“A brother. Two years older. And before you ask, no, we’re not close.” He takes another drink. “My father died five years ago. My mother lives around here. You’ll often find her brunching or shopping when she’s not stirring pots and manufacturing as much drama as humanly possible.”
I unpack these details, try to organize them and put them in little boxes to make sense of all of this. He isn’t close with his family. There are rifts and falling outs. I’d ask why, but I’d be grossly overstepping his boundaries.
“Have you ever been married?” I ask.
He smirks. “You’re not wasting any time here, are you? And no. Never. Never have, never will. It’s an antiquated concept—people belonging to each other like property. It serves no purpose in this day and age.”
“Maybe it’s not about belonging to each other like property, but about giving your heart to someone else to take care of. Like a gift.”
He sits straight. “Ever think about writing greeting cards?”
I laugh through my nose. “What can I say? I’m sentimental to a fault.”
“So what about you? I mean, you gave me your life history in that one novel-length email you sent me, but I’m sure there’s more to it. Your adoptive mom, what was she like?”
I twist the stem of my chalice between my fingers. “She was incredible. Full-blooded Italian. Larger than life. Big hair. Bigger smile. The biggest hugs. The loudest laugh. We used to joke that you could hear her laughing two states away.” Tears prick my eyes, but I force them away. I don’t get to speak of her nearly enough. “Her name was Linda. And she changed my life.”
His all-pervading gaze blankets me. He listens, says nothing.
“She was a schoolteacher,” I continue. “Taught fifth grade at a public school in Indianapolis, where I’m from. She and her husband were always waiting for the right time to start a family—but then they waited too long and it just didn’t happen. He eventually left her for a younger woman. Had a couple of kids with her. That’s when Linda decided she was tired of waiting for the perfect time to become a mom. A year later, she took in her first foster child—me. It wasn’t easy at first. For either of us. I was certain she was just going to reject me like the others did, so I pushed her away before she had a chance to prove she was in it for the long haul. But eventually, she broke down all of my walls. She dedicated every spare moment she had to getting to know me—the real me, to helping me figure out who I was and who I wanted to be and who I was going to be when I hadn’t so much as thought about next weekend. In the strangest way, it’s as if she knew she only had a limited amount of time with me and she was trying to cram in as many life lessons as she could.”
I pause, reaching for my wine, swallowing away the painful catch in my throat.
“She didn’t live to see me finish my freshman year of college.” I place my glass down. “But no one ever said life’s fair.”
“You and your bumper sticker quotes.” Bennett flashes a smile that takes all the heaviness from this moment, and I’m grateful for that.
Before I have a chance to respond, our first course arrives and we exchange our heavy conversation for forks, full bellies, and friendlier topics of conversation.
“I’d invite you in, but I feel like this is the perfect place to end this night.” I run my hand down the lapel of his suit coat, gaze pausing on the buttons of his shirt as I recall his adamancy on leaving it on the other night.
The Bennett Schoenbach walking me to my door at the end of our date is different from the one who showed up mere hours ago, flowers in hand. His eyes are softer. His posture more relaxed.
I know now that he attended Harvard School of Business. His father was a businessman. His grandfather founded Schoenbach Corporation shortly after World War II with a five-thousand-dollar bank loan and unstoppable perseverance. His relationships with his mother and brother are strained and he wasn’t close with his adopted sister—though we never ventured deep into those territories. Another time, perhaps. The man was an open book, suffering through my incessant questions with polite smirks and witty answers, and I didn’t want to press my luck.
“Thank you.” I remove my keys from my clutch. “For tonight. For everything.”
He checks his timepiece. “It’s still early if you want to grab a drink at Ophelia’s.”
Shameless.
We might have had a perfectly lovely time tonight, but beneath it all is a man who wants more than anything in the world to sleep with me for some insane reason.
Lifting on my toes, I kiss his cheek. “Goodnight, Bennett.”
And then I head inside, smelling of his opulent cologne, half-wishing he was truly the man he pretended to be tonight.
22
Bennett
“Honor, I’d like you to meet your uncle, Bennett.” Jeannie takes the girl by the hand, walking her through my foyer, her glittery canvas shoes scuffing against the freshly-waxed floor as she stares up at me with the biggest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Her pigtails are shiny and curled, accented with pink ribbons. It reminds me of the day my mother brought Larissa home, fluffed and decked out like a show dog.
I imagine Jeannie wanted to ensure the child made a good impression, but it’s unnecessary because my mind’s already made up.
I crouch to her level. The vague scent of strawberry ice cream and baby powder fills my nostrils—a scent this penthouse has never known.
She isn’t smiling as she was in her school photos.
In fact, she looks downright terrified.
“Lovely to meet you, Honor.” I extend my hand. “I look forward to getting to know you, and I hope you’ll be quite comfortable here.”
Astaire’s words from our date eight days ago echo in my mind, the way she spoke of her adoptive mother, the way that woman changed the entire trajectory of Astaire’s life for the better with just a few short, meaningful years.
I’m not a sentimental man nor have I ever been emotional in any sense of the word, but her story moved me in a way nothing has before.
If only Larissa had a “Linda” of her own, things might have been different.
It takes a moment, but Honor releases Jeannie’s hand, her rosy lips curl up at the sides, and she runs into my arms, nearly knocking me over in the process. Her arms wrapped around my shoulder in a grip tighter than a kindergartener should have.
For an endless second, she breathes me in and holds onto me for dear life.
I don’t know this child.
I don’t know why her mother left her to me.
I still don’t know if I’m capable of being what she needs in this world.
But I do know she didn’t ask to be born into this family—and I’m going to do everything in my power to see to it she doesn’t suffer another minute for it.
I let her hold onto me a while longer, her heart beating so fast against mine it knocks my spirit down a humble peg.
“Would you like to see your new room?” I rise.
She nods, though still not smiling, and I take her hand. She slides it into mine willingly, and then she walks with me to a room down the hall.
“If you hate the color, we can have it painted.” I imagine she’s never heard those words in her life. “And I’m working on stocking you up with some good toys. I wanted to wait first. Wasn’t sure what you were into.”