“Wait…you’ve had one?” I followed him to the dining table. “I thought you didn’t eat carbs.”
“Not usually. But I’ve had a few sandwiches here and there.” He poured two glasses of wine and sat across from me, our hot meals emitting steam because they were so warm. Grilled chicken with lemons and capers along with a side of broccoli. It was still a boring dinner, but delicious all the same.
I cut into my dinner and started to eat. “You’re a pretty good cook. I’ve never had the time or the money.”
“You will soon enough. Maybe you could take it up then.”
I couldn’t imagine life without that debt hanging over my head. I was still getting used to having some extra cash because my student loans had been wiped out. What would it be like not to have all that money drained out of my account every month? My medical bill was more expensive than my rent.
There was a check sitting on the table, so he placed it in front of me. “I would rather you used it now. It would save you a bit of cash.”
I always felt uncomfortable taking his money. Up until that point, I never had. I pushed the check back. “When service is complete, we’ll talk about it.”
“Or you could take it now…and be obligated to complete the service.”
“You think I’m going anywhere?” I asked incredulously. “The money is just my way of justifying my decision…but I care about it the least.”
He didn’t push the check back at me again. He let it sit on the table, forgotten.
I kept eating, trying to pretend that interaction didn’t happen. I felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. This whole thing started because I needed money, but now I needed him more. I felt like a prostitute who only wanted one client.
Slate kept eating, his eyes watching my face most of the time. He always ate with his body hunched over his food, his muscular arms rippling with the movements. The veins along his skin were prominent, thick cords that were defined just underneath his tanned flesh. He was hairless with the exception of his face, where his beard constantly regrew. By tomorrow morning, he would have a significant shadow across his face. “My brother is getting married on Saturday.”
“Unless he’s marrying a new woman, I guess that means he still won’t listen to you.”
He shook his head. “I told my mother to talk to him, but she said it was a lost cause. If she pushes him anymore, she’s afraid she’ll lose him altogether.”
“Maybe that’s what he needs to learn his lesson.”
“He’s going to learn his lesson…but it’s going to be in the most brutal way possible.” He ate much quicker than I did, devouring his food in a few bites. His eyes held his resentment for both Simone and Coen, the two people he despised most on this planet. “When that moment comes, I won’t laugh in his face…but I’ll say I told you so.”
“It’ll probably be unnecessary at that point. Have you tried recording her? Getting evidence?”
“I wired my office with mics just in case, but she hasn’t made any moves. She’s not stupid. Now that I officially know what she’s doing, she’ll play it safe until that marriage license is signed—without a prenup.”
“I guess that makes sense. So there’s nothing you can do.”
He shook his head. “It’s his funeral.”
“Are you going to the wedding?”
He nodded. “I have to.”
“You don’t have to do anything. No one would judge you for not going.”
“But my mother wants me to be there. Now that my father is gone, I know she feels alone. At least if I’m there, she won’t feel so lonely. I look a lot like my father, so sometimes when she looks at me, it makes her feel better, like he’s still here.”
“Well…he’s always here. As long as you think about him, he always will be.” That’s how I felt about my mother. She crossed my mind often, when there was something interesting going on in my life that I would normally tell her, I wondered what her response would be. I visited her grave on the anniversary of her death and her birthday every year.
“True.”
“It’s a small wedding?”
“Just some friends and family.”
I wondered if he would take me along, but when he didn’t say anything, I assumed that wasn’t the case. Perhaps it was too public for him. I assumed he would want some comfort during the difficult time, a distraction from the living nightmare.
I finished my food until there was nothing left. “That was delicious. Where do you get your recipes?”
“Online. Sometimes my mom gives me a few of hers. This is one of them.”
“Pretty good.”
“And easy. I don’t like anything that takes more than thirty minutes.”
I never spent any time in the kitchen, unless I was pressing two slices of bread together and making a sandwich. When I went to the grocery store, I only picked up the essentials, like milk and cereal along with my shampoo and conditioner. “Maybe you can teach me sometime.”