Before I could scan the first word, Weston was in my personal space. He snatched the card from my hand and gripped both sides of the desk around me, boxing me in.
His eyes gleamed. “Don’t screw with me.”
I lifted my hand to my chest and feigned innocence. “Why, whatever do you mean?”
“Ask what you want to ask, Sophia.”
I tapped my fingernail to my lips, looking up at the ceiling. “Hmm… I have so many questions. I’m not sure where to start.”
“Start wherever you want. Because you playing games just pisses me off. And you know what happens when we get pissed at each other.” He leaned in closer. Our noses were only two inches apart. “Don’t you, Soph?”
My mind immediately conjured images of me pressed against the wall with my skirt around my waist, and Weston with a fistful of my hair standing behind me.
When I didn’t answer right away, he smirked. “Yes, that. Exactly what you’re thinking.”
I squinted. “Oh, you know what I’m thinking now, do you?”
“You were thinking of the first time we were together.” He nodded toward the door. “I fucked you right up against that wall.”
My mouth dropped open.
Weston ran his thumb along my bottom lip. “Well, we were both thinking the same thing a minute ago. But now with this beautiful mouth looking so inviting, I’m remembering a different evening.”
Luckily, at that moment the smell of the flowers behind me permeated my nose, reminding me of the purpose of my visit. I cleared my throat. “Why did you buy me flowers and then not give them to me?”
Weston’s jaw flexed. “It seemed you had another delivery, and I didn’t think you needed two arrangements.”
I tilted my head. “Why not let me decide which arrangement I wanted to keep?”
Weston relinquished his position and stood with his arms folded across his chest. “It pissed me off that another man felt he had reason to send you flowers.”
“How do you know another man sent them? Maybe they were from a woman friend?”
“Because I read the damn card, Sophia.”
I folded my arms across my chest, matching his stance. “Really? Didn’t you just tell me that would be an invasion of the sender’s privacy?”
“And if the roles were reversed? Can you honestly tell me if flowers came for me, you wouldn’t sneak a look at the card?”
I thought about it and shook my head. “I’m not sure.”
Weston gave me a curt nod. “You’re a better person than I am. It happened. Can we move on, please?”
I shook my head. “From the flowers, yes…after you apologize for invading my privacy and intercepting my delivery.”
He held my eyes for a few seconds before nodding. “Fine. I apologize for reading the card. The delivery I intercepted was the one I sent, so I had every right to do that.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. I accept your half-ass apology. But I have other questions, aside from the flowers.”
Weston mumbled under his breath, “Of course you do.”
“Why did you leave the other morning so abruptly?”
Weston shook his head and blew out a deep breath. “Our situation is complicated, Sophia. You know that.”
“Yes, I do. But we’d just had a really nice evening together. I thought we’d grown closer.”
“Bingo. That, in itself, is the complication.”
Everything about the two of us was complicated. Our relationship had been destined to be difficult before we were even born. But something inside told me that wasn’t what had spooked Weston the other morning.
“So…it bothered you that our families have been feuding fifty years, and we’re basically competitors?”
Weston looked away. “Yes, that’s part of it.”
I chuckled. “Just like you seem to be able to tell what I’m thinking, I can tell when you’re full of shit.”
Weston’s eyes slid back to meet mine.
“What was the other part of it?” I asked.
He dragged a hand through his hair and exhaled harshly. “What do you want me to say? That I’m an alcoholic who’s fucked up pretty much everything important in his life and you’re too good for me?”
“If that’s how you feel, yes.”
He shook his head. “Of course it is. I’m not an idiot.”
“Okay, well, at least if I know how you’re feeling, I won’t feel used.”
Weston’s face softened. “You felt used?”
I nodded.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”
“It’s fine. Obviously, we both have a tendency to jump to conclusions.”
Weston nodded, looking down.
“Was your trip to Florida planned? Did you know about it when you left my room the other day?”
He shook his head. “I needed to speak to my grandfather about a few things. My grandmother isn’t well, so he doesn’t travel unless it’s necessary.”
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you.”
We were quiet a long moment. We’d cleared the air, but some of what he’d said bothered me. I was probably just as hesitant as he was about getting involved. But none of the things that gave me pause had to do with him not being good enough, and I wanted him to know that.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“What?”
“Do you have one person you look up to more than anyone?”
He nodded immediately. “Caroline. She never felt sorry for herself, complained, or stopped smiling.” He shook his head. “Hell, she spent more time listening to my problems and trying to cheer me up than bitching.”
I smiled. “I wish I’d gotten to know her better. She sounds very special.”
“She was.”
“The person I look up to more than anything is my mom. She was an alcoholic.”
“Really? I had no idea.”
I shrugged. “Most people don’t. God forbid anything real get out about the Sterling family. My father walked out on us without looking back, but he always made sure to cover my mother’s tracks. After all, her last name stayed Sterling even after they divorced.”
“Did she start drinking after they split up?”
I shook my head. “I wish I could say she did. It would give me something else to despise my father for. I had no idea she was an alcoholic until I was a teenager. After she found out she had cancer, I went to a bunch of doctors with her. A few suggested she go to rehab before she had her first surgery. Believe it or not, that confused me, even though I saw her drink every single day. My mom drank martinis out of expensive crystal glasses, so somehow it never dawned on me that she had a problem. Alcoholics swigged from the bottle, wore dirty clothes, and got sloshed and fell down. They didn’t wear pearls and bake pies.”
Weston nodded. “When I went to rehab, I was pretty surprised that half the people in there were over fifty and looked pretty damn normal.”
“My mother did a different kind of scared-straight program. She kept getting headaches and blurry vision and probably attributed both to hangovers. It’s what delayed her diagnosis. She had a tumor the size of a golf ball in her brain by the time she told the doctor about her symptoms. She was just so used to hiding things related to her drinking.”