“I got used to thinking that financial stability meant safety,” I admitted. “That if a man were secure in that area, he wouldn’t resent me for wanting nice things. He wouldn’t guilt me. He wouldn’t make me feel small. I told myself that even if it wasn’t romantic, at least I wouldn’t have to apologize for wanting comfort.”
His eyes darkened—not with anger, but understanding. "So that's why you had no problem with marrying me, what would you have done if I weren't rich?"
“I didn't marry you because of your wealth,” I clarified. “But I won’t pretend I don’t appreciate that you are wealthy. From our first date, it was clear to me that you were nothing like the men I had dated before. You were a gentleman, and I wanted you all to myself.”
A faint, almost disbelieving smile touched his lips.
“You have every right to want someone financially stable,” he said firmly. “You have every right to want someone who can meet your expectations.”
My brows lifted slightly. “You don’t think that makes me selfish?”
“No,” he said without hesitation. “Not when you've been so honest about it.”
“My years of reading romance novels fed my delusions,” I admitted, almost sheepishly. “All those billionaire heroes who worship the ground their women walk on. It was all wishful thinking until I met you.”
He huffed softly. “We're finally on the same page, yet now I have to compete with fictional men.”
"As long as you continue being the gentleman I saw on our first date, you won't have anything to worry about."
"That's a relief," he mumbled, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "I should probably admit that I felt a sense of pride whenever my phone lit up with a notification from the bank."
I stared at him, trying to decide if he was teasing me.
“Pride?” I repeated.
“Yes.” His tone was calm, steady. “Every time my phone buzzed, I knew you were out there choosing something for yourself. I liked knowing I was the one who made that possible.”
My fingers tightened around his. I had no idea he was being notified of my every purchase.
“I didn’t realize you could see everything,” I admitted softly.
“I could,” he shook his head as if trying to force the laughter bubbling up away. "My bank also called to tell me about the three-million-dollar purchase."
My eyes widened, my body instinctively recoiling away from him. This time, he didn't hide his laugh, and I felt even more embarrassed because of it. "Did they also tell you I tried to buy a Barnes and Noble?"
"They did," he chuckled, not caring how red my face was getting. "But I'm more interested in what the three million was for."
I kept my face turned away from him, this being the only way I could hide how mortified I was. "I bought a supermarket," I sighed, the words rolling off my tongue before I could stop them. "Let's not make a big deal out of it."
"Wh-" he snickered, prompting me to glare at him. "Why would you buy a supermarket?"
"I wouldn't have come out here if I knew this would lead to an interrogation. I'm hungry enough as it is."
"You're hungry?" he asked, his mood instantly changing to one of concern.
When I nodded, he frowned, turned to the door, and opened it.
Rows upon rows of empty shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, wrapping around the room in perfect symmetry. Polished wood. Soft lighting. A sliding ladder was mounted along the upper rail. The space was large enough to feel grand but intimate enough to feel intentional.
I stepped forward slowly, crossing the threshold as though I might disturb something fragile.
“Callahan…” My voice came out barely above a whisper.
He remained near the doorway, watching me instead of the room.
“I had my books moved out,” he said.
I turned to him sharply. “You moved your entire library?”
