“Oh, I’m aware,” I say, adjusting my grip on the cue. “Have you ever had to deal with a plumber in the depths of winter? The attitude? Immense. Huge! But my experience is, the wealthier the person, the bigger the asshole.”
“By that edict, I’m not quite surewhereto adjust my monocle.”
I huff out a laugh, tipping forward to rest my forehead against his shoulder.
“What about Nora? She’s quite arrogant.”
“Nora’s a special case.” I stand straight again and reach over for my glass. Taking a tentative sip, I offer it over. “Besides, I’m not sure she’s arrogant as much as she is a grump.”
“Eve,” he begins over the rim of the glass, “you know she looks down on everyone.”
“Unless you’re wearing a fur coat and have four legs. She’s had a hard life. Of course she’s going to be prickly around people. She gets a pass from me for all that she does.”
“What about me?” He sets the glass on the table,tsk, tsk, and turns to me. “Do I get a pass?”
“No matter what I’ve accused you of,” I say, my tone turning soft, “there’s no deficit in your empathy. What you said earlier ...” My words trail away. I feel like if I speak, my heart might overflow, and my tears might never stop flowing. And I hate crying. It makes me feel weak—makes me look like a frog!
“I only spoke the truth.”
“I’ve never had someone stand up for me like that.”
“That is not what I wanted to hear.”
“It is what it is.” The words. I can barely force them past the ball in my throat. “Can’t help the way I was made.”
“Bob.” His gaze holds mine as he pitches his voice just loud enough for Bob to hear. “Would you leave us, please?”
“No worries, boss.” A clink of metal against wood, the shuffle of shoe leather, and the doors to the bar close with a quietthunk.
“It must be nice when people do as you say,” I whisper, even though we’re the only ones here.
“I used to think so. Recently, I’ve revised my opinion.”
“Liar,” I say, biting back a smile.
“It’s true.” Warmth licks at my stomach as his own lips tip.
I inhale deeply. I’ve never told anyone what I’m about to say. Never said the words out loud, at least. I mean, who’d want to hear the poor little privileged girl lament her upbringing? But I feel full, like there’s no more space for this bottling up. “When I was growing up, we had a Labrador. Dilly. She was amazing. I was an only child with a four-legged sibling, and she was my best friend. We would run and play together, and she’d let me fall asleep on her like she was my pillow. I told you my dad died, but my parentsdivorced before that. I was seven, and the night they decided they’d had enough, I just hid in my room with Dilly, burying my tears in her fur as they shouted and screamed, their unhappiness reaching its climax. Losing her a few years later was almost unbearable. I’ve never cried like I did that night, and I still miss her every day.”
“Dilly is why you became a vet?”
I shrug. “Animals were easier. It’s the people around me that I found difficult. There was a time Mom used to be proud of me. For what I was studying, for what I’d planned.”
“I’m sure she’s proud of you still.”
I shake my head. “No, she isn’t. I mean, she’s always been critical about my appearance, frustrated that I don’t make the best of myself. But it was never about the best for me and more about getting myself a man. If I’d taken her lead, I would’ve snagged a husband at college and not worried about my GPA.”
Oliver surprised me earlier with the strength of his defense, and he surprises me again when he doesn’t speak, just takes my hand, offering me a silent comfort, allowing me to purge.
“Marry a rich man—that’s always been her focus. Like it did her any good. They divorced before dad came into his inheritance, so there was little of their wealth that came her way. Her next husband was a skinflint, and the reason I lost my dog. She didn’t die of natural causes. They had her euthanized while I was away at camp.” His eyes turn soft, but I rush on. “She was old, I get that, but Martin, Mom’s ex, said the vet bills were too much. But they didn’t even give me a chance to say goodbye.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Then Todd came along. By then, I was old enough to see that the issue was and always will be money. Money makes Mom compliant. She twists and bends to a mold because of it. It’s been hard,” I say, swiping at silent tears. “But it’s also been a good lesson. Wealthy men have the power to ruin you.”
“But not you,” he says quietly, staring down at our linked fingers. “You have an iron rod running through your spine. You’re strong, and you’re brave, and when you bend, you do so only out of love.”
“I’m sorry I lumped you in with them,” I say, tears falling freely, my words partially choked. “I didn’t give you a chance.”
