“That’s thoughtful, thank you.”
Tyler nodded and grabbed two plates. He started dishing them up but I stopped him by saying, “Not very much for me. I have to go over to my parents’ house later for dinner.”
“Sure thing. You don’t seem very happy about it. Having dinner with your parents. You kind of make it sound like you’re going to a funeral.”
“The night’s still young, so it’s too early to rule that out.” Realizing Tyler might not get my sense of humor, I added, “Sorry, my family doesn’t put me in the best mood.”
“Oh, I get that all too well.” He flashed me a bone-melting grin as he brought the plates over to the small dining room table between his kitchen and living room. “Would you grab some forks? They’re in the drawer closest to the dishwasher.”
I wasn’t a hundred percent sure which appliance was the dishwasher, but thankfully I guessed correctly and found the silverware. I came over to the table and handed him a fork. I tried not to gasp when our fingers brushed together, the sensation of his skin on mine again rendering me mindless.
He, apparently, did not have the same kind of reaction. “Thanks. Dig in!”
Despite his disinterest, I found myself wanting to “accidentally” touch him again, so I focused on the dinner instead. I twirled the pasta around my fork, brought it up to my mouth, and tried not to groan in pleasure as I began to eat it. This was so much better than Lucky Charms. “This is amazing.”
“I knew I liked you,” he said with a wink that made my stomach flop over.
“As long as you keep feeding me this way, I’ll give you whatever compliments you want.”
He laughed, and his laughter still had that same magical quality to it that made my insides feel fizzy and light. There was something about him that I couldn’t put my finger on. That I wasn’t allowed to put my finger on.
It wasn’t just that he was handsome and sexy, which he obviously was, but there was something magnetic about him. He was effortlessly charming. People were drawn to him and wanted to be close to him. Or at least that was true for my anecdotal evidence of having seen him in action with three different women. I had the feeling it would be true of almost every woman in his presence.
Hence the restraining order.
He spoke, interrupting my thoughts: “I forgot to say anything earlier, but I want you to be comfortable here. Please feel free to decorate however you want or put up pictures of your family or whatever.”
“Oh no, they don’t show up on film.” Not to mention the last thing I needed was my mother’s disapproving stare gazing out at me on a daily basis.
That made him chuckle and he said, “I am serious, though. The offer stands. This is your home now, too.”
“Thanks.” I couldn’t see myself actually doing it, though. He’d obviously paid a decorator a lot of money to get a specific look and I wasn’t going to mess with that. It was actually a little sad that he’d settled into this decor. As I looked around, I felt like the apartment lacked Tyler’s personality. It was technically beautiful, but it didn’t feel like a home. This was how he wanted to live his life and how he wanted to organize his space. Surrounded by showpieces meant to impress.
It was how my childhood home had been decorated, as well.
So regardless of how nice he was, and how gorgeous, I needed to remember that Tyler was like the people from my old life. I’d recently decided, mostly thanks to Brad and my parents, that I wasn’t interested in dating a man with money. I’d seen that life. I’d grown up in it. It wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t want appearances to matter more than anything else. Where it was fine if your marriage was falling apart as long as you put on a brave face and pretended like everything was normal. Where you ignored your children and let them be raised by nannies because you had to go to the spa and take multiple vacations a year because of how very stressful your life was. A life where you pitted your children against one another and made them compete for your time and affection.
To be fair, there were probably wealthy families that were normal and functioned well. I just hadn’t met any of them yet.
Which meant that despite my daydreaming, I would never share a life or a home with Tyler. I wasn’t going to stay here long term. I was going to save up enough to get a decent apartment and then I would move on.
“So how long have you and Shay been friends?” he asked.
That flare of jealousy was back, but I put it out. “Since my freshman year of college.”
“What’s her story?”
The jealousy flamed up again. Was he interested? Or just making conversation? It didn’t matter, I reminded myself, and answered his question: “She’s a teacher, like me. She teaches math to the secondary students. Really smart. She’s a great person. She’s also, um, single. If you were interested.”
His food was halfway to his mouth and he froze for a second, as if I’d caught him off guard. It took him a moment to recover. “She seems nice, but she’s not really my type.”
What is your type? The words were on the very tip of my tongue and it was only with the greatest self-control imaginable that I managed to keep them inside me. As if I’d ask the question and then he’d turn slowly toward me and say, Why, you, of course. And then we’d kiss as the screen faded to black.
Nope. This was real life. Something I needed to remember.
I also needed to remember to keep my nose out of his private life. We were going to be roommates, not best friends.
“Message received.”
Again, he seemed anxious about having possibly offended me. “I don’t mean any disrespect to your friend. My life’s not really set up for a relationship. I have a lot of obligations.”
“Like what?” The words were out before I could stop them. Maybe I was the one being offensive, getting too personal. Even though I’d just told myself to stay out of it.
“That’s a very long story. Maybe I’ll share it with you another day.”
Yep, too far. Because that was a way to close down a line of questioning you didn’t want to answer.
It made me wonder about Shay’s instinct that he was seeing someone. It sounded as if he wasn’t, but I was not going to ask him anything further about it.
