Charlie stared out the passenger window of a midsized SUV two weeks later, wondering what Simon was thinking.

It was a four-hour drive to the hotel in the mountains of West Virginia, and they’d been driving for more than two hours. They’d had some casual conversation about the traffic, about the weekend’s schedule, and about who they knew was likely to attend the wedding. But Simon had been quiet for the past forty-five minutes and didn’t appear inclined toward any further chatting.

She stared at his face—square jaw, high cheekbones, eyes the color of very dark chocolate, heavy eyebrows, and the kind of rough lines and contours that only came through years and experience. He wasn’t handsome in any traditional way, and at eighteen she’d found his brooding cragginess intimidating and off-putting.

Now she found it mesmerizing.

She found him mesmerizing.

She’d never known anyone who seemed to hide so much depth and character behind the stoic lines of his expression.

When she’d been studying his face for a few minutes, he slanted her a sideways look. “Is there a problem?”

“What would be a problem?”

“You’re staring at me like I have a hole in my head.”

She chuckled at his dry tone, although not a trace of a smile had softened his face. “If you had a hole in your head, maybe I could see into your mind a little.”

This time he actually turned his head for a moment to look at her. “You don’t want to see into my mind.”

“Yes, I do. If you don’t talk and I can’t read your mind, then how am I supposed to know what you’re thinking.”

“Why do you need to know what I’m thinking?” Anyone else would have assumed he was in a bad mood because his eyes and mouth were perfectly sober, but she knew him really well, and there was an edge to his tone that told her he was teasing.

“Somebody has to. It might as well be me.”

“Why does anyone have to know what I’m thinking?”

“You’re a human being, aren’t you?”

His thick, dark eyebrows lifted. “Is that a serious question?”

“Yes, it’s a serious question. It’s the first step in my covert strategy to get you to admit something.” Her tone was light but serious, and she arched her eyebrows just as high as he had.

He actually chuckled, which was always a victory. “Okay.”

“So are you or are you not a human being?”

“I’m a human being.”

“And do you or do you not accept the self-evident truth that humans aren’t supposed to be completely alone?”

He was silent for a moment as he passed a tractor-trailer going uphill. When he moved back into the right lane, he glanced over at her again. “I could debate that statement.”

“You could debate nuances of it but not the core principle. Obviously people are different and some people are more introverted than others. But social dependence is a core characteristic of humanness. Are you really going to try to debate that?”

His eyes flickered over to her face again, and for just a moment she felt validated, appreciated, valued. From nothing more than the flicker of admiration in his eyes. “You sound like a sociology class.”

“I studied sociology in college. And I’m willing to bet you did too, in some long-ago general education requirement.”

The flicker of appreciation faded out as he stared back at the road in front of them. “It wasn’t that long ago.”

She chuckled. “You can’t have it both ways, Simon. You can’t pretend to be some old grouch who’s too aged and antisocial to have any fun and then get riled up when someone implies you’re not in your twenties.”

“Why can’t I? When you’re an old grouch, it’s perfectly reasonable to get grouchy when a pretty girl says you’re old.”

She stared at him until she saw his mouth twitch just slightly. Then she broke into giggles, reaching out to put a hand on his arm. “You are an old grouch. You know that, right?”

“Yes. I know that. You’re the one who pressured me into coming to this wedding, so I don’t want to hear any whining about my grouchiness.”

“That doesn’t follow. I can want you to come to the wedding with me and also not want you to be grouchy about it.”

“If you didn’t want grouchiness, you should have gotten yourself a real date.”

She was briefly bothered by the fact that he implied he wasn’t a real date, but it didn’t seem worth arguing about. He obviously thought she wanted to go to the wedding with him for reasons other than being his date. “I wanted to go with you.”

“Yeah. And you usually get what you want. So now you’re stuck with me.” He paused before he added, “What about that lawyer you were dating?”

She blinked, surprised by the question. She occasionally talked to him about her social life, but he’d never once asked her about it. She hadn’t even known he was aware of the men she’d dated over the past few years. “That was six months ago.”

“What happened?”

She shrugged. “We went out a few months, but we didn’t seem to click.”

“And what about that lobbyist?”

“That was almost a year ago. Same thing. He was okay, but we didn’t click.”

“And you didn’t click with the surgeon either, I guess.”

“No. I didn’t. Well, I wouldn’t have really known if we did because he always seemed to be working or on call. But no. I didn’t click with any of the guys I’ve dated—ever really.”

