"What the fuck are you doing?" Katherine is running across the lawn, waving her hands at me like a complete fucking lunatic.
A hot fucking lunatic.
Her brown hair bounces over her shoulders as she runs, trying futilely to pull her skirt down over her ass. "Are you insane?"
"Insane? Nope. I'm roasting marshmallows." I pull the marshmallow off the stick and pop the warm gooey goodness into my mouth. She looks at me, her chest rising as she catches her breath, her cheeks flushed. It's the same way she looks when she's just had an orgasm.
I haven't made her come all week. She hasn't let me, not since the fight we had in the library after we screwed on the ladder.
What I should have done after that was go out and find a replacement Katherine. But what I'm finding, much to my irritation, is that Katherine seems to be crawling under my skin. Like a disease.
So I'm taking the mature road and talking to her about things like an adult. While eating marshmallows. "Want one?" I ask.
"You can't light a fire out here -- there are regulations, you idiot," she yells. "Who fucking gets a -- where did you even get a barrel, anyway? And what the hell are you -- Oh. My. God. Those are my clothes in there. My pants. My underwear!"
I lied -- I'm not taking the mature road here. At all. This might be one of the most juvenile things I've ever done.
I grin and shrug. "I told you I wanted you in skirts. No panties."
She grabs the stick from my hands, poking it into the barrel. Flames shoot up, sending sparks flying in every direction. Grabbing her by the arms, I pull her back against my chest.
Which is exactly where she belongs, I can't help but think as soon as her body touches mine.
But she only rest there momentarily before she yanks herself away from me. "What are you, some kind of psychopath?" she asks. "Who lights someone's clothes on fire? Something is seriously wrong with you."
"I'll get you new clothes," I say. I don't add that I already have. I've ordered her a whole new wardrobe from some hot shit designer that my mother's stylist swears is what all the chicks want to wear. I also ordered her the best lingerie and panties money can buy. Personally hand selected by yours truly. And I bought new jeans to replace the ones I torched. I mean, I’m not a complete asshole.
But no new granny panties. That just crosses a line.
Kate stands there glaring at me with her hands on her hips. She’s pissed. If it were possible for a human to physically blow steam out of their ears, she would be doing that. She balls her hands into fists and screams, which just makes me laugh. “You are the biggest asshole I’ve ever met,” she yells. “You’re completely fucked up in the head.”
I expect her to punch me. If I were a girl and some guy had torched my pants and panties, I'd slug me. But she doesn’t. She just gives me a look of disgust and walks back to the house, muttering to herself the whole way.
That's fucking disappointing.
I expected her to hit me or something. Hit me, and then look up at me the way she does when she gets angry. Like she can’t decide if she wants to kill me or fuck me. Obviously, I imagined she'd pick the option that involved fucking.
I didn't expect her to just walk away.
I pick up the fire extinguisher and put out the fire. I guess I'll have to up my game if I want back in her bed.
“Are the two of you listening?” Senator Douchebag has been talking about the schedule of events for the week. He literally has this shit color-coded and flagged. He’s almost as ridiculous as my mother, with her wedding planning. She has a chart set up in the living room on an easel, a seating plan that she and the Senator examine, hands over their mouths and brows furrowed as they determine strategic seating arrangements for the big event. I’m surprised they haven't unrolled a giant chart on the table like a war map, so that they can plot personal alliances and strategic socializing.
“I heard everything,” Kate says, her voice emotionless. “The engagement party is on Friday.”
“I know it’s all happening very quickly,” Ella says, her hand on the Senator’s leg. “And I really hope you don’t feel like I’m trying to replace your mother, Katherine. No one could replace her.”
I glance at Kate, who has paused in the middle of lifting her fork to her mouth. “Of course not,” she says.
The Senator doesn't wait for her to continue. “No one thinks you’re trying to replace her mother, Ella,” he says, patting Ella’s hand. “Kate doesn’t think that, do you Kate?” Katherine opens her mouth, but he interrupts. “And she understands that we’re on a tight schedule here with the campaign, isn’t that right?”
