Hard Fought (A Stepbrother Warriors Novel)(38)

"I thought it was your favorite."

"A bottle of Dom," he says to the hostess, and she scurries off to find the waiter.

"How was work today?" I ask, spreading my napkin in my lap.

"I can't imagine it would interest you," he says with a laugh as he butters a piece of bread.

"It might," I allow. "You know, I was thinking of going into business."

"Seriously? I have a hard time picturing you in a board room."

"Why's that?" I ask, a little more sharply than I mean to. Our waiter appears at William's side, showing him the label on the bottle of Dom. William nods, and the waiter pours us two flutes of champagne. We clink glasses and I finish half of it in one gulp. My nerves have been fried all week, ever since I learned about Jack and Bree. You're jealous of their happiness, a nasty little voice in my head says.

"Have you ever been to London?"

I nod. "My father took us on a couple business trips there with him when we were younger. Jack and me, I mean. We went out with the nanny and saw the sights while he was working."

"But not more recently?"

"I suppose when I was living in Paris I wanted to go to places I'd never been before at all."

"Would you like to go back?"

"Of course. I'm sure it would be completely different as an adult. I must have only been eleven or twelve last time."

"That is good news."

"...Why?"

"Well, my company has offered me a promotion."

"Congratulations! That's fantastic."

"And a transfer."

"Sorry?

"The promotion is in London. I'd be in charge of an entire team. From there, it's just a short jump to a vice presidency."

"Uh-huh," I say nervously, twisting the stem of the champagne glass back and forth between my thumb and forefinger.

"You probably know what I'm going to ask next."

"Why don't you say it anyway?"

"We would have a gorgeous apartment right in Kensington. You could spend your days shopping, going to museums, visiting friends. And we'd have a chef and a servant, of course, so you wouldn't have to lift a finger at home."

"Wow," I reply, downing the rest of my champagne.

"I wouldn't ask you to do this if I weren't serious about you. I'm thinking, maybe after six months or so there, we get engaged, and then another six months after, we get married. I'd prefer a London wedding, myself."

I feel a bit dizzy, and rub my temples. "William, this feels like it's moving a little quickly."

"I know, but the job in London starts at the end of the month. And I did warn you when I met you: I know what I like."

"Right. Well, is it alright if I think about it for a little?"

He looks momentarily taken aback, but covers it quickly. "Sure, but like I said, end of the month. So..."

"Right. I'll think about it, I promise. And thank you for asking me, of course."

He smiles and looks down at the menu. I stare down at the appetizers, but my mind can't focus. Move to London, get married, then come the children...my life would be set. That's what most of the other marriages that I saw growing up looked like...the wife enjoying the country club while the husband went off to make money. Sure, he'd have affairs, but he'd keep them discreet and quiet, and the wife would pretend she didn't notice.

"Do you know what you'd like to order?" the waiter says, reappearing next to us.

"I need another minute," I reply with a wan smile.

I don't know what we talk about for the rest of dinner. In fact, a circus could have performed in the middle of the restaurant and I would have had no idea. William seems optimistic, or at least satisfied, that I will accept his offer, and we leave each other with a chaste kiss as I tell him that the champagne has given me a headache.

On the ride home, I lean my forehead against the cool glass of the window. I need a break from my own head. I wish I'd had another drink or two at the restaurant, that always helps. There's really only one person I want to ask for advice, but I'm not sure he even wants to talk to me right now. I did apologize, but things just haven't been the same.

"Roger, is Carter at home, do you know?" I ask.

"I hope not!" he replies, sounding surprisingly jolly.

"Why's that?"

"It would mean his date didn't go very well."

"His date?" I ask, as my heart freezes.

"Yeah, didn't I say?" he replies, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. I do my best to appear simply inquisitive.

"You just said he asked for the night off."

"He's on a date," he clarifies. "Said it was someone he met at the hospital."

Petra, no doubt. "Sounds fun," I offer.