Page 11 of Million Dollar High

Warren turned toward her, his spine straight and his face somber. “I couldn’t be more proud of the progress we’ve made if I tried. But I wish you to not lose sight of that.”

“I won’t.”

“So will you accompany me to dinner? Pietro is holding our usual table.”

Leia wanted to refuse. But she didn’t want to give Warren the satisfaction of thinking she would be spending another eveningwallowing. And if she didn’t go out, she knew she would do exactly that. Besides, the idea of not having to think about Noah constantly as she had been the last twenty-four hours was a welcome thought.

Left on her own, she would wonder if Ashley had managed to talk her way back into his life. If they were, even now, considering names for their child. Another arrow pierced her heart. Over and over, that look on Noah’s face when Ashley made her announcement flashed into her mind.

He may not have planned it, but the idea of a child meant something to him. It was that look on his face that had gutted her most of all.

He’d been ripped away from her before she’d had time to absorb the fact that she’d fallen in love with him. Drowning in tears in the middle of the night, she’d consoled herself by thinking what she’d done was for the best. She’d never have to face the tough discussion of whether he wanted a family at some distant point in the future. It was better this way. The burn might be too much to bear right now, but eventually she would forget him.

She had to.

“Yes, I’ll come to dinner,” she replied to Warren.

“Good.” About to rise, he paused, leaned in close and pressed his lips against her temple. Again, his chilling scent engulfed her.

Long after he’d left the solarium, she sat, wishing the scent was a different one.

And contemplating the possibility that it was time to move out of Warren’s house.

“If we don’t leave now, we’ll be late for our reservation.”

“I’ll be right there.” She slid her platform heels on and glanced at herself one last time in the hallway mirror. She would need to decide soon whether to shave that patch of hair again or let it grow. She resisted the urge to caress that part of her head the way Noah did, and faced Warren. “I can’t find my phone. Have you seen it?”

Warren glanced at his watch. “I haven’t. If you need to make a call you can use mine.”

She stopped herself from telling him that wasn’t the point and smoothed a hand over her forest-green sleeveless dress.

Her firm resolve had wobbled many times before she got dressed. As she stood in the shower, indulging in another crying jag, wallowing had seemed a far better alternative to making meaningless conversation with Warren just to prove a point. But she knew her former guardian wouldn’t let her off that easily.

In the car, he shrewdly engaged in conversation that would demand more of an effort than monosyllabic answers from her.

All the same, by the time they pulled up to the restaurant in West Palm Beach, she was a heartbeat away from instructing the driver to take her back home. She gritted her teeth and stepped out of the car. The urge to prove she was strong enough not to fall apart from a relationship that had lasted less than a week battled with the need to bawl her eyes out. Strength won. Her sole aim for indulging in the IL trip had been to have a no-strings-attached fling. She’d fucked that up spectacularly, of course, and fallen in love before they’d barely exchanged more than a few pertinent details about each other.

But that didn’t mean her life was over.

She sucked in a breath and let Warren walk her into the Michelin-star restaurant.

Pietro’s greeting was loud and effusive. Discretion had neverbeen the portly Italian’s strong point, but the food here was great enough to make his customers overlook his boisterousness.

“A bottle of your favorite Grand Cru to start the evening off,bellissima?” Pietro asked once they were seated by the window.

Leia started to shake her head, and then changed her mind. Getting drunk might be one way to numb the relentless pain. “Sure. Red, please.”

She ignored Warren’s microscopic frown.

“Va bene. And for you, Mr. Snyder? Your usual sparkling water?” Pietro enquired with a slightly more restrained smile.

Warren nodded and the Italian left them, returning moments later with their drinks. She took a healthy sip and saw another frown cross Warren’s face.

“I really wish you wouldn’t drink, my dear.”

“I really wish you would. Maybe then you’d get off my case every once in a while,” she snapped before she could stop herself. Not that she wanted to. “Look, you’ve done your concerned guardian thing. Just… let me deal with what’s happening to me in my own way, okay?”

“Drinking is not the answer. Need I remind you of how indulging in alcohol changed your life?”

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