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Blake pours two glasses of water and motions for me to drink.
I'm still not sure how to handle his commands. Part of me wants him taking care of me. Another wants to scream I'm not a child.
His eyes catch mine. He can sense the irritated half.
I turn and pull my robe tighter. I'm not sure I'm up for this conversation. Not right now.
His eyes stay glued to me. His stare is penetrating. I don't have to look at him to know. I can feel it.
My cheeks flush. "Yes?"
"Is something wrong?" His voice is steady.
"You're asking?"
"I'm trying."
That makes me warm all over. "I appreciate gestures, but I don't need to be told when to drink or eat or sleep or shower. I'm not into that."
"Noted."
My shoulders relax. Is it really that easy? Maybe our marriage won't be so bad. We're getting good at compromising.
"Are you hungry?"
"Starving." I finish my water and pour another glass.
Blake fixes a plate of fruit, cheese, and chocolate. My breath hitches as he slides a square between his lips.
I just had him.
How can I want him more?
I grab a piece of cheese and plop it in my mouth. It's good. Rich. Creamy.
My gaze shifts to the windows. Moonlight falls over the part. Meryl was right. We don't have any stars here. For the first time in forever, I miss their twinkle.
It's sad. This apartment is gorgeous, but Blake doesn't appreciate it. I don't appreciate it. The space is a curse. It gives him more room to lock me out.
"Are you here a lot?" I ask.
"No."
"You're at work?"
"Mostly."
"How many hours a week do you work?" I ask.
"A lot." His voice shifts to something contemplative.
"If you had to guess."
"Eighty. A hundred maybe."
Damn. That doesn't seem possible. I've worked hard the last three years, but nowhere near a hundred hours a week. That wouldn't leave a moment to spend with my sister.
"Why make all this money if you've got no time to enjoy it?"
"I enjoy work," he says.
"Are you sure? Maybe you're afraid of being away from work." I turn back to Blake and make eye contact. His stare is intense, but I manage to hold strong. "You're always in control."
"And it gets you off."
"Yeah." I swallow hard. "But it must get exhausting." I move towards him. Take a strawberry from his plate. "Don't you want to let go sometimes?"
He shakes his head.
"You need it, don't you?"
"Spare me the pop psychology."
"Is that why you're doing all this for your mom? Can't control that she's dying but at least you can control what she thinks of you?"
His expression hardens. "You don't know what you're talking about." But it's in his eyes. That's exactly what he's doing.
"I don't mean that you don't care. I know how hard it is to lose someone you love."
"This is what I want. That's what you need to know. You shouldn't waste your time looking for my motivation."
"What if it interests me?"
"Does it?"
"Yeah." I move closer. "You interest me."
"You're concerning me, Kat. You have doubts. I understand doubts, but I can't tolerate you backing out of this."
"What will you do?"
"I don't know. Not yet." His eyes narrow. But something bad. Something awful.
"What if your mom would rather have the truth?"
"She wouldn't."
"How do you know?"
"You've known her a few hours." He raises his voice. "I've known her my entire life."
"I'm not a child. Don't scold me."
His brow furrows. He digs his fingers into the marble. "Fine. You're an adult. You agreed to this. That's the end of the conversation."
"Blake… I…" Fuck. This is going all wrong. I'm not trying to question him. Not exactly. "I want to talk to you. Or at least… You can talk to me. It must be hard, your mom dying. I'm sure you have a lot to say. Well, a lot for you."
"No." He turns, crossing his arms over his chest, closing me out.
There's hurt behind his eyes.
His mother is dying. His sister is a mess. His father was horrible.
And he's shouldering all of that alone.
I want to help.
I want to take some of his burden.
My stomach flip-flops. Blake is a difficult boss. That's it. I can't start wanting in his head and his heart.
But it's too late.
I do.
I want to hold him all night.
I want to whisper words of comfort in his ears.
I want everything with him.
Not just sex. Not just pretending.
Everything.
I need to pull back. I need to protect my heart. I need to lock him out.
But I don't.
I move closer. "Your father. You said he hit you."
His voice gets harder. "I'm not discussing that."
"Okay."
"There's a lot to do for the wedding. I'll take care of it. All you need to do is show up."
I take a few steps towards him. "It's my wedding too. I want a say."
I place my hand on his back.
He shudders. His shoulders soften.
But he keeps his body away from mine.
His voice steadies. "What specifically?"
"I want to do it at the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens."
"I'll make it happen."
"What if it's booked?"
He shrugs, pushing me away. "I'll pull some strings." He turns and his eyes find mine. "Anything else?"
"I'll think about it."
He nods to the plate. "Eat something."
"Later."
Blake steps aside. "It's late."
"I want to sleep over." I bite my tongue. This is not locking him out. This is inviting him in. Demanding more.
I need to make a choice here.
I need to let myself fall in love with him.
Or I need to close him out.
The middle ground is going to kill me.
Blake stays turned away from me, but his voice softens. "Your clothes are in your room." He points to the room where we had sex.
"The sex room?"
"Yes. I have to get back to work."
"It's late."
"Even so." He moves towards the back of the apartment. His bedroom. "Help yourself to anything." He opens his office door.
"Blake?"
He turns back to me. His eyes meet mine. It's a quick moment, but I can feel everything in those baby blues.
The hurt of his past.
The fear of leaving his mom.
And something else. Something I can't explain.
Something I desperately need to understand. "Are we going on a honeymoon after the weddi
ng?"
"Of course."
"Where?"
"It doesn't matter. We'll be spending it in the hotel." He opens his office door. "But you're welcome to pick."
"Oh."
"You don't want to spend a week coming?"
"No, I just. Forget it. I'm tired." I pull the robe tighter.
"Goodnight." He steps into his office. The lock clicks behind him.
I raid the fridge. The snack plate is no good. The smell of chocolate is mixing me up.
He doesn't even care about our honeymoon.
He's never going to love me.
I need to pull back.
But I'm not sure if I can.
I'm not sure if I can do anything to stop myself from falling in love with him.
The office stays quiet.
I stay restless.
I flip around the TV, unable to concentrate on reruns.
I stare at my sketchbook, unable to form a single line.
This is the perfect time to draw something. My junior year art teacher always told us to pour our emotions onto paper, but I don't know where to start.
Blake is intoxicating. He's fascinating. He's aloof, distant, and moody.
He doesn't believe in love.
A rerun changes to an infomercial. I go to the cable guide.
It's past midnight. I'd better call Lizzy and tell her I'm spending the night.
My bag is sitting on the kitchen table. I fish my phone out of it. There's a new text message.
From Fiona. Her number is programmed right into my phone. What the hell?
Fiona: I didn't mean to intrude, but this is the only way. I need to speak to you about your relationship with Blake. Immediately.
She sent it a few hours ago. I reply.
Kat: There's nothing to discuss.
Fiona: Yes, there is. Are you at his place?
Kat: I am.
Fiona: There's a coffee shop three blocks north. Meet me there tomorrow morning at nine A.M. Don't worry about what to tell Blake. He'll be at work by eight.
Kat: It's Sunday tomorrow.
Fiona: Exactly. He always works Sundays. You should know that. If you've really been together for months.
Kat: I'm busy.
Fiona: It will only take a few minutes. I promise.
I drop the phone. This is weird. There's no way Fiona could know about our arrangement.
Blake is discreet.
And she's caught up in her own problems.
But maybe I'm not that good at pretending.
