Real Regrets (Kensingtons Book 2)

I’ve seen enough photos of the interior of Blackbird plastered on social media to know what to expect when we step inside. This is the hottest restaurant in the city right now. You have to plan months in advance to get a reservation. Or have the right last name.

Hannah’s eyes are wide as she looks around the narrow space. It’s dimly lit and romantic, the brick walls covered with dripping greenery and wire baskets filled with wine.

“Good evening. What name is your reservation under?” the hostess asks once we reach her.

“Kensington.”

Shock flashes across her face before she looks down. I don’t have a reservation, and I watch the woman realize it.

I don’t relish throwing my last name around. Requesting special treatment makes me uncomfortable. Makes others act awed. Most people only know me as a Kensington, and I’ve tried to carve out a separate identity. The difference tonight is, I want to impress Hannah.

“Let me get your table ready,” the hostess says, then scurries off.

Hannah turns toward me, tightening the belt on her coat. We dropped hands when we got in the cab to come here, and I miss touching her.

“You don’t have a reservation.”

I raise one eyebrow at her. “I don’t need one.”

Her head tilts, studying me. “Are you trying to impress me?”

Yes, is the accurate answer. “I know it’s not a car, but…”

She laughs a little, then looks away to survey the restaurant. “Have you been here before?”

“No, but it’s—”

“Oliver!”

I squint toward the back of the restaurant, where the light is even scarcer.

Asher appears suddenly, stepping around the hostess stand and smiling widely. “I thought that was you! But I didn’t think this is where you’d—” He stops talking abruptly, as soon as he sees Hannah.

“Hello, Asher.”

I glance between the two of them. Asher appears stunned. Hannah looks composed but slightly uncertain. She has no idea Asher knows we’re acquainted—married—so I’m guessing she’s waiting for him to ask what we’re doing here together. I’m waiting for the same question, just in a different context.

“Hannah.” Asher recovers. “This is a surprise.”

“I can’t say the same,” she replies. “This seems like exactly the kind of place you’d come to eat.”

Asher grins. “It was Aida’s request.”

“Aida?” I ask, not recognizing the name. “What happened with Isabel?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “Eh. It fizzled.”

“Easy come, easy go,” Hannah comments.

“Worked well for Crew,” Asher says.

I glare at him.

“Up until he got married,” Asher continues. “And all that nothing will change turned out to be bullshit. Of course, you already know that.”

I don’t know exactly what went down between Hannah and my brother, and I’d like the details to remain fuzzy. My relationship with Crew is messy enough already. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me. Not only that they were together in some way, but that Hannah possibly got hurt as part of it.

“Mr. Kensington, your table is ready.” The hostess reappears, holding two menus.

“Great, thank you.”

“Can I have a word, Oliver?” Asher asks. “About work,” he adds, glancing at Hannah. His expression is almost apologetic.

I shake my head. “Now isn’t—”

“It’s fine, Oliver,” Hannah says. “I’ll meet you at the table.” She turns and follows the hostess deeper into the restaurant.

I turn to Asher with a scowl. “What?”

“Continuing the Kensington tradition of not sleeping with your wife, huh? You seem awfully tense.”

“Watch it,” I snap.

Asher shakes his head. Sighs. “I can’t keep you from wrecking this train, huh?”

“Are you going to tell him?” If Asher isn’t with Isabel any longer, I lost any leverage to entice him to keep his mouth shut.

He laughs. “Are you kidding me? No way am I stepping a foot into this clusterfuck. Especially since I saw the photos of you with Quinn Branson. You looked like you were leaving a business meeting. And this is not where you have a business meeting. If you’re not fucking her, you want to be. And that is not going to lead to a happy divorce.”

“My marriage is none of your business.”

“You came to me, Oliver, remember? I saw Crew go through this same thing, pretending he didn’t give a shit about Scarlett. Look at him now. Except Hannah has none of the reasons to stick around that Scarlett did. She could walk away with a fortune, on to the next guy.”

“I know her better than you do.”

“I hope you’re right.” Asher shrugs. “Anyway, I really did want to talk about work. You sent the Isaac Industries documents before you left the office, right?”

Fuck. “Yes,” I lie.

I was waiting for them to be finalized when I called Hannah. Learning she was in the same city overtook everything else.

As long as they’re sent by midnight, it’ll be fine. But it means I’ll have to go back into the office tonight. Which is possibly for the best, because I know Asher is making valid points. If I’m wanting to get laid or take a woman out to dinner, there are much better candidates unrelated to the papers pending in state court. And if I’m wanting Hannah, that’s a much bigger problem.

Asher claps my shoulder. “Enjoy dinner. I’d recommend the scallops.”

