King Among the Dead - Lauren Gilley Page 0,13
money on some things, but he wants to keep humble in other ways,” Kay continued. When Rose passed her the next plate, she found the woman giving her a pointed look. “I’m sure he told you not to worry about it, and you shouldn’t. Beck would buy someone the world if he thought it was worthwhile.”
Rose thought about what he’d said in the car about not having to earn kindness. She swallowed. This felt like a warning.
Her face must have given her away, because Kay smiled. “He sees something special in you. I see it, too. It’s all fine, honey, don’t worry. Just…he forgets sometimes that he’s worthwhile, too. You know?”
No, Rose didn’t know at all.
“Sometimes white knights need saving, too.” Kay held her gaze a moment longer, then turned back to drying dishes.
When the kitchen was set to rights, Kay yawned hugely and said she was going up to lie down. “If you ever want to shoot the shit and watch bad action movies with me, come on up. Night, honey.”
“Night.”
Rose went to the library with a quiet thrill of excitement. The lamps had already been lit, the ink-scented room warm and welcoming, and her book was where she’d left it on the arm of the chair. She toed off her sneakers, settled deep into the fragrant leather with her feet drawn up beneath her, and returned to the world of a lonely girl and her beautiful winged boy.
The story was the sort that moved slowly, the author painting vivid portraits of each character: their smiles, their tears, the faint wisps hair escaped from braids and buns that touched their cheeks like thistledown. Emily was a cautious girl, afraid to hope, but burning quietly inside, a banked hearth fire that could heat a house for days and days. And Pietro blazed like an inferno by contrast; volatile and brilliant – but vulnerable, ready to collapse beneath the gentlest of rains. Their love was a dance, a push-pull, and they took turns leading and following. The bedroom scenes were written with great delicacy, soft and floral and all innuendo. Rose was surprise to find herself wishing for a little more. Something a little warmer and…realer.
But the end was a happy one: the villain vanquished, Emily and Pietro bound together by love and trust. When her eyes skimmed The End at the bottom of the last page, she let out a sigh, sorry that it was over.
When she lifted her head, Beck was sitting in the chair opposite her.
She managed not to jump this time.
He held a steaming mug in each hand, strings of tea bags dangling over the sides, and leaned forward to hand her one. “Did you finish?”
“Yes. Thank you,” she said, taking the tea; she could smell how much sugar he’d put in it, mouth already watering at the prospect.
“How did you like it?”
“A lot. I liked that…”
His brows lifted, a silent go on.
She hesitated, blushing. She’d blushed more today than she ever had before and it was, frankly, annoying. When she read over Claire’s shoulder at Mr. Fisher’s, after, Claire would always start talking about what she loved about the characters, about her favorite scenes. If Rose didn’t think exactly the same way as her, Claire would make a face and tell her she was wrong.
But Claire wasn’t here, and she didn’t get the sense Beck would call any of her opinions wrong.
“I like that Emily wasn’t so brave at first,” she continued, feeling a little braver herself, thankful for the grounding warmth of the mug in her hands. “But that she got braver as the book went on.”
He nodded.
“At the end, I think she was the bravest one.”
“Quite.”
“And I liked Pietro. He was…”
“Dashing?” he guessed. “Roguish and handsome?”
“Um. He was hot.” Blushing furiously now.
He smiled. “Nothing wrong with a dashing, handsome rogue.”
Like you? she thought, and took a sip of tea to mask whatever expression she might make. He was definitely dashing, and handsome. She didn’t know about roguish – then again, perfect gentlemen didn’t kill people in their own kitchens, did they?
He chuckled, softly. “There’s plenty more books like that.” He gestured toward the shelves with his mug. “You’re welcome to read all of them. You might like some of the Classics, too. The Brontës especially, I think. Lots of handsome rogues with those sisters.
“There’s also plenty of history, if you’re interested. I’ve got books on just about every topic.” His gaze lifted over her head, toward the spines there, growing a bit distant.
“I noticed