Page 34 of The Billionaire & the Virgin Chef
“Isn’t your schedule pretty open for the next week and ahalf?”
“It is...right now really isn’t a goodtime.”
“Whynot?”
I run my palms down my work slacks, weighing whether or not to tellhim.
He beats me to the punch. “It happened around this time, wasn’tit?”
“Sorry?”
“You heardme.”
My response is a simple, slight headnod.
How I wish he didn’t bring it up. The topic has been playing at the corners of my mind for days, and now that he’s said it out loud, I feelworse.
“Do you mind if we maybe talk about it anothertime?”
“Sure, but let’s not drop it altogether, all right? I’m here for you, no matter how impossibly low things might start tofeel.”
“Thanks.”
“I meanit.”
“Trust me, Iknow.”
He’s silent for a while, giving me space for the rest of the drive home. He parks his baby in his underground spot. His arm wraps around my shoulder as we take the elevator up. When we step into his place, he asks, “Have you ever spoken to anyone about whathappened?”
“Sure. You, Dahlia, one or two more oldfriends.”
“No, I mean with aprofessional.”
A tiny scoff of a laugh escaped my throat. It’s absurd that he’d ask. “We don’t doshrinks.”
“It mighthelp.”
“I doubtit.”
“Why do you feel thatway?”
“They can’t change the fact that for some of us, life is shrouded in death andheartbreak.”
“That’s...dark.” His voice is low, hardly a whisper. “You sound like you’re stuck somewhere in the process ofgrieving.”
“You’re exactly right. I am stuck. Ask anyone whose family member disappears. They’ll tell you they’re in limbo. Waiting for closure. Wishing for answers. Hoping for the best but bracing for the worst. Life doesn’t get unstuck until there’sclosure.”
Taking my hand, Dylan leads me to the living room and takes a seat beside me. “If she’s out there, I’m going to findher.”
“No. The cops tried. If Joy’s alive. She doesn’t want to befound.”
“There are other ways to track her down. Otherresources.”
“I think I need to get some sleep,” I say, hoping he’ll leave it alone. Reaching over, I kiss his cheek. “Thanks for caring so much about me, abouther.”
“Sure,” he answers. “And don’t thank me. You’re my girl. This is what I do. I wantto.”
“You’re coming tobed?”
“In a bit. You go onahead.”
I give him a short hug and leave the room, painfully aware that his eyes are on me and they’re overflowing withpity.
I love him for caring so much, but there isn’t a damn thing he cando.
If Joy is alive and free, why hasn’t she reachedout?
