Drake leaned back on the couch, his arms spread wide on the back. He put his feet up on the coffee table, a huge wooden antique crate. Several magazines littered the surface, Architectural Digest, National Geographic, and the New York Review of Books. In that position, Drake reminded me of that first night at my apartment when he waited for me to make a choice – kiss him and signal I wanted to have sex with him, or do nothing and let the chance pass.
Was he doing that on purpose? Sitting like that? Offering me the choice to confess or keep the secret about Kurt?
Was I imagining a hint of disappointment in his expression?
Drake caught my eye. "Were you going to help Elaine?"
I stood there, frozen in place, wondering whether he'd turn on the television or find the paper when left alone.
"Of course," I said, stammering. I tried to force a smile, but couldn't and probably ended up looking pained instead of pleased. I left the room with deep reluctance, my muscles tense, my heart pounding. I should probably sit down and tell him what happened, but if he hadn't seen the paper, I didn't want to cause a scene right then.
I went into the kitchen and stood, staring at Elaine while she stirred the Alfredo in a saucepan. She turned to me. "Poor Katie," she said and put the spatula down. She came to me and took my hands. "Why don’t you tell him what happened? Better to get it out in the open rather than take the risk of him finding out on his own and misunderstanding."
"I'll tell him after lunch," I said, my voice a bit shaky. "I want us to have a nice time."
"OK," she said. "I put the paper in the magazine holder in case he thought about reading it. It was all I could do."
"Thank you," I said. We turned back to the stove and finished preparing the meal, Elaine adding heavy cream, Parmesan, and parsley while I fixed the fresh pasta. Finally, lunch was ready and we took the bowls and plates to the table in the dining room. I set our places and then went to get Drake. He was alone in the living room, the Weekly in his hands, the paper opened wide.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I stopped up short and my heart fluttered. He turned down one corner of the paper and glanced at me.
"Is lunch ready?" His voice was soft, with no hint of anger or upset.
"Yes," I said, relieved that he hadn't read page six or seen the photograph. "Come to the table. I'll get my father."
Drake nodded and folded the paper carefully, placing it on the coffee table and rising. I walked down the hall to my father's office, my body tense, and saw that he was still on the phone. I pointed down the hall to the dining room and mouthed 'Lunch is ready' to him. He nodded and held up two fingers, indicating he would only be two minutes. Then, he kept listening to whoever was on the other end of the line.
I went back to the dining room to find Drake standing behind a chair, watching as Elaine put the salad on the table. They were chatting about Liam, Drake telling her about Liam's transplant procedure.
He smiled when he saw me, and I finally relaxed a bit. He couldn’t have read the article yet or I was certain he'd be upset. He pulled out a chair for me and I sat, letting him move my chair in for me. He put his hands on my shoulders and leaned down, kissing my neck.
It was the first time I relaxed since the morning. I smiled up at him when he pulled the chair out next to me. Maybe we'd have a nice lunch with no drama at least. I didn't look forward to the conversation I'd have to initiate with him later, when we were back at the apartment, but for now, I'd try to enjoy the meal and company. He slid his hand over and took mine, threading our fingers together. It made my throat choke, a surge of affection for him that he wanted to touch me, needed to maintain a connection. My guilt about not telling him about Kurt – and Sunita's video – grew even more heavy.
My father came into the room just as Elaine started to dish out the pasta.
"Sorry I'm late," he said. "Miniature crisis at the campaign office. Some mix up about my record as a judge, rulings on controversial issues. Had to clear it up. Don’t want false data circulating. Someone from the office gave out inaccurate information and we got a call from a reporter hoping to drum up a scandal."
"Was the information good or bad?" Elaine asked, as she passed me the salad.
"Bad for me, unfortunately," my father replied. "Some people don't like my rulings on certain cases, but my record is my record. Don't want anyone to think I'm being deliberately misleading."
He dug into the salad, his brow furrowed. I sat with my mouth open. Was my father deliberately warning me? Had he read the paper, too, and was stating his disapproval? Or was this a coincidence?