Page 42 of Catch Me (Townsend Legacy #4)

I vy

“Still no response?” Andreas’ deep voice comes from behind me.

I turn to him, still frowning. “No. She never takes this long to respond.” My eyes roam over to the floor-to-ceiling windows of his condo that look out onto the Hollywood Hills.

It’s been about a month since our return from Williamsport, and most of my free time is spent at his home … even when he’s not here, which has been frequent since he’s been so busy with work.

I texted Ari earlier this morning to ask if she wanted to get lunch together. It’s now evening, and Andreas and I are about to head out for a surprise somewhere.

“Do you think she’s okay?” I ask without thinking. “What if she’s withdrawing because she doesn’t like L.A. as much as she thought?”

Andreas trails his palms from my shoulders down my bare arms, sending chills over my body.

“She would tell you if that were the case, wouldn’t she?”

I shrug. “I hope so, but …” I trail off, guilt hitting my belly.

“But?”

I push out a heavy breath. “What if she didn’t? Mya and Ari were the main ones, the only ones there for me during that time after graduation. I leaned on them more than they knew. What if Ari won’t tell me because she thinks I’m too fragile?”

While I hate to admit it, it’s one of the deepest fears that’s plagued me ever since that time. Am I a drain on my relationships? My friendships?

“That’s not the case because you’re not too fragile. You’ve built a life in a city halfway across the country from your family. You have a career you love that you’re getting better at everyday.” He squeezes my arms. “Fragile my ass.”

I give him a smile before pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,” I tell him just above a whisper.

“Maybe your friend just needs time,” he says.

I nod, knowing what that’s like.

Andreas tips my chin up so that our eyes catch. An instant smile pulls at the corners of my mouth.

He brushes his lips against mine. A hum of approval passes my lips.

“Do you have to leave tomorrow?” My voice comes out breathy.

“You can come with me to Canada.”

He’s going to Canada for a commercial shoot and to start filming another movie. While he’s not the lead in this film, it still demands several weeks of his time.

“The filming for the pilot of the studio’s new show starts this week.” My team is working through designs for the ensemble cast.

“And I want to go through the script a few more times before our final design meeting at the end of the week.”

“So that’s a no?” Andreas asks, my chin in his hand.

“That’s a ‘I’m going to miss you.’”

“Only for five days,” he says.

“Huh?”

His broad smile makes my belly flip flop. The mischievousness in his expression gives away that he has something up his sleeve.

“What did you do?”

“You and Ms. Shelby have a first-class ticket to Canada, Friday night. Spencer will pick you up from work to take you to the airport.”

I groan. “You’re spoiling me.”

He kisses my forehead, and my heart melts.

“You deserve it.” Andreas holds out his arm for me to take. “Ready to go?”

“Guess I am since it’s the only way I’ll find out where we’re going tonight.” Andreas has been tight-lipped about where he’s taking me for dinner. All he said was to not worry and to dress up.

He’s cautious with me about not doing anything too public because he knows I’m still not ready for that. Back in Williamsport it was easy walking the streets with him, going into cafés, museums, and libraries.

Though he got stares and looks, people were respectful and kept their distance.

Yes, there was always security with us, but Williamsport isn’t a city built around entertainment. Though Andreas did his best to keep a low profile, there also wasn’t constant paparazzi everywhere trying to take sneak photos.

Now that we’re back in L.A., that freedom has been restricted. Not to mention both of our work schedules.

Twenty-five minutes later, we pull into the back of a new French restaurant I heard about weeks ago. Mya told me about it after coming for a work lunch.

“Reines? I thought this place was booked out for weeks.” I glance over at Andreas.

He just brings my hand to his mouth. “It is.”

He gets out to hold the back door of the chauffeured car open for me.

“Mr. Knight,” the hostess greets. “Right this way.”

“Wow,” I gush as I take in the crystal and gold chandeliers, the gold-framed paintings that line the walls and ceiling. It’s almost as if I’m thrown into the French eighteenth century.

“Those are replicas of France’s most famous paintings from the French Revolution era,” I tell Andreas as he holds out a large white and gold chair. I’m so enthralled with the artwork around us that I fail to recognize we’re the only two people in here. Save for the staff.

“Are you a fan of French art?” he asks.

The appearance of our waitress stops my reply. She takes our drink orders and then swiftly leaves.

“Kind of,” I answer when we’re alone again. “One of my final projects in design school was to help create the costumes for a play about the French Revolution. I poured over art from that era, and read books on the lives of people during that time.

“Anything I could get my hands on to bring the designs to life.”

“How did it turn out?” he inquires, fully engulfed in my excitement.

“I—” I stop, but this time it has nothing to do with the return of our waitress. For a few beats I watch as she pours the red wine into our glasses and then places bread, olives, and cheese at the center of the table.

She tells us why each item was chosen for this particular bottle of wine. But I don’t hear much of the explanation.

I stare as she walks away. “I never got to finish it.”

Andreas’ expression turns serious.

“It was my capstone project to complete my degree, but …” I sigh and go to run my hand over my hair, but then remember I’ve styled it in curls. My hand drops to my lap.

“When my parents found out that I was doing a degree in fashion design they insisted that I drop out.”

His face hardens. “That’s why you never completed your degree.”

