Page 61 of Forbidden Fruit
The waiter approaches again, and this time I let him take our orders. Becca chooses the sea bass, I go for the steak. When we're alone again, she leans forward.
"I feel stupid," she admits. "For even questioning you."
"Don't." I squeeze her hand. "Jack has had years to perfect his manipulation. And relationships require trust, which means sometimes asking difficult questions."
She nods, her shoulders relaxing. "He showed up at my apartment a few hours later while I was getting ready for dinner. Drunk. Said he wanted to 'work things out.'"
My jaw clenches. "What happened?"
"I didn't let him in. Told him through the door that it was over and he needed to leave me alone."
Pride swells in my chest. "Good for you."
"He wouldn't leave for almost an hour. Kept saying how much he loved me, how we were meant to be together and should marry." She shakes her head. "It was the first time he'd ever said he said he wanted marry me. Funny how it only came out when he thought he was losing me."
"He doesn't love you, Becca. He loves what you represent—status, stability, a connection to a better life."
Our wine arrives, a rich Bordeaux that complements the candlelight dancing across Becca's face. I raise my glass.
"To us," I say.
"To new beginnings," she counters with a smile that reaches her eyes.
We sip in comfortable silence. I watch her over the rim of my glass, taking in every detail—the way her hair catches the light, the gentle curve of her neck, the warmth in her eyes when she looks at me.
"What are you thinking?" she asks, catching me staring.
"That I'm the luckiest man in New York tonight."
She blushes again, and I find it captivating how someone so accomplished and intelligent can be so genuinely modest.
"I've been thinking," she says, setting down her glass. "About us."
My heart skips. "And?"
"I want this to work, Clive. But I'm scared. Not of Jack or what people might say about our age difference. I'm scared because... I've never felt this way before." Her voice drops to almost a whisper. "It's intense. Overwhelming sometimes."
I reach across the table, cupping her cheek in my palm. "That's exactly how it should feel when it's real."
Her eyes flutter closed for a moment as she leans into my touch. When she opens them again, there's a vulnerability there that makes my chest tighten.
"What about gossip?" she asks. "People will know I moved from Jack to his very rich stepfather? They’ll think I’m a gold digger."
"Your family is wealthy, Becca. You don’t need my money."
"People will talk and they’ll run our reputations through the mud. What if it effects our business."
I smile, stroking her cheek before withdrawing my hand. "People always talk. Let them. Money will always talks louder. If they want to do business with Bishop Technologies or want to remain on my good side, they won’t dare dream of blacklisting your business. And you’ll have your hands full with my business. I need a good event planner."
Our food arrives, steam rising from perfectly plated dishes. The aroma is enticing, but I find myself more hungry for our conversation than the meal.
"I spoke with my lawyer today," I say after we've taken our first bites. "About Jack."
Her fork pauses midway to her mouth. "What did they say?"
"If he continues harassing you, we can file for a restraining order. And I've instructed security at both our buildings to be on alert."
Becca sets her fork down. "I hope it doesn't come to that."
