I never told my boyfriend’s snobbish parents that I owned the bank holding their massive debt. To them, I was just a “barista with no future.”
Her mouth tightened.
“Coffee.”
“What kind?”
She looked helplessly at the menu.
I almost smiled.
“Regular.”
“Regular isn’t a size.”
For one extraordinary second, Victoria Ashford looked offended.
Then something softened.
“Medium.”
“Milk?”
“Please.”
I made it.
She reached for her wallet.
“It’s four dollars.”
She placed a five on the counter.
I gave her the change.
She stared at the dollar in her palm.
“I’m sorry.”
I stopped wiping the counter.
She wasn’t looking at me.
“I’ve rehearsed that sentence forty times in the car.”
“You don’t have to perform it.”
“I know.”
Her fingers closed around the dollar.
“That’s why it’s difficult.”
I waited.
She looked up.
“I pushed you.”
“Yes.”
“I humiliated you.”
“Yes.”
“I knew Richard was lying about the money.”
I said nothing.
“I didn’t know about the forgery. But I knew enough to know something was wrong.”
Her eyes glistened.
“And I chose comfort.”
The espresso machine hissed behind me.
“I spent years convincing myself cruelty was sophistication. That people without money wanted something from us. That kindness made you vulnerable.”
She gave a tiny, broken laugh.
“Turns out money made me vulnerable.”
“No,” I said.
She looked at me.
“Fear did.”
Her face crumpled for half a second before she controlled it.
“Liam moved out.”
“How is he?”
“Working.”
That surprised me.
“Where?”
“A boatyard.”
I blinked.
Victoria almost smiled.
“He repairs engines.”
“Does he like it?”
“He comes home smelling terrible.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Her smile vanished.
Then returned, smaller.
“Yes.”
