Chapter 3: Night princess. Night Puppy
The words hung in the fragrant air between them, sharp as the knife left on the cutting board.
“What do you mean, ‘you people’?” she asked, putting her slice down.
“Rich kids.” He took another bite, his gaze fixed on the pizza, not her. The cheese stretched and snapped.
She watched him chew, the line of his jaw tight. “Okay, well, I don’t think I’m like him.”
He let out a breathy laugh through his nose, a short, dismissive puff of air. He finally looked up, his blue eyes catching the chandelier light. “Okay, maybe I’m a smidge privileged,” she conceded, waving a hand.
“You think?” The question was flat, loaded with the weight of her marble countertops and his borrowed clothes.
She leaned forward, elbows on the cool stone. “You know Tristan thinks he’s this tough guy, but really he’s just this—” she began, searching for the word.
“Insecure little bitch,” Joseph finished without hesitation. He took a long drink from a glass of water, his throat working.
“Yeah.” She laughed, but it was thin. “I’d like to see Tristan in a street fight.”
Joseph’s mouth quirked. “He wouldn’t last ten seconds. Guys like him, they fight for applause. They don’t know what it’s like when the only reason you’re swinging is because walking away means you starve.”
The room felt quieter, the grand space amplifying the rawness of his words. Kenzie pushed her chair back and stood up, the legs scraping on the tile. She walked a few paces into the open floor of the kitchen, near the island where the solitary pie sat cooling.
“Can you imagine that?” she said, her voice taking on a mocking, deeper tone.
She put her hands up, fists balled in a pathetic imitation of a boxer's guard. "Just so you know, these hands are insured for a million dollars."Joseph laughed, a real one that shook his shoulders. "Yeah, he'd be like, 'You mess 'em up, you'll be hearing from my lawyers.'"
She laughed too, the sound echoing in the vast kitchen, just as the side door to the garage groaned open. "Kenz?"a man's voice called out, tired and sharp.
Kenzie stood up so fast her chair nearly toppled."Get down," she hissed at Joseph, her eyes wide.
"You know I'm not your literal dog, right?" he muttered, already sliding off his chair.
"Do you wanna get caught?"she shot back, her voice a frantic whisper.
He got down on his knees, looking up at her with a raised eyebrow."Woof."
She slapped his cheek lightly, a quick, fluttering touch, and he smoothly slid under the heavy wooden table just as her father rounded the corner into the kitchen. "Hey Dad, you're home early," she said, her voice suddenly bright and polished.
"Yeah, it was uh—" He stopped, his suit jacket draped over his arm, his gaze landing on the second plate."Oh, who's that for?"
“It's for you. Aren't you hungry?" She gestured to the chair, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"I am, but there's a bite taken out of it, Kenz." He pointed a weary finger at the pizza slice.
"I was just trying to make sure it was good," she said, forcing a playful shrug.
He sighed, the sound of a long day, and sat down in the chair, pulling it in. Kenzie sat opposite him, her legs going rigid as she felt the solid warmth of Joseph's shoulders between her knees beneath the table."So, how's school?" he asked, taking a bite."It's good," she managed.
Joseph shifted, adjusting his position in the confined space, and the movement brushed against her inner thighs. She slammed her palm flat on the table, making the silverware jump.
"Did I just kick you?" her father asked, already starting to lean forward to lift the linen tablecloth."Oh, no, no, no!" she said, reaching across to take his hands in hers. They were cool and dry."Let's pray."
Her father blinked, startled."Since when do we pray over pizza?"
"Since now," she said, closing her eyes tightly, her mind blank except for the frantic, silent scream inside it. She could feel Joseph's steady, slow breathing against her legs, a contrast to the panic tightening her own throat. She gripped her father's hands harder, her knuckles white. "Dear Lord, thank you for this food, and for... for family," she began, the words hollow and shaky in the quiet, gleaming kitchen.
...and for... for family," she began, the words hollow and shaky in the quiet, gleaming kitchen.
"Amen," her father muttered, pulling his hands back."That was weird, Kenz." He picked up his pizza slice again, taking a large bite.The cheese stretched and broke.
Kenzie stared at her plate, her legs locked tightly around Joseph's shoulders beneath the table.She could feel the tension coiled in his back. "So, how's work?"she asked, the question too loud in the quiet room.
"Verbal NDA," he said around a mouthful of food, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
"Of course," Kenzie said, forcing a light tone.Under the table, Joseph shifted. His gaze fell on her knee-high socks, the little pink bow on one of them. He reached out, his fingers brushing her calf, and gently grabbed the loose string of the bow between his thumb and forefinger.
