“No. I’m not hiding just because Nelson’s a jerk.” I’m not using up my PTO because of him. That’s set aside for visiting Mom on her birthday or—God forbid—an emergency.
“That isn’t why I’m telling you to call in sick. What are you going to say to people when they ask what happened?” Huxley’s gaze drops to my cheek, a hint of worry fleeting over his face.
This unexpected concern makes me want to squirm, especially since I’m not sure exactly what to make of it. Has he decided that I wasn’t complicit in our families’ machinations after all? Or is this just part of our agreement to be courteous to each other? His expression betrays nothing, so I pretend I didn’t see the care in his eyes. “I don’t know,” I say lightly. “I’ll think of something.”
“Like the truth?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
A shrug. “Maybe I ran into a wall.” My phone has been silent. Although I blocked Viv and Mick, Nelson and Karie could easily reach me and threaten to hurt Mom to vent their anger and humiliation. After all, as long as Mom is at Johns Hopkins, I’m more or less helpless against their abuse.
Huxley’s mouth tightens so much it resembles a hyphen. “Leave work early if necessary. You don’t need to put up with whispers and speculation.”
“But Idoneed the hours and the money.”
“One of the perks of marrying a billionaire like you’ve always dreamed of is that you don’t really need to work.” He gestures carelessly at his home. “You already have a free roof over your head, free food in your belly. You don’t have to kill yourself to make some spending money.”
I say nothing. He wouldn’t understand. And his face scrunches like he’s just realized he said something he didn’t mean to.
I can imagine. After hearing me talk to Adam about wanting to marry a rich man, Huxley refused to let me explain and swore I wouldn’t get to touch a penny of his money.
I sigh. “Can you give me a ride to my office?”
“Not yet.” He picks up a tin and opens the lid, revealing white goo inside.
“What’s that?”
“For your face. It should help with the swelling and pain. I put some on your cheek last night, too.”
Now Ireallydon’t know what to make of his unexpected consideration. He’s confusing me by being nice and then nasty, back and forth. But I don’t have the courage to tell him to stick to one track—what if it’s the nasty track?
He dips his fingers into the tin and spreads it over my cheek. His touch is tender, as though he can’t bear to hurt me. Being cared for reminds me of happy times with my mom, and my heart aches. If I’d found a man who loves me, would my life be like this all the time? Full of gentle affection and feeling safe?
“You should press charges,” he says suddenly. “If not criminal, then civil.”
“Can’t afford it.”
He snorts. “You’re marrying into the Huxley family.”
“And he’s a Webber.”
“Fine. I’ll ask John Highsmith to take your case.”
I stare at him. I’ve heard of Highsmith. One of the nastiest lawyers in the state. Nobody gets away with messing with his clients. Andreas often speaks of him with admiration…or exasperation, depending on whether he has to face him in court or not.
“I’ll pay for his services,” Huxley adds, apparently mistaking my silence for concern about the cost.
“I appreciate that. But I need the twenty-five thousand bucks a month from Nelson and Karie, so…I can’t.”
Huxley’s eyebrows snap together. “Is your dignity worth only twenty-five K?”
I let out a hollow laugh. “Easy for a billionaire to sneer at twenty-five thousand. But it’s not the money itself. My mother is absolutely worth sacrificing my dignity for. My dignity, and pretty much anything else as well.”
He frowns. “Your mother?”
“I told you she was okay when we ran into each other again because I didn’t want to go into the whole sad story. But she isn’t doing well.” I stare at the pool of maple syrup on my plate. Things would beso much betterif she weren’t ill. I wish she and I could have Belgian waffles and laugh over silly stuff like we used to.
I swallow a familiar lump and raise my eyes to meet Huxley’s. My voice is surprisingly calm and steady. “She’s been in a coma for the last two years. After a few months at Ronald Reagan, they moved her to Johns Hopkins so she could get treated by Dr. Blum. He’s the world authority on neurological damage and cerebral infarctions. But he doesn’t work for free, obviously. I’m paying what I can, and whatever I can’t shoulder, Nelson andKarie take on. That’s what the twenty-five thousand is for. I don’t see any of it. It’s sent directly to the hospital.”
“Nelson and Karie?” Huxley makes a skeptical noise. “Why would they offer to do that?”
