Page 7 of Savannah Royals
“You work long hours at a thankless job you don’t need, so either you have a savior complex or you’re compensating for something. Youngest child—”
“I never told you that,” he interrupts.
“No, but I remember it now.” I tap my lip again. “Youngest child, second born son…successful older brother groomed to take over the family business…yes…definitely a compensation complex, no doubt about it. Did Mommy and Daddy not love you enough?”
“Okay, Freud. I think we’ll call it there.” He rises from the railing, no longer amused.
I mock pout. “Is our game over? It’s just turning dilly.”
“It really is. Perhaps it’s my turn now?”
A challenge in his eyes grabs my attention. It’s wholly unexpected, a deviation from the usual song and dance.
I chew the inside of my cheek. Part of me wonders what he’ll say; another part doesn’t want to care.
Curiosity wins out. “Sure.”
“Well, let’s see…” He begins to tick off his fingers. “You didn’t know who I was when I came to your table, which is unusual, to say the least. You’ve successfully dodged nearly every question I’ve asked. And you’re a fourth-year like the others in there, right?”
I nod.
“So together, that means you’ve got your ducks in a row. You’ve got some poor sap in your sights, and by year-end, you’ll have a big sparkling diamond on your finger. Then you’ll move to a sprawling house in the country and make lots of pretty babies. Am I right?”
“Actually, you couldn’t possibly be more wrong,” I answer, annoyed by his shallow appraisal.
“Shocking! A superficial assessment based on assumptions and stereotypes iswrong?” He looks deliberately at me.
I smile, only a little contrite. “You’re clever. It’s fun.”
“Yeah, it’s been a gas.” He runs a hand through his blond hair as he takes a step back.
But because I understand people—especially men—all too well, I step forward to close the distance between us.
“You liked it,” I tell him.
“Maybe I did.” His smile is coming back, mirth brewing in his blue eyes. “But only a little.”
“You can’t check off the standard boxes with me, like you do with the others.” I jerk my head toward the tearoom. “And it kills you to not have me all figured out. It’s part of your complex, remember?”
He’s silent, listening, watching me closely. Riveted.
Predictable.
“I’m bored,” I say. “I’m going inside. You can watch my backside as I walk away, I won’t mind.”
I hear his surprised laughter, but I don’t look back. I don’t need to.
He calls out just before I slip inside. “For what it’s worth, my mom and dad loved me plenty growing up. And my ‘successful’ older brother is a piece of work. Just like you.”
Eating from the palm of my hand.
CHAPTER TWO
Thefourth-yearopenhouseconcludes just before noon, leaving my afternoon free. I trot back to my bedroom suite after the last guest departs, seeking to exchange the stifling, antiquated morning gown for something more comfortable. When I reach the door, my roommate Melinda is at my heels.
“What’re you gonna do with the rest of the day, Kat?” She’s practically breathing down my neck.
“Going, Mellie. What am Igoingto do with the rest of the day,” I tirelessly correct her, just like I always do. “Christ, Mellie, we’refourth-years.”
