Forever in Love (17 page)

“No.” He scowled at his steak and stabbed it hard with his fork. “Petroleum engineering.”

She arched an eyebrow. A lot of oil engineers lived in Texas, and they made a great living. “You must be pretty smart.”

He shrugged and polished off the last bit of his meat. She set her plate in front of him. He started on it immediately.

“If you can’t cut it, why not change your major?” she asked.

“Who said anything about not being able to cut it? I’m doing great. Besides, changing my major wouldn’t solve the problem.”

She laughed. A smart kid with issues. “So what is this terrible problem?”

“You wouldn’t understand. Anybody who can afford to drive an Aston Martin can’t get it.”

“No, you’re the one who doesn’t get it. There are people who aren’t smart enough to get into college. Some can’t even finish high school.” Thankfully, she had…with a generous helping of sympathy from her teachers because she’d “tried so hard.” Not to mention a lot of guys who had been eager to help with her homework. Sadly the real world didn’t believe in having other people do your assignments, or care about how hard you tried. It only valued the result, and results weren’t something she could produce on her own.

“And there are people who don’t earn enough to get into college. It’s expensive. Get it? It freakin’
costs
, and in case you haven’t noticed, we aren’t exactly swimming in money,” he spat out. An amazing feat since it couldn’t have been easy to inhale eggs and spit words at the same time. But then he was a smart kid. An aspiring engineer.

“Get scholarships.”

“Not enough.”

“Financial aid?”

He shook his head. “You don’t get it.”

“I don’t. It’s hard to understand why you won’t finish what you started. You’re what? A sophomore?”

He made a face. “A junior.”

“Okay. So you’re more than halfway through. Soon you’ll be able to graduate and make some decent money. If you stop now, you’re good for…what? Flipping burgers while owing all that money for the first two years of college.”

“Whatever. Better to owe for two years than for four.”

Stretching her legs out, she crossed her ankles and shook her head. He had no idea how lucky he was. She’d kill to be able to go to college. Any college. And have the ability to study something like engineering. Instead she was reduced to using her fading looks to snag herself a rich husband so she could secure her future. How sad was that? But people didn’t want to hire an engineer who got a C- in high school algebra. “You do what you have to do, but don’t think quitting is the answer. Sometimes you have to go through some tough times, kill your pride if necessary. Keep your eye on the prize, you know?” That was how she’d been able to endure her marriage.

“So what’s the prize?”

Financial security
.
To never be poor and pitiable again
. “You tell me. It’s your prize, not mine.”

Sean finished Catherine’s plate and gave her a hard look. “You aren’t like the other girls.”

“You mean Zoe Simpson.”

“Heard about that?”

“Oh, yes. This town’s full of talkative people.” She poured herself more coffee. “That’s why you don’t like me, isn’t it? You think I’m like her.”

“Yeah. But you’re a little bit different.” He mulled it over. “Nicer, I guess. More real, in a strange way.”

She felt her lips twist into a lopsided smile. If he’d only known what a fake, sad little thing she was. “Well, thanks for not thinking the worst of me.”

* * *

Blaine went to the Blue House as soon as he could. He knocked and waited. The morning wind was unusually warm. Spring might come early.

The door opened and Catherine stood there, hipshot and gorgeous in a red top and sexy black skirt. If it had been any other occasion, he might have kissed her, but this wasn’t the time.

Her whiskey eyes warmed at the sight of him. “Good morning, Blaine.”

“Morning. Is Sean here?”

She nodded.

“I want to see him.”

“He’s in the shower,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning against the door jam. She didn’t make any move to let him in.

“You should’ve let him sleep outside, under the bridge like I told him to.”

“What would that accomplish? He’d likely catch cold…or freeze to death.”

He scoffed. “The boy’s tougher than that.”

“You just want to bully him back to school.”

“Bully? I’m trying to do what’s best for him.”

“And what are you going to do if he decides that’s not what’s best for him?”

“What kind of a question is that?”

“Who gets to decide what’s best for him?”

“Me.”

“Blaine, he’s a junior in college. He’s not a kid you can order around anymore. He has his own feelings and priorities.”

