“Please don’t take it personally, Aidan. He wouldn’t like any man that wasn’t Beau. Father’s got it in his head that Beau is the right match for me. And yes, it would be easier to date Beau, but—”
“Easier?” Aidan interrupted. “Is dating me such a hardship? Is slumming at ballgames and eating hot dogs with me so horrible that you’d rather be drinking champagne and eating caviar on a yacht with an ass like your ex?”
“No. Of course not. All I’m trying to say is that it would be easier for us if we were more alike.”
“You mean if I was rich, too, so you didn’t have to feel self-conscious about your money and the fact that I don’t have any.”
“No, Aidan. I mean everything. Culturally, religiously, family history... Beau and I come from very similar backgrounds so there’s less friction with things like that. We grew up together and went to the same Greek Orthodox church. We just have a lot in common.”
“So it’s not that I’m poor, it’s that I’m poor, Irish and Catholic? Iris didn’t even stoop that low. She wasn’t much of a shining example of womanhood, but at least she was honest about money being the most important thing to her.”
Violet dropped her face into her hands. “You’re obviously in a fighting mood and nothing I say is going to come out right in your mind. So go home if you want to. Just know that I don’t want to be with Beau, Aidan. I want to be with you. Because I love you.”
If Aidan had heard those words at any other moment, his heart might have leaped with joy. But not right now. It just seemed like a bandage over a wound that wasn’t going to heal anytime soon. He was a fool to keep beating his head against the wall where Violet was concerned.
“I’m sure you’ll buy yourself something pretty and get over it,” he said before turning and heading down the grand staircase to the exit of the hotel.
Eleven
Aidan found himself wandering through the streets of Manhattan, unwilling to go home, and unsure of where else to turn. Instead, he’d just walked block by block until his shiny black dress shoes started to rub a blister into his toes. Stopping at a corner light, he looked up and spied the neon sign of a bar he’d heard of, but never visited before.
Crossing the street, he went inside and found it dark and fairly quiet. It wasn’t a rowdy sports bar with dozens of televisions blaring or one offering a live band making it too loud to think. It was more the kind of place people went to drown their sorrows and hide away from the world for a while. It was perfect.
The bartender was a balding man in his forties with a graying goatee and bushy matching eyebrows. He nodded in greeting to Aidan and went back to what he was doing. Aidan found a seat at the far end of the bar in a dark corner isolated from any of the other patrons. He climbed onto the bar stool, immediately tugged loose his bow tie and unbuttoned the collar of his dress shirt. That helped lessen the irritating feeling of a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow.
Now that he was off his feet, he was happy, but sitting still left him alone with his thoughts in a way walking through the city hadn’t. A shot or four of whisky would do the trick, he was pretty certain. That would’ve been his father’s solution. It was easy to forget your troubles in a glass until one day your troubles were caused by the glass itself. Tonight wasn’t the night for Aidan to start drinking.
“What can I get ya?” the bartender asked as he came up and placed a napkin in front of Aidan.
“Ginger ale,” he answered before he could change his mind and get something stronger.
The bartender arched a curious brow at Aidan, but didn’t say anything. He just turned and went about pouring a soda in a tall glass of ice. Delivering the drink, he said, “Holler if you need anything,” and disappeared.
He was grateful to be left alone. Bartenders had a reputation for being amateur therapists, even Aidan, although his father had a knack for it that he lacked. Most of the bartending community enjoyed that part of the job and sought out the customers who looked like they needed to chat. He probably could use someone to talk to tonight, but he wasn’t ready. Not yet.
Instead, he sipped his ginger ale and stared intently at the wood grain of the bar top. The longer he sat, the heavier the engagement ring felt in his coat pocket. Finally, he took the box out and set it down next to his drink. Opening the hinge, he lifted the ring and twirled it thoughtfully between his fingers. Even in the dim light of the bar, the diamonds sparkled brilliantly. It was beautiful, just like the woman he’d intended to give it to tonight.
He was a fool to have even thought that was a good idea. Spending that week living together had tricked him into believing they could pull a relationship off in reality. And maybe they could. But proposing to Violet? A gorgeous billionaire who could have any man she wanted? Just because she’d chosen Aidan for a one-night stand didn’t mean she would choose him for a husband. She probably wouldn’t have chosen him for her son’s father if that was a decision she’d gotten to make.
Hell, he should consider himself lucky that her parents showed up and everything went wrong before he worked up the nerve to ask. He’d probably still end up in this bar, miserable and alone, but at least he’d saved himself the embarrassment of her turning him down in front of everyone at the masquerade party.
Because she would’ve said no, right?
Of course she would’ve. What did he have to offer her? That day when they ran into Beau, she’d made a big deal about how there were more important things in a relationship than success and money. But did she really mean it? She said she loved him, too, and he didn’t know if he could take her declaration for truth, either. She was desperate to keep him from walking out on her, nothing more. He couldn’t imagine she could take her father’s side and then say something like that and mean it.
Then again, if he had truly listened to what she said with his brain and not just his ears, maybe he would’ve interpreted things differently. The argument had played in his mind a dozen times like a looping viral video. He realized now that she’d never said he wasn’t good enough or that she would choose Beau over him as her father wanted. Just that her father had a point about them being different and how it could make a relationship harder.
That was true. They were different in every way, not just where money was concerned. And yes, that meant they would face challenges as a couple. They would have to have discussions like what religion to raise Knox in or whether or not he went to a swanky private school. But he loved her. And he loved his son. He wanted them to be a real family. If she truly loved him the way she said she did, they could make their relationship work.
If he hadn’t ruined it all by throwing her love in her face and stomping off.
“Normally, I try to mind my own business, but it’s not very often that a guy in a tuxedo with a diamond ring and no girl wanders into a place like this. Especially one throwing back ginger ales like there’s no tomorrow.”
Aidan looked at the line of empty soda glasses in front of him and smiled at the bartender. “I’d have to ask, too,” he admitted. “I run a bar, myself.”
“What are you doing here, then?”
That was a good question. He’d considered going to Murphy’s. He’d even walked past it at one point. “If I went into my own bar, I’d end up working on a rare night off. Tonight I have other things on my mind.”