Trillion - Winter Renshaw Page 0,66
a crystal tumbler as he pours a glass of bourbon followed by the familiar creak of his grandfather’s leather chair.
I wash up and change for bed, opting for one of the modal pajama sets I wore the first night we shared a bed. Slouchy. Comfortable. Not sexy in the least.
It’s weird, sleeping with clothes on now. And the bed is cold and empty without him. An hour later, I’m no closer to sleep than I was before. When my mind races like this, it’s impossible to shut it off.
I’m going to tell him tomorrow, and I’m going to tell him everything. It can only go one of two ways.
Flinging the covers off, I tiptoe downstairs to get a glass of water from the kitchen. On my way back, I spot the light in his study glowing through a half-open doorway. Quietly, I make my way over.
He’s as still as a statue in his oversized chair. His bourbon rests in front of him, untouched. I doubt he’s moved an inch since an hour ago.
“You just going to stand there or you going to come in?” His voice sends a start straight through me. “I heard your footsteps.”
His gaze steers toward the doorway and, for the first time in forever, he doesn’t look like he’s two seconds from making a sexual meal out of me.
I enter, though reluctant, words stuck in my throat. The clock on the wall reads a quarter past midnight. I told myself I’d tell him tomorrow …
Tomorrow has arrived.
“Before I tell you how I feel.” My voice is distant in my ears, like my words are coming from someone else. “I have to tell you something.”
His chocolate-gold gaze narrows as he sits forward.
“When I was eighteen, I fell in love with an older man.” Weakness spreads through the lower half of my body, but I stay upright. I want to stand for this. A chair seems too informal for what I’m about to say. “He was a successful businessman. Much like you. Handsome. Charming. Charismatic. He pursued me relentlessly—again, like you. And he gave me money to be with him.”
Speaking those words out loud for the first time sends a painful squeeze to my chest. Not even my closest friends know about this.
“He told me he loved me,” I continue. “And I believed him.”
Trey folds his hands on the desk, listening with intention.
“But everything changed when I got pregnant,” I say, pausing to collect myself. “I found out in the middle of my senior year of high school. I was eight weeks along. And I was terrified. But he said he loved me, and I believed him. I trusted that we’d figure things out. Only he was adamant that we give the baby up for adoption. He said it’d be best for each of us. And when I resisted, he made an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
He frowns, as if he knows where this is going. Though I can’t tell if he’s sympathetic or disapproving.
“He said if I gave our child away, he’d get me into Princeton so I could focus on my future. He said he’d pay for everything. He also said he’d buy my mother a house. And he offered to cover all of my sister’s medical expenses …” I say. “All I had to do was sign.”
My eyes brim with hot tears, but I blink them away.
“So I did,” I say. “I sold my baby in exchange for a better life.”
His lips purse. Still he says nothing.
I’m going to be sick …
“So I think you should know, before this goes any further, that I’m a selfish woman who has done selfish things,” I say. “And if you don’t want me to be the mother of your child, I completely understand.”
An endless pause lingers between us before he pushes himself from his chair and makes his way to my side of the desk.
“Is that why you were so against this arrangement?” he breaks his silence.
Gazing up at him through half-damp lashes, I nod. If I tried to speak, I’d surely choke on the words.
He gives me a moment. Or maybe he’s taking one for himself. All I know is the silence between us bears an excruciatingly painful weight.
“What made you change your mind?” he finally asks.
I swallow the lump in my throat. I need more time. And yet, bottling the details grows more painful by the second. There’s an ache deep within my marrow that both fills and hollows me.
“Because I kept thinking about all the good