The Commitment (The Unrestrained #2) (31 page)

He
had
to have seen the photograph some time when he was out, and was upset.

That had to be the only reason.

Finally, at about ten after one, almost an hour since he dropped me off, the door opened and in came Drake, a scarf around his neck, a bunch of roses in his hand – yellow roses and baby's breath. His cheeks were rosy and he looked fine, a smile on his face.

"There you are, young man," my father said. "We were beginning to worry about you."

Elaine got up and went to Drake first, catching my eye on the way. I rose and went to the entrance behind her.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, his voice soft. "I wanted to stop and get you something on my way. Here," he said, handing the bouquet of roses to Elaine. "Something to brighten up the table." In his other hand was a bottle of champagne.

Elaine accepted the bouquet and smiled, then leaned over and kissed Drake on the cheek.

"Why thank you so much, Drake. Fresh flowers are always nice." She went past me and raised her eyebrows. "I'll go put them in some water."

My father stepped up and took the champagne. "I'll get some glasses," he said, smiling. "We have lots to celebrate."

I went to Drake, relieved that he seemed none the wiser about the photograph. In fact, he seemed really happy. After he hung up his coat and removed his boots, he leaned down to give me a warm kiss.

My father returned with four champagne glasses on a tray, the bottle in a chiller.  We all sat down while my father opened the bottle.

Drake turned to my father, who poured the champagne into the glasses.

"Ethan," he said. "Good to see you're feeling better."

"You as well, young man. You're a hero with all that's happened this past week."

Drake shook his head and put his arm around my shoulders, leaning back. "I'm no hero," he said. "Liam's my son. It was the least I could do."

It was then I noticed the
New York Weekly
folded up on the side table. My face heated when I saw it, and all I could think of was keeping Drake busy so he wouldn't read it. I turned my back to the paper as if I could use my body to block his view. Elaine came in with the vase of flowers, and expertly put the vase down on the side table, removing the paper as she did. I watched as she surreptitiously held the paper behind her back and then left the room, depositing the paper in a magazine holder by the door.

She smiled at me from the doorway. "Katie, do you want to help me in the kitchen?"

I sighed, glad she thought to hide the paper. My father would keep Drake occupied until lunch. I
would
tell Drake about the photograph, but not now and not here at my parent's apartment. I didn't want any drama to happen in front of them.

I stood up to leave, but when I got to the door, my father's cell phone rang and he looked at the call display.

"Oh,
damn
," he said, shaking his head. "Gotta take this, Drake. You relax for a bit, read the paper, watch some headlines."

My father handed Drake the channel changer and glanced around for the paper, but luckily, he didn't see it.

"No problem, Ethan. I had a busy morning so I'm glad to take it easy for a moment."

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?

"Honesty is the best policy," Drake said, nodding as he took a sip of water. Did he squeeze my hand suggestively or was I imagining it? "In politics and life, it's better to clear up any misunderstandings as soon as possible, to avoid looking like you're being deceptive."

"Absolutely," my father said, smiling at Elaine when she handed him a plate of pasta. "Get the facts out there so there's no misinterpretation."

She raised her eyebrows slightly.

Drake let go of my hand and then passed me the salad. I glanced at his face, but it was unreadable. If he and my father were doing this deliberately, there was no sign on either of their faces, but Elaine was flushing a bit.

"You all right dear?" my father asked, turning to me. "Your cheeks are red."

"Just the heat from the stove, I guess," I said, forcing a smile. Elaine glanced in my direction and I knew exactly what she was thinking.

These two men were trying to manipulate us. Or else, we both had guilty consciences.

"Did the person who released the wrong data do it deliberately to make your record look better than it is?" I asked, my hand shaking a bit when I picked up my water glass.

"No," my father said, shaking his head. "He used data that was preliminary instead of the final data. It wasn't deceptive, just incorrect. Unfortunately, it makes my staffers look either like liars or bumbling incompetents, so either way it's not a good news day for me."

"That's too bad, Ethan," Drake said. "What will happen to the staffer?"

"He'll have to be reprimanded of course. He shouldn't have released the data until he cleared it with Greg, but I'll have to have a little talk with him, make sure he wasn't doing it to hurt the campaign. You know, sabotage it. Can't ever know what's going on in someone else's heart, can you?"

He dug into his pasta and then made a face of pleasure. When he finished chewing, he turned to Elaine.

"Darling, I do believe this is the best you've ever made."

Elaine smiled at my father and then glanced at me, biting her lip. I turned to look at Drake, who was busy playing with the food on his plate, moving the hunks of mushroom around as if lost in thought.

"Drake, is it not to your liking?" my father asked, as he scooped up another forkful of pasta.

"Hmm?" Drake glanced up. "Oh, sorry," he said as if pulled back from some distant place. "No, I was just thinking about what you said." Drake lifted a fork to his mouth and then smiled at Elaine. "The pasta is delicious. Worthy of a restaurant. Bravo."

Elaine smiled, her smile strained and then she turned to her own plate.

I tried to eat, but my appetite all but fled due to the circumstances. I ate some salad, washing it down with copious amounts of water, but my stomach wasn't happy about the rich pasta.

We four ate in silence for a few minutes, nothing audible except the clink of cutlery on china, the strains of Elaine's jazz recording in the background.

My father chewed away with gusto. If he knew about the photo in the paper, he didn’t show it, but I suppose decades presiding over court cases had ensured his views on the guilt or innocence of a suspect were well-hidden. Unless he wanted you to know how he felt and then it was clear as day. Either my father knew and was hiding it, or he didn't know and was blissfully unaware.

He glanced up and smiled at me. "Sweetheart, you're not eating your pasta."

I put my fork down. "I'm not feeling all that well," I said, wiping my mouth with a napkin. "A bit tired, I guess. It's been a stressful week."

He nodded and then turned back to his food.

Drake continued to be silent beside me, pushing his own food around.

He
had
to know and was waiting for me to tell him. To confess.

It was then I started to feel panic building inside of me, my breath faster, my heart rate increasing, my palms sweaty. I'd had occasional panic attacks after coming back from Mangaize, and had been in counseling to train myself not to respond to my body's cues.

"Excuse me," I said and stood, knocking my chair back abruptly. I left the table and made a beeline to the door.

"Are you all right, sweetie?" my father called out to me. I said nothing, walking to the bathroom off my bedroom, needing to be alone to regain control over myself.

I closed and locked the door behind me and stood at the vanity, looking at myself in the mirror. I took in a deep breath, using self-talk to calm my anxiety, and soon, I started to relax again. There was a soft knock at the door.

"Kate?" It was Drake.

"I'm OK," I said. "Just feeling a bit queasy."

"Let me in," he said, his voice soft.

"I'm OK, Drake," I said. "I'll be out in a minute."

He was silent for a moment. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm fine."

"If you say so, but I
am
a doctor."

"I know you are. I'm fine."

I stood at the vanity looking in the mirror for a few moments, until I felt in control again. Then I ran the water and splashed it over my face. I let the cool water run over my hands for a few moments, the flow soothing. Then, I smoothed my hair, which was already smooth, and adjusted my clothes and took in a deep breath.