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She had her accident a week before I finished for the summer after my 17th, and while dropping off some stuff of Luke's her situation was brought to my attention. She told me all about her difficulties, especially as the bathrooms and bedrooms were upstairs. As she was so petite and in such need I offered to spend my summer staying in the spare room and looking after her. She agreed but insisted I got paid for my work, and so I spent all summer working in the garden, driving Kate around and assisting her into bed or to the bathroom. After about one week she asked me while I was washing up after tea: "Will, I have spent over a week having sponge baths, but they aren't quite the same as feeling the water all over you. Would you give me a hand having a real bath?" At this point I wanted to yell 'Holy crap yes!' but instead made a joke about her bathing me as a child and returning the favour. That walk up the stairs was the longest walk of my life. I was sure she would be able to. I Ð or perhaps She Ð fought to focus not on the heat that was flushing my skin, not on the twisting in the pit of my stomach, not on the fact I could practically taste him in the air. But on other things, intangible and out of reach. Summer. Birds. Trees. Parks. Anything to escape the room. To delay what I hoped was inevitable. To please him.I crept down from the pinnacle. Moment by moment somehow cooling the need inside me. Drifting away. Back to the masquerade ball. Seeing him on the sideline leaning against a pillar to the left of the dance floor, flute of champagne in hand. Watching. Seemingly just me.Every time I looked his way as I twirled and stepped to the rhythm, he was following my every move. I felt singled out. In a spotlight. Special. Like the imperfections that usually define me didn’t exist or somehow didn’t matter to him. The rest of the world just fell away as I danced with men holding me, but not for them. It made me excited. So very excited. I wanted him to want.
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