He slanted her another quick look—one that seemed to see a lot more than it should. “They seemed like the kind of men you might like.”

“What does that mean? What kind of guys do you think I’ll like?”

He gave a slight shrug. “Young. Smart. Successful enough that they don’t need your money. Good-looking.”

She snorted. “You thought they were good-looking?”

“I think women would think they’re good-looking. Weren’t they?”

She sighed, leaning back against her seat and feeling a little depressed. “Yes. They were good-looking.”

“So what was the problem with them?”

She didn’t really know how to answer the question. The main problem for the past year with the men who were interested in her was that they weren’t Simon.

“Charlie?” he prompted.

“I don’t know. It just felt like I was going through the motions with them, like I was playing some sort of part. They didn’t seem to... get me.”

Simon was quiet. So quiet she darted him a quick look, but she only saw thoughtfulness on his face.

“It didn’t feel like the woman who was with them was really me,” she added softly.

There was another long moment of silence before he asked, “Who do you feel like the real you with?”

Charlie had a lot of friends, and she interacted with people easily. But she was surprised when she realized the answer to his question. “Just Hannah and Madison, I guess. And you.”

She was watching him as she admitted the last bit, and so their eyes met when he shot her a quick look. He didn’t respond with words.

“Who do you feel the most like yourself with?” she asked after a minute, when the silence started to make her uncomfortable.

He didn’t answer.

“Simon? I told you.” Obviously she wanted him to say he felt like himself with her, but she only wanted him to say it if it was true.

Her one comfort was that Simon never told her soft, little lies. He never told her anything just to make her feel better.

He let out a breath. “I feel like myself with you,” he murmured at last, his voice thicker than normal.

A shiver of excitement ran over her, but she didn’t know what to do about it. She crossed her arms in front of her stomach and focused her eyes on the road. If she were really brave, she’d follow up on his comment, get him to confess even more, start to introduce the idea that their relationship might possibly change.

She wasn’t brave though. If she pressed the issue, she might ruin what she had with Simon, and she wasn’t ready to risk that yet.

***

THEY ARRIVED AT THE hotel two hours later, and Charlie was feeling excited again. This was going to be the best opportunity she had to get Simon to think about her differently, and she wasn’t going to blow it.

The hotel was famous for its history and luxury, and she’d never visited it before, so she’d been looking forward to it. It was made up of one large historic Georgian building and dozens of cottages scattered around the acres of wooded property in the mountains. When they entered the main gates, a winding drive took them through the trees until they could see the main building.

Charlie was smiling as it came into view. “Have you ever been here before?”

“Yes. Once.”

“When was that?”

“I don’t know,” Simon said as he drove slowly toward the hotel. “I was around your age, I guess.”

“Did you take a girl here on a romantic weekend?” Charlie’s tone was light and teasing, so she was surprised by his response.

“Uh, yeah. That was the idea.”

Charlie was immediately jealous of the woman he’d brought, no matter how irrational that jealousy was. “Really? Who was she?”

Simon hesitated before he answered. “Just a woman I’d been dating for a couple of months. I thought...”

“You thought what?”

“I thought she might be the one.”

Charlie was more jealous than ever, but she waged an internal battle to stamp it out. She kept a smile on her face. “So what happened?”

“Nothing. We had our weekend. It was fine. Nothing magical. We dated about a month longer before it ended.”

His matter-of-fact tone made her feel better. He didn’t appear to be holding on to soft feelings about the woman. “Why did it end?”

He gave a slight shrug. “Didn’t work out.”

“Why not?”

“Why does every stray comment I make lead to an interrogation?” Despite his dry tone and lack of smile, he didn’t look genuinely annoyed.

“Because it’s the only way you’ll ever tell me things, and there are some things I want to know. Why did it end with her?”

He sighed, his posture relaxing as he visibly relented. “Because I thought she might like me for me, but... she didn’t. She kept wanting me to change.”

“Change how?”

“Become less...”

“Less of a bear?”

He gave a faint chuckle. “Yes. Exactly.”

Charlie reached out to squeeze his arm as he pulled up in front of the hotel’s main entrance. “Well, that was her loss. Some of us like your bearlike qualities.”

Simon turned his head to meet her eyes. “I don’t know what you mean by ‘some of us.’ I think you’re the only one in the world who likes my bearlike qualities.”

Despite his ironic tone, his dark eyes were deep and sober. For a moment she lost her breath as she met his gaze.

She really wanted him to kiss her, but he didn’t.

