Trillion(39)

I get the sense Trey isn’t the closest with his staff. The way he’s always coming and going probably leaves little time for small talk or pleasantries.

I won’t be like that.

Trey woke over an hour ago, leaving me to sleep, nestled deep in the silky, imported linens tousled across the vast expanse of his enormous bed as he hit the shower and selected a dark gray suit and silky black tie from his closet.

I read in a Westcott newsletter interview once that he doesn’t like patterns or busyness when he dresses for work. They distract him, pull him away from his zone. I’m sure there’s a whole world of particulars when it comes to him. And with time, I’ll become familiar with them.

One of his staffers is supposed to give me a tour today, taking me to the fourth floor, which I’ve yet to see, except for the night he took me to the conservatory.

“Coffee, Ms. Bristol?” One of the housekeepers asks when I wander into the butler’s pantry. I was going to help myself, hoping to stay out of their way. But if she’s offering …

“Yes, please,” I say. “Thank you.”

“Mr. Westcott takes his in the drawing room,” she says. “He’ll be in shortly.”

I don’t know where that is …

As if sensing my hesitation, she points behind me. “Fourth door on the left, just down that hall. Do you take cream and sugar?”

“A little of both would be perfect. Thank you so much,” I say before adding, “I don’t think I caught your name?”

Her eyes sparkle. She reminds me of my grandmother. “Eulalia. I’ll have your coffee for you in a moment. Breakfast will be served shortly.”

“There you are.” Trey finds me settled near the head of the table and takes the chair beside me. The windows along the wall display the back of his mother’s rose garden.

It’s sweet that he’s maintained it all these years.

And that he’s been saving his father’s beloved cigars.

“Sleep well?” he asks, sipping the coffee Eulalia has just delivered. She steals a glimpse of the two of us together before disappearing.

I nod. “It was like sleeping on a cloud.”

Out of nowhere, more staff begin laying out an elaborate breakfast spread, enough to feed a small gathering of people, more than the two of us could possibly eat. Scrambled eggs with parsley. Fresh-cut melon. Pastries galore. Buttered toast.

“Do you always feast like a king?” I ask.

He laughs through his nose. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I had them prepare a little bit of everything. When you get a chance, you can meet with my head chef and let him know what you like. He’d be happy to prepare a personal menu for you.”

Westcott dabs the corners of his mouth with a pristine cloth napkin when he’s finished. I’m mid bite when he places a red velvet ring box on the table.

“I hope this will suffice.” He slides it to me.

I swallow my toast, wipe the crumbs from my fingers, and prop the lid up.

A triangular-shaped diamond glimmers at me, almost too perfect to be real.

“It’s a trillion cut,” he says. “Each point represents past, present, and future. Three flawless carats, ethically sourced and hand-selected by my family’s personal jeweler.”

The diamond pendant Nolan gave me when I was eighteen was three carats—past, present, and future, though it was a brilliant cut … round to signify eternity.

What a joke that turned out to be …

When I was twenty-three, I sold it.

I’d planned to use the proceeds to buy a car, as the one I had was on its last leg. But then I figured every time I got behind the wheel I’d think of him, and I didn’t want that, so I put the money into a retirement account instead and purchased a used and practical Nissan.

“I hope it’s to your liking.” He mistakes my silence for disapproval. “We can get you something bigger …”

“No, no.” I don’t need a stamp-sized rock on my finger. I take it out of the box and slide it on. It fits like a glove, effortless perfection. “It’s beautiful, Trey. Thank you.”

“I’m heading out. When I get home tonight, we can talk dates for the ceremony.”

“We should elope,” I say without hesitation. The idea of standing before a congregation of hundreds of watchful eyes in a virginal white gown makes me cringe. I’ve never been one to fantasize about wedding cakes and lace veils and being carried over the threshold. “Would make sense with how fast we’re moving … people would just chalk it up to a couple of people caught up in the excitement of a new relationship.”

His dark brows angle. “This is true. Plus the quicker we marry, the sooner we can begin the next item on the agenda ...”

Having a baby.

A sharp twist cuts through my center. I reach for my coffee, nodding. “Sounds like a plan.”

We haven’t discussed the method, whether we try the old-fashioned way or involve a fertility clinic. Either way, my body, my choice.

I place a hand on my lower belly, imagining it swollen and kicking with life. The tiniest piece of my glass-shard heart aches, but I keep that to myself—as I’ve always done.

As I’ll always do.

“Enjoy your day,” I tell him on his way out.