I shoved my hands in my pockets as they itched to touch her now.
“Would you like a drink?” I asked as I let her in and headed to the bar.
“Sure. Why not.” She planted herself on the couch, tucking her feet under her. It was something she’d done before. I wondered if she recognized that we were falling into an old routine.
Deciding we were still on a honeymoon, I popped open more champagne and poured us each a flute.
I handed her one then sat in a chair across from her, which was out of routine, but I did it because it felt dangerous to sit too close to her.
She sipped and looked out the window presumably at the view. She looked tired and withdrawn.
I knew I was a hard man, but I felt I’d gone out of my way to make this easy for her. So it was annoying that she acted like I was putting her out.
“Is it really that big of a hardship to be here?”
She turned to look at me. “It’s difficult.”
“Because I’m an asshole?”
She sighed. “No. That’s not what’s hard. Old memories mixed with what I know of you now…I have a hard time reconciling them.”
I nodded in understanding. I felt the same with her. “I haven’t changed.”
She arched a brow.
“I did business the same
way then. What was different was how I was with you. You were different.” I finished off my champagne and got up to get something stronger because I was feeling agitated about revealing so much.
“Why?” She watched me as I poured the two fingers of whisky and then returned to my spot away from her.
I shrugged. “You seemed different. Like someone I’d never met before. Perhaps it was unfair to elevate you like that. The truth is, people are people, right? You can’t trust anyone.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You believe that?”
“I know it. I’ve lived it my whole life.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “And yet you’re trusting me in this marriage.”
“You said it yourself, it’s transactional. It only requires a trust in your greed.”
She flinched. “No, you weren’t like this before.”
I took a long swig of my whisky. “Like I said, it was different with you.”
“You don’t trust anyone?”
“Not with my feelings. No.” I looked down into my whisky and swirled it. “I never did, Erica. Not until you and well…we know how that turned out.”
“Never? What about your parents?”
I scoffed. “My parents thought I was defective.”
She gaped like she couldn’t believe what I was saying was true.
I shrugged it off. “It’s not like it’s not true, but still, if your parents despise you, what chance do you really have in life?”
“I…I knew they weren’t very involved in your formative years, but you never told me this.”