I’m annoyed by the way he just answers for her, and irritated with her for just sitting there, chewing on her forkful of chicken instead of responding. “Why don’t you let Kate answer for herself?”
The Senator glares at me, a dark look passing over his face. “Kate just answered for herself.”
Ella looks uncomfortable. She's not good with these kinds of situations. “Katherine,” she says. “I know that your mother was a special woman, and I’m not trying to step on anyone’s toes here. I’m --”
“Seriously,” Katherine says, tossing me a look of annoyance that makes me regret even taking up for her at all. “It’s no big deal. I mean, it is a big deal for you guys. I’m happy for you. But I’m an adult. We’re all adults here. People remarry all the time. I wish you nothing but happiness.”
“Thank you, Kate,” the Senator says.
I send Kate a text.
Liar.
She looks down at her phone and back up, pointedly ignoring me. “Ella, if there’s anything you need me to do for your engagement party, please let me know.”
A broad smile crosses Ella’s face. “Thank you, Katherine,” she says. “That’s so kind of you. I think actually my stylist is going to bring dresses to the house next week to do fittings for the wedding, and I’d love to ask her to send over something for the engagement party as well. Unless you had something else in mind.”
Kate nods. “Sure.”
“Oh, she mentioned she was redoing your wardrobe,” Ella says, looking at me. “She said you asked Caulter to set it up.”
Kate pauses, her napkin on the corner of her mouth. “She did, did she?”
“I’d have been happy to set it up for you,” Ella says. “I’m pleased Caulter was able to. She said something about summer wear, dresses and that kind of thing.”
Kate coughs into her napkin, and I’m not sure, but I think she might be laughing.
“She could use more dresses for the campaign,” I say. “It’s more...functional. For the campaign, I mean.”
I watch as color rises to Kate’s cheeks, but the Senator interrupts, saving her from scrutiny. “That’s thoughtful of you, Caulter,” he says. “Absolutely. Dresses. More feminine, appropriate for the setting.”
“Yes.” I nod. “Dresses would definitely be very useful.”
Kate coughs again, this time harder. Yeah, I’m pleased with myself.
“Caulter, do you know who in the world left that barrel out in the back?” the Senator asks. I think Kate might choke on her bite of food this time.
I shrug. “No idea,” I say. “Probably the gardener.”
“Ridiculous,” he says. “You really can't get good help these days. We’re back to DC tomorrow, but the engagement party is Friday. Ella, the planners and all of that will be taking over the house for the next two days, I assume?”
“Tomorrow morning,” she says. “You and Katherine will need to direct things, Caulter. No parties.”
I look at her, mock innocent. “Have I gotten into a single bit of trouble since I’ve been here?” I ask. “Have I been out to a single party?”
Ella narrows her eyes at me. She doesn’t trust me - reasonably so. The part about parties is true, though. I’ve not been to a single one since I’ve been here. I’ve not put my dick in a single girl, either. Except Kate, of course.
“Not that I’ve seen in the newspapers,” she says.
“Leave the young man alone,” the Senator says, gesturing toward me with his fork in hand. “He’s cleaned himself up, and has behaved quite responsibly since we sent them out here. I told you, Ella, it’s all about boundaries. Rules. If you give children rules and expectations, they will conform. Caulter here is a perfect example of that.”
I have to clench my fists as I listen to him talk about me as if he’s talking about a preschool-aged child or a dog. “Yes,” I agree. The old Caulter would have lifted up the end of the antique table we’re sitting at, and sent dishes flying, before storming out of the room and driving off in my mother’s hundred-thousand-dollar car. The new Caulter, the one fucking the Senator’s daughter, is cool, calm, and collected. “You know, I think it’s really due to Kate rubbing off on me.”
Kate coughs more violently this time, and the Senator looks at her. "Are you catching a cold?"