Page 92 of X: Command Me through Alexander’s Eyes

“Doesn’t Clara look fabulous, Alexander?” Edward asks, forcing me to address the scandal in the room.

“She’s a bit overdressed for dinner, don’t you think?” Pepper says, sniffing a bit but earning eager laughs from her harem of vipers. “Or under-dressed, depending on how you look at it.”

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you.” Edward doesn’t bother looking at her. He just picks up his butter knife and smirks. “It makes your complexion look all green. Clashes with your dress.”

“We all know you’re an expert on the subject,” Pepper says, turning to Clara. “I saw that dress at Tamara’s. I had no idea you had even heard of her. I thought she was a bit more exclusive.”

But Clara doesn’t miss a beat. “She can’t be terribly exclusive if you know who she is.”

What is going on?

“I’ll have to speak to her,” Pepper says.

“When you do, give her my love.” Clara dismisses her cattiness with a casual disinterest that only makes her place as the center of attention more clear.

“I will.” But Pepper won’t back down. She’s never known when she was in over her head. That’s probably how she wound up shagging my father. It’s clear she’d meant to get her claws in me and settle down.

Clara turns her attention to her soup, and I do my best to focus on the first course. But the only thing I’m hungry for is her. It takes dedicated focus to lift my spoon to my mouth and eat.

When Clara places her napkin on the table, she whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“You seem upset.”

I can’t stop myself from smirking, meeting her eyes to assure her that I’m not. “We still have a lot to learn about one another, Clara. I wasn’t upset. I was turned on. I didn’t think I could stop myself from throwing you across the table and ripping off those shameless excuses for knickers you’re wearing if you touched me again.”

She blinks, her eyes widening just a little, and there is my Clara. Not the Queen of the castle, but the pure soul that I’ve fallen for. She’s so unlike the rest of them.

It’s almost dangerous.

“Maybe you should,” she murmurs.

“Don’t tempt me, Clara. A man only has so much restraint.” I grin again, wondering if she’d even stop me if I spread her across the table and had her for dinner. It would certainly put a stop to all the ridiculous gossip going on around us. Clara’s hips wriggle in her chair, and I know I’ve made her wet. I know she’s picturing the same thing. “Soon, poppet.”

I watch her eat a few bites of her salad, her mood increasingly restless. Why are we here wasting time with all these snobs when we could be alone? David was right. Maybe there is a future for us away from all of this. I should have kept her home this weekend in London. Bringing her here, while a statement, can only make matters worse. Everything would be better if we were cozied up at her flat. Instead, I’ve lit a fuse on a bomb I don’t know how to diffuse.

As a server places my plate in front of me, I don’t bother looking to see what we’re eating. Instead, I decide to goad her a little and enjoy watching her squirm. “Eat up, Clara. You’ll need your strength tonight.”

Her eyes shutter, lost to some waking dream of what I mean by that, when Pepper’s caustic voice interrupts, “I do hope you aren’t having an episode.”

I’m about to intervene when Clara takes a bite, chewing it slowly and glaring so hard at Pepper, I think she might set her on fire with her thoughts.

This does nothing to distract her, though.

“I was so surprised when I found out about your little problem,” Pepper says. “Usually women with eating disorders are thinner.”

I’m vaguely aware of laughter followed by silence.

“Pepper, be careful,” Edward finally warns her. “Your bitch is showing.”

“Edward,” our father cuts in.

“Oh, you aren’t deaf,” Edward turns on him. “You’re just pretending to be oblivious to what’s right in front of your face.”

“Something you count on,” Pepper mutters, batting her eyes meaningfully.

I don’t dare speak to defend either of them because when I do, lines will be crossed. It’s what Pepper and my father want: for me to take them on. If I do, there will be no turning back, and I’m fairly certain that if I don’t get control of myself, I’ll wind up throwing one of them through a window. I grip my silverware like it’s an anchor while also reminding myself that it’s not a weapon.