He stepped inside the lobby, the faint smell of coffee drifting from the dining area to the right.
The lady at the reception desk was on the phone and didn’t look up. Perfect. He didn’t need to talk to anyone. He already had her room number. How Ethan got that information, Joel had no idea. He didn’t question it.
On the second floor, he strode down the hall to room eighteen and knocked on the door.
Footsteps sounded from the other side, then the door flung open. Bronte’s lips curved into a wide smile, as if their last conversation had never happened. “Joel! Hi. Come in. I don’t remember telling you where I was staying.”
He stepped into the room. There were florals on the bedspread and heavy maroon curtains bordering the windows. The closet door was ajar, and he could just see Bronte’s clothes hanging inside.
So she wasn’t packed. She wasn’t even mid-packing.
“Why are you still here, Bronte?” He turned toward her.
The door closed with a click, and she waited until she was facing him to answer. “Because I’m not one to give up so easily. Unlike other people.”
“I’m not giving up. I’m just not marrying you.”
She frowned. “Why do you keep saying that? Ofcourseyou’re marrying me. This has been planned for almost as long as we’ve been alive.”
“By who?”
“You know who—our parents.”
“Exactly. Do you really want to marry me?”
Her mouth opened and closed. “I mean, what do you want me to say? It’s not about what I want?—”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m a Simmons and you’re a Dawson.”
“Who the fuck cares?” He felt like throwing up his damn hands. “You get one shot at life. You really want to be stuck in a loveless marriage?”
“Love has never been part of this arrangement.” She frowned at him like bringing love into this conversation was ridiculous. “My parents never loved each other and look at them. They’re rich and successful and they have everything they could ever want.”
“Are they happy?”
Her frown deepened. “What?”
“Are they happy? Because mine aren’t. They have more money than they need. They have power and a successful business. There were weekly articles written about them in the media. But no one could ever convince me that they’ve ever been happy, or even content, with the lives they have. Hell, I don’t even think they know what happy is.”
She was silent for a moment. “So, what? You’re just going to walk away from the life that was planned for us?”
“Yes.”
“Because of a girl who makes coffee?”
“Because the life I have planned for myself is much more than whatever our parents want for us in Houston. I don’t want money. I wantlove, Bronte. Real love. I want to wake up excited to see the personIchose to spend my life with. I want to work a job I’m excited to do, with friends who are more family to me than my own parents ever were.”
Her brows flickered, as if living a different life, a life on her terms, was something she’d never considered before.
“Your parents are going to be so angry,” she whispered. “They want this more than we do. They want to drill our land. They want to consolidate everything.”
“And your parents won’t be happy either. But none of that has anything to do with us.”
“You’re not afraid of everything you have to lose from walking away?”
“I’m more afraid of what I’ll lose if I don’t.”
