Page 64 of One Wealthy Wedding

I go to bed with an aching heart, trying to forget that Theo is there, on the other side of the wall. So close and still so far away.

22

Theo

“Pick one.”

Cat stares me down. “No.”

“Catherine,” I say with admirable patience. “Pick one, or I will pick one for you. It will be bright yellow and guaranteed to turn heads.”

“This doesn’t seem safe.” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. I can’t stop noticing her fucking mouth. It’s going to be the death of me.

I growl under my breath. “You are learning to drive today.” I need to teach her. I still haven’t forgiven myself for that night last week, and I want to bridge this gap between us. She’s been avoiding me for days, taking her meals at odd times and locking herself in her room to study.

“In one of your fancy cars? I don’t think that’s a good idea. What if I crash it?” She sets her mouth mulishly. Her fierce expression makes me want to laugh, like it always does. I want to tweak her nose.

“Then you’d have to stay married to me and do all manner of depraved things with me as recompense. For years. At least ten,” I say.

Her lips curve up, then she shakes her head. “You’re horrible.”

“You like it.”

She sighs, like she does, and she’s annoyed by it, but she surveys the garage with more interest now.

“Which is the safest?” she asks.

“None of them.”

Her gaze slices to mine.

“Relax, princess. I’m kidding. They’re all safe. Besides, I’ll drive us out of the city. You’ll take over once we’re in an abandoned parking lot somewhere.”

“Your confidence in me is inspiring,” she says dryly, but I can see she’s relieved. “How many do you have?”

“Enough.” I give her a sharp smile. “I’m frivolous, baby.” I leave out the truth, which is that I spent so long with nothing that now I buy whatever I want and I don’t look back.

“Which one is your favorite?”

That’s an easy one. I point at the low-slung black Maserati in the corner. “My first new car.” Cat wanders over, trailing her fingers over the hood.

“When did you buy it?” she asks, not looking at me, eyes only for the vehicle.

I’ve never been jealous of a car before.

“When I made my first million. I actually bought it for my mom. She refused it.” I grin sheepishly at Cat.

“Of course she did. Your mom would never drive a car like this. It’s all black, and it screams expensive. She’d pick a plain SUV.”

I nod. “She would and she did. I bought her at least three cars before she relented and told me what she wanted.”

My smile fades as I remember that Cat knows my mom almost as well as I do. An unwelcome memory comes unbidden—Cat, her hands dusted in flour, standing on a stool in the main house, helping my mom bake cookies. I was thirteen, and Cat was eleven. Cole had been home that night, rare for him at fifteen, and I kept asking my mom to come home for family dinner. She kept saying, “Catherine needs us, sweetheart. Just help us finish these cookies.” I slammed out of the kitchen and ignored Cat for a week. I swallow down the tightness in my throat. I resented Cat so much back then for taking time with my mom, but I see her now, so wary, so guarded, and I can’t help but wonder if I was in the wrong.

Fuck.

I run a hand through my hair. It doesn’t matter. I’m here to help her with the list, sell this marriage, and divorce her.

The thought settles uncomfortably, cutting at my insides.

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