Park Avenue Prince(28)

I followed her as she wandered around an area full of tables and chairs, watching her take in her surroundings. Eventually she spun to face me and shrugged. “Nope. There’s nothing here for you.” She grinned and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Scaredy-cat,” I said.

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not scared; I just don’t like these dining tables. It’s as simple as that.”

I tutted and stuffed my hands in my pockets. “I thought you had a little more grit, Grace Astor. You’ve fallen at the first hurdle.”

She walked toward the exit and I followed her.

“Is this how you get women? You blackmail them into a physical relationship with you?” she asked, her eyebrows pulling together in an adorable frown.

“Yeah.” I laughed. “All the time.” We waited side by side for the elevator, then rode down in silence.

As the doors opened, she asked, “What would you have made me do?”

“I wouldn’t make you do anything.”

“Okay then, what would have been the pay off?” she asked as she reached out to flag a cab.

I placed my hands on her shoulders and moved her away from the curb. Almost immediately, a cab pulled up beside us. I opened the door and indicated for Grace. As she slid inside, I said, “A tattoo.” How far could I push her? How far did I want to push her? All I knew was I’d enjoy the negotiation—the to and fro, her facial expressions as she weighed the pros and cons in her mind. As much as I wanted an art consultant, I wanted to spend time with Grace whether or not it was about art.

“Jesus, no way. That would be permanent.”

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Brooklyn,” she replied.

“And you’re getting a cab?” I chuckled. “No, you’re not a Park Avenue princess at all.” I thrust three twenties at the driver and shut the door.

As the taxi drove off, I watched it head down the street. I’d enjoyed my afternoon with Grace.

Next time, it would be more than a kiss.





“Christ, I’m sorry, Angie, I don’t know what to say.” I reached across the melamine table of the diner and covered her hand with mine. Angie had called when I’d gotten back to my apartment after shopping with Grace and asked me to meet her for lunch at the diner the following day.

“Fucking hell, Sam, don’t get emotional on me,” she said as she snatched her hand away. “Since when are you allowed to hold my hand?” Angie and I never did physical affection. No hugs. No air kisses. Nothing. Not ever. In a group home, casual affection was never on offer. As much as I’d teased Grace about being uncomfortable with public displays of affection, to be truthful, I wasn’t any more comfortable than she was.

“Fuck off, I’m not getting emotional. I just want you to be happy.” All I wanted was for her to be happy, have the family she’d never had.

“I didn’t tell you I have cancer—just that Chas has a low sperm count.”

“But can that be fixed?” I wanted to fix it. I’d do whatever it took.

Angie dipped her spoon into her ice-cream sundae. “Doctors said we need to keep trying, and if it still hasn’t happened in six months, we might have to think about IVF.”

“That sounds . . . like a big step.”

“It is. And I’m not sure I’d do it. I mean, I hate needles and it just seems a bit against nature, you know?”

Angie wasn’t one to worry about what was natural. “Will Chas’s health plan cover IVF?” I asked. From what I’d heard, shit like that was expensive and wasn’t the sort of thing to be covered by health insurance.

Angie shrugged, which indicated she knew damn well it wasn’t covered, which meant she might not have IVF because she and Chas wouldn’t be able to afford it.

“You know we’re going to have to have a conversation about this, so just give into it now, rather than after three months of arguments about it,” I said.

“What are you talking about, you crazy-man?” she asked, her eyes fixating on the hazelnut balancing on her spoon.

“You know what I’m talking about. You hate discussing money, but I’m going to pay for the IVF.” It was an old argument—I even lost the battle over the check for cheeseburgers at the diner once in a while. The only reason Angie’d let me buy their house was because I’d told her all I wanted for Christmas was to be allowed to buy them the wedding gift I thought they deserved.

“Fuck off. Chas would never go for it. You’re not paying for our baby.”

“Of course I’m not paying for your baby. I’m not a human trafficker, for Christ’s sake. I just want to pick up the medical expenses.” I sighed as Angie ignored me, looking around the small room at the other couples.

“Maybe it’s just not meant to be. God only knows what kind of mother I’d be. I sure as hell didn’t have much of a role model.”

“You’re not going to be your mother, Angie. You know that.”

She shrugged. “Who’s to say? They say we turn into our parents. And if that’s true, any baby I have doesn’t stand a chance.”

I rolled up a napkin and threw it at her. “Don’t you dare let your mother steal this part of your life from you. You’re not her. Look at the way you are with Chas—was she ever a loving wife in the way you are?” I slapped my palms on the table. Didn’t she see she deserved happiness? “You can’t let her rob you of your future—she’s done enough damage.”