An Improper Deal(42)

“Haven’t you eaten?” I ask despite myself.

“I have. Fast metabolism.”

We grab a table for two in the corner. I bite into the salty ham and cheese and instantly start to feel better. The food is surprisingly good. Elliot eats with shameless gusto. The sight is so incongruous my brain stutters. An air of affluence and power surrounds him. It’s not something he works at; it’s a part of him, like his skin. He knows he’s damn smart—the world gave him and his twin over a billion bucks for his brain. A man like him should be out of place in a humble deli like this, the way I felt at La Mer yesterday.

“What?” he asks after a moment.

“You,” I blurt out.

“What about me?”

I shake my head. “I just never thought you ate sandwiches.”

He looks at the half-demolished bread in his hands. “What do you think I eat? Children?”

The abrupt answer startles me into a laugh. “No. Just, you know…five-star restaurants all the time.”

“They get boring after a while.”

I finish the last bite of my sandwich.

“You need to take better care of yourself,” he says after he’s done with his food. He wipes his hands and wads the napkin.

“I do take care of myself.”

“Oh?” His eyebrow rises an eloquent fraction of an inch. “Like when you skip breakfast when you’re worried, or stressed about money?”

“Who says I do?”

He stands with both of our trays and takes them to the counter. I follow. “Your sister,” he says, leading me out of the sandwich shop.

“When did you talk to her?”

“When I picked her up from school.”

Right. I totally forgot about that. I make a quick mental note to talk to her as soon as I get a chance. The less Elliot knows about me, the better I’ll feel, although I’m not sure how I’m going to get her to cooperate without revealing what’s going on. “She doesn’t always understand what she sees. She’s only fifteen.”

“I wouldn’t dismiss her like that,” he says. “She’s quite perceptive for her age.”

“She also has a great imagination. The simpler explanation, which happens to be correct, is that sometimes I’m just not that hungry.” I don’t want him to know any more about me. He already knows plenty if he looked me up the way he said he did.

But from the raised eyebrows he gives me as he opens the door to his Maserati, he doesn’t believe a word I said.

I slump in the passenger seat, suddenly tired. Dismissing Nonny like that was a shitty thing to do. Who cares if he knows that I don’t eat when I’m worried about money? After our year is up, what he thinks or feels about me won’t mean anything anyway. We’ll go our separate ways and never see each other again.

* * *


Elliot

By the time we pull into the parking garage, she’s asleep.

I’m not surprised. She’s been going through the day on a single sandwich and tension. Despite her protests, I doubt she had breakfast. She has no idea how illuminating my conversation with Nonny was.

But, my fault. Should’ve planned the day better. Should’ve insisted on lunch before dragging her to the courthouse.

She looks so young in sleep. There’s a bit of shadow underneath her eyes, and she appears exhausted.

Since I have no intention of letting her rest tonight, I carefully pull her into my arms. She murmurs something, then burrows deeper into my chest and sighs.

The trusting gesture tugs at me. It’s been so long since I felt soft and protective toward any woman, other than Elizabeth. And I don’t understand why it’s this woman. I don’t want to feel anything for her. I want hot sex and fun and then my grandfather’s painting in a year.

But every time I try to stay the course, she does something that surprises me, elicits emotions even deeper and more complicated than those I reserve for women in my “friends and family” category.

I start to carry her to the master suite, then stop. The concierge I hired will be here soon to set things up for the evening. I don’t want him to disturb her.

I place her on the bed in the guest suite and pull the comforter over her. She turns on her side and curls up. Her lips part, vulnerable and sweet.

Watching her, I wonder what put that fire and fight in her. I doubt it’s her upbringing. Nonny isn’t like her—fairly docile and well-tempered…unusual in a teenager. When I was her age, I was tearing through Europe with a sense of superiority and too much money. I had my “fuck you” years and it wasn’t until I was older that I gained more control over my impulses and emotions. Betrayal tends to make you mature fast…once you get over the initial shock and fury.