Alexander

12

I had been dead wrong. The sensible part of me had dared to hope the building tensions and feelings would subside after giving into the carnal lust and spending the night with him. Instead, they had only skyrocketed.

This understanding seemed to be very much mutual with how unwaveringly and intently he was now watching me from across the table, lighting my body all over again with heavy need.

"Rebecca did what?" Sara whispered vehemently, eyes wide after I had passingly mentioned that she was spending the weekend at Christopher's now.

"They seemed to hit it off," I told her, smiling shyly once I managed to look away from Alexander's expectant and dark eyes.

"He's much too sensitive for her," my sister insisted with a firm shake of her head, "he'll only end up hurt."

"I wouldn't be so sure," I offered, thinking back to how they had held hands and been wrapped up in each other for the rest of the night, "he could be just what she needs."

She hummed dismissively, not trusting my view on the matter.

I could feel his dark gaze burn against my skin, all the while casually conversing with Nick beside him. How the rest of the table remained entirely oblivious to such blatant action was beyond me, and I could only thank a higher power that I had managed to snatch a seat by Sara instead of him.

"You'll never believe who I bumped into," I leaned in to tell her, my smile widening with excitement of her reaction.

"Who?" her attention shifted back to me from the dessert served in front of us and the guests present. Our families had been joined by our grandparents, who were both unaware of Sara's pregnancy and all the drama that had thus far occurred.

"Thomas," I mused, "the man from that bar, remember?"

Her eyes lit up and she grinned knowingly, resting back against her seat to observe me, "that explains you not having slept here, then."

My smile and confidence wavered, "how do you know I didn't sleep here?"

"I came to ask you to join me for a walk in the morning," she explained, wiggling her brows suggestively, "you weren't there and your bed hadn't been touched."

"Oh, right," I laughed quietly, averting my eyes to the untouched tiramisu by my third glass of wine.

"So?" she furthered with a gentle nudge, amused and curious through her unknowingly mistaken conclusion.

I'd felt wrong for the kisses and touches between Alexander and me before, but the nervousness of now getting caught was close to crippling. I feared if the truth should surface, my sister would be furious at the stealing of attention, and my mother would be equally both overjoyed and judgemental of such poor behaviour.

"It was nothing, really," I assured her, discreetly glancing over at the devil himself across the table. His overwhelming eyes were no longer on me, but on my father, who he was making laugh with whichever stupid anecdote he had had up his sleeve. His beautifully rolled up sleeve, which revealed an appetiser of the smooth and tight muscles covering his body, something I had become all too acquainted with after our night together.

"You do know he's the son of that football player?" she furthered enthusiastically, keeping her voice for my ears only as not to shock the elderly littered around us, "I knew I had recognised him from somewhere, and I asked Nick."

"I know, yes," I nodded shortly, wishing I would be able to leave this conversation here. Her and I having made a promise as children to never keep secrets had unfortunately stood the test of time, and guilt of not telling her the truth weighed on me and scared away my appetite.