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But her eyes were dry, not red. No telltale marks or swollen features. Yet something in her expression hinted at holding back tears.
What bothered me almost as much as the fact that she might have been unhappy was the fact that I cared at all.
She told me she was fine.
I don’t have the right to pry when this is a business arrangement and nothing more. So I kept my foolish thoughts to myself, escorted her to the car, and tried not to watch her the entire time I drove.
She looks like pearl tonight.
Palest mother-of-pearl, a living glimmer of white, a hint of glitter that disappears the instant you try to stare at it too long. Even her hair carries a touch of glitter, and it’s goddamned magnificent.
She looks like the moon fell into the sun and mixed together in a swirl of radiance.
I shouldn’t notice her so much, but it’s getting harder not to.
She’s quiet on the drive there.
It’s rare that Elle is ever this quiet, and the absence of her voice is—
Fuck, it shouldn’t bother me.
Her chatter, her jokes, her teasing, her insufferable wickedness—they all drive me batshit insane. I should be grateful for a little peace and quiet.
Still, I watch her from the corner of my eye, and wonder.
Am I asking too much of her?
No matter what I might offer in return, it’s nothing but money and a nudge up the career ladder. Material things, and I’ve had wealth for so long that I always remember how so much runs deeper than what can be bought.
I’ve bought Elle’s presence and cooperation, yes.
But is she paying in misery?
The words we exchange on the drive do little to reassure me, even if the mood settles more companionably.
While I have no room for romance in my life, I wouldn’t mind a friend.
Elle is everything that annoys me.
Too loud, too bright, too cheerful, too perky, a fucking morning lark.
She’s also a good person.
Warm, effusive, gentle, kind.
Not the sort of person you look down on, even if their personality grates like splinters under your fingernails.
Does it, though?
Or does she only grate at your stuffy ass because she reminds you that you built these walls around yourself—and now you don’t know how to tear them down?
As we find parking near the Space Needle, I pause, rubbing my temples and trying to push my worries away.
I’m supposed to be functional tonight. Whatever a waiting, eager public expects a man in love to look like.
Hell, I’m not sure if I was ever that in the past, before everything derailed.
Before the part of me that can belong in a relationship shattered forever.
