Evelyn knew things most people never needed or wanted to know, like how to tell if meat was rancid, or which storm drains flood and which could be used to block the wind on below-freezing nights. Yet she was clueless about things that were common knowledge, like the fact that the news was on television every day at five, or that every single person in the world now basically had a computer, or whatever the hell a Tickle Me Elmo was. But no matter what, Lucian never held her ignorance against her or made her feel less than anyone else.
He placed the onyx queen on the board beside his king. “And what about this old girl?”
“Oh, well she’s got all the power, of course.”
“She must protect her king, and never stray too far, Evelyn. That’s key.”
“I do believe I’ve kicked your ass before when she abandoned the king and ransacked your front line, Lucian.”
“You won that time because your foot was on my cock and I wanted your mouth there. You said I couldn’t touch you until the game was over.”
“Excuses. Excuses.” She rolled her eyes.
“You’ve only beaten me three times. Each victory I was under extreme duress!”
She laughed. “Oh, is that it then? You really are a sore loser, Mr. Patras. I believe it was you who told me chess is a lyrical exchange of aggression and surrender. You must learn to surrender a bit more gracefully, sir.”
His laughter bubbled up and faded into silence as their gazes met.
“What?” she asked, unsure what to make of the serious expression on his face.
“You remembered my words.”
“I love your words. You have a great vocabulary and way of putting things.”
“Why such an obsession with language, Evelyn?”
She shrugged. “If I could use big words and sound intelligent, people wouldn’t think I was stupid or know I was illiterate.”
“You were never stupid and you’re learning to read and write better every day.”
“I know,” she said quietly and cleared her throat. Her gaze fastened to the board, now set and ready for a match.
“Who is the king’s greatest asset?” he whispered.
Her eyes went to the queen. She loved this board. The pieces were so ornate and beautifully hand-carved with little faces. She even loved the opalescent gleam swirling over the checkered surface of the board. She’d come to think of the board as half hers.
“The queen,” she whispered softly, admiring the priceless carvings.
A shadow passed over the board and Lucian placed something in the center. “Be my queen, Evelyn.”
She sucked in a breath as a sickening dread rushed through her. Her eyes jerked to the tiny satin box, and then to his face. His expression was an unreadable mask, but his eyes showed a myriad of emotions, hope, fear, anxiousness, love.
“Wh-what?”
“I love you. I don’t want you to stray too far. I want you to be the solace I come home to each night. Protect me. Let me be your shelter and protect you, always. Be my queen and let me take care of you. Marry me.”
Her mouth was producing too much saliva yet her throat was too dry to swallow. Tension settled onto her shoulders like a heavy weight, and she found it suddenly difficult to breathe. He leaned forward and opened the box.
She gasped. It was her missing sea glass, the piece she loved, smoothed into two perfect pearls nestled around a humongous diamond. It was in the traditional kite shape she knew there was a name for, but at the moment words were beyond her grasp.
He lifted it out of the box and his fingers slightly trembled. Lucian Patras didn’t tremble. He was an oak.
“If you don’t like it, we can pick another. It’s my mother’s stone. Do you recognize the pearls?”
They were stunning, perfect spheres swirled with plum, jade, and cerulean blue. She tried to speak, but no words came out. Forcing her dry throat to open, she cleared it, and rasped, “My favorite piece.”
“Because beauty can be found anywhere, Evelyn. It doesn’t matter where it comes from. I think those glass pieces are more beautiful than the six-carat diamond. Let me put it on you.”
Without thinking, her hands jerked out of reach.
“Evelyn?” He frowned at her.
“I . . . I need to go to the bathroom.” She scrambled off the floor and fled the library before he could stop her. Passing the powder room near the den, she ran up the steps and directly to the rarely used hall bathroom. Her unsteady fingers quickly locked the door. Pressing her back against the heavy wood, she breathed and massaged her temples.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” she hissed.
This was horrible. This was a nightmare. She couldn’t marry him! Then when he decided to leave, which she knew he eventually would, things would be so much more horrendously messy. Why was he doing this to them?