CHAPTER FOUR
SUMMER PULLED THE jersey she’d thrown on tighter around her as a light breeze floated in the air. Not because the breeze was cold. The summer’s day had appropriately ended in a warm evening. But the feel of the wind against her skin felt a lot like Wyatt’s gaze on her during the picnic. And the sound of it was almost exactly the tone of Wyatt’s voice when he’d told her they weren’t each other’s business.
She was annoyed that her mind would go there, but she was also beginning to realise she’d have to accept annoyed as her permanent state of mind this weekend.
And achy as the permanent state of her body.
It was the reason she was wandering around the lodge’s property in her nightshirt at ten in the evening. She’d walked around the communal pool, and had been tempted, for a second, to dip her achy body in its coolness before she’d thought about the energy that would require. She’d walked along the edge of the cliff overlooking the ocean. Now she was at the wooden bridge that connected the side of the lodge where her parents and a select few friends stayed with the other side, where the rest of the guests had their cabins.
Trees lined the entire length of the bridge on either side. One thick branch extended from the left to the right, high enough so as not to obstruct anyone’s way. It gave the lodge a woodsy feel; a stark difference from the beachside atmosphere she got when she took a few steps in the direction of her cabin and saw the ocean.
‘You couldn’t sleep either?’
Summer didn’t need to turn to recognise the voice. The gooseflesh that had once been her skin confirmed it to her. She wished now that the wind were the only thing her skin had to contend with.
She stayed where she was, but she said, ‘It usually takes me a while to unwind after a long week.’
‘I know.’
She felt him move closer, somewhere over her shoulder, but she refused to turn.
‘No, I don’t think you do,’ she said. ‘My days have got a lot longer since our divorce.’
‘How is that possible?’
‘Is that a criticism?’ she forced herself to ask lightly. ‘Because you know I was only taking my cue from you. Working hard. Focusing on building a name for myself.’
‘You didn’t have to.’
She turned around. ‘I didn’t have to what? Work hard? Or build a name for myself?’
‘You didn’t have to start your own business, Summer,’ he said, his expression smooth as stone. ‘You didn’t have to work as hard as I did. You already had a place at Bishop Enterprises. I had to earn mine.’
She clenched her jaw. Her father had been busy since her and Wyatt’s divorce. Though telling Wyatt she’d once had plans to work in the family business was tricky. It was Trevor’s affair that had changed those plans, after all.
‘That right there is why I couldn’t,’ she said, taking the safe route. ‘I wanted to have something I’d earned myself.’ She paused. ‘Why are you saying this?’
His expression didn’t change. ‘I just didn’t know Bishop Enterprises had been an option for you.’
‘And you’re romanticising the idea of it,’ she said as she realised it.
‘No,’ he denied, frowning. There was a pause. ‘But if you worked for your father,’ he said quietly, ‘you might not have asked for the divorce to focus on your business.’
Her brain took his words, processed them, coached her on how to respond. But the message never reached her mouth. Her throat felt as if her voice box had been crushed. Her tongue felt thick. Her lips felt frozen.
She took a deep breath through her mouth, hoping the air would revive all the parts of her insides that had been affected by his admission.
Then, calmly—she hoped—she said, ‘I probably would have worked harder if it was for my father.’ She swept her tongue over her teeth. ‘It’s a tad hypocritical for you to stand there and tell me work wouldn’t have been an issue in our marriage. You weren’t home a lot. And you have the success to show for it,’ she said hurriedly, not wanting to get stuck on that remark. ‘You went from being an intern at my father’s company to his number two in nine years. That’s amazing, particularly considering the size of Bishop Enterprises.’
It had always been part of what she’d admired in him. His drive. His focus. She hadn’t admired how much of that drive, that focus, he’d neglected to channel into their marriage. She’d focused so completely on her own job because Wyatt had been so focused on his. He wasn’t going to turn her into the wife who waited at home for her husband. Summer refused to be the wife whose husband couldn’t figure out what was more important to him: his marriage or his work.
She’d seen that happen with her mother. The end result had been her father having an affair. Summer couldn’t bear for that to be her path, too. So she’d worked just as hard as Wyatt did. She’d turned her tiny brokerage into one of the most successful in the city. She might have done so at the expense of her marriage, but then, Wyatt had done that with his work, too.
At least this way, Summer had had a choice. She’d chosen to focus on work. She hadn’t been coerced into the part of the sidelined wife. The outsider because of someone else’s decisions.
