They ate takeout lobster rolls on Connor’s front porch. By now, she felt bad about confronting him at the gallery. Her personal stress was making her cynical, and it wasn’t fair to him. Afterward, they took a walk on the beach, holding hands, dipping their feet into the water.
When they returned to the house, she said, “Let’s go upstairs.”
The bedroom was warm and he opened a window and turned on the ceiling fan. She sat on the edge of the wrought-iron bed and patted the spot next to her. Connor moved to her side, tucking her hair out of the way so he could kiss her. She leaned into him. He smelled vaguely salty, the ocean air clinging to him. She tilted her face up to meet his lips.
The light in the room was fading with the sunset. All that was left was a golden cast on the white walls.
“You are truly beautiful,” Connor said.
He pressed his body against hers, and she lay back. She felt shivers up and down her body when he moved his lips to her neck, his hands entwined in her hair. She knew that holding out on sex with him was getting absurd, and really, why not? It was time to let go of the hope that she and Sanjay would ever get back together. Sex with Connor would punctuate that. Maybe that wasn’t the best reason to sleep with someone, but at least she and Connor were both getting what they wanted, if for different reasons.
Afterward, lying side by side and staring up at the whirling fan, he said, “Do you want company when you go to the city next week?”
She didn’t. The trip would be emotional—good or bad, she didn’t know. But she was certain she didn’t want to bring Connor into it. Not yet.
“Thanks, but I have some family stuff I need to take care of.”
“Oh, yeah?” he said, propping up on one elbow and looking at her expectantly.
“Yeah,” she said. Then realizing she was being cryptic, added, “It seems a woman who’s planning the auction might have a lead on my mother’s engagement ring. Or she’s going to tell me the trail is cold. And then I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know what you’ll do?”
She shrugged. “I mean, the ring is the only thing I have left.”
He smiled and reached for her hand. “It’s not all you have left. There’s always the money.”
The alarm bells returned, deep and loud. “What money?”
“Your family fortune. You’re a Pavlin, Gemma. What are you worried about?”
She pulled her hand away. “I wasn’t raised a Pavlin. I have nothing to do with that side of the family. Before this summer, I hadn’t seen my aunts in over a decade.”
Now Connor sat up. “You’re telling me you’re like . . . the poor relation?”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t you think you might have mentioned this at some point?” His voice was low but clearly aggravated.
“It’s not really any of your business,” she said. “And besides, I’ve been telling you all summer I need an investor for my company. Why would I do that if I had my own money?”
“Everyone looks for outside money,” Connor said. “I know I still am. And I was hoping you could help.”
“Me? How?”
“I need an infusion of cash. I was hoping you’d be one of my investment partners.”
Wait—she thought he could help her meet money people, and all this time he’d thought she was a money person?
“If you need money, then how did you make an offer on this house?” Oh, but he didn’t. She hadn’t been cynical earlier in the week—she’d been right. What else had he lied about? “Is that even your gallery?”
“It’s my family’s gallery, yes. But I want to go off on my own.”
She stood up, pulling on her clothes as fast as she could manage.
“Don’t contact me ever again, don’t come by my aunt’s store . . .”
She’d made a huge mistake. Again.