Fall Into You (Morally Gray, #2)(59)

“She drinks a lot. And when I say a lot, I mean she starts around noon and doesn’t stop until she passes out. She’s got congestive heart failure now, but even that hasn’t made a difference in her drinking habits.”

Cole lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it again, pressing his mouth against my skin for a long moment.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. It is what it is.” Sighing, I lean my head against the headrest and close my eyes. “I blame her boyfriend.”

“Why’s that?”

“He beats her up. They’ve been together since her and my dad separated. I keep begging her to leave him, but she won’t. I’ve tried everything I can, but people have to want to take part in their own rescue. So now I just let her be and wait for that phone call in the middle of the night from the police that I know will eventually come.”

After a moment when I realize Cole hasn’t said anything, and his silence has gone from attentive to tense, I’m horrified.

What was I thinking? He tells me his parents have been married forty years, and I match it with that?

My cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Sorry. That was a lot.”

“You don’t have to apologize. Thank you for telling me. I’m glad you did.”

I glance over at him. His jaw is hard again, and he’s wearing an expression that’s obvious even in profile. He doesn’t look glad.

He looks murderous.

But thankfully, he changes the subject so neither one of us have to tiptoe through that mess anymore.

“What about sisters or brothers? Any of those?”

“I’m an only child.”

“Lucky.”

“Growing up, I always wished I had a sister. Maybe that’s why Chelsea and I are so close. She’s an only child too. We’ve been friends since high school.”

He looks at me for a long moment before turning his attention back to the road. “You two must share everything.”

“Yes. Well, not everything.”

His voice drops. Without looking at me, he says, “I don’t mind if you talk to her about me. I know she’s important to you. And I trust both of you.”

“Really? You trust us?”

“Yes.”

“But you only met her the one time. And you and I haven’t exactly spent a lot of time together either.”

“I know people. When they’re good, when they’re bad, when they can be trusted, and when they can’t. And both of you can be.”

I study his profile, fascinated by him but also confused. “Did you get all this insight into human nature in business school?”

His lips lift in a brief, enigmatic smile that looks very similar to the ones his pal Axel produces. “Not exactly.”

When I stare at him silently for too long, he chuckles. “Don’t overthink it.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you tell me what you mean.”

“Some other time.”

From the way he says that, I get the distinct feeling that time will never come. But I don’t insist.

We spend the next thirty minutes talking about safer topics. Movies, music, travel, food, books. He knows something about everything. He’s visited every city I’ve ever wanted to visit, and describes them in such detail, I can picture them as if I’ve been there. I’m so caught up in our conversation, I forget to ask him where we’re going, but then we turn off Sunset Boulevard onto Beverly Glen.

“Are there restaurants up here? I thought this area was all residential.”

He smiles. “The best restaurant in LA is at the top of the hill. It’s got an incredible view of the Valley on one side and the Santa Monica Bay on the other.”

We follow the winding road up the hill, every house we pass getting larger. Eventually, the only thing I see of them are rooftops set far back behind gates. Then we pull up to an enormous stone guard gate. We slow, Cole lifts his chin to the uniformed guard who appears at the window, and we pass through.

The same thing happens at another guard gate fifty feet in.

Wherever we’re going, it must be exclusive. The property up here is among the most expensive in all of Los Angeles, and judging by the size of the homes we’re now passing, they’re filled with celebrities and the uber-rich.

We stop in a driveway flanked on either side by huge palm trees and stone statues of lions. The black iron gate is massive, spanning the width of the driveway and continuing along the street on either side. I can’t see what’s beyond the gate because of all the trees and shrubs lining it, but then it opens and we drive through, revealing the building beyond.

Estate, rather.

It’s a home, an impossibly beautiful Italianate style mansion awash in soft light from landscape lighting hidden among lush greenery.

“Cole?”

“Hmm?”

“This isn’t a restaurant.”

His laugh is soft and pleased. “Ah, that sharp intellect of yours, Ms. Sanders.”

We pull through the gates and drive into a large motor court with a central fountain. He parks the car in front of an arched stone entryway, kills the engine, then turns to me.

“I hope you like Asian fusion food. Wolfgang made his famous Shanghai lobster for us.”

“Wolfgang? As in Puck?”