He gave a little jerk, as if reminding himself of something, and then turned away to open his door where a valet was waiting outside.

She blew out her breath and told herself not to be disappointed. They’d just gotten here. The weekend was just beginning. She was excited about being here, and she could hardly expect a kiss before they set foot in the hotel.

She talked herself into being excited again, so she was smiling as a bellman opened her car door and she got out. When their luggage had been taken from the back of the SUV and Simon had tipped the valet who took the car, Charlie took his arm companionably as they walked into the hotel.

“What are you doing?” he muttered, his arm very stiff under her hand. They’d entered into the large lobby furnished with antiques, and Simon’s eyes roamed over the collection of people in sight, reading in chairs near the fireplace or drinking coffee and chatting in pleasant groupings of chairs.

She blinked. “What do you mean what am I doing?”

“If you act like that, then people are going to think...” His voice trailed off as they approached the registration desk.

She knew what he’d been going to say. He didn’t want people to think they were a couple.

He didn’t want it just about as much as she did want it.

A rather depressing thought.

A smiling staff member welcomed them with a practiced spiel. When she looked up their reservations, she smiled. “If you’d like to share a room, we can upgrade you to a—”

“No, no.” Simon interrupted gruffly. “We aren’t sharing a room.”

Charlie tried very hard not to slump. Holding on to her smile, she said pleasantly, “Thank you for the offer though. If our rooms could be close to each other, that would be great.”

She kept smiling through the rest of the introduction and information about the layout of the hotel and the amenities and activities offered. Then they followed the bellman to the elevator and rode it up to their rooms, which were fortunately side by side.

Simon tipped the bellman and waited until he’d left Charlie’s very pretty little room. Then Simon said, “What’s the matter with you?”

Charlie scowled at him. “Nothing’s the matter with me.”

“Don’t lie to me. You look like you’re about to cry.”

“I am not about to cry!” She was indignant as much by the fact that he’d read her expression as she was about his asking so rudely.

Simon rolled his dark eyes. “What did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. But you don’t have to act like I’m poison or something.”

His mouth parted slightly. “Poison?”

“Yes.”

“How did I act like you’re poison?” His voice was just as bad-tempered as hers was.

“When she suggested we share a room. You acted like that was the most horrifying idea in the world.”

“And you think that means I think you’re poison?” His voice was getting louder, a sure sign he was getting frustrated. “What the hell, Charlie? She thought we were a couple.”

“So?”

“So? So?” It sounded like he was strangling on the words.

“Why would that be a big deal? She doesn’t know anything about us. We came together, so it was natural for her to assume we’re—”

“We’re what? In a relationship? I’m almost your guardian, Charlie.”

“You’re not my guardian,” she snapped. “You were the trustee of my inheritance until last year, and now you’re not even that.”

“That’s just semantics. Even the hint of a relationship is completely inappropriate. If I’d thought people would think we were together, I’d never have agreed to come to this wedding with you.”

She’d been involved in the argument—annoyed with him but almost enjoying it the way she often did arguing with Simon—but at these words she felt like she’d been hit by a truck.

She stared at him blindly for a moment, processing what he’d just told her.

“That wasn’t an insult, Charlie,” he went on with a soft groan, as if he saw some of her reaction on her face. “It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with you. But we can’t... we can’t let people think...”

“Think what?” she asked in a raspy tone, swaying slightly as emotion surged through her. “Think that you might... you might want me that way.”

His typical stoicism had been overwhelmed with some sort of deep emotion. She saw it twisting on his face. “Yes. Yes. We can’t let people think that. Your parents’ will left me responsible for you when you were eighteen years old. Anything else isn’t... decent.”

Decent.

He thought a different sort of relationship with her wouldn’t be decent.

Which meant he would think her feelings for him weren’t decent either.

“Charlie?”

She didn’t reply. She couldn’t make her voice work.

“Charlie, you’ve gone white.” His tone was different now. Gruff and worried. More like himself.

She could feel that the blood had drained from her face, but she talked herself out of her emotional reaction.

She’d suspected he might have felt this way. She had nothing to be surprised about.

None of her plans or dreams were crushed yet.

She needed to keep persevering.

He stepped closer to her, reaching out to touch her arm. “Charlie? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing is wrong. I think I’m just a little carsick from the drive.”

He was frowning deeply. “Carsick? You weren’t acting sick before. Are you sure—”

“Yes, I’m sure. I think I just need to rest a little while before all the wedding stuff starts.” She was pleased that her tone was brisk and cool.

