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I know the truth, but I resist a smile.
She can’t come without me. Or she doesn’t want to come without me. Is there even a difference?
“Why would you lie to me?” I ask.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“Don’t be sorry, Skye. Just don’t lie to me. I can see right through you. I want your complete trust, and it goes both ways.”
She says nothing. Just meets my gaze. An understanding seems to pass between us.
“You look beautiful,” I say.
“Ripe for the picking,” she affirms.
So very tempting…
“Unfortunately, I have a meeting.”
“On a Saturday morning?”
“Racquetball. With my attorney.”
“Oh.” She tries to hide her disappointment, but as usual, I see right through her.
“I’ll pick you up at six tonight.”
“Okay. Where will we be going?”
“Dinner with my dad and brother, remember?”
“Right, sorry.”
I let the towel drop, and she gapes at me. I dress in the clothes I wore last night. Then I check my phone.
“Christopher’s outside. I’ll see you tonight.” I stoop down and give her a quick peck on the lips.
Then I leave.
My attorney bailed on racquetball, but I was able to pick up a game anyway. My opponent was a freaking champion, so I got a good workout. After a second shower at the gym, I check my phone.
A voicemail from Skye, of course, which I expected.
Braden, oh my God. The camera! Why didn’t you tell me? I feel horrible that I didn’t notice it until you left, and I feel horrible that I didn’t come home sooner… But I love it, Braden. I just adore it. How did you know it was the camera of my dreams? I guess you’re in the middle of your racquetball game right now, but please call me. Please. This is the most amazing gift. I’m so sorry about last night. About everything. I don’t deserve this. I don’t. Oh, and I just got a delivery, too. A deadbolt. Thank you for that, too. Please…just call me.
The guilt is apparent in her voice, and although I was angry last night and chose to punish her, I don’t want her to feel guilty. She should never feel guilty in our relationship—especially not about any present I give her. I don’t give gifts with any expectations.
I give gifts because it pleases me to do so.
I call her.
“Braden!” Her voice is breathy.
“Hello, Skye.”
“Thank you so much! The camera. I’m so sorry… About it all… About last night… About…everything. You brought me… And I…”
She lets out a breath.
“It’s okay, Skye.”
“I completely understand if you want to take the camera back.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because I was so awful last night. Manipulating you like I did.”
Ah, so she admits it now. Interesting. If possible, I think I want her to have the camera even more.
I chuckle. “You did do that. But I think you learned your lesson.”
“Still…it’s such an extravagant gift.”
“Skye, it was pennies to me, and you know it. Besides, I want you to have the camera. I know how much your art means to you.”
She sniffles.
“Don’t cry,” I say. “Please.”
She sniffles again. “I’m not.”
“All right. I love you. I’ll see you tonight at six. Okay?”
One more sniffle. “Okay. I love you, too.”
“I just can’t get over it,” Skye says. “The camera…”
“You don’t have to keep thanking me,” I say during the ride to my father’s home.
“I do,” she says. “You came to my apartment with a surprise for me, and I—”
“Stop, Skye. It’s okay. You’ve already been punished for that. It’s done.”
“But—”
“I want you to have the camera. It’s yours. You deserve it.”
Her eyes leak a few tears.
I brush them away with my lips. “Easy, now. I don’t want to introduce my girlfriend to my brother and father while she’s crying.”
She sniffs back the tears and gets hold of herself. “I love you, Braden.”
“I love you, too, Skye.”
We arrive at my father’s mansion—and yeah, it’s a mansion—in Swampscott. Ben and I prefer urban penthouse living, but not Dad. Having lived in tiny cracker-box rentals his whole life, he now covets the idea of a huge-ass house.
Skye and I walk to the door.
“Your dad lives here?”
“Yep. This is where he hangs his hat.”
“Wow.”
“It’s just a house, Skye.”
“It’s not like any house I’ve ever been in.”
“You might want to save that judgment until you see the inside.”
A uniformed maid answers the door, her gray hair in a tight bun. “Good evening, Mr. Black.”
“Hello, Sadie. This is Skye Manning.”
“Ma’am,” she says. “May I take your jacket?”
“Sure.” Skye removes her cardigan and hands it to her. She’s wearing black capri pants, black strappy sandals, and a gray silk camisole, and, as usual, she looks delectable.
She was running late when I picked her up. I imagine she tried on several outfits before choosing this one. She wants to make a good impression, but what she doesn’t know is that I don’t care what kind of impression she makes. First, I believe my father and brother will love her, but second? I don’t give a shit if they don’t.
