‘Why?’
‘Because I like being single. I like working hard. Playing harder. I don’t want to get married. I don’t want to have children. These are things my parents expect of me, but they don’t reflect my wishes.’
My heart shifts a little inside my chest. ‘Have you explained that to them?’
‘My parents?’
‘No, your secretary.’
He laughs. ‘Has anyone ever told you that you have a smart mouth?’
I gape, because I don’t. I really, actually don’t. I’m very careful with what I say, moderating my language, aware that I am the representative of Chance and The Billionaires’ Club everywhere I go. But there’s something about Nicholas that makes me feel completely at ease, as if I can relax completely.
‘Did I offend you?’
His laugh is uproarious. ‘Do I look like I’m made of glass?’
I smile, relieved. ‘I don’t know why, but I feel like I can say anything to you,’ I explain, simply.
His gaze hooks to mine again, probing. ‘It’s because of the stop point. We both know this is an aberration. Not real. Out of step with the lives we’re both going to lead. So we can let go and have fun without worrying about any kind of consequences or future.’
That makes sense.
‘I have told my parents, on several occasions, what I think of their expectations and their title, and even their fortunes.’
‘Really?’
He’s quiet, deep in thought. ‘Except I do care,’ he says, after a moment. To our right, a ferry boat passes under the bridge, bleating its low, thundering horn as it goes. The snow falls a little thicker now, landing on the bridge of my nose. I dash it away. ‘Not about the money—I have made more than enough on my own. But the title is something that matters.’
We’ve slowed right down without meaning to. We put one foot in front of the other, but slowly. ‘I was raised to care about it, and I do. There’s so much history wrapped up in it, so much of my family’s past. And there’s a responsibility there to shepherd the title, the estate, the fortune on to a new recipient.’
It rankles my American sensibilities. I can’t understand any of that old British aristocracy stuff. ‘That’s the way these things work, I guess.’
‘Yes. I didn’t much care for it when I was younger but now, at nearly thirty, I feel the weight of it in a new way. I don’t want to be where my family’s claim on the title ends.’
‘Naturally.’
‘You really think so? Sometimes I can’t believe I actually give a shit.’
I laugh. ‘I can. I can see that. Legacies are important. They should be protected.’
‘And you? Is there some family tradition your parents are desperate for you to carry on?’
I bite down on my lip, thinking about that for a second before shaking my head. ‘Not really.’
‘They must be proud of you?’
‘You think?’
‘Sure. Why not?’
I wrinkle my nose. ‘They’re not easy to please.’ I don’t feel like talking about them. As much as I’ve come to a place in my life where I accept the limitations of my relationship with Mom and Dad, it still hurts. It hurts in a way I’ll probably never get over.
After Abbey died, I needed them in a different way. I needed them to be there for me, to make things better, and they weren’t. They just couldn’t.
They’ve never really been there for me since—they just don’t get me.
‘Even when you’re running a global empire, trading in luxury and world-class networking events?’