Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“Well, okay. No, I haven’t been married. I’ve never been engaged either.”
“That surprises me.”
He chuckles. “It surprises my mother too.”
I return his smile. “Do you think you’ll get married someday? I can see you sitting in your living room by the fireplace with a horde of children at your feet.”
“Oh …” He winces. “I don’t know. Does it make me a terrible person to admit I’m not sure I want kids?”
“No, not at all.”
“With my office hours and travel schedule, it would be impossible to have a life like that. And I think, to do either well, you have to choose. I’m already pretty good at one, and it’s important to me. So why take a chance by adding the other?”
I nod. “Makes perfect sense.”
He angles his body so that he can face me more head-on. “Have you been married?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“What kind of question is that?” I force a swallow as I repeat his question. “I got ice cream from there today,” I say, pointing at the parlor across from Xavier Park. “It was really good.”
When I look back at him, he’s still looking at me. The intensity and curiosity make me squirm.
“Why not?” he repeats.
Because I thought I was going to get married once, and I’ll never go through that again.
The clip-clop of the horse’s hooves doesn’t even begin to drown out the sound of blood pouring across my ears. I mentally smack myself for bringing this up in the first place.
I feel pressured to tell him the truth—mostly because I know he would be open with me. But if I do that, if I spill my guts all over this beautiful velvet carriage, the picture that I paint won’t match the Blaire he thinks he knows. And I’ll have a hell of a time getting out of that mental space.
Jack is intrinsically tied to that time in my life. I cannot uncouple the two. I’ve tried for years.
I clear my throat and avoid his piercing gaze.
What would Holt say if I told him that Jack left me because I almost got kicked out of law school? Would he think less of me, of my family, that I was going to Linton to bail Machlan out of jail at least once a month after our parents died? Would he think I’m an irresponsible disaster if he knew all of the financial holes I found myself in back then? Some of which I’m still digging myself out of now?
“Blaire …”
“I’ve not found the right person, I suppose.”
“Are you looking for him?”
My laugh is silent, but my body moves with the force of holding it back.
Holt’s brows furrow. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m not looking for him.”
My response is clipped and to the point, and I hope Holt takes it at face value. But when I glance at him across my shoulder, I see that he doesn’t.
His gaze challenges me. The look he wields my way tries to worm its way inside me and extract all the ugly things I don’t want him to know.
I do my best mirror of his expression—a trick I learned in law school, but he doesn’t bite.
“Why do you do this?” he asks.
“What am I doing?”
He fights a grin. “You’re trying to redirect this conversation.”
“I answered your question.”
A breeze shoots through the carriage and ruffles the end of my sweater. I pull it tighter to my body as we take a slow, wide turn next to a stately fountain. Kids stand around it and toss coins into the water.
When I look back at Holt, he’s still watching me.
“I heard from Yancy today—my assistant,” I clarify. “She said that we should be back in the building this week.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll be out of your hair soon.”
He reaches forward and brushes a strand of hair out of my face. The tenderness of his gesture makes my heart swell.
“I’m more concerned about something else,” he says.
“What’s that?”
He pulls his hand back and relaxes back against the velvet. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip as he eyes me carefully.
“Why do you have such a hard time opening up?” he asks.
“I didn’t know I do.”
He cocks his head to the side. “Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t,” I insist. “I just choose not to spill all the details about my life to anyone who will listen.”
“I’m not just anyone who will listen, Blaire. I want to get to know you.”
“You do know me.”
He’s not impressed.
“I’m not as interesting as most people,” I say. “I spent my time in the office, in a courtroom, or at home. I don’t have a lot of hobbies. I don’t have a lot of friends. There’s no time for it in my life. I told you this already.”
“You did. You told me all of that—all of that superficial, first-date bullshit that doesn’t say anything about you. You know this. You aren’t stupid.”