Chapter Nineteen
Christian
T rying to get to know Axel better is no easy task. After asking him probably two dozen questions on the way to Rocosa, to which he’d only give one-word answers, I finally gave up. I don’t blame him for being wary of me. To him, I’m a total stranger, and just barely more than an acquaintance where his aunt is concerned, so it’s likely he’s feeling protective of her. But trying to get him to let me in even an inch feels like a losing battle.
Finally, we arrive at the Tudor-style manor I grew up in.
“Wow. Your parents’ home is incredible.” Roxy’s wide eyes seem to take everything in, from the overflowing hydrangeas lining the circular drive to the immaculately kept rose bushes growing on the lattice-wrapped side of the garage.
“I suppose it does have its charms.” Even if my memories of growing up here are largely tainted by Dad’s prolonged absences. I glance in the rearview to gauge Axel’s reaction, but other than the slight uptick of his brows, there’s none. Halfway through the drive, he stuck a pair of headphones on his ears, probably trying to keep me from asking any more questions about his life. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“Christian, I’m not sure I’m dressed appropriately for this.” Roxy’s tight voice quakes a bit as she tugs at the hem of her flowy floral top. Her flared jeans fit like they were made just for her, and the open-toe sandals she’s got on give me the barest glimpse of her chipped hot-pink nail polish.
Why my brain catalogues each of these details is anyone’s guess, but I’ve got a lingering suspicion it’s because of what transpired between us earlier. I shouldn’t have been thinking about how perfectly she fit in my arms when she nearly collapsed against me during a wave of grief, but it was impossible not to. Roxy brings every protective instinct inside me to life. Not only do I want to shield her from her pain, but I want to hold her, take up for her, provide for her and Axel if she’ll let me.
Somewhere between begging her to help me, then marrying her, I started to see her as a friend—as someone I could care for. And in holding her close, seeing the stripped-down version of her with the hurt and grief she carries, my heart started yearning for an even deeper connection.
Of course, my brain tells me to put on the brakes, warning me to keep any hint of romantic desire locked up tight when it comes to Roxy. Because she won’t be mine forever. My chest aches to even think about what it would be like to have her, then watch her walk away for good. But denying my growing feelings for her is easier said than done. Especially when she looks as good as she does right now. Chipped toenail polish and all.
When I notice her fidgeting, I reach over and grab her hand, lacing my fingers through hers. “You look perfect. Besides, my mom already loves you.”
The barest hint of a smile lifts one corner of her mouth. “Really? How do you know?”
“She told me at the reception.” I skate my thumb along Roxy’s before I need to pull my hand away to put the car in park. “And I’m wearing jeans too. This dinner isn’t fancy.”
She cocks one eyebrow. “Your jeans are probably worth more than my entire thrifted outfit.”
I turn off the car and pocket the keys. “You like to go thrifting?”
Her smile wavers. “Uh, yeah.”
“What she means is,” Axel says, leaning forward from the back seat, “that she has no choice but to raid the aisles of the thrift store when we need new clothes because we aren’t made of money.” His dark gaze collides with mine. “Unlike some people.”
Guilt churns in my gut as he exits the car and slams the door a little too hard.
“I am so sorry.” Roxy rubs at her forehead, briefly closing her eyes. “That was totally uncalled for. I’ll have a talk with him.”
“Roxy,” I say reaching for her hand again. “It’s fine.” Her darkened gaze searches mine as I toy with her fingers. “Look, it’s no secret that I come from a wealthy family. I was born into money, but I also worked for everything I have now.”
“I know,” she’s quick to say. “And he had no right to say that to you.”
“He’s hurting, Rox. Just like you. Except that he’s just a kid who isn’t emotionally mature enough to handle all that life’s throwing at him right now. If he wants to hurl a few fiery darts my way, let him.”
“But that’s...” She shakes her head. “It’s not right. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Neither has he. And he didn’t ask to be a part of my life. He’s here for you . Because he loves you and wants to stay with you. I’m just the guy who’s making him uproot his life and sit through stuffy dinners.”
She frowns, her focus dropping to where I’m exploring her soft hands with mine. “Do you think we’re making a mistake?”
I know exactly what she’s referring to, but my heart won’t let me address it. Instead, I joke, “What? Eating dinner with my parents? Probably, but hey, it’s a free meal.”
A little laugh bubbles out of her as she shakes her head. “No, not that. I meant...us trying to make everyone believe that we’re in love. Sometimes, the lie just...I don’t know. Eats away at me. I don’t want to regret it all later.”
Nor do I. Except none of this feels like a lie. The more I get to know Roxy, the more I want to know. Sudden irrepressible clarity overwhelms me as I take in the dark lashes fanning her tan cheeks, the way her hair falls past her shoulders in soft waves. Quick as a thunderbolt shooting across the sky, a life with her flashes in my mind’s eye. Birthdays, dinners, nights-in, mornings sipping coffee together...Tangled sheets and even more tangled feelings, intertwined lives and these same hands holding mine when we’re wrinkled and too old to care.
“Christian?” Roxy’s soft voice has me blinking back to reality.
“Hm?”
Her frown deepens. “Do you think we’re making an irreparable mistake?”
I grip her hand tighter. “No,” I say, feeling the rightness of it down to my bones. “I don’t think we’re making a mistake.”
Warring with the need to confess my new and unexpected feelings, I add, “I have to hope that, once everything is said and done, we’ll both end up getting what we want.”
My chest tightens with something I’ve never felt before…something that has me second-guessing every decision I’ve made until now. For the first time in my life, I suspect there might be something I want more than my grandfather’s company.
It’s her. Roxy.
But what if you tell her and she isn’t ready? What if she leaves?
Her faint smile quiets the voice of doubt in my head as she extricates her hand from mine. “I hope you’re right.”
God, I silently pray. Please make it so.