Page 70 of The Fallacy of True Love
“We’ve never had those kinds of cars” was all he said before opening the front passenger door for me.
Not even when your sister’s marrying a former NBA star? I wanted to ask, but that would give away that I knew about his family connection. If he wasn’t bringing it up, then I had to assume he didn’t want to talk about it. I couldn’t press when I hated being asked personal questions.
Besides, all I should care about was getting to the venue and surviving the next five days.
Alonzo
I stole a glance at Cam under the guise of checking the side mirror for incoming traffic.
To say it was strange seeing her here, in Manila, in my passenger seat, was an understatement. When she got off the bus, I did a double-take at seeing her in white button-down top and khaki pants. She looked…like a city girl. If it weren’t for her ash-streaked hair and the familiar tattoos peeking out from beneath her shirt sleeves as she hauled her duffel bag, I would have convinced myself it was her doppelganger.
She’d plucked the shades from where they hung on her shirt and perched them over her eyes so I couldn’t tell if she was asleep or simply tuning me out. Either scenario panned out when it came to her.
“Do you always spend more time staring at your passenger instead of looking at the road?” she asked in a voice deeper than usual, like she’d barely gotten any sleep.
“I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Trust me, neither can I.”
“Is this job that important to you?”
She turned her head, and I felt her stare burning into my skin despite her shades. “Yes. But I guess you wouldn’t understand that.”
The condescension in her tone grated, but I kept my voice even. “When I was six, my lola was diagnosed with cancer and my parents found out their business partner stole our money and left us in a shit ton of debt. My dad had to work abroad, and my mom took night and weekend shifts so we could afford Lola’s treatment and our education. My oldest sister applied for a scholarship to the US and sent money to help support us. Since college, I’ve been on scholarship and working part-time to make extra money. So, yes. I get the importance of a job.”
“But your sister’s marrying a multimillionaire, right? Lucky you.”
Unintentionally, my foot pressed on the gas pedal, lurching the car forward. I couldn’t believe I’d spilled my life story to her only for her to throw Tala’s engagement in my face. I’d gotten plenty of flack about it over the past month, but I could let other people’s comments slide because they knew nothing about me.
Cam braced herself by placing her hands on the dashboard. “Shit. Are you trying to get us both killed?”
“Sorry,” I muttered as I eased back to a normal speed. “You’re something else. You know that, right?”
“Well—”
“Let’s get this straight. Yes, my sister is marrying a rich guy. But she’s not in it for the money. She’s been in love with Jason since they were in college, before he became a superstar. Jason would be the first to say how lucky he is that she sees him for more than his name and bank account. Honestly, those were the reasons why she almost turned him down.”
I glanced at her, anticipating a snarky remark. She only flattened her lips.
So I went on, needing her to understand where I was coming from. “Whatever money he has, that’s his. Not ours. Well, it will be partially Tala’s when they get married, unless they sign a prenup. I need to ask if they’re getting one,” I murmured to myself.
“You’re saying you don’t get money from this Jason Meyer?” Skepticism filled her tone.
I so badly wanted to deny it, but I couldn’t. Not honestly. “No, I’m not saying that. Jason’s a very generous guy, and he likes to pay for things even when we tell him not to. But I would never rely on him to fund my life. I’m studying to become a lawyer because, first, I want to be self-sufficient and, second, because I find purpose in that work. I would love for people not to assume that I’m dropping out of school and becoming a bum just because my sister is marrying Jason. Just like I don’t want them to assume she’s marrying him because he’s rich.”
Cam remained silent, and this time I let it stretch out. I’d told her the truth—more than I planned to divulge this early on a random Monday morning. Whether she believed me was her choice.
“Damn it,” she finally said. “I’m a bitch, aren’t I?”
My jaw relaxed, and I realized how hard I’d been gritting my teeth. “I object to that term. Look, I know you have these ideas about me, but you went too far, talking about my sister like that.”
“You’re right.” Sighing, she said, “I’m sorry for assuming the worst and using it against you. Especially when you trusted me with your story. That was a dick move, and I—I’m sorry.”
I looked at her, needing to confirm whether I’d imagined the contrition in her voice.
“I can admit when I’m wrong.”
“I didn’t know you would apologize for it outright.”
