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“Because I’m trying very hard not to cry.”

“Don’t cry, my darling.”

chapter

twelve

Gabriel

A couple of hours later, we’re back in the sitting room when she mentions the realtor.

“The realtor?” I repeat.

April looks up from her laptop. “Yeah. I figured I should probably get an updated appraisal once the renovations are finished.”

I stare at her. “Why?”

She gives me a strange look. “Because you’re buying the house, remember?”

Of course. Our agreement. The very sensible arrangement I proposed. So April would be free to go.

“Yes,” I say.

“It’s probably worth a lot more than I originally thought. Especially now that we’ve found your secret billionaire stash.” She smiles.

I try to return it. I fail rather spectacularly.

“Are you all right?” she asks.

“Perfectly.”

She studies me. “Gabriel, what’s wrong?”

Nothing. Everything.

I look around the room. At the newly repaired windows and the freshly painted walls. The ridiculous yellow chair April insists upon keeping. At the woman who has somehow made this enormous house feel like a home for the first time in its existence.

And I realize that I don’t want to buy it from her. I want her to stay. I want to spend every morning listening to her terrible singing.

Every evening arguing about dinner. Every night holding her. I want to walk beneath the oak tree with her. Travel to California and see the ocean. Perhaps even board one of those terrifying flying contraptions.

But most of all, I simply want April. And I have absolutely no idea whether she wants me. Not for a night. Not for ten weeks. For always.

“Gabriel?”

I look at her.

She’s waiting. Trusting. And I remember another woman standing in this house. Soaked through. Begging me to reconsider. Asking me to understand what her home meant to her. How I’d dismissed her, firmly believing that everything had a price.

I will not make that mistake again. Especially not with my April.

“I’ve been thinking about our agreement,” I say.

Her expression changes. “Oh?”

“Yes.”

I take a breath. And make a decision. One that should have been obvious from the beginning. “I don’t believe I should purchase the house from you.”