Page 107 of Covenant

He huffs loudly. “No. You’ve met their public personas.” His fingers flex around the wheel, an audible squeak resounding through the cab. “Their personal ones are very different.”

I shift so I can see him a little better. “Okay, well, how has it gone taking other men to this kind of thing?”

A knuckle cracks loudly. “It hasn’t.”

“Wait. What does that mean?”

Matthias pulls through a set of wrought iron gates as equally grand as the ones that stand at our…his house. More armed guards stand there too. They wave us past without blinking. “It means you’re the first.”

I pretend that this doesn’t mean anything, keeping my heart in its protective cage. The place it needs to fucking stay if I have a hope of getting through this unscathed. And yet still, it beats loudly, frantically.

The first. I’m his first.

“Your first, huh?” I say, jokingly. “How exciting.”

He drives up in front of what can only be described as a mansion and turns off the engine. I stare at the elaborate front door for a moment until my eyes swivel to several other expensive cars around us. Bugattis and a Rolls-Royce. And there’s a car I’ve never heard of. Shit. Seems like we’re some of the last ones here. “Yeah,” Matthias says lowly. “You’re my first.”

There’s no joke in his voice. Not a drop of sarcasm, and for a moment my mind starts to stutter. “Wait, what? Fuck, Matt, were you a virgin when we hooked up?”

“Fuck no,” he says with a loud laugh, my question shocking him from his dark mood. “That’s not what I meant at all.”

“Good. Don’t scare me like that.”

“I promise to try not to. Now, come on, the others are waiting for us.”

Sure enough, a figure is hanging out of an upstairs window. Dalton, judging by the slicked-back hair, his smile wide and mischievous.

“Yo! Hottie with the body! Get in here.”

“Stop calling him that,” Matthias calls back. “Or I’ll slit your throat.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Dalton replies.

I step out of the car, waving at Dalton while simultaneously wondering what Matthias meant when he stated that I wasn’t his first sexual partner. I’m too caught up on it. I should feel relieved that he wasn’t a virgin, but I’m not.

I’m…upset. Which makes no fucking sense. Of course Matthias has been with other men. He’s the same age as me. I doubt he’s lived as a saint all this time.

So why does the picture of him with other men make me want to shove over one of these oversized and undoubtedly overpriced vases?

I mean, seriously, who the fuck has six-foot-tallvasesoutside their front door? A door, I might add, that requires you to walk up eight steps to get to it.

Wylder Buckingham, apparently. Or I guess his father.

I trail after Matt up the steps and touch the large vases. They don’t budge. Even if I tried to knock it over, I would probably look ridiculous huffing and puffing, trying to send it sideways. It’s a good thing I don’t. I’d never live it down.

Matthias peers over his shoulder at me. “You admiring the porch art?”

“This isn’t art. This is ridiculous.”

“Hm, don’t tell Wylder that. He loves these. Had them delivered from Florence.”

With that, Matthias walks right into the house, doesn’t knock, just turns the handle as if he belongs here. Which he does, I suppose. It’s his family home. It’s where he grew up, spent countless hours with his siblings.

And somewhere not far from here, he spent time outdoors—with me. So many memories out there, so many dreams.

As I step over the threshold, my eyes widen, not sure what to look at first. Matthias’s house has a lobby, but nothing like this. Is that a crystal chandelier hanging above us, and a water feature against the opposite wall? I’m not an art buff, but I’d bet my last penny that the masterpieces on every wall are originals.

I stare down at my worn shoes and my discount jeans. There’s no way I fit in here. The gala was bad enough, but at least that was an environment I’d been used to in my professional life. Plus then, I’d been dressed for the occasion.

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