Re: B&B: Cat & Jack
No, she'd grown up ducking fists and filthy, her belly cramping and with the knowledge that she'd go to sleep hungry and bruised if she didn't bring back enough shinies for the owners of the orphanage. For her, a gala was a combination of dream and hate, and she was willing to accept that she could love what she hated, and that she could hate what she loved. She knew he'd grown up with money. He'd complained about it often enough, and she didn't hold it against him. After all, no one had grown up with more money than Bruce had, and she never held it against him. No, it was the tendency of the rich to look down their noses at everyone beneath them, that was what she abhorred. And Jack? He wasn't looking down his nose at anyone. In fact, no, Jack merely looked down his nose at everyone equally.
"Did I know?" She didn't have to think about whether she believed he killed his wife, and the response came fluidly. "I don't think you took a knife to her, but I know you're responsible somehow. Do I care if you know I know?" She lifted a shoulder, and she let him interpret that how he liked. "You could tell me about it, but that might be too much honesty for one day, even for you, even in the sunlight."
Ah, but what she would change for her daughter? That was a question to think over. "I would make her life easier." It seemed, perhaps, reaching low. But Cat knew that Helena's life had been hard, and not only just now. She didn't wish for more time, and she didn't wish she'd raised the girl with the serious eyes, but she wished life had been easier on her. Not longer, not wealthier, not better. Easier.
But, the chess game? The bravo? She chuckled. "Neither of us were trying." There was no point taking credit for something well done, not when it fell in your lap. Cat, she liked working for her successes. As for his assurance that he didn't want to get her into bed, that made her chuckle again. If there was sting there, it wasn't showing, and she waved off his comment about the dark. "I don't like apologies, even ones with caviar. I do like honesty, however the blows land. You don't like me very much when I'm me, when you're you. I can live with that."
And the Rilke was walking out the door. She took those steps between chair and cat, and she scratched beneath a furry chin. She looked around the room as she did, and then she put her hand to the doorknob and regarded him. "If you like the Russian? You should look up my sister. Sasha. She owns the theater, and she's much more personable than I am." She inclined her head. "Have a good day, Jack."