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What a joke that turned out to be …
When I was twenty-three, I sold it.
I’d planned to use the proceeds to buy a car, as the one I had was on its last leg. But then I figured every time I got behind the wheel I’d think of him, and I didn’t want that, so I put the money into a retirement account instead and purchased a used and practical Nissan.
“I hope it’s to your liking.” He mistakes my silence for disapproval. “We can get you something bigger …”
“No, no.” I don’t need a stamp-sized rock on my finger. I take it out of the box and slide it on. It fits like a glove, effortless perfection. “It’s beautiful, Trey. Thank you.”
“I’m heading out. When I get home tonight, we can talk dates for the ceremony.”
“We should elope,” I say without hesitation. The idea of standing before a congregation of hundreds of watchful eyes in a virginal white gown makes me cringe. I’ve never been one to fantasize about wedding cakes and lace veils and being carried over the threshold. “Would make sense with how fast we’re moving … people would just chalk it up to a couple of people caught up in the excitement of a new relationship.”
His dark brows angle. “This is true. Plus the quicker we marry, the sooner we can begin the next item on the agenda …”
Having a baby.
A sharp twist cuts through my center. I reach for my coffee, nodding. “Sounds like a plan.”
We haven’t discussed the method, whether we try the old-fashioned way or involve a fertility clinic. Either way, my body, my choice.
I place a hand on my lower belly, imagining it swollen and kicking with life. The tiniest piece of my glass-shard heart aches, but I keep that to myself—as I’ve always done.
As I’ll always do.
“Enjoy your day,” I tell him on his way out.
He turns in the doorway. “You as well.”
The dining room grows hollow with his absence. Domiciliary staff move about the estate, cooking, cleaning, arranging. The noise comes in echoes and waves. The amount of time and energy it takes to maintain this place is mind blowing.
Trey’s got to be lonely, living here by himself. Though I suppose he likes it that way. No one to bother you. No one to fill your head with silly, meaningless words, tease you with cheesy pet names, or leave wet towels on the floor in the morning.
I’m one of those rare forms who enjoy being single.
From what I’ve gleaned, he’s not much different.
They say similar attracts similar, like attracts like.
In the strangest, most inexplicable way, it makes sense—he and I together.
Thirty
Trey
Present
“Ames speaking.” Nolan comes on the line after a time-sucking twelve-minute wait despite the fact that our call was scheduled in advance.
Ass.
Broderick and I trade looks across the desk.
“Nolan, it’s Trey. Wanted to give you an update regarding the progress of your contract stipulations,” I say.
“So soon?” He chuckles from the other end. “It’s been what, two weeks since we last spoke? Don’t tell me you found your soul mate already. What agency did you use?”
My jaw tightens.
“It’s rather sudden, I know. But when it feels right …” I try to keep a straight face knowing I sound like a love-drunk sap. If he knew me better, he’d see through the act.
Don’t get me wrong—Sophie’s incredible.
But I’m not pussy-whipped.
And certainly not in love.
“I was actually calling to tell you personally, that we intend to marry in the coming months,” I say. “Thought you should hear it from me first before you read about it in the Times.”
“Trey …” He exhales into the phone. “You really think I’m that big of a moron? I know what you’re doing. You can’t tell me you met a girl two weeks ago and now you’re running off into the sunset together. Pretty convenient timing, wouldn’t you say?”
“This sort of thing happens all the time. It’s nothing new. We’re not the first. We won’t be the last. If you’d like to question the authenticity of our relationship, then I invite you to come to Chicago for a visit and meet her.”
“Hm.” His voice is muffled, as if his hand covers his mouth. “That’s actually not a bad idea. Though I’m not a huge fan of the Midwest. Why don’t the two of you come east? Just bought a place in Martha’s Vineyard. We’re taking the kids there next month. You could spend the weekend as our guests …”
Fuck.
I’m not worried about selling our relationship as authentic, but the idea of “vacationing” with Ames and his family is about as appealing as stabbing my cock with a blunt butter knife.
“What do you say? Anabelle loves entertaining,” he says, referring to his wife. “Could be a good time.”
Doubtful.
Broderick’s brows rise, a silent coaxing, and he nods, letting me know where he stands on this proposal. We’ve come this far. Now we don’t have a choice.
