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I drop my head into my hands. Henry wanted to talk. What would he have said? But it doesn’t matter.
Henry builds bridges from metal and stone, but trust is harder to build. Trust means crossing an invisible bridge made out of something you believe in. He wasn’t ready to do that. Not for me. And why should he?
Why should he believe me when I said I’d make things right? But god, it felt good when he seemed to.
It felt like the world was new.
Nice fairy tale while it lasted. But he’s just like everyone else. And maybe it was too much to ask.
Not like we could ever have a real relationship. He’d find out I’m Vonda and hate me. And if he let it slip, that would endanger Carly. Mom would find her.
I’ll give him back his stupid company and that’s it. That’s all it ever could have been.
Carly comes out with her iPad, Smuckers at her heels.
“I thought you were sleeping,” I chide.
“I sort of was.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says.
“What?” I press.
Her gaze goes to the black screen.
I grab it and tap it to wake it up and there’s Henry, looking dazzling in a tuxedo. A beautiful woman on his arm. In another shot he’s got her down in a dip, and they’re both laughing.
I swallow. “What is this? Is this last night?” I look at the date. Yes. Last night.
Carly’s behind me. “It means nothing. Rich guys have to go to a lot of those things,” she says. “It’s part of being rich.”
I scrub my face, telling myself it’s good. I told him to screw off in every way possible.
“I don’t know how to feel about you knowing so much about the lifestyle of the rich and famous. It’s a useless thing to study.” I shut the thing off, but the image of Henry dancing with a gorgeous redhead is burned into my mind.
“That girl got a dance,” Carly points out unhelpfully. “You got a company.”
“Is it stupid-amount-of-candy-in-ice-cream time yet?” I ask.
She grins. “For breakfast? Don’t bluff, I might take you up on it.”
I get up and start her eggs. “Tonight.”
On the way out, we discover the box in the lobby, addressed to me. It’s the size of a coffee mug, but perfectly square, wrapped in Locke-blue paper.
“Uh,” I say, shoving my key into the lock.
“Aren’t you going to open it? Don’t you want to see?”
“I already know what’s in it. It’s whatever rich guys think they can use to buy anything and anyone. I don’t want it.”
“Maybe it’s something nice.”
“I don’t want it.”
She grabs it. “Can I open it?” She shakes it. “Light as air.”
