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“You should show him. He’d give you your own show in a second.” And I’d bet money down she’d sell out.

“You’re sweet,” she says, turning from her painting to the room. Her fingers brush over the tops of her canvases, eyes examining the bins and buckets where I’ve placed everything, as if she’s mentally calculating all of her stuff is here.

“I’m honest.”

She makes another laughing sound, like she’s humoring me, but joke’s on her. I’m taking all this, or photos of them, into Luca first chance I get. If she wants to be an artist, she shouldn’t hide everything because she lacks confidence.

“I can’t believe you did all this today.”

“I told you that if you moved in, this can be your art studio.”

“But this is temporary,” she reminds me.

I shrug. Whatever. She can keep thinking it if she wants.

“Right,” she mutters, her lips tugging up at the ends. Shaking her head, as if she can’t believe either me or what I’ve done, she walks to the windows. “It’s beautiful here. So perfect to paint in. Thank you, Braxton.”

“I thought it’d help,” I say, letting the words not spoken linger in the air…after last night.

“Yeah.” Her hand rests against the glass and I move to her, eating up the space between in long, quick strides before I settle my hands on her hips and slide them toward her stomach. I rest my chest against her back and settle my chin on the top of her head.

“What are you thinking?”

“They’re not the nicest people in the first place, but even I’m shocked at what they said last night. I keep replaying it in my mind, keep hearing them telling you to take care of it. It sucks.” In the window’s reflection, her chin wobbles. “I think…I think I’ll give them a few days to calm down and absorb everything and maybe see if we can talk to them again?”

Sounds like hell. “Think they’ll be willing to do that? Because I’m not going to lie, Cara, I really don’t know if I’ll be able to control my temper if your dad is a dick like that to you again.”

“I know.” She sounds sad, almost broken. Then, a cold chuckle bursts through her lips. “I wonder what they’d say if we invited them here for dinner.”

I grin, press my lips to her head. “You want that, we can do it.” It’ll kill me to be polite to them, but at least if it’s in my own damn place, I can kick them out. But I also know the game she’s playing, and her parents aren’t going to give a shit I live in a penthouse, they’ll still look at me and see a thug.

“Nah. I don’t want that. I keep wanting my parents to be decent people and accept people for who they are. Or me, at the very least.”

“They should.”

“They won’t.” Her hand falls from the window and she presses it to the back of my palm. Her skin is cool from the glass. I flip my hand over and hold hers to her stomach, my hands on top of hers. “They won’t ever do it. I don’t even know if it’s worth the argument. It might make me immature, but I think it’s best if I avoid them for a while. I’ll let them come to me. I have no doubt they’ll have more opinions they’ll feel the need to share.”

She spits out “opinions” like the distasteful word I’m sure it will be from them. I figure they’ll have demands and expectations and requirements, not necessarily thoughts and opinions, but who the fuck cares. I don’t.

And if last night’s meeting taught me anything, it’s that Cara has a backbone not only when it comes to her parents, but for fighting for what she wants.

“Whatever you want, Cara. I’m here to support you in that, you know that, right?”

Her fingers press more tightly against her stomach and she nods. “Yeah. I get that.”

“Good. And now, since we’ve got that shit out of the way, I’ve got more plans for you, so get your butt to your room, shower, and get dressed. We’re going out.”

Her shoulders slump. “Do we have to?”

“Yup. We’re picking up Dan and Jenna for dinner at Luella’s Ristorante. I already have reservations made.” At least tonight she’ll spend it with people happy for her, who love her and care about her. Hopefully, that will wash away the remaining pall from last night. At least she’ll remember she has people in her life who give a crap.

She sighs. “I don’t know, Brax—”

“Want you to spend the night having fun. You haven’t had it easy, haven’t had the energy. I want to give you this, Cara.”

“No, it’s not that. I want to see Jenna. I’m just not sure I can stomach Italian food.”

Finally, an easy fucking problem to solve. “What do you want, then? I’ll change the reservations.”