“Words,” Vivian dismissed with a wave. “Focus on actions, darling. My grandson flew you to his private island, which he’s never done for any woman. He left a date with a seemingly perfect candidate to help you in a crisis. And before you say anything, yes, I know about Ms. Angelina. Don’t forget that he also brought you to meet me, his only family he still has connections with. Those are not the actions of a man having ‘just a good time,’ are they?”
Put like that, it did seem like there was more to Callan’s feelings than he’d admitted. But still...
“If he felt something real,” I argued, “why wouldn’t he just say so? Why insist so vehemently that love doesn’t exist?”
“Because admitting love exists would mean admitting he’s vulnerable to it,” Vivian explained patiently. “And vulnerability terrifies him more than bankruptcy ever could. My grandsonbuilt an empire on being in control. Love is the ultimate loss of control.”
“So what am I supposed to do with this information?” I asked, frustration seeping into my voice. “Wait around hoping he’ll eventually overcome decades of emotional baggage? Settle for someone who can’t or won’t say they love me?”
“Absolutely not. You deserve better than that. You deserve someone who can meet you where you are, who shares your values, who isn’t afraid to name what they feel.”
“Then why are you here?” I asked, genuinely confused.
“Because,” Vivian said, leaning forward, “I like you. And, I believe my grandson might be ready to be that person. Not because he’s magically fixed all his issues. God knows that would take several lifetimes and more therapy than Manhattan could provide. But because losing you has forced him to confront what matters most.”
“And what’s that?”
“You. He’s choosing you over his fear. At least, he’s trying to. He’s a toddler taking their first steps—wobbly and terrified, but desperately wanting to reach what’s on the other side.”
I swallowed hard, hope and skepticism warring within me. “How do you know?”
“Because he’s still going through with the wedding.”
I blinked, certain I’d misheard. “Excuse me?”
“The wedding. At Rhodes Estate. Tomorrow at four o’clock. He’s going through with it.”
“But...” I sputtered. “Who did he choose? Who is he marrying?”
“There’s no bride. Just him, standing at the altar. Waiting.”
“Waiting for what?” I asked, though I suspected I already knew the answer.
“For you, darling. He’s hoping you’ll show up.”
Shit. Callan was going through with the wedding. The one we’d planned together. And he was, what, going to stand there like an idiot on the off chance that I might come. The man was clearly delusional.
“That’s ridiculous,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “He can’t seriously think I’ll just... what? Show up and marry him after everything that happened?”
“I don’t think he knows what to expect, but he’s taking a stand. Literally, at an altar. He’s hoping the right person shows up.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Then he looks like a fool in front of two hundred of Manhattan’s elite,” Vivian shrugged. “Which, between us, might do his ego some good. But I don’t think that’s what will happen.”
“You seem very confident.”
“I’m old, darling. At my age, you learn to recognize the real thing when you see it.” She reached across the desk to pat my hand. “What you and Callan have, whatever you want to call it, is the real thing. Messy and complicated and terrifying, yes, but real. Sometimes love isn’t a pretty gift box with a neat bow on top. Sometimes it’s a disaster in a three-piece suit with commitment issues and a god complex. Sometimes it’s the man whose been by your side through thick and thin.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Part of me wanted to believe her, to rush to Rhodes Estate and find Callan and... what? Forgive everything because he was making a grand, romantic gesture? Another part, the professional, practical part that had protected me since Austin, warned that nothing fundamental had changed. Callan still didn’t believe in love. He still saw relationships as transactions. Standing at an altar didn’t change that.
“I appreciate you coming here, and the muffins. But I don’t think I can do what you’re asking.”
“I’m not asking you to do anything,” Vivian clarified, rising from her chair with the same elegant grace with which she’d sat down. “I’m merely providing information. What you do with it is entirely your choice. The wedding is at four o’clock tomorrow. Rhodes Estate. The staff has instructions to let you in if you decide to come.”
She moved toward the door, then paused, turning back to me. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re exactly what my grandson needs. Not because you’ll fix him, no one can do that but himself, but because you make him want to be better. That’s rare, Anica. Rarer than you might think.”
With that, she swept out of my office, leaving me alone with a basket of delicious-smelling muffins and a head full of confusion.
