“Indeed,” he beams. “One of my favorite poems.”
“Hmmm,” I say, staring at the shimmering petals, wondering if he can somehow sense what’s on my mind.
Leaning in, he kisses the side of my cheek. His scent teases my senses, lulling me into a safe space.
Maybe it’s not as bad as I think… What if I’m wrong about all of this?
Inhaling deeply, my resolve slips.
Removing my hand from his, I place it along his jawline, drawing his lips to mine. For the first time in a long time, I close my eyes, letting the feel of his skin guide my reactions, rather than relying on my troubled mind.
Placing both hands along my neck, he inhales sharply, pulling me in close. His lips bear down on mine, kissing me as if his life depends on this single exchange of passion.
As he pulls back, my head swirls, but my worries sink into deeper waters.
“Come on, let’s get that bite to eat. I still have something for you…” he says, grabbing hold of my hand and pulling me toward the kitchen’s entrance.
When we get inside, the manor is quiet—as it has been all summer. Dad’s been in and out, only here for the briefest of moments before having to flit off again. There’s barely enough time to connect, let alone ask him how he’s been or where he’s been going.
Most of the time, it’s not so bad, but I can’t help but wonder if I’m driving him away, too.
“What would you like, my dearest Dru? Pasta? Chicken? Tacos with ice cream?” Wade asks, opening the fridge and freezer at the same time.
I chuckle. “What would you like?”
“I’m not fussy. I’ll cook whatever the lady of the house would appreciate.”
I shoot him an uncertain smile, dropping my gaze to the floor. “Something simple, I guess.”
Wade’s dark eyebrows rise to the sky, and he closes the fridge door. “Pizza it is.” He reaches in, grabbing a cheese pizza and plunking it on the counter.
Shaking my head, I turn to the stove and set the preheat temp.
“Would you like plain and simple? Or a culinary explosion in your mouth?”
My eyes widen. “A what?”
Wade laughs. “Cheese pizza or something with a bit more pizazz?”
I narrow one eye. “What would pizazz consist of?”
“Whatever you like. Ham and pineapple. Mushrooms and cilantro. Tabasco sauce and nacho chips…” he says with a flourish of his hands.
“Let’s go with just cheese. Less to go wrong,” I say, grabbing a couple of plates.
“Ye have little faith in my culinary expertise. But, alas, I will bow to the wishes of my mistress,” he says, folding an arm over his midsection and bowing slightly.
He dislodges the pizza from its box, placing it on the pizza stone and looking at it longingly.
“You could always go hog wild on half of it. Then, if it’s horrifying, we still have a few salvageable slices,” I suggest, shrugging.
He claps like a toddler and spins back to the refrigerator. A moment later, half of the pizza is piled with mushrooms, onions, ham, and something green. I’m not entirely certain it’s edible, but if it makes him happy, so be it.
“So, I have some news…” Wade says, wiping his hands on his jeans after he places the pizza in the oven.
“Is this the surprise?” I say, turning to him.
“Oh, lord, no. That will come soon enough,” he says, waving his hands out in front of him. “No, this is just news-related news. Small talk, if you will.”
“Ah,” I say, nodding. “Carry on.”
“Thank you,” he says, tipping his head. “As I was saying… I have some news. You know how I was going to struggle with swinging tuition after this next semester?”
I narrow my gaze. “Yes?”
“Well, I’ve just landed a gig,” he says, grinning.
My eyebrows rise. “You have? That’s great. What is it?”
“It’s another PCA job. Chelsea introduced me,” he says, leaning against the counter.
The mention of Chelsea’s name twists the knife still buried inside me. I inhale sharply through my nose. “Oh…yeah?”
“Yeah, there’s a lady in my building who needs a little help. She’s getting older and doesn’t have any family around here. Chelsea’s been worried she might have to transfer her to a nursing home or contact the county… but when I told her I used to be a PCA, she did a little digging and helped get everything in place,” he says.
“That’s great—” I say, trying to muster as much excitement about it as I can.
“It’s not a be-all, end-all or anything. But at least it buys me some time. Especially since my dad isn’t likely to change his mind anytime soon,” Wade says, rolling his eyes.
“What do you mean?” I say, walking to the oven and clicking on the light. I bend in to take a look at the pizza’s progress. So far, my half looks nearly done, but the other half looks like it needs another twenty minutes to heat through.
“You know, our assets,” Wade says, shrugging nonchalantly.
I stand up, unable to disentangle my eyebrows from one another. “Huh?”
Wade rolls his eyes, as if this is the last thing he wanted to be thinking about. “Just family money and stuff.”
The timer on the oven beeps and he steps up, ushering me to step aside.
My mind whirls, taking in this new information. When we were back in the catacombs, I remember the two of them talking about the family assets… but I thought his dad meant their powers.
Wade slices up the pizza, spreading the pieces out evenly on the plates. “Dinner is served,” he says, with a hand flourish.
I blink from him to the plates, absently grabbing one for myself. “I thought… I thought you didn’t have any inheritance. I’m confused.”
Grabbing his own plate, Wade holds out his other arm in an offering for me to grab it.
I blink hard, but interlock my arm in his.
“It’s complicated. The inheritance is magically bound. When my grandpa died, as next in line I should have been given access to our assets. But…” his voice trails off as he leads me from the kitchen. We loop through the main entrance and down the hallway to my bedroom.
“But…he’s denying you,” I say, beginning to understand the full scope of things, “because of me.”
Wade shrugs as if it doesn’t bother him in the least. “It’s just money.”
“But—what about your tuition? Your life? You’ve been so worried about finances…why would you turn that away?” I sputter.
“I can’t believe you’re even asking me that,” he says indignantly.
I shake my head, trying to understand why he’d turn down an easier life—one without financial struggles—just to be with me. It’s ludicrous.
He deserves so much more. I can’t let him give up his entire inheritance just to be with me.
We reach my bedroom door and Wade drops my arm to reach for the handle.
“Wade,” I whisper, unable to look him in the eye. I stare at my plate, tears welling up behind my lids. “I think we should break up.”
I look up just in time to see his bright face falter. His hand drops from the door handle in slow motion and as it creaks open, I turn to face the room. Red roses or their petals cover every conceivable surface of my bedroom. Red candles flicker romantically, sending a powerful surge of regret through me.