Page 67 of The Perfect Mistake

“Oh,” I breathe. The desire to see it sweeps through me and I try to picture it, but I can’t. Alec Connovan losing control.

Alec Connovan pleasuring himself.

He looks at me like he can see that desire and more, but he’s true to his word. Until I say it out loud, he won’t go there. It’s a line I never expected him to draw. So far I’ve never needed to be too much of an “active” participant. Sex was something I did and something that happened to me, and I was fine with that. I could just go with the flow.

But just a taste of being with Alec, and I know I want more than that.

“Go,” he says and nods toward the locked door of his bedroom. “Or I’ll be tempted to break my own rules.”

I back up toward the door. He looks tortured, standing in the doorway to his en suite. His eyes locked on mine, and his hands clenched at his sides.

“Think of me,” I say.

He reaches down, gripping himself over his slacks. The sight makes my heart constrict.

“I always do,” he says.

Isabel

I’m next to Willa in the grand auditorium at St. Regis. She’s standing closer to me than she usually does, looking adorable with her hair twisted into braids. I’d done it up for her just half an hour ago in the girls’ changing room.

On stage, a child is playing a pretty decent rendition of Beethoven’s “Für Elise.” Much better than anything I’m capable of.

“Has he texted you?” she demands.

I look at my phone again, but there’s no new text from Alec. “No. He must still be struck in traffic.”

Her eyebrows are drawn down low, and there’s such an adult expression of disappointment on her face. But also a shard of something else in her eyes. She’s sad.

My heart breaks.

“I know he really wants to be here,” I say. “Do you want me to ask the director if we can switch the order? So you play last?”

She shakes her head. “We’re going by grades. I can’t switch.”

“Oh.”

Her arms cross over her chest, and for a horrible second, I see her lower lip start to quiver. We’re only minutes away from her onstage performance.

“He has to be here,” she mutters.

I have a terrible suspicion that she won’t go on stage unless he is. Shit.

I crouch down next to her. “Hey,” I say. “I’ll record the whole thing, you know that, right? If your dad doesn’t make it, he’ll still see it all later. We can watch it on the TV with you, and Sammy, and Katja. We can even invite Mac. Pop some popcorn.”

Her eyes light up for a moment before they narrow. “It’s because of you,” she says. There’s sharp anger in her voice. “It’s your fault that he isn’t here!”

I sigh. “I’m sorry, but it’s not. It’s traffic.”

And it’s his fault, I think. She’s angry, but she’s not the only one. He should have been here by now. I had triple-checked that the times for the piano recital were communicated to his assistant. Willa talked about it all week.

He knew.

Yet he still isn’t here.

Willa turns away from me with her arms still crossed, and I want to hug her. She looks so small in her pretty dress and braided hair, and her furious expression.

I understand her.

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