the cool feeling of it against my lips.

“Must have been thirsty. I remember you trying to get away from me, after we started dancing. Were you going for a glass of water?”

“I didn’t want water. I only wanted you.” He fastens my eyes with his own as he says it, not blinking, not even once.

We stare at each other, our breath matching. As he breathes in, I breathe in, so that we are almost as one, existing together. It’s unbearable, in its clarity, it’s simplicity.

I tear myself away, letting out a long breath and turning my face away. I close my eyes, debating, and then down my glass of wine. Then, I declining to pay attention to the logical thoughts pounding in my head – he’s a mated man! He’s engaged! His wedding is in TWO WEEKS, EVELYN – turn my face back to him and look up at him from beneath my lashes. I don’t say a word.

A muscle in Victor’s cheek flickers as he clenches his jaw, looking down at my face, his glance slipping lower, moving across my body, hungry. I let the blankets fall from my shoulders, , closing my eyes and slipping my body closer to him on the couch, draping my legs over his own, my shoulders now well within the curve of the arm that he rests on the back of the couch.

I don’t know what’s taken over me at this point – something primal, true, real – something that makes me want – need – to be close to him in this moment. “I wanted you too,” I whisper, placing my head on his shoulder, my face resting against his chest.

“Evelyn,” Victor says, his voice low, a sensuous growl. I can feel his tension and put a hand on his chest, seeking to calm him.

“No, Victor,” I whisper, my eyes closed. “We…can’t. We can’t. But we can have this moment. Please, don’t say anything. Don’t make me get up, just for a moment. Let’s stay just like this.”

He pauses, and then moves the arm from the top of the couch to rest lightly on my back. He relaxes and I feel him lean forward to breathe in the scent of my hair.

“Victor, what happened yesterday,” I sigh, finally letting the memories of the past two days come back to me, finally feeling safe enough to face them. “Why was I able to break my father’s command and go to you?”

“I don’t know, Evie,” he says, slowly beginning to stroke my back.

“But you knew,” I whisper. “You knew that I could. How did you know?”

I can feel him shake his head, his lips brushing against my hair. “I just knew, Evie. I know that there is…

something…here…” his voice fades off, perhaps not knowing how to describe it. Perhaps unwilling to voice it.

“I know it too,” I murmur, pressing my face closer against his chest, placing one small kiss there against his collar bone. “Thank you, Victor. Let’s stay like this, just for a moment.” I barely say the words, enjoying the feeling of him lightly stroking my back, over and over. “just…a moment…”

The sound of someone clearing their throat awakens me. I blink slowly, pulling my heavy head up off of Victor’s chest. Where…

The night comes back to me – so much wine, so much lovely conversation – and I smile, stretching my arms above my head, yawning, my eyes closed. My nose is still filled with Victor’s lovely pine and winter scent.

But something else is in the air too. Peonies….

I blink again, focusing, seeing… a pair of feet in front of me. Pretty feet, their nails painted, in chic leather sandals. Then, moving my eyes upwards, I see a pair of gorgeous, impossibly long legs – a couture dress – fashionable gold necklace – and, finally, Amelia’s livid face.

“Um…” I say, pressing my lips together and tucking my messy hair behind my ear. “Good morning, Amelia.” I nudge Victor hard with my elbow.

“Ow,” he says, frowning at me as he blinks awake. “What did you –“

I open my eyes wide and subtly nod my head to the left. His own head snaps up, looking directly into Amelia’s rage-filled eyes.

“Victor,” she says through clenched teeth, her arms clasped tight across her chest. “Can I have a word with you. In the kitchen.”

Victor slowly removes his arm from its place around my body. I slide my legs off of his, awkwardly scooting back so that he can stand up.

“Yes, Amelia,” he says, looking firmly down at her. “What is it.”

“I want her,” she says, flinging a pointed finger directly at me. “Out of my house. NOW.”