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How stupid for her to think the night would end on a good note. Like she would ever earn a fairy-tale ending.
Folding her arms across her chest, Patience held on to what little dignity she could. “We prefer the term ‘exotic dancer,’” she said, pushing her way past him.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Where do you think? To the brownstone to pack my things.” With luck she would get there before the tears pressing the back of her eyes broke free. Now that Stuart knew about her background, he was bound to ask her to leave her job with Ana. Hadn’t he said that he didn’t want Dr. Tischel anywhere near his aunt. Surely he would feel the same about Patience.
Well, she might have just lost her job, and her home, but she would not lose her composure—not on the streets of Boston and not in front of him.
There were footsteps, and Stuart was at her shoulder, grabbing her arm much like Dr. Tischel had. With a hiss, she pulled away. The look of regret passing over his features was small compensation.
“You’re not even going to try and explain yourself?”
Patience had never felt more dirty and exposed as she did under his stare, but she managed to hold herself together. “Why should I? You don’t want to listen.” No, he would judge her like everyone else had. The same way she judged herself. Why stick around to listen to condemnations she’d said to herself?
Stuart blocked her path. “Try me.” Between the shadows and his stony expression, it was impossible to read his thoughts
They weren’t the words she had expected to hear, and Patience hated how they made her heart speed up with hope. “You’re really willing to listen?”
“I said I would. Don’t you think you owe us an explanation?”
Us, as in him and Ana. With the shock of discovery wearing off, guilt began to take hold. She owed Ana way more than an explanation, but the truth was a good place to start. “Fine, but not here. Please.” Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the silhouette of a person standing in a window. “I’ll tell you everything when we’re at the brownstone.” Then she’d move out and never bother him or Ana again.
* * *
Neither said a word the final few blocks. Such a different silence compared to when they had left the hotel. Then, the air had hummed with romantic possibility. This long walk was nothing but cold.
Naturally Nigel was waiting for their return, meowing and running back and forth for attention. Without a word, they walked into the kitchen so she could give Nigel his midnight snack. Attending to a cat’s needs had never taken so long.
“You ready to talk?” he asked when she’d finished rinsing the can.
“Not much to say.” She’d already decided to give him the shortest version possible. Less misery that way. “I needed money and dancing was the only job I could find that would pay me enough.”
Minus the part where she turned down the offer twice before finally giving in, and only then because her creepy boss at the burger place wouldn’t give her more hours unless she slept with him.
“Interesting.” He pulled out a chair and motioned for her to take a seat. “Now how about you give me the full version?”
The full version? Her heart hitched. She’d never told anyone the whole story. “Why do you care about the details? It is what it is.”
“Because I care.” The words warmed her insides, until she reminded herself he meant “about the details.” He was, after all, a lawyer. Naturally, he’d want to collect all the facts.
Question was—how many facts did he need? She’d buried so much of her story that even she wasn’t sure of everything anymore.
Taking a seat, she wiped the dampness from her palms on her dress. “Where do you want me to start?”
“Try the beginning.”
“I was born.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” Where did she begin? “I suppose everything really started when Piper was born. My mom—don’t get me wrong, she wasn’t a horrible mother. I mean, she didn’t beat us or let us starve or anything like that. She just wasn’t into being a mom, you know?”
A quick look across the table said he didn’t, but she plowed ahead. “I think she thought a baby would keep Piper’s dad around, but...”
She shrugged. That was her mother’s pipe dream, not hers. “Anyway, as soon as I got old enough, she left taking care of Piper to me. But I told you that already.”
“‘A fancy cake for Mrs. F,’” he recited. “How old were you?”
“Twelve or thirteen? Thirteen, I think. It wasn’t that hard,” she added quickly. As was the case whenever a person looked askance at the arrangement, her defensiveness rose up. “Piper was a good kid. She never caused trouble, always did her homework. Plus, she could cook.”
