Day 3
Another dinner passed, in uncomfortable silence. Both Rafe and Kie had things they wanted to talk to each other about. Rafe wanted to tell Kie that there was still room for her with the Kooks. He always thought of her as one of them - or at least half of one of them? If that made sense. He also kind of wanted to tell her that this Singh fucker sure knew how to pick a dress.
Kiara's hair was down around her shoulders, a little longer than he remembered it being, and streaked with honey-blond highlights. This evening's dress was off-white, with stupidly thin straps. It was certainly designed by a man, to wear without anything underneath. It scooped low in the back, showing off an expansive view of her perpetually-tanned skin. A high slit came up from the bottom of the dress, providing a glimpse high up her legs whenever she moved.
It was the kind of thing Kie's mom might buy in Nordstrom ("Kiara hun, this would just look perfect on you. It's just so cute.") for her to wear to Midsummer's or a bonfire night at the Cameron's.
Well, Mom. I hope you're enjoying me hanging out, full Kook style, with Prince Rafe.
There was a bottle of wine, still corked, in the center of the table. She noticed Rafe, who normally partied like an extra in one of The Weeknd's videos, was staying sober. Kie reached over to the bottle, knowing nothing about the price or what she could expect from the taste, other than, well, it's white?
Just as her hand met the bottle, a maid appeared with a bottle opener.
The woman silently uncorked the bottle and filled Kiara's glass with a less-than-generous pour.
Kiara was normally a happy, bubbly drinker. Not one of the girls crying in the corner over their ex, Kyle, who, like, totally fucked someone else in the accessible bathroom during homecoming. She was always partying with the Pogues; one of the boys. She felt more at home with a lukewarm PBR in her hand, than whatever fine Italian liquid was in front of her. Even still.
Feeling weirdly giddy, Kiara lifted her glass in a mock toast. Rafe picked up his glass, which he'd let the server fill up as well.
"To my last Kook dinner," Kie toasted.
"Cheers, I guess." Rafe moved his glass to gently clink hers.
Kiara tossed her head back and drank.
"I swear," she slurred, her eyes half-lidded, "I'm never- never, ever like this. I don't know what...Mr. Singh has got going on down here, but this is not normal wine." Kiara was half sitting up in bed, her spiky silver heels kicked off on the floor. Her skin had a slight flush, right across the apples of her cheeks. With her tanned complexion, you'd only be able to see the alcohol's effect if you were as close as Rafe was.
His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. Again, showing off the tightly corded muscles in his forearms that hinted at a lifetime of summers spent boating, playing rugby, and getting in fights.
"Show off," Kie whispered.
"What are you talking about?" Rafe's eyebrows knitted. His eyes met hers in a question.
Shit. What had she said out loud?
"It's normal wine, you're just a total lightweight, Kie." He grinned, the smile reaching the corners of his eyes. "As always."
Ah, yes. Rafe Cameron who had seen her in all her drunk, fourteen-year-old glory, chugging peach schnapps with Sarah in their backyard.
"I'm not a lightweight. I-" She stopped, gathering her thoughts, which felt a little bit fuzzy. God, how long since the last time she'd been tipsy? "I just know how to have a good time."
"Oh yeah?" Rafe crossed his arms. While she was sitting on the bed, her head of curls splaying out over the white pillows, he was standing about an arm's length away. It almost seemed like he was having fun. Which was not okay, actually, because this was Kie's night to let off some steam before attempting another self-rescue. Rafe being a fun accomplice was decidedly not part of her plan.
He studied her. If there was a class in Kiara Carrera, he would be taking the AP, with a binder full of perfectly organized, color-coded notes. The creamy dress she wore made her skin pop and offset her dark hair.
"Stop looking at me like that," Kie said, dropping her gaze over Rafe in a calculating, up-and-down. Sure, she'd had a thing for him at one point. Best friend's brother and all that shit. Like the biggest fucking Kook year cliche. All he'd done was make flirty, vaguely chauvinistic comments here and there; he would compliment her at a party, but it was all joking.
(It was not all joking and Rafe would stand by telling Sarah that "if all your friends look like Kiara, my room would always be available for sleepovers." Sarah's "Ew, you're sick!" sentiment was decidedly not shared by Kiara, who had never heard an older boy imply she was hot before. Let alone an older boy who looked like an Abercrombie model.)
"Like what?" Rafe closed the space between them, ever the predator.
"Like...nothing. Nevermind. It's not worth it." Kie laid her head back, but her eyes betrayed the forced casualness. She couldn't not look at him. Even though she'd only had two glasses of wine, with dinner, mind you, that was more alcohol than she'd drank in over six weeks.
"I always wanna know what you're thinking," Rafe confessed. From anyone else, their tone might convey embarrassment at being so honest and open, especially with someone who would tell anyone how much they hated him. But Rafe betrayed no such feelings.
"You're just...looking at me like you like me or something."
"I've always liked you, Kie." Rafe's eyes on hers were so hot, as if they were melting her clothes off and sending tiny pinpricks running down her stomach, past her navel, lower to-
"It didn't seem like it," Kie admitted. "I thought you just tolerated me, for Sarah."
"Let me promise you this." Rafe cautiously sat down on the corner of the bed. Kie's bare feet were beside him, kicking at the sheets, likely without her even consciously controlling them. "I would never put up with anyone I didn't like, for Sarah. Not then, not now. Not ever. You're not like her, Kie."
He touched her leg, just a slight brush, with his thumb. The touch should have made her sick. This was the same person, Kiara reminded herself, who had laid hands on her and her friends, time and again. He was a killer.
But things were fucked up in the OBX. The deeper she got into this con, with the gold and the cross, the more she was beginning to question what the lines were between right and wrong.
Being on a bed with Rafe Cameron, however?
Definitely wrong.
"I should sleep," Kie blurted. She didn't have the energy to change into tonight's luxury silk pajamas. With the alcohol buzzing through her blood, sleeping in a dress didn't seem like such a big deal. She flipped over, away from Rafe. In no way was she drunk enough for a night on top of the covers in an uncomfortably tight dress, but she was mentally and physically exhausted enough that she didn't care.
"Yeah," Rafe replied, his voice soft as ever. "Big day tomorrow."
When he was sure she was asleep, by the steady rise and fall of her chest, he laid out an extra blanket on top of Kiara's still form. She was so beautiful asleep. Not that she wasn't when she was awake and angry, spewing out how much she hated him. She was beautiful then, too. But when she was sleeping, he could imagine things were different.
Suddenly, he was brought to the GAME OVER screen in one of his video games. If he had made different moves, played different angles, maybe this scene would be totally different. Was there something differently he could've done, to end up in a bedroom with Kie, wearing that sexy dress, only she wanted to be there? With him?
The soft throw blanket wasn't as warm as the duvet, but it at least covered the miles of brown skin that were bared by the high slit in her dress.
"Good night, Kie," Rafe said, just for himself to hear. He didn't know what tomorrow might bring. But he was prepared to do whatever he had to do to get them both out of Singh's twisted game.
