I press my hand to my stomach when I realize the implications. If I tell Declan tomorrow, or even a week from now, that I’ve changed my mind and suddenly realized I love him, what will he think?
He’ll think the only logical thing.
That I’ve been swayed by his estate, his wealth…that I’m exactly what he first believed. A gold digger.
No wonder he left in such a hurry.
I would’ve run too.
There’s no way he could think that my being here was a coincidence. No, it was just me, checking out the prospects.
Seeing what he had to offer.
I climb into the car.
Arya sits up. “Have a good time?”
“It was great,” I say woodenly.
The knowledge of love is heavy and uncomfortable. No wonder Arya turned into a tragic gothic heroine. Love feels awful.
I look down at my hand and run my fingers over where Declan touched me.
The entire ride home Harriet regales us with stories of university politics.
I nod, make innocuous comments, and torture myself with thoughts of what could have been.