Page 44 of The Art of You

“Unpacking in the suite on the second floor of the pool house. He’ll follow up on some leads from there.” He set the ball down and rolled it, sinking it in the corner pocket. “I guess your brother wants privacy while we’re all staying here.”

Yeah, so no one hears his wife screaming his name during sex. At least one of us here is getting lucky.What a thing for me to be thinking about considering everything going on around me.

“So, it’s just us in the house right now?” I lowered my voice like that was a dirty little secret.

“Us and a few of the security detail rotating in and out of the home, yeah.”Stillno eye contact.

“Adelina tell you our theory about Clarke possibly working with Kit?” I asked after stifling a frustrated sigh.

“She did.” He set his back to the pool table, bracing his hands on the wood on each side of him. “As much as I hate the idea you’re being dragged into the political limelight for the sake of a headline because of my father, I’d sure as hell prefer that to the alternative.”

“You.” I pointed to him when hefinallylooked up at me. “Me.” My finger briefly landed on my chest. “Same boat.” I tried a smile to see if that’d do the trick to loosen this man up. “In your case, submarine.”

He closed one eye and faked a shuddery reaction. “I fucking hated those things. Leave it to me to discover I’m claustrophobic a day too late.”

“And here I thought you opted to go out for the Teams because it sounded cooler. All this time, it was because you were afraid of going down under.”

A light, genuine laugh fell from his lips, and I was relieved to see I could crack through his defenses without too much effort.

“So, um, what do we do now?” I asked when silence replaced the sounds of his laughter.

“We have orders to rest and recover and let everyone else handle things for today.” He stroked his jaw, his facial hair coming in even more since he’d last shaved on Friday.

I searched for something to lean against so I didn’t prove my family right, that I was too tired to stand without support. My gaze flicked to the camera in the room. Constantine had a security app on his phone and was probably checking it regularly. No sound in the room, at least.

“We’re not actually doing that, are we?” Before he could answer, I lifted my hand. “Let me guess, they voted and won.”

“Prettttty much.”

“Did you just drag out a word? Copying me now, huh?” I went over to the poker table and set my palms on the felt.

“You’re a horrible influence, what can I say?” Even-toned voice despite the tease. Were his walls already back up?

“Oh, the worst.” I did my best to soften him once again. “But um, what do we do with our time, then? I’m incapable of twiddling my thumbs or sitting on my hands. I need a distraction.”

His eyes narrowed on my mouth, and now I couldn’t help but imagine the perfect distraction—his lips on mine.

If Bianca was writing my story, she’d surely add in a stolen moment. Probably in a library instead of the game room, but I’d take it anywhere.

The second Hudson locked on to the bruise at my temple and the purple beneath my right eye, his jaw strained and the brood was back.

Bianca, cut me some slack here.I almost looked up at the ceiling, as if she could hear me and really was authoring this moment.I think we’ve had enough tension. I’m ready for him to give in to desire. For some fireworks.I had to give it a shot just in case. God had a sense of humor when it came to me, so anything was possible.

If only Bianca really could pen my life to paper. She’d give me a perfect happily ever after. I just wished her story had turned out with one as well.

“Are you going to keep staring at me like I’m a broken piece of pottery you have no clue how to fix?”

“You’re not broken. No fixin’ needed.” The husky sincerity in his tone and the way he peered at me almost had me believing that.

If only.“Are you going to tell my brothers about Pablo?” I hadn’t intended to pivot to another uncomfortable topic, but the second I’d thought it, out it came.

He shook his head, not taking any time to consider my question. “Your story to tell, not mine. That’s up to you if you share.”

Phew.“Thank you.” The blue felt of the poker table beneath my palms stole my attention and I remembered the first time I’d ever sat here. Felt like yesterday, not decades ago.

“What are you thinking about?” Brave of him to ask considering when it came to me, you never knew what kind of answer you’d get.

“My dad taught me to play poker when I was only seven,” I shared. “All of us kids, actually. We used to sit together at this table in the summers and play endless games. Instead of poker chips, or even dollars, he had us play with pennies and nickels.” I smiled at the memory, doing my best to hang on to the happy ones. It was hard never knowing when the sadness would try and steal them away. And inevitably, it always did.

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