“Not this year.” She stubbornly stuck out her chin.
“Spoken like a true Mets fan.”
Rory gave me side-eye. “Can you turn it up, please? I don’t need to be talking to my mortal enemy, the Yankees fan.”
We watched the game, intermittently arguing over calls and plays. I smirked when the Yankees won by four runs. “See? I told you.”
She shrugged. “It’s game one of a three-game series. We can come back.”
“Spoken like a true Mets fan,” I said again.
“Spoken like a true, spoiled, rich, evil-empire Yankees fan,” she countered, then turned over on her side, away from me.
“Good night, Rory.”
“Good night, Rhodes.” She sounded as if she might still be giving me side eye.
Undeterred, I got under the covers, smiling in the darkness. I was aware of her next to me. She’d gotten into bed still dressed in her sweats. She was giving me the cold shoulder.
And yet, tonight was the most fun I’d had in ages.
Recognizing that I had no idea what that meant, I did what any man would do: I fell asleep.
When I wokethe next morning, Rory was snuggled against me. At some point, she’d thrown the covers off—she must’ve gotten hot in her clothes—but then maybe she’d gotten cold, because she was burrowed against me like she was seeking shelter. Our faces were inches apart.
In the early morning light, she looked peaceful and impossibly young. She was innocent, I realized. The only thing the girl had asked for at our wedding was that my nephew beincluded, and also, that I pick out her dress so she wouldn’t be embarrassed.
And chocolate cake with fudge frosting.
What would it be like, I wondered, to truly have someone like Rory in my life? I’d never met someone like her before. Any woman I encountered knew who I was—a Barrington—and cared. A lot. Being a billionaire meant that everyone had something to gain from me. I always felt like my wealth precluded me from having any sort of real relationship.
Rory had never heard the name Barrington before accepting this job. She didn’t seem to care about my immense wealth, except for helping her family. Her world was removed from mine, with a vastly different set of cares and concerns. She seemed happiest wearing sweats, playing outside with my nephew, and eating a cheeseburger.
She was the most normal person—maybe the only normal person?—I’d ever met.
I wondered if her time at Barrington Manor would change all of that, would changeher. My experience told me that it absolutely would. But as she burrowed against my chest, her face peaceful and unselfconscious in sleep, I secretly hoped that I was wrong.
My attorney,Alan, scheduled a video chat with me later that morning.
“Rhodes, you’re looking well,” he said.
“Thank you, Alan. I’d return the compliment, but I know that’s not why you’re calling. What’s up?”
“I heard from the board—your fiancé’s premiere went over well. In other words, they believed it,” he said.
I sat back in my chair. “That’s great news.” I wondered how Miranda was feeling this morning. “Was there anything specific?”
“The collective feedback is that she’s a lovely young woman, you’re a lucky guy, and that you seem genuinely happy.” Alan watched me closely. “In fact, Abigail Furst said you looked ‘whipped.’ That was the word she used. She said you couldn’t keep your hands off of her.”
I smirked. “I don’t know aboutthat.”
“It just got me thinking about this girl,” Alan continued. “So I called the escort agency. I spoke with the owner, Elena.”
A pit formed in my stomach. “And?”
“AndI found out a couple of things I didn’t know previously.”
I steeled myself and waited.
