"Senator," a woman says, obviously uncomfortable with the tone of our conversation. "We have your table ready. Would you like to follow me?"

He stares daggers at me for a second longer than is polite, and I stare back. He can be a big old dick to me all he wants. But I won't let him talk to Chella that way. Not while I'm around. And especially not in public.

Chella sighs as her father follows the woman. "I'm so sorry," she whispers as we walk. "I had no idea he was going to show up. He told me he couldn't make it for Christmas, so I naturally assumed-"

"Shh," I hush her as we walk. "You don't need to make excuses for him to me, Chella. I'll handle this."

We're seated at a table for four next to a window and settle in, handing our coats over to the wait staff, who are over-eager to please the senator. His reputation for being an asshole precedes him.

After the server tells us the specials, we look at the menu in silence. I reach under the table and grab Chella's hand.

She shots me a look of panic and shakes her head, mouthing, Stop it, at me.

But I shoot her a lopsided grin that says I'm absolutely not interested in backing down from this one.

"So," Walcott asks, once we've ordered. "What do you do, Mr. Baldwin?"

"Dad." Chella laughs. "Smith Baldwin?" she asks him, incredulous that he doesn't know who I am.

"I'm talking to your friend, Marcella. I'm sure he can speak for himself?" He gives her a glare so ominous, I feel her wilt next to me.

I squeeze her hand harder. She doesn't squeeze back.

"Nothing," I say, answering his question.

"Excuse me?" her stunned father replies.

"I don't do anything, Senator. I don't have a job."

He has the smuggest look on his face when he turns to Chella with raised eyebrows. "Not exactly cream of the crop, is he?"

"Actually, Senator Walcott, I am the cream of the crop. I don't have a job because I'm richer than God, sir. I'm worth forty-seven billion dollars, to be exact. And my mission in life is to give it all away."

"Really?" Chella asks, turning away from her father and towards me.

"Really," I say, taking time out from the Mexican standoff her father and I are having to smile at her bewildered face. "It never came up." I shrug. "So I didn't bother mentioning it."

"Giving it away?" her father asks, his temper tempered. "What does that mean?"

"Well," I say, scratching the stubble on my face that I forgot to shave. "I don't have a job because I don't have time for one. I spend my days looking for people who need help. Sometimes that's a corporation that I feel can make a difference. Sometimes it's a non-profit. Sometimes it's just a single mother who needs a hand up. You see, I give out one point six billion dollars every year and it's not as easy as it sounds to spend that much money, Senator. At least for private-sector people like myself. I'm sure you government types could find a good war to spend that on, but that's a conversation for another night."

I look over at Chella. Her mouth is hanging open. I think I just really fucked that up. I'm about to apologize to her when she says, "I had no idea, Smith."

Oh. Well, maybe she's impressed. Maybe I'm not the dick she thought I was.

"No," I say, "I don't like to talk about it much. But since you asked, Senator, let me just be a little more thorough with my explanation. You see, when my parents died and left me with all this money, I had some idea what it might do to me."

"Do to you?" the senator asks, frowning.

"Corrupt me, sir. Turn me into someone people don't like."

Like you, I think. But then I take it back, even though I didn't say it. Because he did something right. He helped create Chella. And she's as sweet as they come, even with that dirty, dark side she's trying to hide. I know there's more to her life, her past, and her motives for being with me and my friends, but I don't care. It's just not a factor in how I feel about her as a person.

She likes the dark stuff, just like me. Just like Bric. Just like Quin. But we're not bad people. None of us. And neither is she.

"So I decided back when I was eighteen that I would not own anything."

"Own..." The senator is really struggling now. "What does that mean? Surely you own things, Baldwin."

"No," I say calmly. "I don't, actually. I live with friends, which is why I'm living with Chella right now. I don't own a house, or a car, or even these clothes on my back. I haven't purchased something for myself in over a decade. It took me a while to get the hang of it, I'll admit that. Some nights I had no friends who'd let me sleep over or feed me. Or let me have one of their hoodies or coats on a cold night. So I'd give in and get a hotel room, order room service and buy some new clothes. But each time I failed, Senator, I'd spend the next week or two feeling guilty. And I'd try harder the next round. I've made it my mission in life not to spend a single dime of money on myself. My money wasn't meant to better me, sir. It was meant to help others. So that's what I do with it. I give it away."

"Bric," Chella says in a soft voice. "And Quin. They're the ones who stuck by you, weren't they?"

I nod my head.

"And that's why you guys share everything, isn't it?"

"Everything, Chella," I say, looking down at her. Even you, I don't add.

"Wow," she sighs. "Just, really, Smith. Wow. I don't even know what to say to that."

It seems the senator is speechless. But I'm not really talking to him anyway, so I turn to Chella and speak to her. "I live a great life, you know? I'm not lacking for anything right now. I live an extremely luxurious life through the generosity of friends." I look at Walcott and smile. "I'm very much enjoying your daughter's house right now. It's exquisite."

Chella bursts out laughing. She covers her mouth with her hand, like she can't believe I just said that.

"Really, I owe you, I guess. She said you purchased it for her. And even though she hates the furniture, I sorta dig it. Though I've gotten a friend to donate us some new pieces. And I got free paint for that disgusting orange wall."

"You're killing me, Smith." Chella laughs. But her smile is so big right now, I'm flying. I'm so fucking high off this moment. Sitting here just being... real with her. No games, no players, no sex.

"And yeah, I guess I could piss people off and they might stop caring about me. Stop wanting to help make my dream come true. And I might be out on the street again. Nowhere to go, nothing to eat, no coat on a winter night. But I'd find a place, Chella. I'd be OK if that happened."

