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“This has no future.” I motioned between us, my tone dead. “You knew that.”
Her eyes roamed my face wildly. Whatever she was searching for—doubt, second thoughts, regret—she didn’t find it.
“Yeah.” She licked her lips, averting her gaze. “I guess you’re right.”
Kill me now.
I went over to my pile of clothes and started thrusting them one by one into my backpack. Grabbed a white henley and put it on, then shoved my feet into my boots.
I couldn’t look at her. Hell, I couldn’t even stand her looking atme.
“Can I just ask you one thing?” I felt her eyes following my movements.
“Yeah,” I said. “Sure.”
“Did you get the blood work results? And if so, what were they?”
I stopped, a balled pair of pants still in my fist. I looked up and smiled at her sadly. “I’m not a carrier of the disease. I actually spoke to a specialist. He said the migraines were likely due to elevation issues from being a mountain climber.”
Her frame drooped with relief. “That’s good to hear. Thank you for telling me.”
“Thanks for caring.”
“Course I care, Riggs.” She looked away so I wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. “I’ll always care. I want you to know that. You’ll always have a home in me. No matter where you’ll be.”
This was torture. Plain torture.
“And ...” She inhaled shakily. “If you need any money ... well, I still have some savings.”
I stared at her, flabbergasted. “Huh?”
“Yeah.” She pretzeled her fingers, looking embarrassed to offer. “I mean, it’s not much, but whatever I have is yours. I know those medical bills can pile up.”
“And how will you afford rent?” I asked, fascinated. The woman who was obsessed with money had just offered to give me whatever was left of her measly fortune.
“I won’t.” She bit on her lip, moving around the small apartment, helping me look for belongings of mine. “I’ll crash at Laura’s. Don’t worry, she owes me plenty of favors.”
“You’re a terrible gold digger.” I sighed, thinking it’d be so much easier if she was actually good at being a heartless bitch.
“I know.” She smiled delicately. “It’s ridiculous. I wish they gave classes.”
This charade had gone on long enough. I couldn’t fucking do it anymore. I was about to do something that’d earn me a place in the Dumbasses Hall of Fame, a Guinness record, and possibly anI’m a moronhat.
“Oh, shit.” I pressed my forehead to the cool wall, shaking my head on a chuckle. “You’re really going to make me do it.”
“Make you do what?” She blinked, confused.
I looked up, ripping the words out of my mouth before I could change my mind. “I’m Victor Bates’s grandson. The grandfather I told you about. That’s him. The so-called American Armani. I’m rich. Filthy rich. One-point-three-billion-dollars rich, to be exact.”
She stared at me. The air stood still.
“You’re joking, right?” she choked out once she’d found her voice again.
I threw my arms out in a What-can-you-do? motion.
“I’m rich, which makesyourich. In fact, after this is all over”—I signaled between us—“you’ll be entitled to half of what’s mine. And I’m not going to fight you on it. You’ll be welcome to every penny. Please,pleasetake that into consideration if you ever think of going back to Cocksucker. You deserve better. So much fucking better. And now you don’t need his money. You have mine. Just ...” I drew in air. “Next time you fall in love, do it with someone who deserves you.”
She stared at me with so many conflicting emotions I couldn’t tell them apart. Shock. Hurt. Anger. Sympathy.