I nod. “The program they were paying for was my undergraduate and graduate degree in finance. I was in a five-year program that, upon completion, supplied me with my bachelor’s and master’s of business administration.

“Because I have a good memory, I was always pretty decent with numbers.”

“But that’s never where your heart was.” He makes it a statement and not a question.

“Never,” I agree. “But my parents wouldn’t approve of me getting a degree in anything having to do with fashion.

So, I secretly applied during my junior year.

I was accepted, and because I already had a heavy courseload I convinced my parents that I had to stay in the city during the summers to take classes. ”

“And you took your design classes instead?”

I incline my head.

“Let me get this straight, you were doing three different degree programs at once?” he asks with lifted brows.

I laugh slightly before picking up my glass of wine. “Don’t look so impressed. I was only doing an associate's degree.”

His eyes narrow. “Only? Do you know how many people wish they could complete their associate’s degree?”

I pinch my lips together. “I never got the chance to finish.”

“What happened?”

“I got sloppy.” I spin the wine glass around and around on the table as I recount those days a month before my graduation.

“The financial aid department got a hold of my home address in Michigan. They ended up sending one of my documents there instead of the NYC address I regularly gave. My parents saw the papers and called the office.

“My dad knows a lot of university administrators and he found out through his network that I was a student at the institute.”

Andreas’ face balls in anger. “Isn’t that a violation of student privacy?” He sounds incredulous. “You were over eighteen.”

I shrug again. “You know people with connections can easily get around policies and laws.”

He frowns but nods.

“They showed up at my apartment one morning and insisted I drop out of the program or they would refuse to finish paying tuition at my other school, my rent, and I would be on the hook for what they paid for my schooling up until then.

“That was in the six-figure range. I didn’t feel like I had a choice, so I dropped out.”

“With only a half a semester left?”

“That’s right.” I take another sip of my wine and then break off a piece of the crusty bread. I don’t bother with the cheese.

I’m sure the bread is delicious, but all I swallow is the bitter taste of resentment and regret that lingers from that time.

“I’d accidentally written my home address on my financial aid application for that year. That’s why the office sent the forms home. I should’ve been paying attention,” I scold myself over my past actions.

“You should’ve had parents who supported you the way you deserved.”

The venom in Andreas’ voice tugs at the strings of my own bitterness. However, I suppress the instinct to agree with him.

“They did pay for?—”

“Baby, I don’t want to upset you by saying anything disrespectful about your parents. But if you’re going to sit here and defend them, I won’t be able to stop myself. The truth is, you deserved better.”

Deserved better.

Deserved?

That’s not a word I’ve ever associated with myself. No, maybe I was never allowed to associate it with myself. I was always taught that no one deserves anything in life.

To an extent, yes, that’s true. I’ve always believed you get what you work for, and if you get more than that you should be grateful for it. It’s not because you deserved it.

A sudden electrical warmth spreads through me. I glance down at my hand on the table to see Andreas has taken it into his own larger hand. He squeezes it, a silent transfer of strength from him to me.

“Yes, hard work has a place in all of our lives. We all should work hard to make our dreams happen. You shouldn’t have to work hard for the love and approval of your own parents.

“Your parents may have their reasons for what they did.”

He pauses, his lips pinching into a sour expression. He’s fighting so hard not to call my parents out of their name.

“But that doesn’t make it right. Their actions put pressure on you to pursue a life you weren’t passionate about just because they thought it would look good on them.

They pushed you so hard that you had a panic attack on stage in front of thousands, and then they still failed to be the parents you needed. ”

My mouth falls open.

He just said out loud what I’ve fought the past three years to deny. No, my panic attacks aren’t my parents’ fault directly, but their lack of support and constant pressure to be somebody other than I want to be didn’t help either.

“You deserved better, Ivy.” He squeezes my hand. “I’m sorry you didn’t get the parents you deserved. But I’m so damn proud of you for following your dreams. For coming out here even when you were scared shitless and unsure. Because it led you to me.”

He surprises me when he rises from his seat and moves around the table, his hand extended.

“Can I have this dance?”

I look around, only seeing a few waitstaff patiently waiting by the kitchen doors. Classical music plays from the hidden speakers.

“This is a dining area,” I remind him.

“And we’re the only two patrons here. I rented out this place because you wanted to try it and couldn’t get a reservation. Now, I want to hold you in my arms.”

There’s no way in hell I can turn a proposal like that down. I rise to my feet, and Andreas wraps me in his arms, bringing our bodies flush together.

Over his shoulder, I watch as our waitress emerges from the kitchen with plates in her hands. She pauses when she sees the two of us, then winks at me as she backs back into the kitchen.

I lay my head against Andreas’ shoulder.

“Do you ever think of finishing your degree?”

I pull back with a questioning expression.

“You had less than a semester left.”

“I couldn’t go back to New York.”

“What if you could do a joint degree with a university here?”

I don’t say anything as I lay my head against his shoulder again. The truth is, I’ve thought about finishing that degree countless times. I’d given up on the idea soon after moving back to Michigan, though.

As Andreas and I dance, him holding me like I’m the only thing in his world, the idea of finishing what I’d started reignites in my chest.

“Thank you for tonight,” I whisper before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“We should separate so you can eat before I take you home and finish what you’ve just started.”