He stared at her for a moment. Then he sighed and walked out. She watched his straight back and tight butt and broad shoulders until he’d closed the door behind him.

Then she collapsed onto the bed, feeling stupid and emotional and depressed...

... and so incredibly young.

***

SHE ONLY LET HERSELF stew for about fifteen minutes. She’d always known she had an uphill battle, but that didn’t mean she was going to give up.

She took a shower to refresh herself and wash the drive off her, and she spent a long time blowing out her hair so it would be smooth and shiny.

That afternoon, they had separate events for the bride and groom—a “lady’s tea party” and a “gentleman’s pub party”—and then the fancy rehearsal dinner was this evening.

She didn’t have time to lie around and hibernate even if she’d wanted to.

She’d feel better after she got the chance to talk to Hannah and Madison. Even if they didn’t have any real advice, they’d encourage her. She got texts when the both of them arrived at the hotel, so she knew they were here and getting ready just like she was.

When a knock came on her door, she assumed it was one of them, so she hurried to open it, wearing a little silky robe, her hair hanging down around her shoulders. When she opened the door, she froze on discovering that it wasn’t one of her friends.

It was Simon.

He’d obviously taken a shower too and had shaved. He wore a suit and looked as buttoned-up and stoic as always. His eyes darted up and down her body quickly before they returned to her face.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“I told you I wanted to rest.”

“I gave you almost an hour to rest. Now we’re going to talk.” He’d reined in whatever emotions he’d been feeling earlier. He was completely in control, his tone purposefully quiet.

She narrowed her eyes and thought about putting up an argument, but it didn’t seem worth the trouble.

Simon was just as stubborn as she was. And it would be really stupid for her to keep arguing with him when what she really wanted to do was get him into bed.

With a sigh, she stepped aside and let him into her room.

The room was small—like most rooms at historic hotels of that age—and the only places to sit were one straight-backed chair and the bed. After assessing the situation, he sat down on the edge of the mattress.

She sat down next to him, pulling her robe closed more fully when she saw his eyes slip down again to her neckline.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last.

There was a riot of emotions in her chest, too much for her to work out. “What are you sorry for?” she asked carefully.

“For... hurting your feelings.”

“Do you even know why you hurt my feelings?”

His lips parted slightly, and then he shook his head. “No. I really don’t. But I know I did, and I’m sorry for it. I never want to hurt you, Charlie.”

“I know you don’t.”

“Your parents should have picked anyone but me to look out for you. I’m... I’m the worst person in the world to do it.”

“My parents wanted you to take care of my money. Not take care of me. If I’d needed an actual guardian, Simon, they never would have chosen you.”

That had been clear to her from the very beginning. Her parents had loved her, and they hadn’t been fools. Simon was good with handling finances. He would have been a terrible guardian for a child.

“And you really think my only responsibility is to your money?” His eyes were holding hers in almost a challenge.

“Yes. That’s what I think. You don’t owe me anything else. You’re not obliged to me in any way.”

“It feels like I am.”

She was breathing heavily, and she could hear that he was too. She had no idea what to say—if he was trying to give her some sort of message or if he was just stumbling around trying to find the right thing to say to her.

She had no idea about anything anymore.

“I don’t want you to feel obliged to me. I don’t want you to call me up or do things for me or spend time with me because you feel obligated to—just because of my parents’ will.”

“Does that mean you want me to... back off?”

“No.” She cleared her throat. “It means I only want you to do things that you... you want to do.”

“That’s not how it works between us,” he said.

She frowned. “Maybe not in the past. But why can’t it work that way now. I’m not a child. And you’re not my trustee or guardian or anything anymore. Don’t do what you think you’re supposed to do. Just do what... what you want.”

She couldn’t believe she was brave enough to say that. It wasn’t direct, but it was closer to the truth than anything else she’d ever said to him.

He stared at her with those deep, dark, unreadable eyes for a long time. Then he rasped, “We can’t always do what we want, Charlie.”

“Why not?”

“Because sometimes what we want is wrong.”

She lost her breath, her vision blurring slightly by her surprise at his last gravelly admission. Was he trying to tell her that what she desperately wanted was wrong?

He didn’t give her time to figure it out or respond. He stood up and walked to the door. “The first thing starts at three. I’ll let you get dressed.”

She stared at him as he stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

She thought for a long time but wasn’t any closer to figuring him out than she’d been at the beginning.