12. Chloe

CHAPTER 12

CHLOE

SEVEN WEEKS LATER

“ M om, I’m home!” I shout as I come through the front door.

“I’m in the kitchen,” Mom yells.

I take my shoes off in the hall and step through to the smell of my mother cooking.

“I’m making Bolognese,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at me. “Just the way you like it.”

“You’re the best,” I say, scampering up to her and wrapping my arms around her waist.

“No problem,” she says, covering one of my hands with hers. “How was the real estate agent?”

“Fine,” I say, not releasing my mother from my embrace. “We’ve got some options for a new place. They said that with my credit rating and the amount we’ve got to put down, we should have no problem buying an apartment.”

“That’s great,” smiles Mom. “You know, I do understand if you want to move out by yourself. To live your own life a little…”

“No way,” I scoff. “You’ve done so much for me, Mom. Now it’s my turn to look after you .”

She squeezes my hands, then gently pushes me away so she can go back to her pot.

“It smells good,” I say, breathing in the rich tomato smell.

She smiles warmly, but I can’t help but notice how tired she looks. The wrinkles in her face are deeper than ever, the bag under her eyes dark. She’s been through some hard times lately and I want to do everything I can to help her through it.

“Did you look into renting that studio space as well?” she asks, stirring the Bolognese. The delicious tomatoey scent rises again and fills my nostrils with a smell that I can only describe as home.

“I did. I called the guy who owns the building earlier. The rent for it is a little more than I would like, but if we get a mortgage and I keep working at the bar, everything should be fine. We can afford it.”

“And of course, once you start selling your art, we’ll be rolling in millions anyway.”

“Hey,” I chuckle, shaking my head. She’s expecting way too much from me.

But I’m glad that she has that kind of faith in my ability. I’m so grateful that I’ve always had someone to believe in me.

The moment is shattered by the sound my phone ringing. Fumbling for it, I groan. “Ugh, sorry. I’m going to get this. It’s probably the real estate agent.”

“I’ll call you when dinner’s ready, love,” she smiles.

I head off to my bedroom and pick up my phone without looking at the number.

When I hear Paul’s voice, I almost drop it again. “Chloe? This is you, right?”

“Paul?” I splutter. “How…? What are you doing calling me? It’s been nearly seven weeks! I thought you never wanted to speak to me again.”

“I just wanted to see how you’re doing,” he says in a tone that suggests he actually wants something else but is trying to ease me into it.

“What do you really want?” I snap, in no mood for games. “And I’m fine, by the way. Me and my mom are moving out soon. We’ve got a new place.”

He doesn’t have to know that that’s not entirely true.

“Good,” he says, and I can almost see his stupid smile as he does. I close my eyes and try to black out that thought. “I’m happy for you.”

“I couldn’t have done any of this without you. So, what do you want?”

There’s a long silence, and for a minute I think he’s completely vanished.

“Paul?” I say uncertainly.

“I’m here,” he says, “I’m here. Okay, I’ll just come out with it. How would you like an all-expenses-paid trip to Bellamare?”

I nearly drop the phone again.

“You— What?”

“Look, I’m kind of in a bit of a situation here. And I’d love to see you again. Honestly. I’ve thought about you every single day, and I’ve wanted to talk to you since I left.”

I bite my tongue from saying so why didn’t you call sooner? “What situation?” I ask instead.

“It’s a long story, but basically my parents are threatening to kick me out if I don’t bring home my new and lovely wife to meet them at once.”

“You told your parents about me?”

“Didn’t you tell your mom about me?”

“Well, yeah,” I say. “But that’s different. I didn’t tell my mother that I married you because you’re the love of my life. I told her the truth.”

I don’t really think I meant to say that, because using the words love and you in the same sentence feels dangerously like starting to catch feelings. And I had just about managed to suppress thoughts like that.

“What is the truth?” Paul asks quietly.

I don’t give him an answer.

“Look,” he says, “I know it’s not ideal, but I really did mean it when I said I wanted to see you again. This doesn’t have to be a big deal. They just want to have dinner. I just need to prove that you exist, that’s all.”

“Let me get this straight,” I say, starting to feel the anger seep into my tone again. “You’ve ignored me for almost two months, and now you want me to go and play happy families with your parents just make yourself feel better?”

“It’s not like that,” he insists. “They really will kick me out if they think I’m lying about you.”

“They sound pretty intense.”

He never said that much about his parents, but the little he had said didn’t sound too good at all.

“They are. So… will you come?”

“Will I come to Bellamare and have dinner with your parents? Will I lie to everyone and pretend to be your doting wife? No.”

“I’ll give you another hundred thousand,” Paul says, desperate. “I’ll book first-class plane tickets. I’ll give you more money — whatever you want. Just say you’ll come.”

“This really means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”

“You have no idea.”

He lets out a shaky sigh, and that’s when I realize exactly how much he means this. When I first picked up, I easily could have believed that he was playing games with me. But that little sigh he just did…

Either he’s an incredible actor or he really is completely out of options.

I only wish those options didn’t involve using me.

“All right,” I snap. “I will come — on one condition.”

“Anything,” he says too quickly.

“I want answers for everything.”

“Answers,” he says, like he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. And I can’t tell if he’s being deliberately ignorant or genuinely stupid.

“Yeah, answers. Why did you leave me in your apartment that morning? Why have you had to lie to your parents about me? Did you even need a green card at all?”

Do you love me?

“Yes, yes, I did. I promise.” He sighs again, and I imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to make everything make sense.

“Okay, fine. Deal,” he says, relenting. “If you promise to come and have dinner with my parents, I’ll tell you absolutely everything. The unfiltered truth. I can’t promise you’re going to like it, and I’ll get it if you never want to speak to me again. But please, please, please can we just pretend for my parents for one night?”

Maybe the secrets he’s been keeping were deeper than I expected. Damn. Now the mystery of it is intriguing me more than it’s irritating me.

“Okay,” I say finally. “I can probably take a Monday off work and early shift on Friday. Maybe half a week if you give me some time to arrange my schedule.”

“You’re still working?” he says, dumbfounded.

“Yes,” I say like he’s stupid. “One hundred thousand dollars is nice, but it’s not enough to live off for the rest of my life.”

“Oh,” he says, his voice small.

And that’s the point when I start doubting that he’s even a businessman at all.

It’s the kind of job I could believe he would have. But the way he acts around money makes me think that he’s never had a life where he’s had to think about how much anything costs. Ever. It sounds nice.

“Thank you,” he breathes. “Text me your email. I’ll send you all the flight information straightaway. Just let me know which weekend, which days you can do. Please make it soon, though.”

When I head out for dinner, I decide not to tell Mom about the call. Not yet, anyway. No doubt she’ll tell me this is a terrible idea, and it probably is. I almost definitely shouldn’t go to a foreign country for a stranger.

But the second I heard his voice, he enchanted me again. I don’t know what power he has over me, but it looks like I can’t escape it.

That night, I put in a request for time off work, and to my surprise, it gets approved almost immediately.

The next thing to do is tell Paul. But I don’t know what to say.

I lie in bed, awake into the early hours of the morning trying to think of anything to say at all. Eventually, I just send a screenshot of the leave approval.

Not too much longer , Paul texts back with a screenshot of flight confirmations. I don’t even want to know what time it is in Bellamare right now.

Has he been waiting for me since we spoke?

Is he looking forward to this as much as I am?