“We’re going to be late if you keep that up.”

“Everyone’s late to these kinds of things.” He bit her nape as he stroked a hand over her belly and prepared to slip into her panties. He loved touching her there, loved the way she responded.

“My parents are never late. They want to meet you.”

His hand froze in mid-descent. Because he couldn’t bring himself to say he wanted to meet them—why would he want to meet people who were bound to disapprove of him?—he said, “It should be interesting.”

“Thank you for coming with me. I know you’d rather do other things.”

He’d rather do prom fittings, but he didn’t say that. “You know how I like to wear suits.” That, at least, was true. He withdrew his hand from her dress and pulled the zipper up.

“A three-piece. I love you in three-piece suits.”

“The black one, then. It’ll look good with your dress.”

She grinned as she turned to face him. “Everything looks good with my dress. People are going to ask where I got it. Can I tell them it’s a Michael Larsen original?”

He hesitated as he heard his full name on her lips. “You know my real name.”

Her eyelashes swept downward. “It was on your electric bill and the uniform in your picture. Are you mad?”

“Are you?” Had she Googled him or his family? There were articles in the local papers that outlined in detail all the shit his dad had done. Had she read them? No, she couldn’t have. She wasn’t looking at him with veiled suspicion. It was only a matter of time though.

His heart crashed, and his skin went hot. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. But the clock wasn’t ticking down to the time when he exploded and hurt everyone. Now, it was ticking down to the time when she learned everything and it was over between them.

She lifted a shoulder, but she didn’t look at him, and she didn’t speak.

“You are mad,” he said in realization.

“Mad isn’t the right word.”

“What is the right word?”

“I don’t know. I felt like you didn’t trust me.” She hugged her arms around her middle. “Like you were making sure I won’t be able to find you when things end between us.”

“No, I trust you. I was just . . .” Afraid of losing her. “I hate my last name.” That, too.

“Why?”

“It’s my dad’s.”

She searched his face with her eyebrows drawn together. “Why do you hate your dad? Because he left your mom?”

He swallowed hard. If he answered that question truthfully, he’d lose her today, right now.

The badness in his heart advised him to lie. It would be so easy just to lie. That was what his dad always did.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a rush. Blinking rapidly, she adjusted her glasses and rubbed at an elbow. “It’s too personal, isn’t it? Forget I asked.”

“Stella, you can ask me things,” he said, feeling an ache start in his chest and spread outward. It wasn’t a relationship if they couldn’t talk to each other. “I hate him because of the way he left, because he’s a cheater and a bad person. I haven’t seen him in years, but I’m certain he’s out there cheating on other women, hurting other people, leaving them in the worst way. It’s what he does.”

“He left you, too?” she asked with sad eyes.

“Yeah, and all of my sisters.”

His mom had told Michael not to hold what his dad did to her against him, to forgive him, but how did you forgive someone who wasn’t even there? As fathers went, as long as they weren’t abusing you, a shitty one was still better than none. Michael had none. And trying to hold the family together by himself was breaking him apart.

She threw herself into his arms and hugged him tight, saying nothing, and Michael kissed her forehead. With each breath, her sweet Stella scent reached into him and soothed him. He needed this. He needed her. When people heard about his dad, they cursed him, and they empathized with his mom. None of them thought about what it meant to Michael. No one but Stella.

He knew he should tell her the other half of the story about his dad, but he couldn’t. He hadn’t loved her enough yet.

Setting her away from his body, he said, “We should get ready.”

• • •

The benefit was at an exclusive club a ways down Page Mill Road, amid lighted tennis courts, putting greens, and glowing blue swimming pools. Michael parked Stella’s Tesla in front of a large building with modern lines and the ugly brown façade typical of Palo Alto architecture.

After he helped Stella out of the car, she stared at the windows of the club. Her nervousness was obvious, but the golden light spilling from the windows made her look dreamily beautiful. Her hair was pulled up in a loose side knot, pinned in place with a white silk rosette. She hadn’t needed to bring a purse—Michael had her phone and cards in his pocket—and her empty hands arabesqued on her thighs.

“If I start talking about work, will you stop me, please?”

He took her hand in his and squeezed, feeling the cold sweat on her palm. “Why? Your work is interesting.”

“I get carried away, and I take over the conversation. It bothers people.”

“I like it when you get carried away.” That was when she was at her most captivating, when her eyes twinkled. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

Her mouth wobbled into an uncertain smile as she looked up at him. “That’s part of why you’re so wonderful to me.”

“I’m glad you know it.”

She laughed as he led her to the front doors. Once inside, the din of hundreds of casual conversations enveloped them. The banquet room was filled wall to wall with round tables of Silicon Valley’s finest, and a live band played low-key jazz from a stage at the back of the room. A wall composed almost entirely of windows showcased the lap pool and lighted golf course outside.

“How are you dealing with all this noise?”

She turned to face him with a startled look. “Is it bothering you, too?”

“I’m fine. You’re the one I’m worried about.” He didn’t want her to end up hyperventilating outside again.

“The noise isn’t terrible. I’m more nervous about the seating arrangements. My mom likes to surround me with new people. I’ve gotten better at the talking, but it’s still a lot of work.”

He tilted his head as he absorbed that. For him, talking was . . . talking. There wasn’t a work part. “You overthink it.”

“I have to think really hard when I talk. Otherwise I blurt out rude things, and I alienate everyone.”

“It’s because you’re so honest.”

“People don’t like honest. Except for when you’re saying good things. Figuring out what people think is good is tricky, especially when I don’t know them. It makes conversation a minefield.”

A woman who had to be Stella’s mother sailed forward in ropes of pearls and a loose, off-white dress that fell over slender curves to midcalf. Her dark hair was gathered in a bun identical to the one Stella usually wore, accentuating a facial structure Michael was very familiar with. This elegant midfifties woman was Stella in another twentysome years. Stella’s future husband was a lucky fucking bastard.

She hugged Stella and pulled back to admire her with maternal pride. “Stella dear, you look lovely.” Her attention switched to Michael, and she smiled. “And there he is. So good to see you, Michael. I’m Stella’s mother, Ann.”

She held her hand out, knuckles up, and he lifted it to his mouth to brush a quick kiss over the back. He knew he was in upper-crust territory when hand kissing was an expected greeting.

“Good to see you, Ann.”

“And his voice is beautiful, too. I just can’t get over this dress, Stella. Wherever did your personal shopper find it? You look like a flower.”

Stella beamed at him. “Michael is a designer. This is one of his creations.”

And didn’t that sound perfect coming from her lips? The only problem was he hadn’t designed much in the past three years, and he didn’t see himself getting back to it anytime soon. His mom said she didn’t need him at the shop, but with her sickness, he needed to keep an eye on her. He’d run across her unconscious body in the bathroom twice. If he hadn’t, who knew what would have happened.