“Here, yes. Here. Because ofme?”
He reaches for a piece of Italian bread, dips it through a garlic and herb oil dish, then brings it to his lips. “To wife you, specifically.”
“I cleaned your house—” I shake my head. “I cleanednot evenyour house once a week each summer, and somehow that caused you to decide I was wife material?”
“Well. It’s more like I…fell in love at first sight and decided to move in an effort to see whether or not you were indeed wife material. My wife material, specifically.”
My lips part and hang open for several seconds. “You hired me on personally…”
“To get a closer look at your day-to-day behaviors, yes.”
My brain overheats and then possibly shuts down. So I give it some pasta. Because pasta usually helps with most things. “What even caught your attention? You just…like the way I lookthatmuch? Or maybe moving as a billionaire who can do anything isn’t that big of a deal?” I relax some. “That must be it. You have so much money, it doesn’t really matter. You can make insane choices on the off chance something will come of it.”
“Does thinking that make you more comfortable?”
I shrink and poke my ziti. “Is…it not true?”
“To answer your question about me liking the way you lookthatmuch…in a word, yes. And to elaborate on the decision to turn my position remote, it mattered. It took loads of effort and reworking and an entire year. It was possible, because I am a billionaire and most things are possible in my class, but it wasn’t easy. It was just worth it.”
Worth it.
Worth it to turn his entire life upside down, leave everything he knows, all his friends, all the familiarity, even the climate he’s used to…to be closer to…me? That surely was not worth it.
And another thing, from thestarthe’s been considering me for marriage?
I reach for a slice of bread, because bread also tends to help with most things. Nibbling it, I murmur, “I’m afraid I don’t think I’m really following…”
“It’s okay,” he says. “You don’t really have to. What matters is that I’m serious, and you’re serious, and we’re seeing if we can work.”
“Right…” My eyes catch on him scribbling in his pro or con book. “But also, what are you writing down?”
“Do you really want to know?”
My stomach sinks. I know I’m a little stunned right now, but I didn’t think I was doing anythingwrong. “Yes?”
“Pro: the way Mirabelle eats bread.”
“Huh?”
“It’s cute.”
I look down at my bread, which I am eating, like a normal person. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I am extremely worried about it, and also everything.
Hemovedfor me. He upturned his lifefor me. I was not prepared to experience this kind of pressure on our first date. I feel obligated to live up to these insane expectations I didn’t evenhave anything to do with, but I don’t know how to, because—quite apparently—the way I eat bread is apro.
It hits me that this confusion and pressure qualify as cons, so I finish my piece of bread and scribble my own notes. Graciously, Damion doesn’t ask what they are.
Because he’s not saying anything.
He’s eating.
So I eat.
Until the silence chokes me.
