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“Ask me what?” Trapping the cell phone between my shoulder and ear, I freed up my hands to unlock the door.
“Oh, shit.” My best friend made a choking sound.
“Marissa,” I said, nudging the door open with my knee. Entering the apartment, I hit the light switch. “What was Blake supposed to ask me?”
“I, uh… I just remembered I’m supposed to do a thing. I’ll call you later, love you, bye.”
She hung up, and I rolled my eyes. Most friends might have thought such behavior odd, but for Marissa, putting her foot in her mouth was like an Olympic sport and she was going for Gold.
But what if…
My gaze swept over the living room, looking for clues. “What are you up to Mr. Weston?” I murmured to myself, dropping my purse on the table.
Everything looked the same, no excessive bunches of flowers or over-to-top gifts left lying around casually. Not like last year, when Blake had carefully trailed copious amounts of rose petals from the door to our bed.
If that wasn’t enough, he’d lit an excessive number of candles around the room, the flames flickering to the soft melodies of Debussy. It was romantic—something most girls only dreamed of coming home to—but it wasn’t me. I preferred low key, which is exactly why I had insisted that, this year, we only exchange cards and have dinner at our favorite restaurant.
He’d grumbled some protest, insisting that it was his prerogative to spoil me whenever and wherever he pleased but, in the end, he promised.
I think deep down he knew why.
Blake knew that it wasn’t because I was anti-romance. It wasn’t that at all, but I didn’t need expensive gifts or jewelry to affirm our love.
I only needed him.
It didn’t feel right to accept such lavish things from Blake when I couldn’t give any such thing in return. Because even after eighteen months of living together, I was still adjusting to the fact that his family was one of the wealthiest families in Columbus. And I was the girl with nothing to her name.
He had the world at his feet; money, opportunity, people falling over themselves just to meet Anthony Weston’s nephew and air to the Weston fortune. Unlike me, Penny Wilson, the girl with no family, and a childhood of baggage that most therapists didn’t want to touch.
We were the local Cinderella story, and I still didn’t know how to feel about that.
Shaking the thoughts out of my head, I helped myself to a glass of water. The cool liquid dissolved the doubt building in my chest.
Blake loved me.
It had taken time, but his uncle had finally warmed to our relationship, and I loved his aunt Miranda dearly. She had been nothing but kind and accepting of me.
But there were moments when the past crept up on me, and before I could shut it out, it was already there, burying its way into my thoughts.
I set the glass down, and unraveled the scarf from around my neck, taking a deep, calming breath.
It was Valentine’s Day, and I had a date with my best friend.
My protector and lover.
The man I planned to spend forever with.
* * *
“Table for Weston.” I smiled at the maître d’, watching as he glanced over his list, confusion furrowing his brows.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, we don’t have a reservation under that name.”
“You don’t?” I leaned forward trying to get a look at his coveted list. “Is there anything for Wilson?”
“I’m sorry.” He flashed me a smile that bordered pity. “As you can appreciate, we’re very busy this evening.”
I nodded, ducking my head, careful to avoid the scrutinizing glares from the other patrons as I made my way out of the restaurant, embarrassment staining my cheeks.
