X: Command Me through Alexander's Eyes - Geneva Lee Page 0,76
mouth before I can stop it. I’d told her I wouldn’t—that I didn’t need to possess her like that. Before I can gauge her response, an amused voice interrupts us.
“Well, well, well. Can I get in before he mounts you on the spot?”
Clara looks over my shoulder, going slightly rigid in my arms. She pulls free as a woman with dark hair strides over and sticks out her hand.
I look from her to Clara, unable to miss the obvious resemblance.
“Alexander, this is my sister, Lola.” Clara forces a smile. “Lola, allow me to introduce—”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary.” Lola doesn’t shake my hand. She holds it for a moment as if taking a measure of me. “It’s lovely to meet you. Clara has told me absolutely nothing about you.”
I resist the urge to tell her Clara hasn’t spoken of her either. I know she has a sister. That’s come up in my research. Charlotte Bishop. Lola, it seems. But despite their similar features, there’s something feline about Clara’s sister. She looks not only prepared to pounce, but I suspect she might have claws.
Before she can show them, I step toward the door. “Ladies first.”
“Ohh. A gentleman.” Lola steps through first without hesitation. Her eyes skate over me, assessing. There’s something abrasively American about her, despite having been here from an earlier age than Clara.
“She seems like a…handful,” I mutter as I take Clara’s hand.
“Mmhmm.” Her hand tightens over mine, and I realize I’m not the only one with family drama. Glancing down at Clara, I realize with surprise that she’s not nervous.
She’s protective.
I start to tell her that I’m not worried about facing the Bishops when a seating host beckons us to follow her to our table. Why tell her? I’ll show her. I fall into step behind her, one hand on the small of her back.
By five till eight, we’re on the second round of cocktails and no food. I know the time because the entire bloody restaurant is decorated with hundreds of clocks, all of which are slightly slower or faster than the others. The result is a constant ticking that scratches at my nerves. I calm myself by stroking a hand down Clara’s thigh. I resist the urge to order Clara something to eat. I don’t want to overstep, but I’ll be forced to once the hour strikes.
“I don’t know what could be keeping him,” Madeline Bishop looks at her silent phone, which has neither rang nor lit up with a text since we arrived.
I might be forced to intervene, but I could be polite about it. “I’m in no hurry.”
“We should order,” Clara declares when the clocks strike eight.
“Let’s give him a few more minutes,” her sister says, sipping her drink. “Tell us how you two met.”
Clara shoots her a scathing look. “Pick up the Daily Star.”
“I want to hear it from the source.” Lola won’t be put off so easily.
I can’t risk Clara stabbing her with the fork she’s clutching, so I jump in. “I was stuck at another boring party, trying to hide out, and then this beautiful girl showed up and started telling me off.”
I lift her hand to my lips, my eyes meeting hers. I don’t miss the amusement dancing there from my interpretation of events.
“Clara!” Madeline sounds absolutely horrified, but I only chuckle.
“No, I deserved it.”
“So why did you kiss her?” Lola asks.
“Now that is a long story,” I say, my grin widening as I recalled that day, “and seeing as it didn’t make the papers, I’m going to keep it to myself. But I will tell you that I spent the rest of the day trying to find out who your sister was. She kept a low profile at Oxford.”
Her mother sighs as though she disapproves of this fact. “She’s not very social. I did my best, but sometimes nature has other plans.”
“I find her company intoxicating.” I’m speaking directly to Clara now. I want to shield her from the tiny slings and arrows being hurled by her mother and sister. I need her to know that she is perfect just as she is. “I want her all to myself anyway.”
“Aren’t you coy?” Lola says, still nursing her drink.
I shrug, not bothering to give her any more fuel to burn. Instead, I catch the waiter peeking in and wave him over.
“Are you ready?” he asks, looking at everyone but me. I’d abandoned my disguise in the private dining room. My hat was hooked on the back of my chair,