She beams at me. And then, before I even realize what's happening, she leans over and kisses me right on the mouth. "I'll be your friend forever, Mr. Baldwin. Ever and ever."

"Yeah," I say, eyeing her father from the corner of my eye. "About that. You see, Senator, I might have lied about one small thing."

"Somehow, Mr. Baldwin, I think there's a lot of lies inside you."

"I lied about Chella. Because I would like to own something in this lifetime. And that something is your daughter."

Chapter Twenty-Eight - Chella.

I have no clue what's happening right now, but my mouth is hanging open in shock. What did he just say? I blink my eyes hard three times and then look over at my father.

He's scowling. And shaking his head at me. "Well, Chella, if you were trying to challenge me tonight, you certainly succeeded."

"Don't look at her," Smith says. "Look at me. I'm the one talking to you."

Oh, my God.

The gaze my father drags over to Smith is nothing short of pure disgust. "You're no longer a part of this conversation, Mr. Baldwin. This is a family matter between my daughter and me. So you can either sit here and keep quiet or you can leave. Those are your options."

Smith opens his mouth but I grab his arm. "Smith," I say softly. "Just let him talk. Please."

Smith doesn't stop staring at my father but he does stay quiet.

"Daddy, why are you here? You told me two weeks ago you weren't coming for Christmas so I made other plans. I don't mind rescheduling for you. You know that. But it's rude to ask for this last minute."

My father inhales deeply though his nose. He's still a very handsome man. But it's a very curated kind of handsome. Daily sessions with a private trainer, his fingernails are perfectly manicured, his hair gets attention from the best DC barbers. His hair is almost pure silver-at least he doesn't dye it. And his skin has been smoothed by a plastic surgeon.

Smith is polished. Very much so. But he's not perfect in any way. He's always got a flaw on display. Like tonight. His hair is kind of wild. Not the neat slicked-back look he usually wears.

I like it. I like the mess.

"You may not be aware of this, Marcella, but I haven't dated since your mother passed three years ago."

Jesus Christ. That's what this is about? Two conversations about my mother in one day? Just what the fuck?

"But I've met someone." My father stops to clear his throat. "She's... twenty-three."

Smith's laugh is loud, but short. Kind of a classic Ha!

"I see." That's about all I have to say about that.

"I just wanted to let you know I'm moving on in life."

"OK," I say. "But I don't know why you felt this deserved an unannounced face-to-face meeting. Is there more to this? Like, is she pregnant?"

Another incredulous burst from Smith. My father glares at him.

"She is," my father says.

"Well, that explains the accusation you just lobbed at Chella," Smith interjects, unable to stay quiet any longer. "Feeling guilty much, Senator?"

My father ignores him. "We're getting married next week. You're not invited and I didn't want you to hear about it on the news."

I wait for the stab of pain. The kind that comes from betrayal, but there's nothing there in my heart. Just a few weeks ago I'd be devastated by this announcement. But now? I shake my head at my father. No. He has no power over me anymore.

"I came here to say goodbye, Chella. To the life you were part of. To your mother. I loved her once and I hope she's found her peace in death. But I can't-won't-be trapped in that life any longer. I'm moving on."

The three of us sit there in silence for several seconds.

Is there anything left to say?

"Are you finished?" Smith asks, his voice low and calm.

My father just looks at me, frowning. "I hope he's the one, I really do, Chella. He's pretty much what you deserve." He drags his eyes over to Smith who stands up and extends his hand to me. "I know who you are, Mr. Baldwin."

"Good," Smith says. "Let's go, Chella. I don't think there's anything left to say."

I take his hand and draw in a deep breath as I stand up, looking down at my father. "I'm sorry I was never the daughter you felt you deserved. And I hope this new family gives you what you need."

I don't say goodbye. It's not even necessary. I just let Smith lead me through the restaurant. We collect our coats and wait for the valet to bring my car in silence. I let him drive us home. And when we're sealed up tight inside the dark garage, with nothing but the sound of silence between us, he sighs and says, "I'm so fucking sorry."

I open my door and get out. Smith does the same.

"Don't be sorry," I say as we walk to the door of the house. "This has been coming for a very long time."

Smith opens the door and places a hand on the small of my back, ushering me inside. He drops my keys on the table where I usually keep them. The lights are all on, like he left in a hurry. And when I walk through to the kitchen, I notice just how much of this place already belongs to him.

"Do you want me to call Bric for you?" Smith asks.

I shake my head and start climbing the stairs.

"Chella," Smith calls after me.

I just keep climbing.

"Chella?" Smith calls again.

I guess if he had something to say, I might stop and listen. But he's speechless. And my name isn't enough to pull me back from this... this darkness.

When I get to the top floor I start taking off my clothes. I hang up the dress, slip on a white bathrobe, and start the water for the tub.

Smith is standing in the doorway of my room. Not in, not out, but between.

"What?" I ask him as I go looking for a bubble bomb in my closet. "Just say what's on your mind and then get out. I don't want to talk about it and I don't want company tonight. Go back to the Club and leave me alone."

I find what I need and go back into the bathroom. Smith is in that doorway before I can close it up. Whatever. If he wants to gawk at me while I take a bath, who cares?

I drop the bubble bomb in the hot rushing water and stand there watching them form. When I'm satisfied with their progress I drop my robe and step in. It's hot, but not hot enough to keep me from sinking down and going under.

I let the calm thunder of the water drown out my life on the other side, close my eyes, and relax.

He can't hurt me. He cannot hurt me.

And he didn't. I feel so much nothing inside my heart, there's an echo in there.

I sit up and rub the water out of my eyes so I can open them.

Smith is still standing in the bathroom doorway. We stare at each other for a few seconds and then he says, "Do you know why I liked you so much?"

"When?" I ask. "When did you like me so much?"