Page 49 of Courting Catherine
“Are you ready to order?”
C.C. glanced quickly at the waiter who hovered beside them. “Yes.” She slid her hand from Trent’s and picked arbitrarily from the menu. Cautious, she kept one hand in her lap as she lifted her wine. The moment they were alone again, she started to speak. “Have you ever seen a whale?”
“I... no.”
“You’ll be coming back occasionally while you’re—while you’re having The Towers converted. You should take a day and go out on one of the whale-watch boats. The last time I managed it, I saw three humpbacks. You need to dress warmly though. Even in high summer it’s cold once you get out on the Atlantic. It can be a rough ride, but it’s worth it. You might even think about offering some sort of package yourself. You know, a weekend rate with a whale-watch tour included. A lot of the hotels—”
“Catherine.” He stopped her by closing a hand over her wrist before she could lift her glass again. He could feel the rapid, unsteady beat of her pulse. Not passion this time, he thought. But heartache. “The papers haven’t been signed yet,” he said quietly. “There’s still time to look for other options.”
“There aren’t any other options.” He cared, she realized as she studied his face. It was in his eyes as they looked into hers. Concern, apology. It made it worse somehow, knowing he cared. “We sell to you now, or The Towers is sold later for taxes. The end result is the same, and there’s a little more dignity doing it this way.”
“I might be able to help. A loan.”
She retreated instantly. “We can’t take your money.”
“If I buy the house from you, you’re taking my money.”
“That’s different. That’s business. Trent,” she said before he could argue, “I appreciate the fact that you’d offer, especially since I know the only reason you’re here is to buy The Towers.”
It was, he thought. Or it had been. “The thing is, C.C., I feel like I’m foreclosing on those widows and orphans.”
She managed a smile. “We’re five strong, self-sufficient women. We don’t blame you—or maybe I do, a little, but at least I know I’m being unfair when I do. My feelings for you don’t make it easy to be fair.”
“What are your feelings?”
She let out a little sigh as the waiter served the appetizers and lit the candle between them. “You’re taking the house, you might as well take it all. I’m in love with you. But I’ll get over it.” With her head tilted slightly, she lifted her fork. “Is there anything else you want to know?”
When he took her hand again, she didn’t pull back, but waited. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he said carefully. How well her hand fit into his, he thought, looking down at it. How comforting it was to link his fingers with hers. “I’m just not capable of giving you—of giving anyone—promises of love and fidelity.”
“That’s sad.” She shook her head as his eyes came back to hers. “You see, I’m only losing a house. I can find another. You’re losing the rest of your life, and you only have one.” She forced her lips to curve as she drew away from him. “Unless, of course, you subscribe to Lilah’s idea that we just keep coming back. This is nice wine,” she commented. “What is it again?”
“Pouilly Fumé.”
“I’ll have to remember that.” She began to talk cheerfully as she ate the meal without tasting a thing. By the time coffee was served, she was wound like a top. C.C. knew that she would rather take an engine apart with her fingernails than face another evening such as this.
To love him so desperately, yet to have to be strong enough, proud enough to pretend she was capable of living without him. To sit, greedily storing each gesture, each word, while pretending it was all so casual and easy.
She wanted to shout at him, to rage and damn him for stirring her emotions into a frenzy then calmly walking away from the storm. But she could only cling to the cold comfort of pride.
“Tell me about your home in Boston,” she invited. That would be something, she thought, to be able to picture him in his own home.
He wasn’t able to take his eyes off her. The way the clusters at her ears shot fire. The way the candlelight flickered dreamily in her eyes. But all through the evening, he had felt as though she had blocked off a part of herself, the most important part of herself. And he might never see the whole woman again.
“My home?”
“Yes, where you live.”
“It’s just a house.” It occurred to him quite suddenly that it didn’t mean a thing to him. An excellent investment, that was all. “It’s only a few minutes from the office.”
“That’s convenient. Have you lived there long?”
“About five years. Actually, I bought it from my father when he and his third wife split. They decided to liquidate some assets.”
“I see.” And she was very much afraid that she did. “Does your mother live in Boston, too?”
“No. She travels. Being tied down to one place doesn’t agree with her.”
“Sounds like Great-Aunt Colleen.” C.C. smiled over the rim of her cup. “That’s my father’s aunt, or Bianca’s oldest child.”
