My hand drifts up to rub at the spot behind my ear I put perfume on this morning, conscious too of his own scent - some kind of expensive cologne that smells heavenly.
He moves away, seemingly unaffected by my proximity. “She would have loved this place,” he continues, glancing around. “It reminds me of her.”
I’m not sure whether I should admit I did some in-depth digging on him last night after being so caught off guard yesterday. I discovered his mother died after a battle with cancer.
After a moment’s hesitation, I say, “I read online that she passed away. I’m sorry.”
He turns toward a different flower arrangement, focusing on that. “It was a long time ago.”
There’s an awkward pause and I hastily clear my throat, continuing, “I saw that your father named a cancer wing at the children’s hospital in her honor.”
His lips tighten. “Yep, he did.”
“And that picture of you there the other week-”
He twists toward me, those blue eyes intense again. “What?”
I take a step back, confused at his sudden change in demeanor. “Weren’t you there for a photo op or something?”
I immediately sense I said the wrong thing when his eyes go as frosty as his dad’s. “You think I’d go visit them just for publicity?” He turns away, jaw clenched. “You know what? I’m done for the day. Whatever flowers are fine.”
“Wait.” I grab the sleeve of his polo, stretching it out slightly. Oh God, that was probably expensive, wasn’t it? It’s one of those with the little alligator symbol over the left side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, honest.”
He ignores his sleeve, staring at me until his gaze eventually dials down to a normal level. “Where’d you see that picture?” he finally asks.
“Um…” I rack my brain. I was on a lot of different sites last night. “The Manhattan Herald, I think.”
“Manhattan fucking Herald,” he murmurs to himself, pulling out his phone. “I can’t get away from them.”
I don’t mention the other article on their site I read about him. I have a sneaking suspicion it’s why he got stuck in this arrangement to begin with. “Why wouldn’t you want that picture up? It seems like good publicity.”
“It wasn’t a stunt,” he says, irritated as he brings up the image on his phone from the site. “And it’s one thing to take a picture of me, but not of Kaia.”
I lean a little closer, studying the screen. Now that I think about it, of course it wasn’t taken as part of a photo op. It’s grainy and photographed from a distance, with his body half turned away from the camera as he sits on the end of a small girl’s bed, smiling at her.
“You know her?” I ask, my heart twinging seeing the smooth shape of her head, all her hair gone. She’s too young to face something like that.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “I go every Friday to visit.”
Mr. Bishop’s secretary said Fridays were the only day Gabriel wasn’t available for meetings.
“What do you do there?”
He sighs, crossing his arms over that broad chest. “Talk to the kids mostly. Get to know them, engage with them. Give them something else to focus on. It’s the least I can do. Mom always said that was what she wanted most when she was in the hospital or getting her treatments. Just someone to take her mind off things.”
So was he that person for her? I keep the question to myself.
“Does your dad go to visit too?”
He scoffs. “He hasn’t been there since the ribbon cutting. The only reason he agreed to donate the money in the first place was because I told him it would make the company look good and there’d be a charitable tax write-off.”
I reach out to a rose in the arrangement in front of me, stroking its velvety soft petals. “You were the one who convinced him?”
He nods. “After Mom died, once I got my head back on right, I wanted to do something in her honor. Something she’d be proud of.”
“Does anyone know you’re involved with this?”
He eyes me warily. “No.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs, the same way Serena did all morning. “I don’t want it… tainted. Those kids, they’ve been through hell and back. They shouldn’t be sucked into any Manhattan Herald shit. Besides, people see photos of someone like me there and they automatically assume it’s staged. As if I’m just there to make myself look good.”
A flush creeps over my face. That’s exactly what I thought.
“No,” I deny. “There’s nothing fake about that picture. The lighting is bad, it’s too far away. You don’t even seem aware it’s being taken.”
“Well, then they’ll think I paid someone to take it. Just a PR stunt. No one as privileged as me, who has as much money as I do, could possibly care.” He doesn’t appear angry anymore, just… frustrated. As if he’s had those very accusations thrown at him. “Stuff like this, the things that really matter, I keep out of the public eye.”
God, what a life. “So you have to hide your real self because no one will believe it’s true?”
His gaze stays steady on the flowers, not answering my question.
I touch his shoulder lightly, just enough to get his attention. “Gabriel, I’m sorry.” I stare at the floor, guilt churning in my stomach for… I’m not sure what. Assuming he wouldn't go to visit sick kids on his own? Not visiting them myself? Letting my tongue get me in trouble again?
He glances over and catches sight of me, then rubs at the back of his neck. “Aw, shit. I brought the mood down, didn’t I?”
A laugh escapes me and I quickly cover my mouth with my hand. “No, it was my fault. I had no idea about any of that.”
He stares at me, silent for a moment. “Why would you?”
He’s right. I know next to nothing about him. Except one thing that’s becoming increasingly clear is that my initial impression of him is wrong. The spoiled playboy I assumed he was isn’t quite meshing with this man who doesn’t want anyone to hear about the charity work he does. Who so obviously misses his mother. Who took the time to fill out that consultation list for me when no one else did.
“Can you tell me about Kaia?”
We walk around the shop looking at flowers as he tells me about an eight year old girl who wants to be a teacher when she grows up, loves fairy tales, and desperately wishes for a horse of her own, despite living in the city. A girl who’s had a rotten hand dealt to her, but is dealing with it the best she can.
A ghost of a smile crosses his mouth. “The kids there bring things into perspective, you know?”
“Of course.” I push open the door to the small area in the back where Diana keeps the flowers not ready for display and head over to the floral sprays and dyes. I take a moment before asking the next question. “What happens when… have any of them ever…”
“Not made it?”
I nod.
He lets out a heavy sigh, bracing himself against the edge of the counter. “I’ve been fortunate that every kid I’ve gotten close to has left the hospital in remission. But the wing has enough beds for two hundred children, so I don’t know all of them really well, especially if they’re only day visitors for their chemo and aren’t admitted long term.”