This conversation felt over and I was back to feeling stupid again.
“Well, I need to get some more unpacking done and then get ready to head over to my parents’. Thanks for dinner.” I carried my plate over to the sink and made sure to rinse it off. I had learned how important that was living at Shay’s. But she refused to let me help clean the kitchen because, as she said, I did everything wrong. That didn’t bode well for my situation with Tyler, but I would figure it out.
“Before you go, would it be okay if I talked to you about Pigeon’s schedule?”
“Sure.”
He came over and rinsed his plate off as well. He leaned in close, his warmth beckoning me, and I closed my eyes, inhaling his scent before I forced myself to take a step back. He left his plate in the sink, which made me feel marginally better that I had done the same. Shay was one of those as-soon-as-it’s-used-put-it-in-the-dishwasher kind of people. I’d done my best to remember but still routinely aggravated her.
Tyler then showed me Pigeon’s dog food that he kept in the pantry, and where her food and water bowls were, and told me how often I should feed her while he was gone. He had a dog walker, a college student, who came and grabbed Pigeon in the morning and in the late afternoon, so I wouldn’t have to walk her unless she needed to go outside to relieve herself.
It was then that I realized I had no idea how to walk a dog. Another thing for me to ask Google.
“Have you always had a dog?” I asked. I so wanted to know everything about him.
“No, Pigeon’s my first pet.”
“And you didn’t consider getting any other kind? Like a cat?”
“A cat?” he scoffed. “Never. I’m not bringing home some sociopath intent on luring you into a false sense of security
before they eat your face.”
That made me laugh. “Some cats are nice and affectionate.” Not that I had any firsthand knowledge, but it had to be true.
“Decoys. They’ve never forgotten that they used to be worshipped as gods. You’ll never see dogs planning on destroying humankind. Which is one of the reasons I adopted Pigeon.”
“She won’t eat your face?”
He smiled. “I’m pretty sure she’s not plotting my demise. And it’s nice to love somebody who doesn’t want anything in return.”
Whoa, that sounded deep and like an area that was obviously none of my business but I still wanted to ask too many questions about.
Before I could figure out what to say in response, he said, “While we’re on the topic of animals and their devious plans, something you should definitely know about Pidge is that she loves shoes. And by love, I mean she chews them into tiny pieces until they no longer resemble shoes. So you always want to keep your closet door shut.”
“Got it. She won’t come for my face, but she will for my shoes.” Pigeon and I were going to have issues if she chewed up my shoes. I’d been forced to sell off most of my bags and footwear. The shoes I had now were very inexpensive and I wasn’t emotionally attached to them, but I didn’t have enough money to buy more cheap shoes.
He led me into the living room, where there was a giant dog bed. “Pidge is kind of funny when it comes to sleep. Sometimes she wants to sleep with me, and sometimes she prefers to be out here on her bed. I’m assuming when I’m gone that she’ll want to be out here. But she has . . .” He reached down and picked up a couple of toys shaped like pigeons. “These. The chew toy she’s had since the shelter. It’s why I named her Pigeon. She wouldn’t leave without it. And then I bought her a stuffed pigeon to sleep with and she needs it to go to bed at night. And she also needs her favorite blanket pulled up over her.”
I couldn’t hide my smile at how cute he was about his dog.
“I know, I know,” he said with a grin. “I spoil her.”
“Maybe a little. And I thought I’d been spoiled growing up.”
“When I love something, I don’t do it halfway.”
That made my heart twist painfully. No man had ever loved me the way he loved this dog.
I cleared my throat, surprised at how thick it suddenly felt. “I think I’ve got it. So don’t worry about anything. It’s all under control.” I moved away from him but he put a hand out to stop me, lightly grasping my forearm.
I felt the zing of his touch everywhere.
“Wait a second. We should exchange phone numbers. Just in case you need to get in touch with me.”
“Right. Good idea.” I handed him my phone, hoping he didn’t notice how my hands shook. I also tried to quiet my inner fourteen-year-old self, who was giddily jumping up and down at the idea that I had his phone number. Which was so stupid because I was already living in his apartment.
He used my phone to call his, and when his phone rang he handed mine back to me. When I added him as a contact, I was going to have to refrain from nicknaming him Hot Tyler. Just in case.
“There. I’ll see you in a few days.”
“Yep!” Then because I was still feeling awkward, I decided to go ahead and make things weirder. “So I have to go get ready for that dinner with my family. I would invite you, but you seem like a very nice person and it would be very mean of me to introduce you to them. Personally I’d like to not go, either, but I don’t really have a choice.”
Shut up, I told myself. Stop talking and just . . . shut up.
He put both of his hands into his jean pockets. “I believe you always have a choice.”
I shook my head. Not where my mother was concerned, I didn’t. “Not really,” was the answer I settled on.
“I actually get that.”
What had happened in his life to make him feel like sometimes he didn’t have a choice, either? I wondered if he’d ever tell me.
It wasn’t a good thing that I wanted to know so much about Tyler.
I cleared my throat. “So have a good flight and I’ll see you when you get back.”
“Enjoy your evening. Or . . . don’t.”