“What he’s got is dumb pride. He needs to do what’s right.”

“I think he’ll surprise you. Give him a chance to think things through. If he doesn’t make up his mind in the next forty-eight hours, I’ll ask him to leave myself. Don’t worry.”

Blaine shook his head. “What happens if he drops out?”

“Then he’ll live under the bridge for a while. He won’t be able to afford much else, will he?”

His jaw clenched. Catherine just stood there looking at him, all sweetness and cream. But there was a steel in her gaze that said she wouldn’t budge. “He read your letter. You should kick him out just for that.”

“Well. I’m sure he won’t do it again.”

“I don’t get you. You do…unexpected things.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She stepped forward and put a hand on his chest, the gesture unexpectedly conciliatory.

“Ah, jeez,” he said. Intellectually he knew she was right. She wouldn’t have to do this on Sean’s behalf if Blaine hadn’t been such a hard-ass. How could he tell her no?

“Just give him some time,” she said. “Also, can you bring some of his clothes over? I can’t have him wearing the same thing day after day.”

“Don’t like stinky guys?”

She wrinkled her nose. “That, and it’s disgusting.”

“Whatever you want, baby. Whatever you want. But I gotta warn you—he might not have brought any clothes. That boy doesn’t generally think that far ahead.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t bring any clothes home,” Catherine said.

Sure enough, Blaine had been right. Apparently he knew his brother better than she did. Now she was driving Sean to the local shopping center.

“I was going to go back to school to get my stuff after I talked with Blaine. To make it all official and everything.”

“So if Blaine had said, ‘No, Sean, you can’t drop out,’ what were you going to do? Wear that shirt and jeans for days and days?”

“Well, you know.” Sean cleared his throat. “It’s winter. I don’t really sweat.”

She sighed, parked the car and got out. “Do you have any money?”

“Not, uh, with me.” He flushed. “But I can pay you back. I have some money hidden in my room at the apartment.”

She sighed. “Let’s get this over with.” Shopping for cheap men’s clothing was not her idea of fun.

They went inside a well-lit “discount fashion” store with a scuffed linoleum floor and yellow walls. Catherine looked skeptically at the garish, fat-lettered sale displays. The words
discount
and
fashion
didn’t generally go well together. A lot of the items just looked cheap and functional, not the slightest bit stylish.

Sean took a cart and tagged along, grabbing a few packages of underwear and socks from a big bargain bin in the center of the men’s section. If Salazar knew his money was being spent at a clothing store with carts, he’d die of shame. But Catherine felt safe; he’d never believe Catherine had set a foot in a store like this in the first place.

She pointed at Sean to grab a couple of pairs of jeans and shirts, and he started moving, turning around an aisle. They both froze at a few voices talking loudly on the other side.

“A gold digger, you say?”

“Yup. Mimi said she needed a rich husband. She’s going to get it at some fancy wedding. I was watching the news—you know I like to stay informed—and it had this thing about a rich heiress’s wedding. Kerri something. And apparently Catherine knows somebody who knows somebody who knows her. Just imagine. They know people who make Aston Martin-driving people look like beggars.”

Sean turned red and started to move toward them, but Catherine took his wrist and shook her head. She wanted to hear what they had to say.

“Oh my. Who can make Aston Martin-driving people look like beggars?”

“How do I know? I’m just a regular person. But I’m sure she can get one. She’s pretty.”

“That she is. Think her next husband’s going to turn out better?”

“So long as she doesn’t sign a contract. You know rich people sign those all the time. I’m sure that’s why she can’t sue her ex for alimony or something. I betcha it’s got some stuff in it that wouldn’t let her get a penny.”

“My, my,” one of the women said with a gasp.

“I’m telling you, it’s not that unusual. How else can those men afford to have seven ex-wives? It don’t matter how old they get, their wives are always in their early twenties.”

Tsking. “That sounds so crass. Men can own her if they have money.”

“Mm-hmm. And you just wait until she hits thirty. Nobody’s gonna want her then.”

“Thirty’s not so old.”

“Honey, it’s not so old for you and me. We got things other than our looks that get better with age.”

