Page 48 of Attached At Heart
It was the whole reason I was married to Blake, after all.
Money, money, money.
I was well aware of how much of a privilege it was to grow up in a wealthy home, to even have an inheritance at all—a fact I reminded myself of often, whenever my resentment for my family grew just a little too strong. But I still struggled with knowing what I gave up in exchange for wealth.
Smoothing a hand over my dress, I checked the time on my phone. I should stop lingering in the hospital hallways and make my way to the benefit, but Ireallydidn’t want to. Anxiety balledin my stomach as I thought about having to make small talk with donors and wear a plastered smile all night. It wasn’t that it would be hard for me; on the contrary, I was all too good at schmoozing. But I hated it, hated that I learned to do it so young, hated the memories it evoked.
Resigned to my fate, I pushed myself off the bench that had been my home for the last twenty minutes while I tried not to panic and headed toward the benefit. As I grew closer, voices grew louder. Music cascaded down the hallways. It was the kind of orchestral sounds that had flooded my home growing up, symphonies that my mom pretended to appreciate.
It did nothing to help me feel at ease.
I paused at the end of the corridor because I knew as soon as I rounded the corner, there would be no going back. Not until the evening was done, not until I’d played nice and smiled so hard it made my jaw ache.
The tension in my stomach knotted tighter.
“You look great, Lane.”
And just like that, it loosened again.
Blake’s deep voice was the last thing I expected to hear echoing between these walls. My heart leapt into my throat as I spun, finding Blake a few steps away, striding confidently toward me. He wore a crisp tux, one hand tucked in the pocket of black dress pants. His dark, wavy hair was perfectly tousled on his head, while an anticipatory expression rested on his face as he waited for me to piece things together.
“You always look good in that dress,” he added as though he wanted toaddto my speechlessness. But at least he didn’t point out that I kept wearing the same old thing repeatedly—my graduation dress.
“What are you…what are you doing?” I choked out.
Blake rocked to a stop a pace or two away, raising a single brow. “I thought that might be obvious.”
“But…” I scrunched my face up, and I knew that it was because, on some level, I was trying not to cry. “Why?”
Blake tilted his head, staring at me in a way that made my head spin. “This is your first event as an attending cardiologist, Delaney.”
I just stared back at him. Because I knew that. I waswellaware of that fact. But it didn’t help to explain whathewas doing.
“I know, better than anyone, how hard you worked for over a decade to get to where you are now,” Blake continued, giving me one of his intense, piercing gazes. “But I also know that you hate rich people events like this. Did you really think I was going to let you go alone?”
Hearing him confirm that he planned to come with me tonight nearly made me crumple with relief. Somehow, I managed to stay on my feet, but that was about all I was capable of. Words were too hard.
Blake nodded, comprehending my silence perfectly.
He closed the distance between us and grabbed my hand, the one that had been fidgeting with my neckline again. The tips of his fingers grazed my skin in the process, leaving little traces of heat and reassurance behind. He laced his fingers through mine and squeezed.
“Did you really think I wasn’t going to show up for my wife?”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat, trying to enforce reason and logic and not let emotion completely trample me. “I’m not—” I started, but a finger—Blake’s finger—stopped my words, pressing against my lips. His touch shut me up immediately.
I was used to Blake touching me, but I wasn’t used to feeling him against my lips, and everything about how we were standing, everything about our body language, suddenly feltintimate. Out of place. Shifted to a different dimension where we were the type of friends who knew what each other’s lips felt like.
Because we were now.
“Don’t,” he said, lethally soft.
So I didn’t. I didn’t point out the obvious. That I wasn’treallyhis wife. Even though I wanted him to know that this wasn’t something he needed to do, that I expected him to do. It wasn’t part of the deal.
“That’s not the point,” he muttered as an addition. “Let’s go, okay?”
And since I didn’t have the energy to argue, not when my nerves were already fried, I agreed.
“Okay, let’s go.”
