Page 30 of How to Blow It with a Billionaire

“It’s all fine.”

It the sort of place where they told you exactly where everything came from: Grand Cru chocolate, Channel Island milk, Chilean sultanas. Where even the pistachios were superior. And so, of course, I wanted to eat everything.

Ellery ordered a chocolate cone of green tea gelato—though they called it Té Verde. And I finally overcame my greed-paralysis enough to get the stracciatella. Since, as far as I was concerned, the only thing better than chocolate or vanilla was when you were allowed to have chocolate and vanilla together. There might have been a moral in there somewhere.

The place was nearly empty, what with it being close to nine on a Tuesday, so we sat in the bay-window and stuffed our faces. At least, I stuffed my face. Ellery ate ice cream with the same air of mild contempt she brought to everything.

Well, everything except music. As I’d learned today.

“Thank you for this,” I said. “It’s been the best.”

She shrugged. “Yeah.”

“So um”—I chased a curl of chocolate with the edge of my spoon—“any particular reason for that opera?”

“Maybe I just like the music.”

“And the story was irrelevant?”

She gave me a look I couldn’t quite read, her eyes greener than they were blue in this softer light, and less like Caspian than usual. “Well, what do you think?”

At this rate we would be here all night. Like the vultures in The Jungle Book, I broke cover. “I think Judith chose her fate.”

“Huh. Interesting. Because I think she married a psycho who murdered her.”

“I think”—I squirmed—“it’s a touch more ambiguous than that.”

“He has a torture chamber in his head.”

“But also a lake of tears.”

She crunched off the end of her cone. “Probably from the people he’s tortured.”

“Or maybe it’s all him: his own pain and grief and darkness. The wives could represent the hopes and dreams he’s lost.”

“Or maybe some castles are dark and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Except, y’know, accept the castle is dark. Instead of worrying about how it isn’t light.”

“Whatever.” Ellery pulled out her phone and checked the time. “Okay. I’ve got to go.”

I glanced at my half-finished ice cream and then at the counter, wondering if I had room for another scoop. Because, fuck me, the stuff was amazing. So rich and sweet and sharp all at the same time. “I might stay here. For the rest of my life.”

For a moment, I thought she was going to say something but she just stood there, idly kicking at the leg of her chair.

“It’s not like Caspian’s going to murder me,” I said.

“Yeah, but maybe you deserve a nicer castle.”

And, with that, she picked up her backpack and disappeared into the night, leaving me with my stracciatella and some slightly tangled thoughts about my relationship.

Which quickly unraveled into me missing Caspian. Wanting to hold his hand across the table. Share a milkshake with him. Lick the sweetness from his mouth.

That was the thing about billionaire non-boyfriends, though. They could do anything. Be anything. Reshape the whole fucking world.

But you’d probably always be left eating ice cream by yourself.

Chapter 9

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