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It wasn’t as hard for me to take him up on his offer to pay my rent for a month as I thought it would be. I’m not saying I expected the offer, but I did suspect that when I told him I was leaving he’d try something to keep me around. And I hoped he would, too.
Granted—we’re not destined for forever. We’d both be putting a lot on the line neither of us are willing to risk…yet.
The whispered yet in my thoughts makes my breath catch, and I have to clear my throat to breathe right again. Is that why I wanted him to buy us more time? Why I would have been completely crushed if he hadn’t? Was it fear or sadness, or was it relief that had me wracked with sobs in the shower yesterday morning? Was it all of the above?
Damn.
I lift a brow his way, but he’s still not looking at me. He’s pacing his circle, seemingly deep in thought.
A few minutes later, the tailor deems me finished and helps me out of the suit. In my undershirt and briefs, I head back to the dressing room, wondering if Olivier will follow. He doesn’t.
When I come back into the shop, dressed, he’s waiting by the door, ready to open it for me. “He’ll have it ready by tomorrow night,” Olivier says. “I’ll pick it up for you.”
“Thanks.”
On the street, we walk shoulder to shoulder, and I ask, “What are you thinking about so hard?”
“What you said. About me being cut off.”
“I wasn’t trying to pick a scab,” I say.
“No, I know. It was weird because it was like for the first time ever, I thought to myself—would that be so bad?”
“Do me a favor. Don’t go there.”
“Why?”
“Because we don’t have enough time before my shift to dissect why you’re not suited for the real world.”
He elbows me in the side. “Jackass.”
I want to pull him to me and plant a huge kiss on his cheek, but we’re in his neighborhood, and it’s not dark out yet. So I keep my hands in my pockets, my mouth to myself, and my feet moving. “Don’t be moody, Peach. That’s my job.”
“I can be moody if I want. I can do anything I want, whenever I want, except marry the right person and work at a job apparently.”
“So, you do want to get married one day, just not to Elodie?”
“I don’t know,” he says, grumpier than ever. “Honestly, marrying Elodie makes a lot of sense. Probably more than most marriages do.”
“I’ve always heard that about arranged marriages.”
“Why does it seem like it sucks so bad then?” he asks.
“Because it wasn’t your choice,” I say.
He stops walking. I turn to find him facing me. “Drew?”
I nod for him to go on.
“I need a hug.”
I frown. “We’ve got two more blocks.”
“I know you can’t hug me right now, but maybe talk me through one.”
“You’re serious.”
“Please.”