The other woman giggled. “I imagine you’re right. It just seems so…low. Isn’t it like prostitution to marry a man just for his money?”

“It sort of is, but marriage makes it respectable. Can’t really call a missus a slut.”

Another bout of giggles. “You say the dirtiest words. Ooooh, look at that! That’s the dress I’ve been wanting for a while. It’s fifty percent off.”

“You should take it before somebody else does. You know how it is with good stuff.”

As the women walked away, Sean grew even more rigid. He turned to Catherine. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t know Mimi would open her mouth and tell everyone.”

“Here.” She shoved a few bills into his hand. “Go get what you need. I’ll be in the car.”

“Catherine…”

“I’m fine.” She forced a smile. One thing she was good at was pretending she was okay no matter how humiliated she was.

It wasn’t until she was inside her car that she started shaking. Thankfully no tears came.

Why was she so upset about what she’d heard? She’d told herself over and over again how she’d rather be contemptible than pitiable. Hadn’t she told herself she’d be fine as long as nobody knew the real reason she had to have a rich husband? She didn’t care as long as people thought she was a simple gold digger…did she?

But it hurt anyway to hear people talk about her so baldly like that. They had no idea that her motivation was less a love of money than a hatred of insecurity—the horror of having everything stripped from her in an instant. When her father had lost everything, it had terrified and humiliated her. She’d never thought she’d be poor. Her family had been well-to-do—not as high-flying as the Pryces or the Lloyds—but they had valuable real estate and a significant amount of cash coming in. Her father had been worth
seventy million dollars
.

She could never forget her mother’s inconsolable sobbing or her father’s depression and eventual death. She was certain he’d just…given up. When he’d lost his money, he’d lost his reason to live.

Catherine would never live like that. She’d never ever be poor like that or abandoned like that to pick up the pieces. Her husband would be so wealthy that a few bad investments could never shake him.

And she’d never re-experience the kind of horrible anguish of watching someone she loved dying slowly before her very eyes.

* * *

Blaine wiped the counter after a trio of men left. The unusually warm weather was great for business. Lots of customers had come by for lunch, and from the way the waitresses grinned, everyone was getting nice tips too.

Irene came through the door, shoulders hunched, and a furtive look on her face.

He waved the towel at her. “Hey, Irene.”

“Oh hi.” She scuttled over to him, holding something wrapped in a plastic bag tightly against her chest. “Is Catherine here?”

“No. Why?”

“Oh. Good.” Sighing, she rubbed her face. “I was so worried I might run into her.”

“Why? What happened?”

“I need a drink. Get me a beer first.” She took a stool and put the package on the counter.

“It’s a little early,” he said.

“Just give it to me. I have to have a drink.”

He raised his eyebrows and handed her a bottle. Wordlessly, she grabbed it and took a long swallow. What the heck had happened?

“My gosh, Blaine,” she began. “I don’t even know if I should tell you this.”

“What?” It wasn’t like Irene to be so theatric. That was Mimi’s thing.

“Yesterday Catherine came to my place. She wanted me to clean the Blue House, so I told her I would do it today.”

“Okay.”

“So I went to clean up the place, and guess what I found in one of the kitchen drawers?”

“What?”

“This!” She smacked her hand on the plastic-wrapped package.

“Irene,” Blaine said patiently, “What is it?”

“It’s stuff about you.”

“What?”

“It has your photos and birthday and stuff.” She pulled out a thick manila folder. “I wasn’t sure if I should say anything, but then you heard about how she might be a drug dealer. She told me she wasn’t, but you never know, right? And if she’s in town for…I don’t know”—she waved her hand—“what, but why does she have this in the kitchen drawer? It wasn’t there when I first got the house ready for her.”

His palms suddenly slick, Blaine reached for the folder and opened it. As Irene had said it contained a few photos of himself. He didn’t remember posing for them. There was a blue sticky that read:
This should help
.

Help what?

Then Blaine saw the rest of the report. It was thorough. His blood type was listed, along with his high school transcript and medical history. There was also information about the fifty million dollar trust fund that would be his as soon as he acknowledged Salazar as his father.