Chapter 15 #2
He looks at me, and his face is so open, so unguarded, that I want to crawl across the table and bury myself in his chest. Instead, I just nod.
He goes on, “Stella will be hurt, but not forever. My daughter’s headstrong, but she’s not a bad person. And I think—” He hesitates, then finishes, “—I think she already suspects.”
I nod slowly. “Stella definitely suspects. I mean, I’ve been avoiding her at the apartment, but it’s the vibes I get. But do you think she’ll really be on our side? I mean, she said something to me, once. About you and women. About you not being a forever person, so I think she has doubts.”
He nods, a bleak smile on his face. “She’s not wrong. But she doesn’t realize this is different. She doesn’t know you. Not the way I do.”
His hand hovers on the table, close to mine but not touching. I can feel the static, the gravitational pull.
“She’s a good kid,” he begins again. “I haven’t been a perfect father, but we talk now.
More than before. Actually, I call her every week, no matter how busy I am.
I take her out when I’m at Century for board events, and I listen when she rants about her studies, friends, anything. I’ve tried to be better.”
He leans in, lowering his voice, even though the barista and the couple in the back are the only ones who could overhear.
“We’ll figure out a way to tell her,” he says. “I can do it. Or you can, or we can do it together, but I want to tell my daughter about us soon. I don’t want any more secrets.”
The words hit me like a cold wind. I know I should feel relief, or gratitude, but all I feel is the acid pulse of guilt under my skin because Stella and I are part of the virginity bet together, which Thomas still doesn’t know about.
My hands start shaking, just a little, and I wrap them tighter around the mug to keep it steady.
He sees this, and there’s a flicker of worry in his eyes. “If you want out, say it now. I’ll still be here, but I won’t hold you to anything. This isn’t a contract, Andie. It’s a risk. I know that.”
I try to find my voice. “I don’t want out. I just… I don’t want to hurt her.” Or you, I think, but can’t say.
He reaches across the table, his palm open. I lay my hand in his, and he squeezes, hard enough to hurt.
“I’ll make it easier,” he says, and this time there’s a hint of that old predatory edge.
“You could come live with me. Not now, not today. But soon. There’s no need for you to be squeezed into an apartment with three other girls.
Let me support you through your fifth year, help you get what you want.
I want to be there every day. Morning, noon, and night. ”
My breath catches, and I can feel my heart start to gallop. The idea of it—the life he’s offering—is so absurd and so wonderful that I want to laugh, or cry, or both.
I look at him, and for the first time, I let myself imagine it: waking up in that glass tower, the whole city spread out like a painting; sleeping next to Thomas, safe in the arms. Being his.
It sounds wonderful, and I almost start to cry as my heart pounds.
Thomas can sense my emotions, and he holds my hand tighter as his voice drops even lower.
“I want everything, Andie. I want to take care of you. I want to see you in my bed, in my house, wearing my ring—fuck, even pregnant with my baby. I know it’s insane, but I can’t stop thinking about it. ”
The words hit me so hard I can’t breathe for a second. My hand goes still in his, and my free hand—the one not visible above the table—presses flat against my thigh, as if I can steady myself that way. I blink, and my eyes sting.
It should be a happy moment. I should be floating on clouds with happiness, and I am.
But I’m also terrified because all I can think of is the naughty video on my phone, the one I made without his permission; the bet I never told him about; the $1,000 prize I could claim just by sending a single message.
The confession burns in my chest. It wants to come out, to ruin everything before it even starts.
I open my mouth to speak, but at that exact second, Thomas covers my hand with both of his, pinning it gently to the table.
His eyes are so blue and so kind that the words shrivel up and die.
“You don’t have to answer now,” he says. “But think about it, will you? Think about us. About a future that isn’t just stolen weekends and secrets.”
I nod, unable to speak. My other hand presses harder into my thigh, the fingernails leaving half-moons in my jeans.
We sit there, the two of us, hands tangled on the table, the rest of the world fading into static. The record spins to the end of a side and clicks, then the barista flips it and drops the needle again. Billie’s voice returns, softer this time, like she’s singing just for us.
The sun begins to set. Beautiful rays of pink and orange glimmer through the window, covering our clasped hands. And for a long moment, everything in the world is exactly as it should be—except for the words I can’t say.
Not yet.
But soon.
Maybe tomorrow.
Maybe this weekend.
For now, I let him hold my hand, and I pretend I’m not about to break everything we’ve built.
It almost works.
When we finally leave Café Soleil, the city has changed. The sun’s only a hint in the sky now, the world a moody scene of blue, purples, and greys around us.
Thomas holds the door for me, then steps outside and stretches, as if he’s been underground for a year. For a moment, neither of us moves. People walk past—an old man with a dog, a girl with pink hair riding a battered bike—but we’re in a bubble, the world blurring at the perimeter.
He stands close, but not close enough to touch.
The pause is deliberate. He’s waiting for a sign from me, a word, a nod, something.
When he leans in, it’s slow, careful, as if he’s kissing me for the first time.
I tilt my head up and meet his mouth, soft at first, then greedy.
I taste the bitterness of old coffee and something else—something like hope and promises.
He pulls away first, his eyes still closed. When he opens them, they’re the clearest blue I’ve ever seen, wiped clean by the storm. “You’re mine,” he says, not loud but certain.
I can’t speak, so I just nod.
He walks me to the corner, then stops, glancing over his shoulder like he expects someone to be watching. “I’ll see you this weekend,” he says. It’s not a question.
I say, “Yes.” My voice cracks, but it’s okay.
He gives me one last look—up and down, possessive and unhurried—then turns and heads for his car, his stride smooth, unhurried, king of his own piece of city.
I watch him until he disappears around the corner, then just stand there, blinking in the fading light. I feel the place where his hand held mine, the echo of his kiss on my lips, the tremor of everything I almost said.
On the walk back to my car, the world feels different.
Lighter, but also more dangerous. Every honk sounds unduly loud, every passing car sounds like a dare.
I replay our conversation, the confession I almost made, the way his fingers covered mine at exactly the right moment.
I think about all the things he said—about the future, about us, about the child he’d like to see growing inside me.
By the time I reach my car, I’ve made a decision.
I’ll tell him. All of it. This weekend, in the penthouse, with the city looking on. The bet, the video, the thousand dollars, every last humiliating, honest detail. He deserves the truth. And if it ruins everything, at least it will be my ruin, not a lie.
I slide into the driver’s seat, shut the door, and let the silence bloom. My phone feels like a bomb in my pocket. I fish it out and type a message with shaking thumbs.
See you this weekend. X
He replies instantly, as if he’s been waiting:
Yes, and I want you. All of you.
I stare at the words until they burn themselves into the screen, then set the phone face-down on the dash.
For a minute, I don’t turn the key. I just sit there, the engine cold, my own reflection ghosted in the glass. My hair’s a mess, cheeks pink, eyes swollen and bright. I don’t look like myself, and maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m someone new—someone brave, or reckless, or just done with secrets.
I press my hand to the glass, leaving a mark, and watch it fade.
Then I start the car, put it in gear, and drive toward the next impossible thing.
Maybe it will be enough.
Maybe it will ruin everything.
But at least it will be mine.