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After she orders, I close my menu. “I’ll have the handmade ravioli,” I say. At least that will give me something to move around my plate.
“He doesn’t believe women belong in ‘business.’” She does air quotes around that word. “I’ve mostly been doing charitable work with my mother.” She cringes like she’s embarrassed at what she’s about to say next. “I’m basically on an allowance for that.”
I nod, and she continues. “It’s not that I’m not trying to get work. I-it’s just no one takes me seriously.”
“I take you seriously.”
Her eyes widen, and she almost looks like she’s going to offer a counterargument, when I say, “Why is this unfortunate for you, Londyn?”
“You’re going to find this hard to believe. Heck, I still can’t wrap my brain around it. It’s the twenty-first century for God’s sake.” She shakes her head, and goes quiet. Her thoughts a million miles away.
“What will I find hard to believe?”
“He wants me to marry to better position his businesses,” she blurts out, and a wave of disbelief and anger screech through me.
Bastard.
“So you go onstage to raise a sizable amount of cash to flood the company.”
She glances down, and her face is a bit paler. “In a nutshell, yes. Crazy, right?”
“What’s crazy is what your father is doing. Forcing you into marriage, to someone of his choosing.” I clamp down on my jaw. I want to say more, I do, but I’d rather her find out from someone else, or for herself, that her father is likely full of shit. Everything in my gut is telling me this is a stunt to marry her off to a guy with the right pedigree, and less to do with him needing a business partner.
“I’m not even sure if my father likes me.”
My heart cracks, right down the center. Her whole fucking life she’s been seeking his approval. I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but can’t stop myself from saying, “Maybe you should spend all that energy on someone who does, Londyn. I know he’s your father, and I would probably do the same if mine were still alive, but it rips me into pieces to see how hard you work, and how little respect he gives you, as a designer and as a woman. You have more talent in your little finger than most, and you’re a good person.” I take a breath. “I know what you did to me...it was all for your father. Your way of getting approval.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “Why did you think I was going to send you back once I found out?”
“You bought me, Cason. That money is going to save my father’s business. I can’t even imagine how that would make you feel after...”
“The money is going to keep you from a marriage you don’t want. I’d spend it all to stop that from happening, Londyn.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Londyn
I’M STILL A LITTLE stunned to be honest. I thought Cason would be livid once he learned where the money he spent on me would be going, but instead he showed more concern about my well-being, more concern about protecting me from a forced marriage. Over the course of the meal, while he seemed infuriated that my father would put me in such a position, not once did he direct any of that anger at me. In fact, he was incredibly sweet and charming, engaging me in conversation and encouraging me to talk about my work, which I could go on and on about for hours, and pretty much did. Dammit, I really did hog all the conversation, although he seemed to enjoy sitting there listening to me. I love that about him.
I love a lot about him.
“You all set?” he asks as we finish our last sips of coffee and Kahlúa.
“I’m glad they finished up the film,” I say, and he gives me a strange look. I rub my tummy. “They might mistake me for Santa with a bowl full of jelly when we walk by.”
He laughs, and the easy sound wraps around me. After he pays the bill, we head outside and the night is a bit cooler. I hug myself, and he moves closer. His mere presence, his proximity, leaves me light-headed. How I’m ever going to go back to “normal” after this week is beyond me. Actually, maybe it’s not. Maybe there is just no coming back from this fairy tale.
“Do you think it will snow for Christmas?” I ask as my shoes tap on the dry sidewalk.
“Doubtful.” He glances at the dark night, the stars shining against a black velvet backdrop. “They don’t get much snow here. I think something like only three days a year, but I’ve yet to see it.”
I scrunch up my nose, disappointment swirling through me. While I don’t like the cold, snow at Christmas would be the perfect ending to this fantasy I’m living. “Bummer.”
“You want snow?”
“I think it would be nice.?
?? I smile and nudge him. “Maybe if I wish really hard for it, Santa will bring it.”
“Yeah, maybe, and maybe I’ll get that Transformer I always wanted?” he says, and then curses silently under his breath. “I mean, it’s probably not going to happen,” he redirects, like he said more than he wanted to and is desperate to get his words back. Too late.
