26
GRACE
The suite isquiet when we step inside. For a second, I just stand there, still buzzing from the electric helicopter tour. But I have to admit, this adrenaline is more from the way Ben kissed me than the high-flying ride.
Then I see it. A garment bag hangs from the armoire. A glossy white shoebox sits on the bed like it belongs in a bridal boutique window. “What’s this?”
Ben’s mouth curves into a crooked grin. “Open it.”
My fingers tremble as I unzip the bag. Silver fabric slides into view. The material is soft and shimmery. My heart flutters at the sight. It’s so similar to the little cocktail dress he bought for me when we met Milton for dinner that night. That perfect little dress I loved so much. Yet if it’s possible, this one might be even more stunning. The stitching and details along the bodice are exquisite. While the original piece was more form-fitting, this one looks like something you might see a celebrity wear on the red carpet. “You remembered,” I whisper.
“How could I forget? You walked out of that dressing room, and I forgot how to spell my own damn name.” He chuckles. “And it’s three letters.”
My heart free falls at his self-deprecating admission. I disappear into the bathroom to change, smoothing the dress over my hips, and slipping into the heels that feel like they were made for me. When I step back out, he actually breathes out an audible little gasp.
“Grace…” he murmurs. “You’re breathtaking.”
I giggle. “You’re just dramatic.”
But his eyes say otherwise. And I appreciate it more than he could possibly know.
The night becomesa blur of velvet-lined seats and glowing stage lights. I’m certain I’ve never laughed and smiled so much in my entire life. And with Ben, it feels effortless. It’s similar to when I spend time with Tuesday. An easy, comfortable merriment. Natural in a way I didn’t know existed with a man. We clap, we lean close, and we whisper during the show like teenagers sharing a private joke.
And then we dance.
And hell, can this man dance. And I don’t mean polite swaying. I mean spinning, laughing, losing ourselves in each other movements. It’s the kind where my hair comes loose and his hands find my waist, and we couldn’t care less who’s watching. The type of dancing you watch happen between two main characters in a movie and know it’s simply not real life. No one looks at someone like that.
But Ben does.
And what’s more, he looks happier than I’ve ever seen anyone look. And it’s all for me. And for the first time in a very long time, I feel it too. Happy and free.
If only this weekend could last forever.
Later,with drinks warming my chest and courage loosening my tongue, we talk. “What would you really want to do? For a career, I mean,” Ben asks. “If you didn’t have to be practical. If you didn’t have to work at a job to survive.”
The words crack something open inside me. I’ve stopped allowing myself to dream of something so frivolous. Life’s too hard. “Hmm. I’d still want to be a nurse,” I admit. “I want to take care of people the way others have taken care of my mom. But I’d love to have a business of my own on the side.”
His brows draw together gently. “You’ve mentioned her in passing, but not much.”
“She’s been in and out of St. Luke’s for years,” I say. “Mom has late-stage emphysema. She attends pulmonary rehab and takes a lot of new medications they’ve recommended, and it has seemed to easeher symptoms. But they’re expensive. So she hasn’t been able to take all of them.” My throat tightens. “It’s why I got myself into this mess in the first place.”
Ben doesn’t interrupt. He just listens.
I decide to change the subject. We’ve been having such a great time, I don’t want our evening marred by my mother’s poor health. “I used to make soap,” I continue softly. “Little homemade bars my mother and I would create together. We gave them to my teachers as gifts. People seemed to really love them. Even strangers would ask for me to make them. I should’ve stuck with it. But life got in the way.” I shrug, trying not to let the weight of my circumstance get a chokehold on this incredible night.
His eyes soften. “You could still do it.”
“Maybe,” I shrug. “If I ever catch a break.”
Ben doesn’t jump in and promise to save the day. And I appreciate that. It might be easy for someone with his kind of money to steamroll into a relationship, making all of the decisions. But broke or not, I’m tired of letting the men in my life have that much power over me.
He must sense my tension over this subject and decides to open up too. About his vision for his resorts, the family empire he grew up in, and how he wants more than money. “I want my life to have purpose,” he says. “I’d dread waking up every day just to build another identical hotel.”
I reach for his hand. “It takes guts to do what you’re doing.”
He smiles. “I could say the same. Oh, I didn’t mean it like?—”
I lay my hand over his. “It’s okay,” I murmur. There’s no way this kind man would make a joke about the fact I posed for a scheming, conniving crook to pay my bills. “I know you didn’t.”
