She thought about the differences in their backgrounds as she moved her hand in the water and stared at the ripples on the surface. Tiny movements that grew bigger, amplified, every wave connected to the one ahead of it and the one behind it. It reminded her of the choices one makes along their journey that then affect everything else. “Money doesn’t automatically provide an easy life.”

“Spoken like a woman who has always had it.”

“You almost sound resentful.”

He exhaled, his breath teasing the back of her neck. “Not of you. Your circumstances are not of your own making. But money does provide comforts and choices. For example, I worked and hustled nearly twenty years of my life to build the Bronze House. You plan to study for a few weeks, perhaps months, and then open your own similar casino. A luxury you can afford, thanks to your father.”

“Do you honestly believe my father would back my casino?”

“I assumed you had a trust fund.”

“I gain access to the trust fund only when I turn thirty or when I marry.”

“Oh.” He cupped water in his palm and dribbled it over her shoulders. Tingles followed the path of the droplets on her skin. “How will you afford it, then?” he asked.

“I plan to ask my grandmother for the money. I have to wait, however. Now is not exactly an ideal time to ask.”

“Why? Is she ill?”

“No.” She hesitated, not wishing to unload her problems on him. But she trusted him. They’d grown close since the night she’d danced on Jack Mulligan’s stage. Whatever was happening between them was big and terrifying, but he’d promised not to hurt her and she had to believe that. “There’s a chance she may have to sell her home.”

“I imagine she has others.” The tone of his voice was bored, yet there was something underneath. An unexpected hardness. Was it resentment over her family’s wealth?

“She does, but not like this home. My grandfather built it for her when they married. My father and uncle grew up there. She’s quite sentimental about it.”

“No doubt the money from the sale will soothe any sentimental attachment. The property value must have tripled since it was built.”

She frowned. To Clay, everything was about money. But this was more than dollars and cents. She had to make him understand, to see that life was more than a balance sheet.

Shifting in the water, she angled to see his face. “She wouldn’t sell it for a king’s ransom, if she had her way. She misses my grandfather and the house reminds her of him daily. Also, she has promised to give the house to me when she passes on.”

“To you?”