Made in Manhattan

He exhaled and looked around. “I think I can breathe here.”

“And you can’t at Adam’s? Or Edith’s?”

Cain shook his head. “I always feel like I’m going to break shit. Even the fucking doorknobs feel fragile and fancy and—”

“Not like you,” she said, finishing his sentence.

He shrugged.

“I can see that,” she said, wandering toward the upstairs bathroom, then coming up short in the doorway. “Holy—”

“Yeah.” He came up behind her. “It’s nearly as big as the bedroom.”

It was an exaggeration, but it was a big bathroom, especially by city-living standards. The floor was a dark slate that she vaguely remembered Kimberly mentioned was heated. There was a dual sink on the vanity, a stunning copper claw-foot tub, and a walk-in shower in the same dark slate as the floors.

She thought of her own bathroom at home, which was cramped and a little bit fussy, with a pale pink shower curtain, a pedestal sink with barely enough room for her toothbrush, and out-of-date wallpaper. Thought of how she had accepted it as is, without question, without wondering if it fit her, or if she even liked it.

Which she didn’t, Violet realized a bit uncomfortably.

She understood all too well what Cain had meant about being able to breathe in this apartment. She felt it too, and for a disorienting moment, she had the strangest sense that she belonged here as well.

Not just in this bathroom, but in this home, with—

Him?

No. No. It was just regular old house envy, she told herself as she stepped backward in panic. This was shiny and new; hers was tired and old. That was the only reason she felt an aching sense of rightness.

But when her back collided with Cain’s chest, his hand resting on her hip to steady her as she wobbled a bit in her stilettos, she couldn’t quite convince herself it was the only reason.

“Easy, Duchess,” he murmured, his breath warm as it ruffled her hair.

Violet closed her eyes, her heart pounding, trying to shove away the aching sense of belonging, as though this was where she was meant to be. Here, in this modern apartment, far from Park Avenue pretension, away from Keith and his polished indifference, away from the ghosts of her past that she had let define her for far too long.

Cain’s grip shifted slightly, his fingers warm and firm against her hip, tightening slightly in a way that felt almost reflexive. Possessive.

She wanted to lean back into him, let his solid strength support her. An even stronger, more dangerous urge overtook that one. She wanted to turn around. To set her hand on his jaw, to test the texture of his beard, to let it stir her imagination in a more erotic direction.

Violet’s eyes snapped open in panic. What was she doing?

She quickly stepped away from him, and his hand dropped back to his side.

“It’s a pretty great place,” she said, her voice just a little too loud. She turned back to him, feigning indifference, as though nothing had just passed between them.

Cain didn’t seem as game to pretend there wasn’t an inconvenient amount of electricity between them. His gaze was hot and thunderous as his eyes moved quickly down her body. He closed them for the briefest of moments, and when he opened them, they were back to his usual guarded nonchalance.

“Yeah. Pretty great.”

“Are you going to apply?”

“Might as well. I can’t imagine liking anything else better, and the sooner I can get out of Adam’s place, the better.”

He started to turn away, and Violet remembered the reason she’d come up here in the first place. She extended a hand to stop him. “Okay, I have to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

Violet swallowed. “This is awkward, but… can you afford the rent? I know Edith gave you credit cards for the new clothes and living expenses, but…”

“I can.”

“Oh,” she said a little awkwardly when he didn’t expand further. “Great.”

He rubbed his knuckles along his jawline, looking frustrated and conflicted.

“Adam left me some money,” he said finally. “A shit ton of it. Separate from the CEO job, just… no strings attached.”

Violet stared at him, trying to process this. “Wait, so… even without you taking over the company, you’re still…”

“Rich as fuck.”

She was getting used to his language and didn’t so much as flinch. Probably because she was too busy trying to sort through her surprise and confusion.

“So if you’re already independently wealthy, why—”

“Put myself through this bullshit?” he said. “Because I want to earn it, Duchess. Something you wouldn’t understand.”

“Right,” she said softly. “All I had to do was lose my entire family to get my wealth, right?”

Cain cursed under his breath. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then you shouldn’t have said it,” she said, brushing by him.

“Duchess.” He touched her elbow.

She shook him off but turned around to glare at him. “What?”

She waited. His jaw worked, as he looked torn between regret and stubbornness.