She nods. “That’s really why I came.”
“You don’t want money.”
“No.”
“You aren’t trying to trap him somehow.”
“No.”
“What’s your end goal, here?”
Rowan’s eyes glide over to me and a smile spreads across her face. “I just want to be with him. I don’t care about any of the other stuff.” She looks back to my son. “He makes me really happy, Emmett. And he makes me feel like I’m worthy of good things. I want to give him the same.”
Emmett crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his seat, considering.
“So say he loses his fortune tomorrow and has a hundred bucks to his name. Then what?”
“We would get some greasy burgers,” she answers, “and if he needed to cry about it, I would hold him. Then we could start fresh the next day. I’ve done broke and sad. Broke and happy would be fine with me.”
“She’s a good one,” I tell him. “I’m sorry, bud, I’m really sorry that you know what it’s like to be wanted for your money. That is something I wish I could have protected you from. Rowan is not those women. There are good ones.”
“It’sgross.I mean, come on,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “But fine...I’ll deal.”
A tidal wave of relief swells through me as hundreds of pounds of weight are lifted from my shoulders. It doesn’t matter that it isn’t glaring, crystal clear acceptance –he’ll deal.
I reach for the bottle of wine and pour myself a fresh glass, basking in the feeling of weightlessness that has become so foreign to me, and I smile as I pull the glass to my lips.
This night could have been an absolute disaster, and it could have easily ended right there, but we settle into the rest of our meal and dissolve into somewhat pleasant conversation, the revelation of Rowan and I’s relationship seemingly forgotten or unimportant, for the most part.
Rowan joins us in a single, small glass of wine – a private, silent celebration between the two of us – and Emmett and I go through two bottles together before the evening comes to an end.
As we leave the restaurant, Rowan insists that Emmett ride with us, to our home, rather than driving or calling for a ride. I can’t help but wrap my arm tightly around her as we walk toward my car and she climbs into the driver’s seat to take us home.
Twenty minutes later, the three of us are walking into the house. I track down the babysitter and slap a couple ofhundred dollar bills into her hand before sending her away and moving through the house to find Rowan.
She stands in the living room with her arms wrapped around her middle and I approach from behind her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Go print out some photos,” I say against her ear. “Then pick out frames from the box in the furthest hall closet upstairs.”
I barely have time to press a kiss to her temple before she squeals and takes off toward the stairs, running as fast as I imagine she can, the royal blue fabric of her dress flowing like an ocean wave behind her.
My beautiful, perfect girl.
I find Rowan an hour later in my bedroom, standing at the dresser, still in her dress. She rifles through the drawers, picking out pieces of my clothes that she wants to wear to bed, and I approach her from behind, wrapping my arms around her waist and pressing my lips to her shoulder.
“You did so well tonight,” I tell her. “You were perfect.”
She turns in my arms, cupping my jaw with her hands, a wide smile splitting her face. I thought she was happy in Italy, but this...this is true happiness. She’s glowing.
My lips find hers and I pull her along with me as I walk backward toward my bed, dropping down onto it with her on my lap.
“Do you really think so?”
I nod, bringing my lips to the soft skin of her collarbone. “You were strong tonight,” I tell her. “Brave.”
My mouth trails along her chest as my hands bring the skirt of her dress over her knees, giving me access to pull her panties down her legs.
“I really wanted to make you proud,” she breathes.
