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“No. I think it would be foolish to walkaway from the one relationship I can actually see working.” Shesniffed and half-laughed. “But I’m angry. I’m angry that he triedto stop us from being together while he was doing the same thing wewere doing.”
I mock gasped. “You’remarried?”
She gave me a little shove. “Shut up. Youknow what I mean. He did the protective big brother thing withouthesitation. And he knew the whole time how hypocritical he wasbeing.”
“Scott is good at rationalizing stuff likethat.” I didn’t want to make excuses for him. “I’m going to talk tohim. When I’m not so blindsided.”
“I want to talk to him right now. I want topinch his arm superhard.” She paused. “Sorry. That waschildish.”
“I think it’s warranted. If sleeping withyour best friend’s sister, then chastising your best friend forsleeping with your sister, isn’t childish, I don’t know what tocall it.” And I didn’t want to think about it. I wanted to enjoy mytime with Charlotte.
She leaned against me, and I reclined,letting her nestle her head against my chest. “You’re really chillabout this. About a lot of things.”
“I don’t find that getting apocalypticallyupset about everything makes life all that much easier.” Some of mypast partners had called it immaturity or apathy. But I couldn’tforce myself to get worked up about things I couldn’t control inthe moment, any more than someone with a bad temper could keep itdown all the time.
“But buying the Rangers is?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Maybe last season. They’regoing to win the Stanley Cup this year. I’ll get priced out.”
She pinched my arm. But notsuperhard.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
(Charlotte)
Poetic. Not realistic.
I looked over at the man asleep beside me,his words running laps in my head.
Words that he hadn’t even thought about.He’d tossed them off casually. Like it was common sense: no onewould walk away from money, for love.
If he would walk away from his money foryou, you’d think he was being ridiculous.I couldn’t argue withmyself on that point. If he told me tomorrow that he’d given upeverything to be with me, I’d tell him to enjoy the sidewalk,because I wasn’t about to sign up for a life of impulsive, recklessdecisions.
At least, not coming from the side of thisrelationship who was supposed to be older and wiser.Iwasthe one who was supposed to be impulsive and reckless.
I hugged my knees to my chest and lookedaround the dark bedroom, at the big, terrifying windows that showeda city of impossible humanity below. I was sitting in a literalivory tower with a man who’d dismissed the idea of sacrificingmoney for love.
Weirdly, one of the things Ilikedabout Matt was his ability to make a remark like that. He saidthings other people wouldn’t admit to. I never thought one of thosethings would be that he valued money over love.
Or maybe I was naive.
I’d never considered myself a romantic. Ifsomeone asked me three weeks ago, “Would you give up a billiondollars for love?” I would have laughed in their faces and askedfor my check.
Now, I was in love. And I would give upeverything for him.
And he didn’t feel that way about me.
Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe he wouldn’tfeel that way about anyone.
Or he couldn’t.
The people that I’d met over the weekend hadseemed like a whole different species. The lavish parties, the vastmanor, all of it was impossibly bizarre to me. He hated it andwanted to be “normal.”
My vision blurred and I blinked back tears.This cavernous room with extra tall ceilings and a satellite viewof Manhattan was his version of normal.
He rolled to his side, a dark curl fallingover his forehead. He was so goddamn beautiful, my heart ached. Buthow long could he be mine? Would he run at the first sign that ourrelationship might ask for sacrifice?
So far, I’d done all the sacrificing. I hadtaken a leave from my brand-new job that I enjoyed. I’d run off forweeks, had barely spoken to my parents or friends aside from theoccasional text. His life had fully consumed mine.