Chapter 30
KATE
My apartment was on the west side, in a building with a doorman and a fully functioning elevator. It wasn’t huge. A one bedroom that was barely anything at all, but it was mine.
I owned it. At thirty years old, in Manhattan, that was a victory. While most would assume my dad had bought it for me, that wasn’t true. I’d worked, saved up, and bought it without taking a dime from my parents.
As I unlocked the door and stepped inside, the familiar scent of clean linen and the lemony cleaning spray I used every Sunday lingered in the air.
Everything was exactly where I’d left it, the pale gray couch in the living room, the glass coffee table, and the neatly folded throw blanket draped over the arm.
It was modern and minimal, and I was so proud of it that I smiled when I turned to face Nate, who was following me in. “It’s not much.”
He looked around without offering an answer or a platitude, taking it in like it meant something more to him than just square footage and furniture. Finally, he looked back at me with a faint grin appearing on his lips.
“It’s nice,” he said, sounding like he meant it. “I like it.”
I set my purse down on the counter. “Thanks for coming with me.”
“Of course.” He said it like it was obvious, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be, and my heart fluttered in response.
It took me a beat to refocus on what I’d actually come here to do, and I strode to the hall closet, pulling out a suitcase and setting it on the floor in the living room. Once that was done, I unzipped it before moving around the apartment, picking out things I wanted to bring with me.
A ragged stuffed animal I’d had since I was born, a reminder of the life we’d had in Detroit before Dad’s hedge fund had struck it big.
The first trophy I’d gotten for running track at the elite private school my parents had stuck me into when we’d come to New York.
A framed photo from a family trip my parents and I had taken to Colorado.
Just random things for Chicago, to make the life I was apparently building there feel a little more like my own.
Behind me, Nate moved slowly through the space, quiet in a way that felt thoughtful and observant.
It sort of felt like he was trying to understand me by what I’d chosen to fill my space with.
I carried an armful of clothes into the bedroom and dropped them onto the bed before crossing to the closet for my other suitcase. When I turned around, he was standing just inside the doorway, his gaze flicking across the nightstand, my dresser, and the bookshelves.
“This is the rest of it,” I said, nudging the second suitcase. “It’ll only be these two. Then we can go.”
“No problem. Take your time.” He nodded absently, drifting toward the bookshelf as I went back to folding clothes, trying to focus on something simple and physical instead of the strange tension humming under my skin.
Behind me, I heard the soft slide of a book being pulled free.
I glanced over my shoulder to see him holding a custom-bound copy of Sense and Sensibility, turning it slightly in his hands as he stared at it.
The cover was pale cream with delicate gold embossing, the pages edged in a soft, metallic shimmer.
“I’ve never read it,” I said. He looked up and I shrugged at him, suddenly feeling the need to add, “It was just so pretty. When I saw it, I felt like I had to have it.”
Nate just stood there, holding my gaze for another beat before he slowly turned it back to the cover and stared at it like it held some deeper meaning I’d missed entirely. Then he carefully slid it back into place.
“When we get married, you’ll retain all your assets.”
I blinked at him. “What?”
“The apartment,” he clarified. “It’ll still be yours.”
I stared at him for a second, trying to follow the jump in conversation. “Oh. Okay. Great.”
I didn’t really care about that. My mind was elsewhere as I turned to keep packing.
Nate watched me like he’d expected a stronger reaction, but I just didn’t have anything to give right now.
I felt like I was being tugged very strongly in two opposite directions, and the apartment was the least of my concern under the circumstances.
While I really did love it for the fact that it was mine, property was property. I could always buy another place if I needed to. Another heart, however, that would be a problem. Another life? Yeah, not possible.
Nate grew quieter the longer I packed. He’d stopped wandering, picking things up, and studying them like they might tell him something about me. As the suitcase filled, he seemed to withdraw into himself, pacing less and talking less until he’d stopped moving and saying anything at all.
I tried to ignore it, focusing on folding sweaters, wrapping a picture frame in a scarf, and deciding which shoes deserved precious suitcase space, but the tension kept tugging at the edges of my consciousness.
I had no idea what was suddenly going on with him, but by the time I zipped the suitcase closed, he was visibly on edge.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Almost. I think that’s just about everything.”
He nodded, then gestured toward the suitcase. “I can take that downstairs to the car.”
Relief flickered through me. “Thanks.”
He reached for the handle, but I didn’t move to follow him just yet, simply catching his gaze as I waved for him to go ahead. “I think I’m going to hang out here for a little bit. Just to make sure I have everything I need.”
He paused for a beat, then nodded. “Okay. Do you want me to ask the driver to wait for you?”
“No. I know you have stuff to do. I’ll meet you back at the hotel later this afternoon.”
We both had loose ends to tie up before heading back to Chicago tonight, and I definitely needed a few minutes to myself before I went to do what needed to be done in Central Park.
“That sounds good,” he said after a second. “I’ll see you later.”
“See you later.”
He hesitated like he might say something else, but then he just wheeled the suitcase out into the hallway, grabbed the second one too, and pulled the door shut behind him. The click of the latch echoed through the apartment, and just like that, the place suddenly felt completely different.
Or maybe it was me. Maybe I just felt different, because I really did. A strange knot formed in my chest as I sank down on my bed.
This is what I wanted, isn’t it? A minute to breathe. A second to think without him standing there looking at me like I’m something he can’t quite figure out. So why do I suddenly feel so off? Stressed. Forlorn.
I pressed my hands into my thighs, forcing myself to take a deep, slow breath. Then another. And another. But they didn’t help as much as I’d hoped.
Eventually I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone, turning it over in my hands before unlocking the screen. I stared at it for a long moment, my pulse ticking just a little too fast, but it was time to get going.
I finally stood, deciding to walk to my destination. A walk would help. It was a fine day, after all, clear and bright, the kind of crisp New York morning that made the city feel full of possibility.
Grabbing my purse, I headed for the door, giving the apartment one last glance before striding out into the hallway. I locked up, determined to make sure everything was squared away before my move to Chicago.
There were still a few things left to wrap up here and I only had today to do it. There was nothing dramatic about that. Planes existed, and apparently, I was marrying into a family that even owned a few of them.
I could come back whenever I needed or wanted to, but still, as I walked out onto the sidewalk and slid my sunglasses over my eyes, my heart was beating a little faster than it should have. Like this might either be the start of something great—or the end of it.