“So we’re looking into this illegal street fighting ring,” her father said, chewing thoughtfully. “Attorney General wants us to crack down—”
Under the table, there was a sudden, sharp pound.A pained thump. Joseph’s head jerked up and smacked hard against the wooden underside of the table.
“Ow, my knee!” Kenzie yelped, flinching violently.She dropped her pizza.“What?” Her father stared at her, confused.
“Nothing, just—a cramp.” Her face burned. She reached a hand swiftly under the table, her fingers fisting in Joseph’s fluffy black hair in a reprimanding grip.
He grabbed her wrist instantly, his own hand closing around it like a vise, and pulled her hand firmly away from his head.The struggle was silent, frantic, and contained completely beneath the linen tablecloth.
“What’s so bad about these illegal fights?” she asked, her voice slightly strained as she subtly tried to free her wrist from his grip under the table.
“Well, fighters die in the ring, Kenz.” Her father sighed, putting his slice down.“ This is unregulated stuff. There’s no protections, no protocols. Not to mention there’s illegal bets and arms deals. It’s dangerous stuff.”
Joseph shook his head slowly in the dark space between her legs, a slow drag of his hair against her inner thigh. She felt the motion, intimate and infuriating.
“Anyways, I haven’t seen Tristan around for a while. You guys okay?” he asked, taking a sip of water. “Uh, we broke up,” Kenzie said quickly. “But how often do these fighters die in the fights?”
“Too often.” Her father’s tone was grim, prosecutorial. “I thought you guys were in a good place. What happened? You wanna talk about it?”
“No.” The word was final, a flat stone dropped into water.
“Well, If these fights are so dangerous, maybe you should go to your office and work on the case. Take this as fuel.”
She handed him the pizza box. “Kenz, is there something you wanna tell me?” he asked, his tired eyes searching her face. “No, I’m just trying to help. I want you to thrive,” she said, the words sounding hollow even to her. His phone buzzed on the marble. He looked at it. “It’s the Attorney General.”
“There you go,” she said, forcing a smile. “So, I gotta go thrive,” he said, standing up. He leaned over and kissed the top of her head, his cologne a familiar, faint scent of citrus and sandalwood. “Yeah, thrive,” she whispered to his retreating back.
“You sure you’re okay?” he called from the hallway. “Yes.”
“Okay. I love you.”
“I love you too,” she said, the automatic response hanging in the air long after the sound of his footsteps faded down the stairs to his office.
The moment the distant thud of his office door sealed shut, she kicked him under the table.
“Ouch,” Joseph said, his voice a low rumble as he slid out from beneath it. He stood up, rubbing his head where it had connected with the wood. “What was that for?”
“People die in your fights?” she asked, the question ripping out of her. She stayed seated, looking up at him, her earlier playfulness gone.“Yeah. What do you care?” He crossed his arms, his posture closing off, the lean muscles in his shoulders tightening under the grey shirt.
“I don’t, I just—” she started, stumbling over the lie.He cut her off. “What, are you worried about me?” A challenge flashed in his blue eyes, a mix of disbelief and something sharper.
“No, obviously not.” She looked away, focusing on a crack in the marble countertop.
“Kenzie Summers is worried about me.” He took a step closer, his shadow falling over her.
“I am not,” she insisted, her voice lacking any conviction.
“The rich girl’s got a soft spot for her guard dog.” He said it slowly, each word a deliberate probe.
“Shut up.” She stood up abruptly, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, putting the solid wood of the table between them.
“I thought you said your dad was never around.” He didn’t move, just watched her, that infuriating half-awareness making him seem older.
“Well, he’s usually not.” She flung a hand toward the empty house. “Usually, we could waltz around here naked and he wouldn’t even know.” The words were meant to shock, to push him back with their crude exaggeration.
She pushed past him, needing space, her shoulder brushing against his chest.
“Naked, huh?” His voice was quieter now, a different kind of heat in it.
“Whatever.” She didn’t turn around, heading for the stairs. Behind her, she heard it. A low, genuine smile in his voice, a sound that felt like a secret.
He followed her up the grand staircase, their footsteps absorbed by the thick runner. The mansion felt colder now, the ornate hallways holding a deeper chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. She pushed open her bedroom door, the familiar scent of lavender and clean linen offering no comfort.
Joseph went straight to the closet, sliding the door shut behind him with a soft click. Alone in the padded silence, he let out a slow breath, He pulled the grey shirt over his head, the fabric catching briefly on his ear.
He sat on the edge of the bed tucked in the corner, the mattress soft beneath him. His eyes scanned the ordered rows of dresses and shelves of accessories. He reached out, his fingers brushing a delicate glass bottle with a gold cap. He picked it up, unscrewed the cap, and brought it to his nose. The scent was overwhelming, a cloud of jasmine and vanilla that was so purely, unavoidably her.
