Chapter 4

In the end, I didn't close the studio.

My adoptive mother used to say it.

You can trade in a man, but you never throw away your rice bowl.

It took me three days to find a new place.

Rent was double, the location half as good, but at least I no longer had to answer to the Stephens family.

The day I moved, Michelle came.

No driver, no bodyguards.

She stood at the door alone, a bunch of white tulips in her arms.

"Can we talk?"

I glanced at her bag.

Limited edition. Over three million.

Very pretty.

I made her a cup of nine-ninety-nine instant coffee.

To my surprise, Michelle didn't turn her nose up at it.

"I know things between you and Oliver aren't finished."

"Let me correct that. He's the one who won't let it finish."

She smiled.

"I believe it."

That threw me.

"You don't mind?" I asked.

"Why would I mind? Marrying him was a decision made by both families."

She picked up the paper cup.

"He has someone he loves. So do I."

I nearly choked on my coffee. So marriages of convenience really were this civilized.

"Then what do you want from me?"

Michelle laid a check on the table.

"Fifty million."

I looked down, counting the zeros to make sure I hadn't imagined one.

My heartbeat doubled in an instant. If my adoptive mother were still alive.

She'd have come to me in a dream by now, telling me to take it.

I dragged my eyes off the check with real effort.

"What does this mean?"

"Leave him for good."

"Why?"

"I don't mind that he has someone in his heart. But I do mind my husband keeping an open lover after the wedding."

Michelle's tone stayed even.

"I have my pride too."

Fair enough.

I reached out, touched the check, then drew my hand back.

"I can't take this money."

She looked surprised.

"Not enough?"

"No."

I meant it, completely.

"You don't owe me anything."

"Whoever owes me, I'll go to them for it."

Michelle studied me for a long moment, then suddenly laughed.

"Tilda, you're not quite what I expected."

"What did Oliver say about me?"

She didn't answer. Instead she asked, "Do you know why he never bought you anything expensive in four years?"

My fingers went still.

"He's cheap?"

Michelle laughed out loud.

"No. Because from day one he knew you'd approached him on purpose."

The smile drained off my face, bit by bit.

"What do you mean?"

"Four years ago, the first time you turned up at the Hillcrest Estates, he had you looked into."

"Including how you changed your flower delivery route at the last minute. Including how you fed the same litter of cats for three months straight."

"Including how your adoptive mother once taught you how to date rich men."

The chill spread slowly down my back.

Michelle watched me.

"He knew all of it."

Footsteps sounded at the door. There was no telling how much Oliver had heard.

I looked at him.

"Is it true?"

Michelle read the room and left.

On her way out, she left that fifty-million check on the table.

Oliver's eyes swept over it and his face went cold at once.

"She gave you that? You took it?"

"No."

His expression eased a little.

"At least you still know where the line is."

I suddenly wanted to laugh.

"So you knew all along?"

He didn't play dumb.

"I knew."

"Since when?"

"Before I ever asked for your number."

I stared at him.

"Then why did you get involved with me at all?"

Oliver was quiet for a moment.

"Thought it was interesting."

Something jabbed at my chest.

"And after that?"

"After that I decided you weren't in it for the money."

He looked at me.

"You never once asked me for anything luxury."

"The card I gave you, you barely used."

"Every time I gave you something worthless, you were happy."

I finally understood.

So in those four years, every time I was moved because he'd made something with his own hands.

In his eyes, it was all proof I'd passed the test.

My throat went dry, but I still smiled.

"So what about that clay cup?"

"You did that on purpose?"

Oliver frowned.

"On purpose how?"

"For my birthday, your sister got over ten million in jewelry."

"I got a cup that had cracked three times. Were you waiting to see whether I'd turn my nose up at it?"

He didn't answer, but the silence was answer enough.

"And the canvas bag?"

"Tilda."

"Answer me."

He finally lost his patience.

"Yes."

"Wesley Monroe told me at the time that you'd stared at that bag for a long while."

"I just wanted to know whether you liked the bag, or liked me."

The air went still. My eyes stung fiercely, but not a single tear came.

Oliver must have sensed something was wrong. He reached out to pull me toward him.

"It was all so long ago. Why are you dredging this up now?"

I dodged his hand.

"Oliver, do you feel like you've won?"

His brows knit hard.

"The Tilda from four years ago who wanted to hook a rich man never got a cent out of you. She actually fell for you instead."

"Doesn't that make you feel so accomplished?"

"I never thought that."

"But that's exactly what you did."

I picked up the fifty-million check off the table and tore it in two right in front of him.

Oliver froze.

Then I opened the drawer and pulled the clay cup, the one that had cracked three times, from the very back.

A piece had chipped off the rim.

I'd taught myself kintsugi and mended it, bit by bit.

There was the one-sixty-eight canvas bag too.

The handle had snapped once; I'd sewn it back myself. One by one, I placed them into his arms.

Last, I took the little brass flower off my neck.

Nineteen in materials, and two days he'd spent filing it by hand.

I'd worn it for three years.

"I'm returning these."

Oliver's face finally went white.

"Tilda."

I didn't let him finish.

"I don't want the thirty million. I don't want the greenhouse either."

His pupils shrank sharply.

I looked at him and said it word by word:

"Oliver, haven't you always wanted to prove I didn't love you for the money?"

"Congratulations. Proof successful."

I gave him a small smile.

"This love, now I'm giving that back to you too."

I pulled the door open. For the first time, I didn't wait for him to catch up.

Right before the elevator doors closed, I saw Oliver still standing where he was.

Holding that broken cup I'd used for four years, like he was holding something that had suddenly shattered.