Beauty and the Brit by Poppy St. James
6
STERLING
Most nights I opt for a take-away dinner from my favorite local deli, but tonight I’m straying from my usual fare for a very good reason. Stepping out of the shower, I towel off and pull on a pair of trousers and a navy button-down shirt.
I’ve had to remind myself this isn’t a date. There was no need for manscaping or cologne. Yes, I’m taking a beautiful woman to dinner, but that’s where it will end.
And while it’s true that most guys would be interested in something more following a date, my needs and desires are a little more complex. Yes, I get urges just like any red-blooded man, but lately, my mum is the center of my world. She has early-onset dementia, and making sure she gets the best care possible has fallen to me.
My father turned out to be a self-centered jerk. He might have promised to stand by her side in sickness and in health, but when her health started declining three years ago, he took off for greener pastures, saying he was suffering from a mid-life crisis and needed to find himself. Whatever that meant. He hauled off back to London to live with a woman he’d crushed on while in secondary school, while Mum was left to face her prognosis alone.
More than having to make health decisions and pay for her care, it’s had an even greater effect on me. My belief in love is totally shot. My parents’ marriage was a long and happy one, and then poof, he was gone, like none of it meant anything at all.
I’ve spoken to him all of three times in three years. I know it’s up to me to take care of her without having to rely on one dime from him. While I make a good living, this is also New York City, one of the most expensive cities in the world. For now, Mum’s at an assisted-living facility in New Jersey, but ideally, I’d like to be able to move her into a better place, closer to me so visiting her wasn’t quite such an ordeal. That inheritance means I’ll never have to worry about taking care of her ever again.
Releasing a heavy sigh, I slip my feet into boots.
I can’t mess this up. I need to get to the end of this whole process married, just like I discussed with Noah. It’s the only way to make all this work.
Yes, I’ve fancied Camryn ever since I first met her years ago. She’s classy and smart and a little hard-nosed, as any good New York businesswoman is. But I’ve made my peace that since I never got off my arse and made a move on her, that ship has sailed. It’s done. Asking her out to a nice restaurant that’s sure to impress means nothing.
Running a bit of product through my hair, I chuckle to myself.
Yeah right.