Love, Chloe - Alessandra Torre Page 0,95

smiled despite the insult. It was kinda true. We are, in a million complex and unexplainable ways, weird.

But at least this dinner would be about him. I pulled my notebook from my purse and started to write down a list of Carter questions that I still needed answered.

Not just weird. We were organized. And procrastinators. Speaking of which, I still needed to quit. Dante pulled up to the Brantleys’ and I glanced up, deciding to put it off just a few more days.

91. A Grown-Up Conversation

“I didn’t mean to lie to you.” Carter pushed aside his bread plate and looked at me, the restaurant quiet, warm light from the candle between us flickering over his features.

“It wasn’t really a lie. More an omission.” He was too serious, his face drawn, and I watched him, trying to find the source of his tension.

“I knew what you thought, and I didn’t dissuade you. I’m sorry for that.”

“Was it a test?” That had been one of the first things I’d wanted to ask him. “Were you wanting to know if I was dating you because of your money?”

“I don’t really have money, Chloe.” He leaned forward. “My parents pay me a salary for my work at the apartment. And for the other two that I super. It’s not a lot.”

“But you will.” He was an only child, one thing I knew. And there had to be something to protect, his Mother all but accusing me of stealing her family fortune.

He nodded slowly. “When I’m thirty-five I gain access to my trust. My apartment—it’s part of that. As are a few other things.”

“Okay.” I shifted in my seat, unsure of why this conversation was so stiff. Unsure of, really, why we needed to have this whole production at all. He could have just shared this, over coffee in his kitchen, at some stolen point in the last three days.

“My mother called me. I wanted to talk to you about it, apologize to you properly for her actions at dinner.”

I didn’t know how I missed all of the clues. His excellent diction. His manners, almost formal at times. The way he held a glass, a fork. Maybe it was because I’d seen these things, men like him, my entire life and was blind to their traits. Maybe it was because a part of me liked the thought that he wasn’t like the boys I grew up with. Maybe I’d invented an alternative Carter in my mind and formed him into a rough creature he wasn’t.

Because the man before me was all polish and tact. Showing his breeding, his training, the expensive education. Then I remembered Vic’s bar, Carter’s launch into the room, the fists, the blood. I remembered being in the engine room with him, the dirt on his hands, the sweat on his chest, the grunt in his throat when he fucked me against the wall.

He wasn’t pure gentleman, not the silver spoon assholes of my past. He had the fine edges but was something more, stronger. Maybe it was his mother, making him earn his keep, her stingy fingers tight on the purse-strings, this age-thirty-five rule a good one, one that shaped him into the complex man who sat before me.

“It’s okay.” I smiled, suddenly warming to the idea of his mother. I leaned forward and linked my fingers through his. “She’s protective of you. I get that.”

He looked at me warily, his next sentence stiff. “She hired a private investigator, Chloe. I just found out this morning.”

I pulled back my hand. “What?”

“She wants to know more about you. He’s been following you.” He leaned forward. “I’m so sorry. I’ve told her that I won’t—”

“For how long?” I saw spots between us, bits of black, my head spinning with everything that…

“I’m not sure. Two weeks at least.” His jaw was tight, eyes apologetic, but all I could think about was hugging my parents outside our building. Them getting in their car and making their escape. This investigator seeing it all.

“Are you mad?”

“I wouldn’t say that I am mad…” I said carefully. I swallowed and met his eyes. “What happens if she doesn’t like the investigator’s report?”

He didn’t look away. “If she doesn’t like you, I lose my trust fund.” The words came out matter-of-factly, as if his whole future wasn’t tied up in their vowels.

It was so unexpected; an outcome I had never imagined. I might have fallen in love with a poor man after all. And I might be the reason he