Time (Laws of Physics #3)(75)

She scrunched her face, looking cute and indecisive, but finally admitted, “I’m using the fun money account my parents set up. I’m funding everything with that.”

My hands tightened on the steering wheel as I absorbed this startling revelation, but I was careful to keep my expression and voice serene. “Oh?”

We’d been dating almost a year and I still hadn’t officially met her parents. But I had been photographed with them. Twice. DJ Tang and Exotica had attended several of the same industry events as me, and we’d been photographed on the red carpet together—both times their publicist approached my publicist and said, Let’s make this happen—but they didn’t actually talk to me.

Although, her dad mumbled, “Smile like you mean it.”

They’d swooped in, posed for the photos, and left without a backward glance. The next morning’s headline read, “One Big Happy Family.”

It was the strangest. When I told Mona, she hadn’t seemed at all surprised, but she was embarrassed. I told her not to worry.

“Yes. I’m going to use the money.” She exhaled the words, like they pained her. “I know you suggested it two months ago as a stopgap, but I needed to think about it. The thing is, as you know, my therapist and I have been talking weekly, and so I told her about the idea.” Mona’s therapist was one of my most favorite people in the world. But I’ll get to that later. “Anyway, she and I were talking about stressors in my past, my parents, the nature of neglect in all its forms, and whatnot, and how I was so tense about the grants. And, well, she pointed out that we—all of us—are born with a different set of resources. Like you, for example.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You came from a family with an abundance of love, but not always an abundance of financial security. She asked me which I thought was more important and if it made sense for you to reject your parents’ love because other children—i.e. me—grew up neglected.”

“Huh.” See? The woman was amazing.

“We went back and forth for a while, because the issue is obviously not that simple. Money buys advantages that love cannot, and—anyway—after we discussed the nature of merit-based reward systems, bias in peer review grant awards, the problems with inherited wealth and so forth, I made a decision to use the money to finish my thesis, and I’ve committed to not feeling gross about it.”

I wanted to say, Hell. Yes. But instead I simply nodded and said, “Okay.”

Since Mona had started talking to Dr. Kasai last spring, she’d become so much more comfortable in her own skin, so much more willing to appreciate a moment rather than look for reasons to second-guess her enjoyment of it.

As an example, she loved being tied up. She loved blindfolds and handcuffs on either or both of us. The distinction Dr. Kasai had made clear for her, which Mona told me about when we’d met in London early over the summer, was the difference between giving control and losing control. Mona loved the idea that she was giving something rather than losing it.

“It’s like, in my dream best-case scenario, I win the Nobel Prize in physics,” she muttered fiercely, obviously still thinking about her funding situation and giving me the sense she was speaking to herself. “And the Darwinger Institute can choke on a dick because they then can’t claim any credit.”

I almost choked on air, sending her a surprised look. “Choke on a dick? Where’d you pick that up?”

Mona’s smile was small but impish. “Your sister’s friend Sandra used it last week during the bachelorette party. I’ve heard Gabby say it in the past. But after Sandra used the phrase, I warmed up to it.”

Ah, Sandra. She was a handful.

The rest of the drive passed uneventfully, which was good. A few times, I caught myself staring too long while she talked, or glancing too often at the band of skin where her short skirt hit her legs. I’d also been distracted by my generous imagination, considering how best to make use of our disguises before the rehearsal dinner. . . since we were making such good time.

But when we arrived and were crossing the lobby on the way to our room, she stopped, squeezed my hand, and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

“Okay, I’ll see you later.”

“Wait. Where are you going?”

“I have to meet the other bridesmaids for rehearsal.” She gestured over her shoulder with her thumb.

“The rehearsal isn’t for another hour.”

“Oh, no. I’m not talking about the wedding rehearsal. Well, I am. Sort of. It’s a—but, well, you’ll see tonight.”

I caught her arm as she turned away again, disappointment landing on my shoulders like a shove. “Wait, wait. Mona, wait.” I slid my hand down to capture hers again, staring deeply into her eyes. “Don’t you need to change first?”

She grinned a slow grin at my obvious hint, and then she giggled, sounding gleeful. Stepping forward suddenly, she threw her arms over my shoulders and kissed me, her nails scratching the back of my neck, her tongue a hot, hungry slide against mine.

Before I could react the way I wanted—carry her off to our room—she caressed her hands down to my bottom, gave it a double pat, and then leaned away to break the kiss.

“See you tonight,” she said, wagging her eyebrows. “Don’t change the suit.”