Easing

"What is wrong with you?" Conrad snaps when he sees Meredith again the following church service. He waited until the mass is over. "Don't look at me like you did not return my kisses."

Meredith snapped at him right after kissing an acquaintance in the cheek. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"You know what I am talking about. You just don't want to acknowldge it because you're a glorified denial queen."

She sighe, knowing he will never let her have her peace. Placing her hands on her waist, she scornfully faced him and stared at the eyes that were feasting on her curves despite the many fabric of clothes covering her. Behind him is Anastasia. Watching them, like a vulture. "Fine, you can't take a hint."

"That is true."

"What do you want?"

"It's Sunday."

"I am aware of the day. I have a calendar too."

"Rrrright." Conrad flashed his boyish grin before continuing, "you were with us last Sunday and as you can see, my mother is waiting there. She wants me to invite you back and she will be heartbroken if you say no. Mother says you've been strangely aloof the past few days."

Meredith's POV:

Idiot. But a good looking idiot I must say.

I am glad that my hard to get game is paying off. He made an effort, so l will play along see where it takes us. I get the impression that his mother is applying too much pressure on him and I don't care. There is something in the atmosphere. I can’t quite put my finger on it yet.

Seems like a reasonable request, given he offered.

And that is why I am back at their house again. On a Sunday. I texted Gustav as an update but he did not text me back because he can't. His stuby fingers are awful at it. This time, I was not led into the dining area like the last time, Conrad led me to the family room. Outdated in style but still lavish. I started to look around, I have to make the most of it and to pass time.

There’sa wall of books and a raw of photos. It's not like I haven't seen their most recent photos on the portfolio Wynona gave me, but these are different. They are timelapses. A blast from his past. Sure, he's a cute kid.. While he played golf at a tender age of ten, I was working my ass. And that helped me put my priorities in their lane.

“My family. Courtesy of you know who. God, I am such a sweetheart.”

"Wow, you don't allow other people to praise you, do you? How conceited can you get?"

"I don't know,"he shrugged, "for a moment there, I saw you gushing at my photo and I thought maybe you were thinking we will make pretty babies."

"Son of a bitch," smiling as I screw up my face.

Not much has changed to not recognise him, even as a boy. Those eyes are apparent throughout, and that severe scowl he has when he is unhappy.

From what I can see, his father hasn’t changed in many years. Still a lot like the tall, powerful man before he passed away. So much like his son in looks but with more wrinkles, grey hair, and different eyes. He has that air of command but not that sadistic aura. The old Knight looked gentler.

Ah, and there's Anastasia. She looks drawn and bitchy. Attractive, long dark blonde hair, which is probably dyed there. As usual, there’s an impression of coldness to her I sometimes see in him. It makes me pause on her face for a second, hesitating at the connection. The way she’s poised. She gives me the heebie-jeebies.

“Her hair is...different here.” I tap her face and motion him to look where I’m pointing, and he leans in and nods.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t sound impressed.

“She seems a little sterile. Even in a picture.”

“She was mad at me before that shot. As usual, I did something to make her angry, and it was my fault she looked like she wanted to be anywhere but there.” He sighs heavily and drinks a good portion of his wine, averting his gaze.

There’s a feeling of awkwardness seeping back between us, straining the atmosphere, and I can tell he’s not as comfortable with this as he is making out. He doesn’t share personal things, so this must be taking a considerable amount of effort. It’s not lost on me that he’s doing this for me.

Always pulling my brain in two directions with every move.

“I don’t know where to start,” I utter shyly. No clue how this began and not knowing the questions to ask. My version of his life is wrong, so I’m at a loss.

“Okay, so maybe a condensed version, and you don’t have to ask questions?” He smiles softly, it doesn’t reach his eyes, though, and I can still sense the nervous tension in him.

“Sounds like a plan.” I smile, too, except mine is genuine. Glad I won’t have to coax a story or ask things that might upset him. If he’s in control of the intel he gives, maybe we can get through the backstory with minimum fuss "I was a hyper child back then, being an only child will do that, I guess. So...the plan is to have as many kids as much as possible.

“Hmm. Nothing much changed there then.” I giggle at him; his hopelessness is sweet, making his smile break properly. A genuine ‘cute boy with dimples’ smile that relaxes me, and some of the nervous tension I was holding balled up inside me, dissipates a little. The tense atmosphere around us eases slightly, and as I cradle my wine and take a sip, I can see him loosen up visually too. Those shoulders are not so square and rigid as he finds a more comfortable slouch. I guess my mood is softening his as he sees me warming up.

A staff walks in to inform us that lunch is ready.

My brain whirs and clicks into overdrive.

Conrad is way more than I thought he was. I’m so awed that I’m getting this much from him. I’m like a kid at Christmas, fixated on him and desperate for more. To understand, to dissect the man and his complex layers. I could never have imagined us sitting here and him telling me a sad story about an unloved child with real issues.He never told me that directly but I get the gist. I could never imagine that within half an hour of this, I would be standing next to him leaning to him and so focused and empathetic to him that I’m longing to touch him. God forbid, I am losing focus again.

This is Conrad levelling the playing field. He's a showing trust, and I can see that. Letting me know things very few do and showing me that if he has the means to hurt me, I now have the means to hurt him. He is clever, very much so. He and his mother had managed to corner me and bring me to Sunday lunvch despite my aversion to them. Clearly, they planned this date to every detail, knowing it would set the bar on how things between us will proceed.

“Meredith, I wish I could tell you more."

"Why hold back?"

"Because I am on the fence, like I said, I like you. I still don't know if you will like me back if I go out all the way."

"If it's not Cold-blooded murder or sexual aggression, I will live." I joked, realizing that it's not impossible. I lived and worked for a man with the same caliber. What are the odds?

Maybe. I mean, I have to ask.