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I force words from my lips. "Can you read that again?"
He begins. "It's two hundred thousand dollars, Katrina."
Two hundred thousand dollars. All the money I need for college.
Larry continues. "I can go over the details of the charities if you'd like."
"No, thank you." Fiona stands, brushing her perfect black outfit smooth. "I should get to the house for the memorial." She looks at Blake. "Are you coming?"
"I'll meet you there." He waits until Fiona leaves then turns to me. "Are you okay?"
I adjust my dress. "I will be. Are you?"
"I will be." He stands and offers his hand. "Can we talk?"
I take his hand. "Okay."
Blake nods a goodbye to the lawyer and whisks me out of the room.
We go to the diner around the corner. It's a greasy spoon place. Vinyl booths. Checked tile floor. Big plates of fried eggs, hash browns, and bacon.
Blake holds the door open for me. He motions to one side of a long, red booth.
It's the next best thing to pulling out a chair. He really is a gentleman.
Somehow, he doesn't look out of place here. Even in his two-thousand-dollar suit.
He nods to the guy behind the counter like they're old friends.
I pull my cardigan over my chest.
His eyes meet mine. "Is that the winter formal dress you mentioned?"
I nod. "It's a funny chance to wear it."
"Yes, but it suits you."
"My chest?"
His laugh is sad. "Yes. But the rest too. It's—"
"Beautiful and understated?"
"You're already bored of my clichés. We're practically married."
My laugh is nervous. I unwrap my silverware and play with my fork. "It's weird wearing a party dress to a funeral."
"It wouldn't be. Not for Mom. She'd love that dress."
"Because of my boobs?"
"Yes. But because it's beautiful. Because it's for a party. That's what she wanted. She wanted us to celebrate her life instead of mourn it."
"A lot of people say that."
He nods.
"But it never really works that way."
"No. It doesn't."
Our server interrupts. "What can I get you?"
"Coffee," Blake says. "And the tilapia special." He half-smiles. "Best tilapia anywhere."
The guy nods damn straight.
"I'm sold." I hand the guy my menu. "And an iced tea."
"You got it." He looks to Blake. "I'm so sorry about Meryl."
"Thank you," Blake says.
"She was a great woman."
"She was," Blake says.
The guy walks away, shaking his head like he can't stand how unfair life is.
I fold my napkin into a triangle. "She was a great woman."
Blake smiles. Really smiles. It's not joy exactly. It's more like he's relishing his memories of his mom.
I feel the same way. It hurts like hell that she's gone. It's been three years since my parents died, and that still hurts.
But there's more than hurt in my gut.
There are happy memories everywhere.
For the last three years, I've been pushing everything about my parents aside—the pain and the joy.
I can't do that anymore. I need to feel it, all of it, even if it hurts as much as it feels good.
Blake's fingers brush my palm. "You okay?"
"I will be." I pull my hands into my lap. "I'm sorry you lost her."
"Me too."
He drifts into thought about something.
I play with the hem of my dress to keep my attention here. This might be the last time I ever see Blake. I'm going to remember it.
"Stay with me tonight," he says. "I'm going back to the penthouse after the memorial."
I hold his gaze. It's like he's looking deep inside me.
Usually, that makes me feel off-center. Picked apart. But not today. It feels okay. It feels right.
It feels like he really sees me. Kat. Not Super-Girlfriend, but the girl under the makeup and the highlights and the fancy clothes.
I stare back, trying to find the man under the expensive suit and the expression of steel. There are hints of him. He's hurting, and not just over his mom.
For once, I recognize his expression.
He's lonely.
I take a deep breath, weighing my options. "I'll be okay."
His facade cracks. "I know you will. I won't."
"Oh." My heart thuds against my chest.
"I don't want to be alone." He shakes his head "Fuck that. I'd rather be alone than with anyone else." He presses his palm against the table. "I want to be with you tonight."
Oh my. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly "You mean for—" I swallow hard. "—sex? Or for something else?"
"Whatever you want." He presses his lips together. "As long as I can spend tonight with you."
I adjust my dress. It doesn't offer any clarity.
He's hurting and I want to wipe that away. I want to help however I can.
I want the comfort too.
I stare back into those piercing blue eyes. "Okay."
His sigh is heavy with relief. "Thank you."
"It doesn't mean anything. We're not together."
He nods. "Of course."
"Here ya go." The waiter drops off our drinks. "Sugar's at the end of the table." He turns back and he's gone.
I take a long sip of my iced tea.
Blake may be softening. He may have affection for me. But that's not enough.
I'm going to be with someone who is madly, passionately in love with me. Not just someone who finds me pleasant company.
Blake stirs his black coffee. He takes a small sip. His eyes focus on me. "I promised Meryl something that first morning."
"Did you offer or did she ask?"
"She asked."
"Of course she did." A laugh escapes his lips. He shakes his head like he can't believe how ridiculous she was. "You don't have to honor it."
"You don't know what it is."
"Still."
"I want to." Deep breath. "I promised her to give you another chance. One date."
Something flashes on his face. Concern. He shifts back slightly. Wraps his fingers around his coffee. "I hope this doesn't count."
I shake my head. "Would be awfully tacky to do it the day of he
r funeral."
"She would have liked that."
"She would have liked it if I married you without a prenup, divorced you, and got half your shit."
He laughs again. A big laugh where his lips curl into a smile. He throws his head back. Slaps his hands against his thighs.
His laugh is still the best thing I've ever heard.
"No," Blake says. "She would have loved it."
"Did you tell her about our deal?"
"You did."
My chest tightens. How the hell does he know that?
"It's okay," he says. "In the end, it was for the best. She died thinking someone cared about me. That's what I wanted."
"Right. Of course." I bury my attention in my iced tea. Cared. I cared about him. If that's the story he wants to tell himself, fine. "What exactly did you tell her?"
He makes eye contact. "That I cared about you and wanted you to be happy."
There's that word again. Cared. God, what an ugly word. It's the worst word in the English language.
"Tomorrow," he says. "For our date. We can start in the morning." He watches me closely. "If your schedule permits."
That's another joke. I think. He's terrible with jokes, but I kind of love it.
I nod. "Tomorrow is perfect."
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Blake's apartment feels different than it did last time. It's colder. Sparser. More utilitarian.
This might be the last time I see it.
Or him.
He presses the door closed and clicks the lock. "There are clothes in the spare room if you'd like to change."
"Clothes or my clothes?"
"Ashleigh picked them out for you."
"No. I'm okay in this." And I don't really want to wear the clothes his assistant picked out. That only reminds me about the all business nature of our arrangement.
"You hungry?"
"A little."
"I'll make something." He moves into the kitchen.
I wander around the sparse living room. This one, huge room must be a thousand square feet. God, this place must cost a fortune.
It's a lot to give up for a little thing like love, but there isn't a doubt in my mind.
Gorgeous apartments are nothing compared to that perfect, safe feeling of someone's arms around you.
Damn. I'm waxing poetic. But at least I know where I stand.
