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I hold onto my satisfaction for as long as I can. Maybe he'll never love me, but he will fuck me senseless. That's more than some people get.
It's not enough, but it's something.
Chapter Twelve
Somehow, I get back into my dress long enough to get from the garage to the elevator to Blake's apartment. He says nothing until we're in the bathroom and then it's only to ask if I'd like anything to eat or drink.
He draws a bath. Half of me wants to scream I can do this myself. The other half wants to fall into his arms and let him take care of me forever.
There's something comforting about the surrender. About letting go of all the thoughts bouncing around my head. I want to be better at it.
I want to be able to let go. To let someone else take care of me. Someone I trust.
I'm just not sure if that's Blake.
I split the difference. He leaves to fetch me a snack, and I wait in silence until the tub is full enough, then I slip into the sudsy water.
It's perfect. Hot but not painfully so. Big bubbles that smell of lavender and peppermint.
One by one, my muscles relax. The day washes away. The pain of pretending washes away. Everything is perfect and warm and sweet.
Blake returns with a tray of snacks. Grapes, berries, crackers, cheese, and dark chocolate.
He's in jeans and a t-shirt. It's weird. But hot too. He wears cotton well.
I move to the edge of the tub. "You look normal."
"And usually?"
"You're in a suit. You wore a suit when we went shopping."
"I wore slacks and a collared shirt."
"Okay, you were business casual. Most people wear something like that." I draw a circle around his outfit. "Isn't that how programmers usually dress?"
"I don't program much these days."
I pop a raspberry into my mouth. I never buy berries. Too expensive. It's better than I remember. Tart, sweet, perfect. "Do you miss it?"
"At times."
"Did you love programming?"
"I love some things about it."
"Like…"
"There's this feeling of accomplishment when you get a program to work. A satisfaction. Nothing compares."
"You like being in control of the computer?"
"That's part of it. It's more the sense of accomplishment."
"What do you do now? Besides programming?"
"Lots of meetings. Executive-level decisions. It's important, but it's not as satisfying."
"You could let someone else run your company."
He stares back at me in horror. I think. "What do you love about art?" He takes a strawberry and sucks the juice from it. "We've never talked about it."
"We don't talk much."
"True." His voice gets light. Well, for Blake.
"I love all of it. But I love graphic novels the most."
"Comic books?"
I nod.
He half-smiles. "You do realize I started a tech company at sixteen."
"And you were inspired by Batman or something?"
"No. He's too violent."
"Iron Man?"
"Do I strike you as snarky?"
I laugh. I'm pretty sure that's a joke.
It is. Blake is actually smiling. God, he has a nice smile. It makes me feel warm all over.
"I don't really read comic books," I say. "I'm not into superhero stories. I like graphic novels about people and relationships. My sister always says it's boring girl stuff."
"You love her a lot?"
"Of course. Don't you love your sister?"
He nods. "She's difficult, I know. If she was—"
"It's okay. I get it. What's the deal with her husband?"
"Trey? He's not a good man."
I arch a brow. "That's not a good explanation."
"It's not my secret to share."
Fair enough. I sink my teeth into the chocolate. It's perfect. Rich. Sweet. Satisfying. "What do you do for fun?"
"Chess."
"Chess?"
"That too." He glances at the plate. "Do you want something more substantial?"
"Not in the bath." I push back to the wall—the tub really is that big. "I… I want to know why we're doing this."
He nods. Then nothing.
"That was your cue to start the explanation," I say.
He nods to a glass of water. I roll my eyes but I drink the entire glass.
"Don't do that," he says.
"Follow your instructions?"
"Roll your eyes."
"Or what? Will you punish me for being bad?"
"I'm going to do what I can to respect you, Kat. I expect the same from you." His gaze is intense. "Understood?"
"If you want respect, then respect me. I asked you for something. You didn't reply."
He stares back at me.
I can't hold his gaze. My eyes go to my ring. It's still catching all the light.
"You like it?" His voice is soft. Almost like he actually cares about my reaction.
"Does it matter?" I do like it, though I'd like it a lot more if it was from someone who cared about me. If it symbolized love instead of bullshit.
"Yes." He kneels next to the bath, bringing us eye to eye. "It suits you."
"I'm expensive and showy?"
"You're beautiful and understated." He offers his hand. "I want this to be easy for you."
"It will be easier if you stop saying that. And if you explain." I dip my head into the water. I feel cleaner instantly. Like the bath is washing away all the hair product and makeup. All the stuff that makes me Blake's pretty, fake fiancée and not Kat.
Blake stares at me, studying me.
I wipe the makeup from my eyes. "Why did you ask me to marry you?"
"The same reason I asked you to play my girlfriend."
"Helpful."
"I wanted to make someone happy."
"Who?" I squeeze shampoo into my hands and lather.
Blake motions come here. When I move closer, he combs the shampoo through my hair.
"I can do that," I say.
"Let someone else help you for once."
"I don't need help."
"Accept it anyway." He runs his hands through my hair. It's soft. Gentle. Loving. "You remember my mother?"
"Meryl. Of course. She was sweet."
"And weak. She could barely stand." His voice is soft. Hurt. "She's not supposed to drink with her medication, but at this point, I don't think it matters."
I don't like the sound of that. "Why not?"
"She has liver disease." He shakes his head. "I should have convinced her to quit drinking. This wouldn't have happened."
"You're her kid. You can't convince her to do anything."
His eyes go dark. "I could have. She knew better. We all knew better."
"Maybe she... maybe there are treatments." Oh. It hits me all at once. There are no treatments. This whole charade is for his mother's benefit. It must be because—
"She's dying, Kat." He presses his palm against the porcelain. "We thought she had a year, but things took a turn for the worse. Best case scenario, she has three months."
My stomach drops. Meryl is a sweet woman. Loving. It's not fair.
But then I gave up on life being fair a long time ago.
I offer Blake my hand. "I'm sorry."
"Thank you." He takes it. "She's always worried about me. After my father, it makes sense, but I don't want her to die worrying."
"What about your father?"
He ignores my question. "We need to sell this. We need to convince her we're madly in love."
"Why not tell her the truth?"
He looks me right in the eyes. "She thinks her marriage cursed us. She's still guilty she stayed with him."
"But why?"
This, too, he brushes off.
I stare back at him for a few moments, but his expression stays a wall. He isn't going to explain.
I dip my hair, rinsing out all the shampoo and most of the product. When I surface, Blake is waiting with a bottle of conditioner.
He runs it through my hair. "If you have any objections, I'd like to get them out of the way."
"You're pretty much at my mercy," I say. "I mean, you've already proposed to me. You can't find a new fake girlfriend now."
His fingertips graze my forehead. "I want you. Not anyone else."
"You're stuck with me."
"No, I want you."
I pull back and duck my head into the water to rinse the conditioner. Thoughts swirl around my brain. Objections. Encouragement. That voice that screams you still need his money.
I barely know Meryl, but I know enough to want her happy.
Even if it's a lie. A lie that makes you happy must be better than a truth that hurts you.
Tension builds between my shoulders. It doesn't feel right. It feels like more bullshit. "So we're… what, we're going to get married ASAP? So she's there?"
He nods.
"How are you going to plan a wedding that fast?"
"I could have a wedding planned tomorrow if I wanted." His voice gets low. "Money can buy just about anything you want."
"It can't buy me." Not my core. Not my love. Not my will. If I'm doing this, it's because I believe it's the right thing to do.
Something in him changes. He nods. All steely and determined. "You've already signed a contract."
"And you've already said you want me. Just me."
