“She said almost the same thing.”
“But you don’t believe her.”
“It’s not that. She’s still only twenty-four. She doesn’t always think things through before she acts. She gets caught up in the lights and cameras. But also…it’s the first time I’ve shared any of that with anyone, and now that it’s out there, it feels like I’ve lost control of it. Does that make sense?”
“It does.” Which was part of the reason why he hadn’t confided in his sister. Their secret had been a secret for so long, letting go of it caused more anxiety than continuing to hold it. At the same time, he’d always wondered… “But did it also feel freeing? Being able to talk about it with someone.”
Lucy released a big sigh. “Yes. And after she finished yelling at me for not telling her sooner, she had some pretty thoughtful words of wisdom. Sometimes I swear she’s lived a thousand lives.”
“Maybe she has. Fame can throw a lot at you.”
Leaning back on the counter, Lucy crossed her arms and assessed him. “Is that why you keep such a low profile? You don’t want your billionaire status to change you.”
“It doesn’t change me.” Not where it counted.
“You could buy a private island, Joel.”
“I could,” he replied as his finger traced the delicate line of her jaw. “And yet, there isn’t enough money in the world that could buy me back what I really want.”
Their eyes locked as the weight of his words settled between them. No amount of money could buy back what they’d lost, and they both knew it. Lucy frowned, so he changed course.
“Vanessa won’t tell anyone, and if she does, I’ll wipe whatever she shares off every corner of the internet. That is something my money can do. I promise.”
He turned to the cutting board and picked up the knife. “I’ll finish chopping these. Are we making lasagna?”
“How did you know?” Lucy asked as she pulled a pan out of the cupboard.
“You always made lasagna when you were stressed.”
“Huh, you really do remember everything.” She grabbed her phone from the counter. “I hope you also remember to dice the onions into tiny pieces so they don’t show up in the sauce later.”
Joel laughed. “I do.”
Lucy held her phone up as he chopped.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re wearing gray sweatpants and cooking. I want photographic evidence for future reference.”
He stopped mid-chop. “Future reference for what?”
Lucy shrugged. “Stuff.”
A low growl rumbled out of him. “You’ll be the death of me, wife.”
Lucy snorted. “Just make sure you chop the onions properly before you kick the bucket, moneybags.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
This was supposed to be her de-stress lasagna, but Joel standing there in his athletic tee and gray sweatpants stirring sauce while drinking wine, had somehow turned it into an erotic experience. Everything suddenly had sexual undertones.
“Taste this,” he said, turning to her with the sauce ladle, his hand underneath ready to catch any drips. “Watch out, it’s hot.” He blew gently on the sauce.
No shit, she’d thought, watching his forearm flex as he brought the spoon to her lips.
“Good?” he asked.
Yes. More, please.