He disappears as quickly as he appeared.

I walk over to the table where Hannah is seated. The muted lights make her blonde hair glow, turning it the color of spun gold.

She glances up as I take the chair across from her, grabbing her water glass and taking a delicate sip. “That was fast. I figured he’d have a longer list of reasons on why you shouldn’t be out to dinner with me.”

I huff a laugh before picking up my menu. “It was work. You like scallops?”

“Do you ever feel guilty about being rich?”

I raise one brow, caught off guard by the question. Something that happens a lot around Hannah. She has a tendency to ask me questions no one else has. Most people just whisper about my net worth with jealousy in their voice and dollar signs in their eyes.

“Asks the girl who grew up in a mansion in Montecito.”

Hannah rolls her eyes. “That was my parents’ money. And they both grew up middle-class. They paid for college, but then I was on my own.”

“I feel unworthy of it,” I say. “I’m just capitalizing on what was already built by someone else.”

“Is that why you’re always working? Trying to feel worthy?”

“That’s part of it, probably. The rest is, I don’t have anything else. I don’t enjoy going to parties. I go to them with a plan on who I need to approach and do days of research so I know exactly what to say to them. When I travel, it’s for work.” I force a smile, hating the way my skin crawls from the vulnerability. “My life is pretty boring. Might as well work.”

“What about women?”

I raise one eyebrow. “Asks my wife.”

Even in the low light, her cheeks are clearly red. I’m not sure if I should mention Quinn again or leave the topic alone. I meant what I told Hannah earlier, I shouldn’t have gone out with her.

“Have you ever been in love?” she asks.

I shake my head, but the motion is less confident than it would have been a couple of weeks ago. “For a while, I thought that part of my life was all planned out. I fooled around a lot in high school and the first year of college, rebelling against it the only way I could. After graduation there were a few women who lasted more than a couple of weeks, but not many. According to most of them, I worked too much.”

Hannah half-smiles. “Imagine that.”

“Good evening.” A waiter appears, setting a basket of bread on the table along with a tray of olive oil dusted with colorful spices. “I’m Steve, and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you two anything to drink?”

Hannah orders a cocktail and I ask for a whiskey. Our waiter says he’ll be back shortly, then disappears.

“What about you?” I ask as soon as he’s gone.

She grabs a piece of bread and rips a section off, before dunking it in the oil. “I’ve never been in love. My last relationship was kind of an experiment, to see what would happen if I put the effort in. He lived in San Diego, and between the distance and his schedule with the team, I didn’t see him all that often. Didn’t bother me, which should have been my first clue. I think I’m just defective when it comes to that stuff.” Hannah raises a shoulder, drops it, and then pops the bread in her mouth.

“You’re not defective.”

“You’re not boring.”

I half-smile, hiding how much those words mean to me. Because I feel it, a lot of the time.

“How did it end?”

I assume she’s talking about Declan, the guy Eddie mentioned at the bar. When she shifts in her seat, I know I’m right. “He, uh, proposed.”

“Wow.”

“Yep.” She sighs. “He called me a never-ending challenge.”

“So, exciting?”

Hannah smiles. “I think the implication was more that I was exhausting. Not worth it. Things didn’t end well between us, obviously.”

“He was wrong, Hannah.”

She nods, dropping eye contact.

Our drinks appear a second later, the waiter setting them down quickly and rushing off with a promise to be back shortly to take our dinner orders.

I grab the tumbler of whiskey, raise it, and tilt it toward her. “To getting into architecture school.”

Hannah bites her bottom lip before lifting her own glass. The blood orange garnish wobbles before settling back on the rim. “To Thompson & Thompson.” She pauses. “Or did you already close another deal I missed?”

“That was the latest one. Do you have stock or something?”

She shakes her head. Swallows. Shrugs. “I looked you up, after.” Her glass tilts closer. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

Our glasses tap.

Hannah sips her drink, then smiles. “Wow. This is really good.” She holds it toward me. “Try it.”

I can’t recall the last time I had a mixed drink. But I take it, mostly because I don’t want her animated expression to disappear. Sip it, making a face at the sweetness. “Delicious.”

Her laugh warms my chest more than the alcohol. “You’re not going to offer me some of yours?”

“I thought you knew what whiskey tastes like.”

But I hand it over anyway, realizing I’m handing her a lot more than this glass.

And recognizing I’m screwed.

Holding a losing hand in a game I desperately want to win.

Married to a woman I’m falling for when I’m supposed to be dating someone else. A woman who is about to embark on a new chapter of her life on the opposite side of the country from where I live and work.

Asher calling the situation a clusterfuck suddenly seems tame. And he didn’t even know the half of it.