Chapter 43
Richard's POV
I stared at my phone in disbelief. She'd hung up on me.
The restaurant around me buzzed with couples sharing intimate dinners, and here I was, sitting alone at a table for two like some pathetic loser. The champagne I'd ordered sat untouched, the ice bucket sweating condensation onto the white tablecloth.
When did everything go so wrong?
I thought back to previous Valentine's Days. Laura and Emma. Always Laura and Emma. We'd make it a family tradition – dinner at home, Emma's favorite movies, Laura falling asleep on my shoulder on the couch.
Grace had never discovered or complained. I made excuses about work, about being tired. I'd convinced myself she didn't care about romantic gestures.
But she did care.
I ordered another scotch. Then another.
By the time Laura found me, I was well past drunk and deep into maudlin territory.
"Richard?" Her voice was sharp with concern. "What are you doing here? I thought you were—"
"Grace," I mumbled, not looking up from my glass. "I called Grace."
Laura's face went white. "What did you tell her?"
"Nothing. She hung up on me." I laughed bitterly. "She knows. About the other Valentine's Days. About you."
"Richard, you're drunk. Let me take you home."
"Home?" I looked up at her, my vision slightly blurry. "Which home? The one where I pretend to be married to someone else? Or the one where I secretly hide with you?"
"Stop it."
"I'm sorry," I said suddenly, grabbing her hand. "I'm so fucking sorry, Grace. I never meant—"
The slap came out of nowhere. Laura's palm connected with my cheek with a sharp crack that sobered me instantly.
Laura's eyes blazed with fury. "I'm Laura. Do you still recognize me? The woman who's been waiting for you for ten years while you played house with your fake wife?"
She turned and walked away, leaving me alone with my scotch and my regrets.
---
Grace's POV
11:05 PM.
The restaurant was closing. For the past two hours, the waitstaff had been politely circling my table, refilling my water glass and asking if I needed anything else. The roses were starting to wilt.
I'd tried calling Alex three times. Each call went straight to voicemail.
He's not coming.
I gathered my purse and the gift box I'd brought.
The maître d' approached with an apologetic smile. "Miss Wilson, I'm terribly sorry, but we'll be closing in a few minutes."
"Of course." I stood, smoothing down my dress. "Thank you for your patience."
"Would you like us to call you a car?"
"No, thank you. I have one waiting."
I walked through the empty restaurant, my heels clicking against the marble floor. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I could see couples walking hand in hand along the waterfront, sharing late-night Valentine's kisses under the streetlights.
This is what I get for believing in fairy tales.
But strangely, I wasn't angry. Disappointed, yes. But not angry. Alex's schedule was unpredictable. Business came first – I understood that better than anyone.
Still, as I rode the elevator down to the lobby, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd been foolish to hope for something different.
---
12:00 AM
I had just entered my apartment when my phone rang.
"Grace?" Alex's voice was rough, strained. "Are you home? I saw the restaurant has closed."
"You're going to the appointment now?" I was surprised he was going at this hour.
"I know it's late. I know I missed dinner. But I promised I'd see you tonight. I'm already downstairs at your building."
I ran to the elevator, still wearing my burgundy dress, my heart pounding against my ribs.
The lobby was empty except for the night security guard. Through the glass doors, I could see Alex's car parked at the curb, hazard lights blinking.
I pushed through the doors and stopped short.
Alex was leaning against his car, still in a disheveled suit jacket. His white shirt was stained with something dark – blood, maybe – and there was a cut above his left eyebrow. His usually perfect hair was somewhat messy, and he looked like he'd been through hell.
"Jesus, Alex. What happened?"
"Car accident," he said simply. "About three hours ago. Some drunk asshole ran a red light."
"Are you hurt? Did you go to the hospital?"
"I'm fine. Minor cuts, nothing serious." He straightened up, wincing slightly. "But I promised you dinner."
I stared at him. "You didn't go to the hospital, but came here instead?"
"I gave you my word."
Something inside my chest cracked open. This man – this powerful, controlled man – had dragged himself here at midnight, bleeding and exhausted, because he'd promised me dinner.
When was the last time someone kept a promise to me?
Without thinking, I closed the distance between us and wrapped my arms around his waist. He was warm and solid, and he smelled like expensive cologne mixed with something metallic – probably blood.
His arms came around me immediately, one hand settling at the small of my back, the other tangling gently in my hair.
"I'm sorry I'm late," he murmured against the top of my head.
"Don't apologize," I whispered into his chest. "You're here. That's all that matters."
We stood there on the empty street, holding each other under the streetlights. For the first time in months – maybe years – I felt completely safe.
This is what real feels like.
Alex pulled back slightly, his hand coming up to cup my face. His thumb traced along my cheekbone, and his eyes searched mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.
"Grace," he said softly.
"Yeah?"
"Happy Valentine's Day."
I smiled. "Valentine's Day is already over."
"Not yet," he said, then took my hand and walked toward the car.
"Where are we going this late?"
"It's a secret."