I’ve never had an issue with Klaus in my house or my space. I love him there.
But this feels so much more intimate that it takes his hand squeezing mine to grab my attention. “Are we going to go in or just stare at the door? Not that I don’t like the woodwork, but…”
He lingers on that, brows arching in question.
“It is a nice door, isn’t it?” I lean back and cross my arms, bringing my fingertip to my chin and tapping it. I stare at the door like it’s the world’s most magnificent art painting and hum.
“Smartass.”
He goes first, opening the door and I close my eyes, picturing the cream duvet with the black iron bed. The old-world style dresser and desk that was passed down through generations.
“This is… not at all what I imagined.”
Inside, I cringe. It can’t be that bad to him. I remember the room being done modernly but calmly as well. Opening my eyes, I follow him into my room and my jaw almost hits the new, dark wood floor. Where did my peach rug go?
“What the hell?”
I lean back out down the hall and check I’m in the right room. Nothing, absolutely nothing inside my old room is what it used to be. It’s only been a year since I’ve been back to visit but everything has changed.
In the place of my old queen bed is a new king-size mattress framed with a massive, dark wood four-poster bed. The walls are a light, gray-blue, reminding me of a beach-themed condo I stayed at once, and the linens on the bed are so stark white they almost blind me. Above the bed is a painting that looks like it could have come from the shores of Hilton Head Island. Other than the artwork, the room is a clean slate.
Klaus turns me, face twisted with an adorably confused look. He’s the only thing I recognize in my bedroom. “You grew up in a hotel room?”
That’s exactly what this room looks like.
“No,” I huff, but it’s exactly what it looks like. I spin in a slow circle, taking in our luggage that’s been placed to the side of the closet door. I assume my garment bag is already hanging because it’s nowhere to be seen. “I suppose it makes sense for them to redo it at some point, but this is…”
“Cold.”
“Impersonal.”
“Barren and void of any personality. Like your mom.”
I snicker. He has her pegged perfectly. “At least this way you don’t have to see my embarrassing artwork or pictures of me at high school dances. I should thank my parents for sparing me that humiliation.”
“I bet you were adorable.”
Puppies and kittens are adorable. Awesome. I head toward one of my suitcases. The two large ones stacked next to Klaus’s small bag makes me shake my head. It’s possible nerves got the best of me while I was packing earlier.
“I’m going to use the restroom.” While I dig through the bag to find my makeup kit, Klaus plops down on the bed.
He’s so tall, with his body splayed out, he takes up all the room. Visions of me trying to find room on the bed with him pop into my head like popcorn kernels, short-circuiting everything I’ve been trying to forget since last week.
Like the way he felt so damn good on top of me. The way I’d been two seconds from gripping his shirt and tearing it over his head. Now, on my bed in my room that feels nothing like mine, his shirt has ridden up above his waistband, leaving a hint of tanned skin.
I’ve seen him half-naked lots of times. On our long runs together, he frequently removes his shirt and tucks it into the waistband of his shorts. Sure, the first time he did it, I tripped over a perfectly flat road, scratching my palms and digging myself into an embarrassed hole. But like always when I act ridiculous around Klaus, he took it in his easygoing stride.
He moves on the bed, and his arms that were flung out to his sides slide behind his head, so he’s propping up his head, hands linked beneath the back of his head, elbows out.
That grin on his face tells me he saw me salivate over that stretch of exposed skin. The move he’s done now only makes it worse.
“I thought you were going to use the restroom.”
“Right.”
I duck into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I’m already breathless, and when I glance at my reflection, I look a complete, turned-on and lustful mess. My eyes are glazed and my pupils almost takeover the blue of my irises. And my chest? My heart is beating so fast I’m afraid it might leap from my rib cage and land on the floor. I settle my hand there, trying to calm my breathing, but it’s no use.
How in the hell am I going to return home after this week and have things between Klaus and I go back to normal?
His stealth kisses that come from nowhere and take over all manner of rational thought might ruin me forever.
And yet, isn’t that what I’ve always wanted? To be ruined by Klaus? To have him see me?
How many times have I wanted him to wake up one day, look at me, and see with sudden clarity everything we’ve been missing out on?
If only the fairy tale Klaus wove for Nana’s benefit and for anyone else who asks isn’t something I truly dream of happening.
Is it actually possible I can turn this weekend of feigning love into a reality?
Am I willing to risk everything we already have to end up realizing he’s only acting for my sake?
I retie the thin belt at my waist. I should change for this ridiculous farce of tea time, like we’re from the British royalty instead of ancestors of soldiers who fought for America’s freedom from tyranny. I’ve tried explaining the hypocrisy of this to my mom many times since learning of our ancestor’s part in not only the American Revolution, but the Civil War, to no avail.
She wants to pretend she grew up wealthy? There’s really no harm in letting her. It all just seems more pomp than circumstance to me and something I’ve always despised.
Possibly another reason why Roman prefers Julianna.
She lives for pomp and flash and pageants and waving her dainty hand on a floral float or from a yacht. Whichever. As long as she gets the precious attention she desires, she’s happy as a clam.
There’s a quiet knock on the door, and I hesitate until Klaus calls my name.
“What is it?” I open the door and once again find myself gaping at him. He’s already changed into a pair of slick gray slacks and a white shirt. He has a thin, gold chain at his throat with Sweden’s flag that nestles right at the divot at the base of his throat. It’s a homing beacon for the softest part of his skin.
“Do you need to use the restroom?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I’m lying. He sees it.
“Liar, you’ve been in here not making a single sound and you always bang around in the bathroom. Besides the fact you fled in here so fast you almost smacked your head against the doorway.”
“Nothing’s wrong, Klaus. This is all just… overwhelming.” I flip my hand in the air and let it fall to the side.
“Something got you wrapped up tighter than my hockey sticks before a game in the five minutes you’ve been in here and that’s fucking ridiculous.”
“Wow. Thanks.”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s ridiculous because you have nothing to get riled up about. Julianna is a cardboard cutout imitation of every socialite you’ve said you don’t want anything to do with, and Roman is the slimeball who threw away a good thing. He tossed aside a beautiful woman with a heart of gold for someone who will say yes sir, for the rest of his life. You’re better than them, and you’re more than either of them could ever imagine to become.”