“It’s full.” Cessie said. Apparently, they’d be cooking for themselves. It was a nice idea—she couldn’t remember the last time they’d cooked together. She usually meal prepped once a week for their lunches and her dinners if she was working overnight, but they were rarely both home in time to be cute and make dinner together.
Leon closed the fridge and turned to her. “I spoke with Chef Connor before our arrival. He assured me his kitchen staff would provide all we’d need for our stay, and it looks like they came through. Like it?”
“It’s wonderful, but we might need to call someone. The bedroom door is locked. Well, I assume it’s the bedroom.”
“It is.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key.
“You don’t want me to see the bedroom?” She wondered if it was a bedroom, or a playroom. A mini dungeon. But if it was, where would they sleep? Maybe the couch pulled out.
“No. Not yet. We’ll have a glass of wine and talk.”
“That sounds both exciting and ominous.”
He opened a bottle of red, passing her a glass, then put his hand on her back, guiding her to the couch. Halfway there his hand slipped down to her ass.
“Sore?”
“A little. Not as much as I thought I would be.” She curled up, legs tucked to one side, which helpfully kept most of her weight off of her ass. “I’m out of practice.”
He sat beside her, leaning back and stretching out his legs. “You were half asleep for aftercare last night.”
“I’m not sure if I’d call that sleep or passing out.” She looked down into her glass. “I hadn’t cried like that in a long time.”
“I know, baby.”
She shook her head as tears once more tightened her throat. “Why am I about to cry again? Ugh.” She made a face and took a sip.
“You cried because you needed to release some of that stress, and now that the valve is open, you’re fighting against all the pressure you still have bottled up to try and close it.”
She smiled softly. “Did your desalinization people teach you that?”
“You remember that venture?”
Her shoulders tensed. “Of course I remember. It’s your biggest success so far.”
“Hey.” He reached over and tugged on her knee until she stretched out one leg, foot on his lap. “It wasn’t an accusation. I was just surprised.”
“That might be worse.” Dread was creeping in, despite the quiet peace of the private cabin and the soft gold light of late afternoon that gave the room an almost holy feel.
He massaged her foot with one hand. The silence should have relaxed her, but she was tensing up again, thinking of all the ways she was a terrible partner. The weekends she’d spent helping her mother and brother in Vegas instead of spendingtime with him. The times she’d started to tell him something—inane or important, it didn’t seem to matter—only to stop herself because…
Because she didn’t trust him to still love her.
“Do you remember what I used to have you in my phone as?”
His question jerked her from the horrid spiraling thoughts. She took a long sip of her wine, finishing the glass. “Kestrel. Like the bird.”
Her legal name was Cestrayl, with the final vowel pronounced like “all” rather than the “ell” sound at the end of kestrel, but on first hearing it, most people assumed her name was “Kestrel”. Those who saw it written down usually ended up saying something along the lines of “ses-tray-el”.
She’d been going by Cessie since she was young, though now she introduced herself as Cess—with a hard K consonant—or Dr. Lanner.
But when she’d first met Leon, she’d introduced herself as Cestrayl rather than Cessie or Cess. She still wasn’t sure why, except that some instinct told her that this man needed to know her real name.
“I thought it was appropriate. That you were named after a smart, dangerous, small predator.”
He grinned when he said small, and she thumped his thigh with her heel.
“Really? You thought I was dangerous when we met? I'm pretty sure I was wearing a lace bodysuit and a frilly skirt.”
