I expect her to fight me but her shoulders slump. She turns and heads down the hall for her room.
I follow her there and pull up when I see the costumes lying across the bed, from her performances. “What are these doing out?”
Maybe she’s looking at them, remembering her career as a dancer. The same one she wanted for me, that I couldn’t deliver.
“I’m auctioning them off.”
“For charity?”
“For us.”
I drop onto the bed next to a tutu in a garment bag. “It’s that bad.”
She heads for her closet and pulls open the door.
From here, I can see empty hangers. “Where are all your clothes?”
“They went first,” comes the tight voice. “I sold them before the costumes.”
Damn.
She’s not only asking me to sell the car. Evidently, this is one in a line of sacrifices.
I get up and pad toward the closet, finding my mother kneeling inside, a hand pressed to her face.
“What does Emma think of all this?”
“She doesn’t know the extent of it. I’ve tried to keep it from her. I don’t want her worrying.”
“But you put it all on me.”
“Because you can handle it.” My mother rises and squares her shoulders. “Have a drink with me.”
There’s a first for everything. To my knowledge, she never drinks except at social events.
I lead the way to the kitchen, where she hunts through the wine fridge.
“When I got pregnant with you,” she starts, getting down on her knees to pull out bottles and check labels, “I didn’t expect it. I was a twenty-four-year-old dancer. By having a child at that age, I’d be giving up my career. I wanted a better life for you. Hence marrying your father.”
“I thought you were engaged when you had me.”
“We were. He had ideas of being a free man for longer. I disabused him of that notion.”
“What are you looking for?”
“Special bottle,” she grunts. “We were saving it for our twentieth wedding anniversary. Or I was. Instead of drinking it, he was caught up with work.”
I kneel next to her, pulling out bottles for her to inspect.
“He didn’t want to take responsibility at first. I wanted to be sure you would have the security I didn’t. I wanted you to be taken care of always.”
The next bottle has her exclaiming. “Voilà.”
She rises gracefully, and I reach for two crystal glasses from the cupboard. We take everything out to the terrace of the townhouse.
She pours her own the same size, then adds another half an inch to the crystal before setting the bottle down on a table.
“Men can fuck you over. I don’t ever want that for you. I wanted to protect you from it, but it seems I have less control than I thought.”
She takes a long sip of her wine.
“Promise me you won’t let that happen.”
I was a whole person before Sawyer Redmond. With dreams and likes and dislikes.
Was I though?
It feels as if I was half awake, as if everything I did was conditional upon what other people wanted and decided I should want and be and have. If someone liberates you rather than you liberating yourself, does it mean you’re still trapped, just in different surroundings?
“I promise.”
I’m going to prove her wrong. There’s no way Sawyer’s going to let me down.
21
Sawyer
Cherry: You get something to eat this morning?
Sawyer: Yes, but I want another taste tonight.
The past two weeks we’ve settled into a routine. She stays at my place a couple of nights a week. She feeds the fish, indulges my crazy ideas, and I take care of her.
Make sure she’s eating. Make sure she’s coming.
We spend every second we can steal together, and I love making her laugh, and she makes this cute face when she’s about to call me on my bullshit.
I’ve made it my personal mission to push her, but lately, she’s more than meeting me.
This morning I got up to find her stretching next to the bed. She looked so damned beautiful I didn’t want to disturb her, but I couldn’t resist wrapping my arms around her body and running my hands up beneath her tank top. When she moaned and leaned back into me, I lay back and pulled her over me.
The old Olivia would’ve let me do it.
The new Olivia stripped the tank top off, put her hands in her hair, and arched her back like a cat while she held my eyes through the slits of hers.
Fucking yes.
I’ve been more careful around campus, but when she came in to talk about the project, I couldn’t resist threading my fingers through hers. The team is getting closer to accomplishing something real and meaningful, and I’m beyond proud.
This started out with me wanting to take a few layers off her perfection and show her the world is better when you let go.
Now, I’m falling for the way her mind works. I love that she wants to save the world, even if that world is a place I didn’t care much for until I knew she was part of it.
Still, she’s holding a piece of herself back.
When Tate proposed her working for us, the idea seemed insane. But the more I think about it, the more I like it.
What I don’t like is how easily she suggested we could end what’s between us if it meant her getting an internship.
Cherry: Shit. Shit shit shit.
The message comes as I make my way across the hill to the engineering department.
Sawyer: You and the team working late today?
Cherry: Yes. We’re behind and it’s my fault.
Sawyer: I doubt that.
But I hit her contact.
“Stars took my name off the updates list when I was late for that informational call,” Olivia says on a whoosh of breath. “So there’s a whole extra section we have to submit that no one told us about. I tried booking lab time but the schedule said it was full.”
“Let me see what I can do.”
“You’re the best. Anything I can bring tomorrow for dinner?”
“I have caterers. Just show up, along with the other fifty people.”
“I can do that.” She sighs. “Thanks, Sawyer.”
“You got it, sweetheart.”
I click off, an extra bounce in my stride as I head through the front doors and up the stairs to the second floor.
I’m hosting a pre-finals social for half the department. Evidently one of the faculty hosts every year, and I drew the short stick, being new and all.
No matter I’m only here temporarily.
I was going to beg off, but Olivia suggested I go through with it to show everyone I’m playing ball.
By the administration desk I pause, pulling out my phone and typing out an impulse text.
Sawyer: There is one thing you can do. Wear that skirt I like.
“Let me guess: you’ve been summoned?”
I glance up at Betty’s voice. “Looks that way.”
“Here you go. The mid-semester student reviews.” She holds them out and I accept them. “In case the dean gives you shit for them. He’ll use anything to dig at you.”