She looks better. More at ease. That helps.
Not long after, I get Tommy settled, then enter my bedroom. Morgan hangs clothes in the closet.
Good sign.
“I need more hangers,” she says.
“I’ll get you some tomorrow,” I assure.
She bites her bottom lip for a moment. “All my stuff isn’t going to fit in this closet.” She gestures to three more suitcases that haven’t been unpacked.
Shit.
“What about more dressers?”
“Or a bigger house with a walk-in closet,” she counters playfully.
I don’t laugh.
She quickly adds, “Dressers will be fine. Um. This is cool, huh?” She grins.
“Ya think so?” I stand straighter, that feeling of hope sprouting.
“Yep. Living together is fun. I like your room. I’ll put some throw pillows in here. Maybe paint the walls. A woman’s touch would be nice. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” I whisper and force a smile.
It takes everything in me not to grimace. I wonder when my heart will slow the fuck down. I’m tired of this sick feeling. Her dad’s right. This place is squalor to Morgan. Paint won’t help. Not for a woman who lived in a mansion her entire life.
I sit on the bed as these doubts compound. The room shrinks.
She’s by my side in a second. “Talk to me.”
“Throw pillows won’t do shit.”
Her arms fly around me. “They will! And I can afford a lot of this stuff if you would let me pay.”
It’s old-fashioned, I know it is, but I hate that she makes more money than me. I hate that I can’t provide for her the way a man is supposed to. The way her dad and Blake can.
I’m being an insecure dick, but this is a lot to deal with in less than twenty-four hours.
She kisses my cheek. “I love you.”
She throws that phrase around like it’s candy, but I take it, letting myself eat up her words.
We lay down, both tired.
Morgan studies me for a second too long.
“What?” I ask, too sharp.
Her brow pinches. “You’ve been somewhere else all night.”
My body stiffens. No, this is not good. She can’t know.
“I’m fine, babe.”
My eyes close, but I feel a pull on my arm.
