Her lips curved slightly as she folded her hands in her lap. “I should say first that I admire what you are doing here. Truly.”
I waited.
“You have built something tangible,” Carly continued. “A place. A role. You are not performing for anyone. You are providing something real.”
The words landed carefully. Almost too carefully.
“I like my work,” I said.
“I can see that and I understand why.” She briefly paused, then went on. “I also understand my brother.”
That was the moment my shoulders tightened.
“Braxton is kind. He is generous. He likes to help. Those qualities make him easy to love.”
I did not respond.
“They also make him very visible,” she added. “People notice him and expect things from him. He can overgive sometimes. His money, his efforts, his time. It’s a bit exhausting always having to make sure he isn’t giving too much.”
I crossed my arms loosely. “He’s a good person and I am aware of who he is.”
Carly nodded. “Of course you are. But you may not be aware of what comes with that.”
She leaned back slightly, her posture relaxed. “The Hale family is… public. There is money, yes, but more importantly there is expectation. With status comes responsibilities like being a member of various charity boards, attending fundraising galas and hosting dinners. We must appear in the right places with the right people. Be photographed doing the right things.”
I thought of Braxton standing in the kitchen, hands shoved into his pockets, watching me work as if I were the most interesting person in the room.
“He doesn’t enjoy that part,” Carly continued. “But Braxton does it, because it is part of our family obligations.”
I said nothing.
“He will return to the city,” she added gently. “To his firm and to his responsibilities. This week is a pause, not a change.”
I stared at the patterned rug beneath my feet, at the faint scuff near the leg of the chair.
“I’m not asking him to stay,” I softly told her.
“I know,” Carly replied, not unkindly. “But you might wish he could.”
The words slid under my skin.
Carly leaned forward slightly. “I’m not saying you are wrong for him. I am saying the world he inhabits is not gentle.”
I met her gaze. “Neither is mine.”
She smiled faintly. “That may be true. But your world rewards competence. His rewards polish. Tabloids and magazines are critical.”
I thought of James. Of the way he talked about vision instead of work. Of how easily people mistook shine for substance.
“I am not a socialite,” I said quietly.
“No,” Carly agreed. “You are certainly not.”
She said it like an observation, not an insult. Somehow that made it worse.
“Braxton’s life involves hosting dinners. Imagine if you were to host the dinner with foreign dignitaries, politicians, and movie stars. You can’t hide in the kitchen,” Carly went on. “If you were to become a couple you would be attending events where appearance matters more than effort. People would write about you, appalling things sometimes, and people would readthose articles and newspapers. Everything you wear, your hair, your weight, all on display for the public to be seen.”
Silence settled between us.
