At that, Robert closed up, evidently not wanting to reveal anymore about his father’s health.

“I couldn’t get back to campus even though I wanted to. The best I could do was finish our project from afar and get it to you.”

I gave him a half smile at that. Robert had completed our World Mythologies project and had it especially delivered to my dorm room a week before it was due, saving me an immense amount of time.

“We got an A on the project, by the way,” I stated, grinning.

He squeezed my hand. “I know.”

“You didn’t even make it to your own college graduation.” I’d waited for him at graduation, certain that he would show up. I’d asked a few of his friends for weeks where he was when I didn’t see him around campus. All they’d told me was that he was taking care of family business. That was when my anger started. But even then, I’d waited and looked for him at graduation, hoping he’d show up.

“My only regret is not getting to see you walk across that stage.”

Why did his words feel genuine? Why had it been that aside from my own mother and father, my only regret was that he wasn’t there to see me graduate—for us to graduate together.

“I completed all of my courses from afar. They had to mail me my degree. I was in a meeting with three other heads of energy companies, bargaining for lowered oil prices on the day of graduation. I would’ve loved nothing more than to have seen you in your cap and gown.”

“You had family to take care of.”

He snorted. “More like business.”

I caught the bitterness in his tone but thought better of asking more about it. I’d spent five years rethinking the last conversation we had that night together. He’d shared with me the mistreatment from his own father. He didn’t need to retell it.

“But I’m not here to talk about business.”

“Than what are you here for?”

“To talk about you and I.”

I pushed out a breath, shaking off the chill that ran through me at the mention of there being an us.

“There is no us. I told you, I—”

“Have a boyfriend,” he stated on a flat tone, waving his hand dismissively.

“Yes.”

“Then where is he?” he asked, glancing around the restaurant as if trying to find him.

I gave him a look. “Unlike you, he can’t just take off whenever he wants. Cohen’s working.”

“Don’t.”

I wrinkled my brows. “Don’t what?”

“Say his name again.”

His voice dropped to that of a warning. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my nipples hardened. Thank God I was wearing a blazer over the thin blouse I wore to work that day, or else, I’d be in trouble.

“He’s not here because he’s not relevant. To you or to me.”

I shook my head. “Don’t say things like that.”