"And you just turned down fifty thousand dollars," he counters.
Yep."
"While sitting naked in bed."
"Was I supposed to put on a blazer first?"
His mouth curves. Not quite a smile. Something warmer. "You're something else."
I look down at my hands. My pulse is still elevated—not from the phone call, but from what's underneath it. The thing I'm not saying.
Because while Natalie was talking about discretion and fidelity and managing a husband's affairs like quarterly earnings reports, something clicked inside my skull.
This is West's world.
Not Blake's cruelty. Not the cheating or the predation. That's Blake.
But the architecture around it—the strategic marriages, the family evaluations, the unspoken understanding that alliance matters more than affection—that's the water West grew up swimming in.
He wasn't just dating under pressure.
He was beingevaluated.And evaluating in return. And choosing not to participate. And that choice cost him something.
The marriage interviews his family arranged. The pressure to choose appropriately.
When the Prescotts invited me to brunch, it was to assess. To understand the woman who made their son smile.
They liked me. I know they did.
But liking me isn’t the same as choosing me.
Natalie knew. She still said yes.
Not because she didn’t see the truth.
Because in her world, saying yes was the responsible choice.
If that had been my world… would I have done the same?
I look at West now—propped against the headboard, sheet low on his hips, afternoon light cutting shadows across the planes of his chest—and I see it differently. Not the privilege. That's always been obvious. But the weight of it.
He catches me looking. "What?"
"I understand your stress a little better now."
He tilts his head. Waiting.
"The marriage interviews. The family expectations. It wasn't casual."
"No," he says. Simply. "It wasn't."
He doesn't elaborate. Doesn't launch into aspeech about dynasty and legacy and consolidation of wealth. Just those two words, and the way his jaw moves slightly, like he's chewing on something he decided not to say.
I pull back. Look at him. "Is that really what your world is like?"
He doesn't flinch. Doesn't deflect.
"For some people? Yeah."
