“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.
Theclip-clopof 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 doesthatmean?”
“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.
