Page 12 of Red Velvet

"And now?" I hear her soft voice behind my back.

I turn to face her, pointing to a table nearby. "Now we'll sit and talk while you drink your water."

She raises an eyebrow at me but heads to a chair. Her motions are still unstable and lack purpose, but I can tell she's trying to pull herself together. Her dainty fingers grace along the side of the tabletop as if she was seeking support while sinking into one of the chairs, spilling a little water on the clear white surface as she places the glass in front of her. Her gaze follows me as I sit down facing her, my drink finding its place next to hers.

We're very close, but not as close as we were on the balcony. Yet.

"So, Lila—"

"How do you know my name?" She looks alarmed.

I shrug. "Is it a secret? You're the bride's sister. Pretty much everyone here knows your name."

"Wrong," she objects. "You didn't. We've never met before."

I shake my head, but before I can say another word, she blurts out, "At least tell me yours, too."

"Kade, my name is Kade."

She seems surprised that I responded to her request.

"Kade what?"

"Kade Armitage."

We frown at each other, and I can see her mind working, still trying to figure out who I am or what kind of relationship I could possibly have with either her sister or the groom.

Good luck, little girl.

"How come I've never seen you before?" she asks eventually. She looks tense, her shoulders up to her ears and her arms crossed in front of her chest. I don't like this defensive stance on her.

"Is that really the most pressing question you have for me right now?" I retort, relishing the way she twitches at my words.

"What else would I ask you?"

I shrug, shifting closer to her so our knees touch. She doesn't move away and keeps her legs just the way they were before, but I can tell it takes a lot of strength for her to do so.

"That's what you're getting wrong here, Lila. You're not the one to ask questions. I am," I tell her, catching her anxious gaze even though she tries to shy away. "Is that clear?"

Her lips part ever so slightly, giving room to nothing but a silent gasp. Is she appalled? Intimidated? Aroused? Possibly all of those things—which I’m sure is confusing to her right now. Her red lips move as if she's about to speak, but no sound escapes her.

"Good," I say, ignoring the fact that she never gave me a clear response. "Now, I have a question for you. Was I right?"

She pinches her eyebrows and clears her throat, as if she's just been woken from a trance. "About what?"

"About what I said on the balcony," I clarify. "About you not liking nice boys."

An audible exhale is all the response she gives.

"You can act indignant all you want. It doesn't matter," I say. "I know what I saw, what I sensed when I put my hand around your beautiful neck. I've seen that look before, the way your eyes widened, the way you sighed, the way you—"

"All right, all right." She waves her hands as if to shoo me away. "So what if I liked it? It was still… wrong. You shouldn’t have done it."

I can't suppress my laugh at her ramblings. "I disagree."

"Why did you do it? Why did I like it? It's weird! People don't." She shakes her head as if in disbelief. "People don'tdothat."

I place my palm on her shaking hand, gently squeezing as it disappears in mine. Instead of fighting me off, she releases a sigh that almost sounds like relief.

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