Page 152 of Until I Own You

SETH

I haven’t been able to eat much. I stare down into my full plate, listening to clinking silverware.

Bridget’s foot taps against my ankle.

I look across the table to her. Her eyes are wide.

I shake my head in a subtle way.

It’s been a week since we decided we were going to make a go of our relationship.

As promised, I need to talk to Solomon to explain the situation to him and if I am to be honest, I’m terrified.

Solomon has never been anything but nice to me, but I can’t imagine he’s going to take the news that his stepson has been pursuing his daughter under his nose very well.

Still, I am pressing on.

“Delicious, Amelia,” Solomon says before patting his mouth off with his napkin.

My mom rolls her eyes. “You say that like I didn’t order in.”

“You put it on the plate so perfectly.” He squinches his nose.

I glance between the two of them.

They are lovers in a way that Bridget and I have yet to become. Of course, we have an undercurrent of a different kind. But if we are to make a life together, which I hope for more than anything, not everything will be Dom and sub. There will be so much more nuance.

So many things to explore…

But first, I’ve got to talk to her father.

Fuck.

“Yeah, she’s good at that. The plating thing,”

Smooth, Seth.

“Solomon, if you’re done, would you be able to chat with me for a few minutes?”

Solomon puts his napkin down and leans his elbow on the table. He looks at me through thin eyes, a cautious smile. “I knew it.”

My heart falls. “Kn-knew what?”

He wags a finger in my face. “You haven’t been able to stop eyeing my ship in a bottle since I showed it to you!”

Relief floods through me. Sort of. “Yeah, that’s it. I’m interested in learning your ways.” I glance at Bridget who has her face hidden in her hand. Guess this isn’t going to plan so far.

Solomon slaps a hand on the table and pushes himself to standing. “Come on. Let’s step into my office.”

Solomon gets to his feet and lumbers out of the kitchen and toward the office.

I give Bridget and my mother a final look.

Bridget still looks like a nervous wreck, but my mother is smiling with all the encouragement she can muster. She even touches Bridget on the shoulder as a show of support.

With every step, my anxiety says I can’t do this. So, I have to fight it.

I can do this. I can fucking do this.

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