He let out a dry, humourless chuckle. "Oh yeah."
My stomach twisted in nervous knots. "But we love it?"
He frowned, then turned the car up a road known as Millionaire's Row. My upset stomach clenched, nausea hitting me.
Unless Cal had made junior partner in the few years since he'd started at his family's company, there was no way we'd be able to afford a house on this street without dipping into the family coffers.
And we promised never to do that.
"I mean, you seem to,” he finally said, as if unsure of how to answer me. "It's… different from the cottage. Different even from the house my parents gave us for our wedding."
"Th—th—they—they gave us a house?" I stuttered.
He nodded. "I have pictures somewhere; I'll dig them out."
"And we accepted it?" I clarified.
"We didn't really have a choice."
There's always a choice.
A whisper of the memory of Cal's voice tickled the back of my neck. College, our final year. We'd been considering our options for graduate jobs. His family had expected him to return to the fold. Move to the Cove, work in the city, and build up the business.
"Do you have a choice?" I'd asked him one night.
"There's always a choice, babe." He'd given me a small half-smile, his fingers tracing lazy circles on the palm of my hand."But if I don't take this, then we're gonna be living in poverty until I can find a job that pays a decent wage."
I'd looked around our small studio apartment with its second-hand furniture and chipped dishes. Our dinner had consisted of cheap cheese grated over some questionable spaghetti and red sauce that I'd brought home from my waitressing job.
It wasn't great. It wasn't even good. But we'd purchased everything ourselves. Every dollar we used, we'd earned. And that felt phenomenal.
I'd looked back at Calvin, pride burning deep in my chest. "It's your decision. I'll support whatever option you choose. I love you, Cal. I don't need fancy things. I just need you. Nothing is going to change that."
Cal signalled to the left, pulling up to a giant gated drive.
"Is this it?" I asked, straightening in my seat. The gates were ornate steel, swirling and ostentatious. The property was walled in, keeping prying eyes out.
"Yeah," he answered, hitting the button to open the barrier.
The metal slid open slowly, and Cal drove down the long gravel drive, giving me my first glimpse of the house.
My heart sank.
Oh. My. God. What have we become?
4
Calvin
Iwatched Emily gingerly step through the door of our house. Her eyes were wide, her mouth shaped in a perpetual O as she looked up and up and up at the grand ceiling of our entry from which hung an obstinate chandelier.
I hated that fucking chandelier.
"Well, this is…." She swallowed. "Pretty?"
It sounded more like a question than a statement.
You chose it, baby girl.
