Page 86 of Hate You More

“They weren’t the best,” she agrees, moving her glass a little to the left.

“They were as mean as snakes. Anyway, all that guy needed was a little more time and it made me realize that people don’t always fail because they spend too much or too fast. They fail because they need more time. Table wasn’t built just to loan money. It was built to delay consequences long enough to change outcomes.”

I see that hit. See it in the slump of her shoulders and downward trajectory of her pretty mouth. But I don’t want her to feel bad. So I tell her about the four of us and the shitty office we rented and the weeks I camped out there because I couldn’t afford to pay two rents. Then I tell her about the investors who laughed in our faces, only to come hammering on the door a few months later. And she listens, really listens, though she still takes the time to make the waiter smile when he returns with our food.

“It’s so incredible, Troy. I always knew you would do great things. I’m so proud of you.”

The way her expression softens makes something stir in my chest. She sounds like she means every word. It feels like validation, maybe. I don’t know, it just feels fucking good.

Because I’m an idiot.

“Tell me what you did after Brown,” I say, reaching over and spearing a shrimp with my fork.

“Hey!” she complains, but not really.

“Couples share food.” So I’ve heard. “Want a little pig cheek?” She scrunches her nose as I offer her a fork of my rigatoni all’ amatriciana. “It’s a Roman staple.”

“That might be true,” she says, leaning in with a whisper, “but it also smells like feet.”

“That’s the Pecorino.”

“I’ll be wearing a peg on my nose for bed.”

Bed. The word is so small for such large consequences. Fuck, I want her. And I’m still an idiot. “So. After Brown?”

She gives a deep sigh, her words flat. “I went to work in the family office.”

“Why there? You could’ve gone anywhere.” I’m not buttering her up. When she set her mind to something, there was really no stopping her.

“Dad wanted me in the office, so to the office I went.”

The Clara I knew would’ve run in the opposite direction. I’m sensing a story behind those big blue eyes. “Was that the beginning of all this? Why you don’t get along?”

“We hadn’t seen eye to eye for a long while,” she replies neutrally.

“What happened?”

“You mean, what did I do to make my father want to lock me in an attic?” She tries for flippant, but the attempt falls flat on its face.

“You’re not crazy, Clara.”

“I know that. I just decided I’d had enough. I suppose I realized that obedience to him is the same as love.”

“Love works both ways.”

“What?” She seems to come back to herself.

“If your love was obedience, what was his love to you?”

“Conditional,” she says after a beat. “Invisible. At least, now it is.”

“My mom used to say, ‘I love you, but I don’t have to like you.’”

Her face brightens. “I can’t imagine Mariam ever saying that.”

“I was a little rough around the edges as a teenager. Or a pain in the ass.” I pause. “This is just a suggestion, but maybe your dad just finds it hard to say how he feels.”

“I’d like to think so, but my dad has always told me exactly what he thought of me.” She gives a sad-looking smile. “I never used to let it worry me, but with age comes wisdom.”