The Fine Print (Dreamland Billionaires #1)(69)

“No way! She was a history buff?”

He looks at me knowingly. I sigh and give him a soft peck for his next secret. I move away but he tugs me back into his chest and deepens the kiss. Like he needs the extra courage to talk about anything related to his mother.

He might not be searching for love but maybe he’s looking to heal.

I can help with that. I’ve been there.

He releases me before taking a few deep breaths. “My mother was obsessed with history and stories that bordered on fantasy. That’s actually how she and my father met.”

He pauses as if he’s not sure if he should keep going.

“Tell me more. Please?” I kiss his cheek.

“She worked at the tutoring center at the university they both attended. My father walked into the building to pick up his friend whose car was at the shop. My mother was working the counter and asked if he needed help.”

“And?”

“My father was a straight-A student who attended an entire semester’s worth of tutoring sessions for a class he wasn’t even taking.”

“No!” I laugh until I’m hoarse. His parents’ story might be better than mine—not that I would admit that to them.

“It’s true. Mom even revised his fake essays and homework about King Arthur and his knights.”

“I see lying is a Kane family trait here.”

He smirks. “We do anything to get what we want.”

“Ruthless. All of you,” I tease.

He chuckles low under his breath.

“What did your dad say about it all? And how did he get her to agree to a date after pretending for so long?” I need to hear more if only to feed the hopeless romantic in me.

“I don’t remember.” Rowan’s lips press into a thin line, and his hand holding on to mine tenses.

The temperature in the car drops, matching the energy coming off Rowan. My entire chest aches for Rowan’s dad. Despite hearing all about his questionable business decisions, I can empathize with anyone who lost their wife. Especially a man who was willing to attend tutoring sessions for no reason but to spend time with the woman he liked.

And I can feel even more empathy for the children who suffered from similar grief.

I give his hand a squeeze. “So what’s the connection between that story and your middle name?”

“My mother named my brothers and me after King Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table.”

“Those are some big shoes to fill. Didn’t they find the holy grail or something?”

“Or something.” The corner of his mouth lifts again and the tension leaves him like a gust of air. “I have it easy. Declan’s the one who has to introduce himself as Declan Lancelot Kane for the rest of his life.”

An ungodly giggle escapes me at the idea of Rowan’s oldest brother having to bear that kind of cross for the rest of his life. Lancelot? Really?

“And you? Mr. R.G. Kane?”

“Galahad,” he grumbles under his breath, bringing my attention to the lightest shade of pink in his cheeks.

“Aw. That’s cute.”

“There’s only room for one liar here, and it’s not you.”

I shove his shoulder. “I mean it! The story behind it makes it that much more special.”

His body tightens. “If you tell anyone, I’ll have to—”

“Yeah, yeah. Fire me. I got it already.”

“I’ll have to fuck you. But if you’re interested in role-playing the other scenario, I’m more than happy to oblige.”

“Did you make a sex joke?! I am absolutely scandalized.” I speak in a Southern accent while fanning my face.

He shakes his head like I’m the most amazingly crazy person he’s ever met. Okay, I’m only assuming, but it seems like a plausible guess.

I hold out my hand. “You have a deal.”





33





Rowan





“It’s not too late to go home.” Zahra uses her menu as a shield to block the entire left side of her face.

When I booked a reservation at the finest restaurant in Orlando, I didn’t expect her to protest the moment we sat down. Ever since the hostess showed us to our table at the back of the restaurant ten minutes ago, Zahra’s been flushed and unable to sit still. I thought wine would help with first-date nerves, but she’s already guzzled one full glass.

Is she afraid to be out in public with me? I highly doubt any paparazzi worth their salt would be prowling the streets of central Florida waiting for a celebrity.

I frown, pulling down her menu. “Is it too fancy?”

“No—I mean yes! I mean, look at this menu.” She pulls it back up, flaunting it to me while shielding both our faces now. “Any place without prices and lots of French words is a red flag for my bank account.”

“You’re not paying,” I speak in a dry tone.

“Yeah, well, it would be presumptuous for me to assume we wouldn’t go halfsies.”

“Halfsies.” I choke. “What has gotten into you?”

“Nothing.” She bites her lip. Her skin goes from pink to red, giving away her inability to lie about anything.

“Are you always this nervous on a first date?”