More Than Neighbors by Isabel Keats Page B

mark on the living-room ceiling from when he decided to fill the house with candles to bring back the Ghost of Christmas Past. My fireman friend still moans about missing his pudding to come put out the burning curtains.”
    Leopold tipped his head back and guffawed. The Stapleton family was extremely likeable, and it had easily been the best Christmas he’d had for years. When they’d finished saying good-bye, he and Cat climbed in his car and set off.
    “I had a great time, Catalina.”
    “I’m glad.”
    “Your family is wonderful—I’ve rarely met such lovely people.”
    “Thanks, Leo. They liked you very much, too.”
    They continued on their journey without speaking for a while, until Leo, who’d been mulling over a particular matter, suddenly broke the silence. “So I’m just another of your charity cases, eh?” He shot a sidelong glance at her. It irritated him that she’d put him in the same bracket as her sad-sack friends.
    “Ignore my brothers, Leo. The others were nice guys, too.”
    “You must have a soft spot for strays.”
    Catalina looked at him as if reading his mind. “You’re not a charity case, Leo, you’re a winner. You’re handsome and great fun. It’s just—,” she broke off, biting her bottom lip.
    “Just what?” This time, he wasn’t going to let her evade him.
    “Well, ever since I met you, I’ve thought you weren’t entirely happy.”
    He frowned. He was surprised by her comment. “Why wouldn’t I be happy? I have everything I could want.”
    “Do you really think so?” She gazed at him with affection in her eyes, and Leopold thought he saw some pity. How dare she feel pity for him?
    Catalina noticed Leopold’s back stiffening and his gray eyes turning chilly and she guessed that, once again, her neighbor was rushing to erect impregnable defenses around himself. His strong hands squeezed the wheel. It was clear he was angry, but she knew he wouldn’t let it show. His good manners were thicker than an elephant’s hide, and few things could cut through them. The young woman sighed with regret; she shouldn’t have said anything.
     
    Leopold drove in silence all the way back to London, and when he left Catalina and Milo at the door to their apartment, all he said was, “Good night.”
    “Please, Leo. Don’t be angry with me.”
    Cat reached out and stroked his cheek. Her neighbor thought it the kind of gesture she might offer to a mangy dog, and he moved away, as if her hand had burned him. “I’m not angry,” he lied with great dignity. “Good night, Catalina.”
    “Good night, Leo.”

CHAPTER 11
    For the next few weeks, Leopold kept his promise to himself and went to every event, dinner, and social occasion he was invited to. He met lots of women, but he found something that he disliked in each of them: one was too serious, another too short, this one too noisy, that one too nice. Harry despaired and told him that if he kept this up, the famous heir to the Sinclair empire would have to be ordered from a lab.
    Leopold was exhausted. Work continued at a brisk pace and, going out so often, he barely slept. He had no time to go running or play chess, so he hadn’t seen his neighbor again. And he didn’t miss her, he told himself.
    Sometimes, when he came home to his immaculate and silent apartment, he surprised himself by thinking it was about as welcoming as an operating theater. He was always in a bad mood lately, and he took it out on innocent people with no justification whatsoever, which made him feel even worse. An intense feeling of dissatisfaction seemed to gnaw at him at all hours, and though he kept telling himself that he was a thoroughly happy person, he cursed Catalina Stapleton for his miserable state of mind.
    “You can’t carry on like this, Leopold,” Harry said to him one day, seeing his pale face and the dark rings around his eyes.
    “Like what?”
    “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack. Come on, spill the beans, old chap.