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“Brogan?” She sounds frantic when I don’t respond. “You didn’t faint, did you?”
“No.” I rub my beard. “Wait, how do you know where I live?”
“You mean where we live?”
I frown at the wall. “You’re hilarious.”
“Sorry. Too soon?”
“I’m glad you find this funny.”
“I’m laughing instead of crying.” She blows out a breath. “To be honest, I’m relieved to have someone freak out with me. Makes me feel less alone.”
“Hm.”
“Is this what marriage is about?” she murmurs.
It’s not really a question, but even if she was looking to me for an answer, I wouldn’t be able to tell her. In my experience, marriage has nothing to do with mutual support, trust, or love.
“Levy gave me a key card for the penthouse before I left work this morning,” Elizabeth says.
Should have guessed.
Levy’s the gift that keeps on giving.
“Is that okay?”
“It’s a moot point. You’re already bringing them, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but if you’re really against it, I can make something up.”
I want to choose that option, but it’s the easy route. Plus it’s not fair to Elizabeth. I promised her we’d convince her family of our relationship. Unfortunately, moving in together now falls under that umbrella.
“Do you need time to clean anything? I can stall for another fifteen minutes by pretending I’ve lost my way.”
I glance around the penthouse.
It’s stylish. Modern. Spacious. Gran was never the Victorian, antique furniture, rocking-chair-on-the-porch type. Everything she owns is cutting edge. Sharp and cold. Just like her.
I shrug. “It’s ready for company.”
“I’m really sorry, Brogan.”
“It’s fine.” I shake my head. “You know how to get in right?”
“Not really.”
“I’ll meet you downstairs.”
We hang up.
I change into a pair of jeans, brush some mousse through my hair and grab my coat before stepping into the private elevator. The chrome wall reveals a man with auburn hair, panicked blue eyes and a trembling mouth.
Damn.
My hands are sweaty.
I wipe them against my pants just as the elevator lands in the lobby.
