Page 56 of Savannah Royals
“On Jones Street.”
It’s a very fancy reference, lots of old money townhomes. Near Raymond’s, actually.
“Maybe I’ll have the pleasure of stopping by sometime,” I say casually. “Since, apparently, there’s a revolving door policy.”
He laughs. “Definitely not a revolving door, Kat. One woman over the course of a year. And one before that in medical school.”
And just like that, he shares. So simple. So easy. So Matthew.
“Would you let me beat you at pool if I came over?” I ask.
“What?”
“You have a table, right? Ethan mentioned it at the picnic.”
“You have a good memory.”
“I always remember the things that interest me.” I try to inject some suggestion because we’ve been talking for a while, andtalkis not what I came here for tonight. Unchaperoned at long last. He doesn’t seem sure how to respond though, so I take the plunge and try again. “Will you show me around? I’d love to see more of the house.”
“Certainly.” He takes my arm.
The temperature is cooler in the hallway, but when he moves toward another room full of partygoers, I stop him.
“Matt. This house is full of empty rooms, but you want to keep me in the three that are full of other people?” I raise an eyebrow.
He glances over his shoulder, back into the room with his parents. “I don’t want to take advantage, Katarina. You’re a girl from the Academy. A lady. My parents would kill me.”
“I’m giving you the advantage, Matt. Trust me, you can take it.”
He takes a deep breath. “Would you like to see the library?”
“I’d love to. I’m avoraciousreader.”
As we walk down the corridor, away from the guests, I inspect the wall paintings with interest. I’m hardly an art critic, but I’m certain I spot a Rembrandt and a Degas hanging side by side. An ornate, mahogany end table displays a collection of antique snuffboxes beneath the dome of a stained-glass Tiffany lamp, and—good heavens!—is that a Fabergé egg in a gold stand? I momentarily close my eyes against the onslaught. This degree of wealth is staggering, and the man on my arm holds the keys to the kingdom owning it all.
How on earth, I wonder, is he so very unaffected?
In contrast, I feel rather faint.
When we pass the dimly lit, mirrored-wall foyer, I reach my hand out for another brush of the ivory banister, seeking the grounding of something tactile. It really is exquisite.
Matthew stops. “Ethan and I used to slide down that when we were kids.”
I look at it with renewed interest. “Seems like a dilly good time.”
“It was. Until once…” He takes my hand and drags me around to the base. “I rammed into Ethan, here at the end, and we crashed. I knocked my jaw into the molding. See how this wood is stained lighter than the rest?”
I do.
“They had to replace it. Somehow, it chipped when I landed. My mother was madder than a wet hen.”
“Ouch, sounds painful.”
“I knocked out two baby teeth and scratched up my jaw pretty good,” he declares proudly, “but no lasting damage.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” I graze my fingers across his chin and cheek, finally having an excuse to revel in the feel of his stubble. It’s absolutely delicious. “I really like this,” I tell him, fingering the scruff. Magnetized.
“I thought you liked me clean-shaven?” he whispers. “You asked about it once at the Academy.”
