Caroline #2
“How about the mushroom smash burger?” I look up at him in confirmation or approval, I don’t know which. I also don’t know why I do it because it’s not like Killian cares what I order.
He’s not going to tell me I’m going to bloat if I eat carbs or that I shouldn’t eat such heavy meals for dinner and stick to a salad. He’s not going to compare me to his colleagues' wives or girlfriends and tell me I should try harder to look like them because they take care of their bodies.
“Yeah, that looks good,” Killian agrees, closing the menu.
I feel a small flicker of pride at having picked something good off the menu. Does that make me pathetic? It probably does.
“I’ll be right back. Can you order me a draft beer and mushroom smash burger as well?” Killian says suddenly, sliding out of the booth.
“Wait, where are you going?” I ask in a panic. He’s just going to leave me here to place the order?
“I’ll be right back, don’t worry.”
Before I can ask him anything else, he walks off.
He’s seriously leaving me here. For a second, I panic because I don’t know what to do.
I look around and everyone is just having dinner, drinking, enjoying their night by themselves or with someone.
There’s nothing to panic about. It’s just placing an order. Killian already told me what he wants.
When the server comes with our water and asks me if we’re ready to order, I do it. I tell her what we want and she just walks away. So simple. And yet it feels momentous and monumental. It’s the first time I’ve ever placed an order at a restaurant for exactly what I wanted.
I’m grinning like a fool when Killian comes back to the table and gives me a weird look.
“What’s going on with you?”
I literally can’t stop my excitement. “I just placed an order at a restaurant. I’ve never done that before.”
I giggle with delight, so proud of myself for something so small, something people do every day. He sits down across from me and gets this look on his face.
I push my hair behind my ears and reach for my water glass, slowly taking a sip.
“You said you wanted to talk?” I ask.
Killian places his hands on the table, locking his fingers together. “How long are you in New York for, really?”
I open my mouth to answer and he holds up his hand. “Don’t lie or change the subject,” he adds.
I twist my mouth to the side, wondering what Gerry told him this afternoon. If she told him I ran away, he would have definitely asked me about it before, right? I mean, who can hold on to their curiosity for that long? If I hear gossip, I need all the tea immediately.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I told you that last night.”
“How is that an answer when you’re getting married in two months?” Killian demands. He’s not going to let this go. I see it from the hard set of his jaw, the way his hands are pressed together so tightly the veins are popping out on the backs of them.
I don’t want to tell him because I don’t want to give him the validation of being right. There, I said it. He might not gloat in front of me, but he will gloat because he told me once that I was going to regret marrying Beckett.
Good thing I came to my regrets before I walked down the aisle.
“If you want me to leave, just say so,” I tell him.
“There you go again, changing the subject.”
“I’m just trying to get to the heart of the matter without playing around,” I say. “You have a problem with me being in your apartment? I’ll leave.”
Killian scoffs. “Like hell you will.”
My mouth parts in shock. “Yes, I will. I was willing to leave last night, and I still can. It’s going to take me all of two minutes to find a hotel.”
“That’s not what I meant, Caroline.” Leaning forward slightly, he holds my gaze. “I’m not letting you go anywhere.”
My face floods with heat, heart slamming against my ribcage. Why did he phrase it like that? I open my mouth to reply, though I’m not sure there is an adequate one.
“I don’t think you can control that,” I reply finally.
“Can’t I?” He asks, sitting back.
I narrow my eyes on him. “No, you can’t. I’ll go where I want to go.”
“And you don’t want to go back home?”
We’ve come full circle, and I can see the glee in his eyes for talking me back to his point.
“Why don’t you go back, Killian?” My reply is sugar sweet, and I can see it hit with the way his gaze narrows immediately.
“I’m persona non grata,” he says. “No one wants me there.”
“No one wants me there, either,” I say, honestly. They need me there to protect their precious reputations, but my presence is nothing more than an annoyance they have to put up with.
“You’re the bride,” Killian says.
I look away because I don’t want to answer or play this game anymore. The server comes back with our beers and dinner. I pick up my beer and take a sip, making a face as the taste hits my tongue.
“Another first?” Killian asks.
I look back at him and offer a small nod.
“Here’s to many more firsts, then.” He clinks his glass against mine and we both take a sip. This time, the beer goes down smoother and I can taste the earthy sweetness.
“You can stay here however long you need or want,” Killian says.
I pause in the middle of pouring ketchup on the side of my plate. There’s a sharpness to his acquiescence that I can’t figure out. He’s happy to let me stay, but there’s a weight behind it that’s probably caused by the years of rift between him and his family. I’m just another part of it.
“Are you sure?”
He looks at me, holding my eyes for a long moment.
Long enough that I want to look away because I’m worried he can see all the things I hide from myself.
Long enough that I remember birthdays and graduations, parties where I hid in a corner and always hoped that no one would find me, and he always did.
Long enough that I remember the night everything changed, and I think so does he.
“I was always sure,” he says finally, dropping his gaze.
I pick up my burger and bite into it because I have nothing to say to him. There are a lot of things I wish I could say; tell him everything. I’ve never been sure how to say exactly what I feel.
“Thank you for letting me stay,” I say instead. “I’ll try not to impose too much.”
Outside, evening darkens to night. Inside, the restaurant grows more crowded. It’s nice. For once, I don’t feel out of place.
“Why did you choose New York of all places?” I ask.
Killian shrugs, looking around the restaurant. “I don’t know. It felt like the farthest place I could get to without leaving the country.”
“But you did leave the country,” I recall. He lived in Amsterdam for two and a half years when he left California.
Killian looks surprised that I know that. “Gran told you?”
I nod. There’s no one else who would have. When Killian left, he completely cut himself off from his family. Rather, if Killian left, Mr. York told him he wouldn’t be welcome back in the family.
“Did she also tell you she emotionally blackmailed me to come back?”
“Really?” I laugh.
Killian gives a brief nod. “She was worried she’s going to die, and I’d be halfway across the world. She wouldn’t be able to see her oldest grandchild.”
“That sounds like her,” I agree with a laugh.
“She’s very good at manipulation,” Killian says.
I can’t deny that. She gently coerced me into coming here, knowing Killian was living in the apartment.
“Did she give you the apartment?” I ask.
Taking a sip of his beer, he nods. “She did, when I came back.”
“I don’t understand why she gave it to me, then,” I muse. “She said it would be a safe space, but why not just tell me you’re here?”
“Would you have come if you knew I was living there?” Killian raises his eyebrows.
I don’t answer. Instead, I take a bite of a french fry because the answer is obvious. I’d never have come here if I’d known.