I smiled at his joke and headed back to my room.
This was fine. Everything was fine. I would learn to clean, how to take care of a dog, keep my hormones in check, and I would go to my parents’ home and see what fresh nightmare waited for me there.
And hope that dinner with my mother maybe wouldn’t be as bad as I absolutely knew it would be.
CHAPTER FIVE
I was delighted to see that Julio was the driver who had been sent to fetch me. He was the one who had taught me how to drive and helped me get my license. I felt relieved that my parents hadn’t fired him for it. He caught me up on how his three small boys (holy terrors, he affectionately called them) were doing, and talking to him distracted me from thinking about where we were headed.
Until we arrived at the house. I stood outside the front door, not sure if I should ring the bell or go in. The problem was resolved for me when the door was opened up by our butler, Coughlin. I wanted to throw my arms around him to say hello, but his reserved manner made me stop.
“Good evening, Miss Huntington.” He let me inside and I followed him across our vast foyer.
“How are you, Coughlin?” I handed him my coat and he folded it over his forearm.
“As well as can be expected under the circumstances. Someone stole our sunshine.” I saw the twinkle in his eye and felt a rush of relief that loyalty to my parents hadn’t turned him against me. The staff had nicknamed me Sunshine when I was younger, something I didn’t think anyone in my family knew. “Your family has gathered in the west parlor.”
He stopped short of the door, and taking a risk, I leaned up to kiss his cheek. “I’ve missed you, too, Coughlin.”
Then he turned slightly red, smiling, and nodded at me. As he walked away, I drew in a big breath. I could do this. And maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as I was expecting it to be.
“Speaking of things Mother and Father did to try and save their marriage, Madison’s here!”
My sister Vanessa’s shrill voice shattered any illusions I had left about this evening. Ignoring them, I headed into the lion’s den, passing by them to reach the wet bar so that I could pour myself a drink. Or twenty. Anything to get through this. I didn’t know how accurate her statement actually was. I knew that my parents had me when the twins were ten years old in a last-ditch effort to give my father a son, a true heir. Everybody had been disappointed that I was a girl and had spent the last twenty-three years reminding me of that fact.
When I didn’t respond to her barb, Vanessa turned back around to bark some command to her husband, Gilbert Washington Buchanan III. Gilbert was the grandson of a former US president and had his own political ambitions.
Or, more accurately, the ambitions came from all the people around him, because Gilbert was exceptionally stupid. But he had name recognition and people loved his grandpa. He currently had a “job” as a vice president at Daddy’s company. He was waiting for my father to retire from the Senate and then Gilbert would take over his seat and Vanessa would morph into the perfect political wife, with her pink business suits and platinum-blonde bob, just like our mother.
My other sister, Violet, had her back turned on the couple, which seemed like an unwise move. You should never expose a vulnerable spot to a predator. But she was deep in conversation with a man I didn’t recognize. My gaze didn’t linger on him, either, because she drew all the attention to herself. She had dyed her hair a dark brown, almost black. She had on a black cocktail dress that was all severe lines and angles. She radiated wealth and power. And rightfully so—she was going to take over as CEO when my father stepped down.
It felt a little odd when I realized that there were people in this room who would get their dream jobs only when my father was either forced to quit (retiring wasn’t in his vocabulary) or died.
; I also realized that in my skirt, blouse, and cardigan I was severely underdressed but didn’t actually care. I considered that a big step.
Instead of joining their void of suck, I wandered around the edge of the room. I’d never spent much time here as a kid since this was a place designed solely to impress and intimidate. Some small part of me was tempted to take a page out of Great-Aunt Ida’s playbook and pick up something valuable that I could sell. I actually wrapped my fingers around a Fabergé egg sitting on a bookshelf. I hadn’t been raised with much of a moral code—in fact, I’d been taught that anything went as long as my end goals were reached, that laws were merely suggestions. I credited my teachers and our servants for teaching me right from wrong. Which meant that I couldn’t live with myself if I stole from my parents.
“Come and join us, Madison!” Vanessa invited. I wished her pregnancy didn’t prevent her from drinking because my sister was one of those rare people who was meaner sober. “Tell us all about your little school and how you’re enjoying being a glorified nanny.”
I gritted my teeth together and counted to five, slowly. “No, thanks. I’m not in the mood for you and your particular shade of evil.”
She let out a fake laugh, as if I were just the funniest person in the world. “Now, you know we just worry about you and your health! All those children and their diseases.”
About to remind her that she was pregnant with her fourth child, I stopped myself. She understood only one kind of response. “You shouldn’t be worried about me. Personally I’m a little concerned about all that sucking up you do to our parents and whether it might cause you to burst a lung while giving birth.”
Now her laugh was genuine. “Aw, the kitten has her claws out! Isn’t that adorable!”
I hated that they all made me feel this way. Like I was a mouse trying to roar. That I was too small and inconsequential for anyone to take seriously. It had been that way my whole life.
A soft bell rang, followed by the sound of heels clacking loudly against the floor outside the salon. Which meant my mother was nearly here. I gulped down a large amount of whiskey, letting it burn my throat as I grimaced.
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