In the main room, Kenzie stood before her vanity mirror. She couldn’t see her own reflection clearly, her mind replaying her father’s words about deaths in the ring. She pushed her fingers through her blonde hair, fluffing it absently, then turned and sat on the edge of her grand bed, arranging herself almost formally against the pile of pillows.
Inside the closet, Joseph’s gaze landed on a ridiculous, wide-brimmed cowboy hat perched on a high shelf. A snort of laughter escaped him. He grabbed it and plopped it on his head, the shadow of the brim falling across his face. He caught his own smirk in the mirror’s reflection and shook his head, taking it off and placing it carefully back where he found it.
The slide of the closet door was a quiet rasp on its track. Kenzie straightened her posture, planting her hands on the quilt on either side of her hips.
Joseph walked out, bare-chested, He leaned against the doorframe, the muscles in his arms and shoulders relaxed but defined. “So your dad’s sorta never around. What about your mum?” he asked.
The question, coming from him of all people, felt like a door being nudged open in a dark room. “What about her?” Kenzie’s voice was carefully neutral.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” He pushed off the frame, his tone offering a real exit.
“No, I can—I’m, I’m fine to talk about it,” she said, the practiced breeziness failing. She looked at her hands, then back at him. “She left when I was a baby. Wasn’t into the whole mom thing.”
He was quiet for a moment, the house settling around them. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words stripped of pity, just a simple acknowledgment of a fact.
“Yeah.” She looked down, picking at a thread on the quilt. He moved then, crossing the room and climbing onto the bed with a single, fluid motion. He didn’t lie back, just sat facing her. “You okay?”
“Yeah.It’s just…” She took a breath, finding a specific anchor for the vague hurt. “You know that necklace Tristan stole and then broke?”
He nodded, his blue eyes intent on her face. “It was hers,” Kenzie said, the admission feeling both trivial and enormous.
Joseph didn’t offer empty condolences. His focus shifted, sharpening to a tangible point. “We’ll get it back.”
“It’s fine. I don’t need it. I don’t need anything from her.” She turned her head to look out the darkened window, her profile outlined by the faint glow from the courtyard lights.
“Hey.” His voice was quiet, but it pulled her gaze back. He reached out and placed his hand on her forearm, his palm warm and solid against her skin. She looked at his hand, then slowly up into his eyes.
“We’ll get it back,” he repeated, the promise a quiet vibration in the space between them.
The air in the vast bedroom grew dense, charged with the weight of his hand on her arm and the unsaid things crowding the silence. Her breath hitched, a tiny, audible catch in the back of her throat. She looked down to his lips, he looked at her lips. He slowly leaned in, she leaned in. The space between them vanished into shared warmth and the scent of clean skin and old house.
“You need to moisturise your lips,” she said, the words a hurried exhale against his mouth. She got off the bed, her movements quick and flustered, and grabbed a small jar from her vanity. She sat back down on the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight, and unscrewed the cap.
He smiled, a faint, unsteady thing. “Okay, hold still,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. She put some on her finger, brushing the cool, glossy balm against his bottom lip with a touch so light it was almost not there.
He looked at her, his blue eyes dark and unblinking. She looked up at him, pausing, then looked back down at his lips, continuing the careful stroke. Their breathing got heavy, slightly synced and shallow in the quiet room. They looked at each other, the jar forgotten in her other hand.
Then she screwed the cap back on with a decisive click. “Don’t wipe it off, it’s an overnight mask,” she said, her gaze darting from his eyes to his newly-glossed mouth and back. He smiled and smacked his lips together twice, a soft, sticky sound.
She laughed, the tension splintering into something lighter, giddier. “How do most people react to you being bossy?” he asked, his voice low and rough around the edges.
“With gratitude,” she said, lifting her chin a little. He smiled, a real one that softened the hard line of his jaw.
“Okay, bye,” she said, suddenly formal. He got up and walked towards the closet, the floorboards creaking under his steps. She tucked her hair behind her ear, watching him go.
He grabbed the doorframe with one hand, leaning back to look at her from across the room. “Night, Princess,” he said, the old nickname feeling different now, warmer.
“Night, Puppy,” she replied, the new one slipping out before she could think. When he walked into the closet and slid the door mostly shut, she smiled, laying back on her bed and letting out a long, shaky breath.
Inside the closet’s darkness, Joseph laid down on the makeshift bed. His hand brushed against something soft in the gloom. He grabbed one of her stuffed animals, a faded elephant with button eyes, and pulled it to his chest. He cuddled it, the faint scent of her perfume and laundry detergent clinging to the plush, and went to sleep.