is.” I looked at him. “I lost everything. It’s not easy. It’s romantic, but it isn’t easy. It sucks. And I don’t want to be the one responsible for you to go through that.”
“You don’t think you’re worth it.”
“Changing the direction of your life?” I looked away from him. “No.”
He caught my chin and pulled it to him. “Look at me, Chloe.”
I did. His eyes grounded me. I could look at them all day. My calm in the storm, they looked at me as if they knew all of my secrets and loved me for them. They were certain and strong, as if they had never second-guessed anything. “You act like I’m the only one giving up something.”
“You are.”
“My parents’ wealth is the exact same as that Maserati that sat across from our building. You could have had it. You could have had that life, either with him or a million other guys in this city. But you didn’t. You stayed with me. You didn’t even hesitate.”
“That’s different.”
“It’s not.” He shook his head. “I love you, Chloe. Everything else fades away from that.”
I thought of my mother’s advice, how stupid it was when compared to a love like this. There was no room for a safety net with love, not when you had feelings that overrode all reason. I grabbed ahold of his shirt and pulled his mouth to me, scared of the depth of my feelings for him. I wanted to give him everything and was heartbroken that I had nothing to offer, my love seeming paltry in the face of all that he was risking.
Being with him could never be considered a sacrifice. And what he was saying—that I had given up wealth by choosing him—that was crazy. Nothing was being given up by being with this man. I kissed his mouth and tasted his love and didn’t need another thing from this world.
The cardboard box got pushed aside, my books falling off the shelf as he pulled me down to the floor and kissed me. I got dust in my hair when he grabbed it. His tool belt dug into my hip when he pulled me to him. When his phone rang, we were breathless.
“Don’t answer it,” I begged.
“I won’t.” He silenced the phone but saw the time. “But I have to go.”
I pouted, and he kissed me. Promised to be back soon, and then left.
I rubbed gently at my swollen lips and stared at the TV stand, a moment passing before I had the sense to resume packing.
I finished the box and tucked over the lid, pushing it aside and moving to the bookshelf, pulling framed photos off the shelves and wrapped them in hand towels. I thought about the night before. We’d been up late unpacking my stuff in his place. He’d wanted to know everything, a story about every framed photo, my favorite shoes, my stuffed zebra, the set of elephants from my summer in South Africa. Some of the stories were Vic stories, but he didn’t care. It was another thing I loved about him, his confidence. Times when Vic would have slunk off to sulk, Carter pulled me closer and laughed.
My confidence wasn’t as strong. I asked him to pack up the Presa Little art. Offered to help him carry them down to the storage lockers, but he refused, announcing that he was listing them for sale.
“You don’t need to do that.” I had pulled at his arm, trying to get his cell phone, to stop his call to the gallery.
“Why wouldn’t I?” He’d frowned down at me, genuinely confused. “They bother you. And they should. They were from when I dated her.”
“But … they’re beautiful.” And they were. Some of her best. They took my breath away every time I walked in his apartment.
“Not as beautiful as you.” He pulled me closer. “We can sell them. Put the money down and buy a place.”
“But what if…” we break up. That was what I was going to say. He’d never be able to afford to buy them back.
“We’re not.” His touch had been gentle when he’d lifted my chin, and I closed my eyes to his kiss. Relaxed in his arms and let him work his cell phone out of my hand.
I boxed up the books and then moved to the stack of loose papers, thumbing through receipts, a cable bill, and then, my first résumé. I looked it over, the pathetically sad page that I had brought to Nicole’s interview. Thank