‘I had to work hard, Summer,’ he said after a while. ‘I had to thank your father for taking a chance on me.’
What about me? she wanted to ask. She didn’t. It was selfish to worry about herself when she understood why Wyatt felt indebted. She hadn’t before they’d got married. She’d thought his loyalty to her father had been gratitude. She’d only realised the extent of it when he’d told her the truth about his childhood...
The day after their wedding.
They’d eloped with only Autumn and her then boyfriend Hunter as their witnesses, telling her parents when they were already on their way to their honeymoon. She hadn’t needed either of her parents’ approval—why, when they didn’t care about hers?—though they’d both wholeheartedly approved.
Which had annoyed her just a little.
When she and Wyatt had arrived in Mauritius, at the beachfront dinner the resort had arranged for them, Wyatt had told her about his parents. She’d always known they weren’t in the picture, but she’d never known the details of it until that night. Since they’d only been dating six months before their quickie marriage, she’d known there had been things both of them had kept from the other. She hadn’t paid too much heed to the fact that she hadn’t known all the details.
She wished she had.
‘I know.’ She folded her arms. She wasn’t sure if it was for comfort or to keep him from noticing she wasn’t wearing a bra. ‘I know you feel like you owe a lot to my father.’
There was a pause.
‘You make that sound like a criticism.’
Since there was no good option for her to go with, she didn’t reply.
His eyes narrowed. ‘Something happened between the two of you, didn’t it?’
She bit her lip. Lifted a shoulder.
‘I hope it isn’t because of me.’
‘No.’
He let out a breath. ‘Good. I can’t imagine if after all he’s done for me...’ He trailed off. ‘What? Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘You’re not worried that my relationship with my father is strained because you’re worried about me,’ she said, unable to stop herself. ‘You’re worried because of him. Of what he might think of you.’
It made her want to fall to her knees and weep.
‘No,’ he said, taking a step towards her. She shook her head. He stopped moving. ‘No, I meant—’
‘It doesn’t matter, Wyatt,’ she interrupted desperately.
She didn’t want to go there, but all the little talks she’d given herself about staying away from the past seemed to be taunting her. In the form of her own words. In the form of her memories.
Just like that, she
was back in Beijing again, the maître d’ querying about her mother.
‘My mother?’ Summer asked, confused.
‘Petite, short curly brown hair?’ the maître d’ clarified. ‘She was with your father when they stayed here about a year ago? I’m sorry,’ she added, ‘of course you can’t remember. The only reason I do is because it was the day before my maternity leave and she was so lovely to me. And so affectionate with your father! I remember hoping my husband and I still felt that way about each other when we’re their age.’
Her confusion had had nothing to do with the time between that night and now. It had been because her mother was neither petite, nor did she have short, curly brown hair. Her world had slowed down and time had frozen as she’d realised her mother wasn’t the woman the maître d’ had been talking about.
That assumption had been made based on whoever that woman had been and her father’s affection for one another. And, she only imagined, on the fact that her father had still been wearing his wedding ring. Presumably, the petite brown-haired woman had been wearing hers, too.
But it couldn’t have been what she thought, she’d told herself. When her father had joined her at their table, she’d been too shocked to play coy. She’d asked him about it.
And everything had fallen apart.
Perhaps she could have accepted it if it hadn’t extended beyond that. Sadly, it had. So much else in her life had fallen apart because of that night. How she felt in her family. Her career plans, though she’d somehow managed to salvage that. Her life with the man she’d loved though...
And here he was, standing in front of her, trying not only to please the man who’d put her through this, but to imitate him. He’d succeeded, too. Far better than he could ever know. Trevor had forced her to isolate herself from her family; Wyatt had forced her to isolate herself from him.
‘Summer? What’s wrong?’
She only then realised a sound had come out of her mouth. She wasn’t sure what it had been, but since she’d been in pain—since she still felt it throbbing in her body—she understood the worry in Wyatt’s voice.
And why, seconds later, he was in front of her, his hands gripping her arms.
‘Oh.’ She swallowed, blinked, turned to face him. ‘I’m okay.’
‘You’re not okay.’
Her mouth opened to deny it, but, despite everything, all she wanted to do was lean forward so she could rest her head against his chest.
For once she didn’t bother fighting what she wanted.
As soon as her head made contact, she felt his body stiffen. Knew why. She was touching him. Not only that; she was asking him for comfort. There was no point in denying it. Or the fact that she still found comfort in his arms, even though he was part of the reason why she needed it.
But for one short moment, Summer wanted to be comforted. She didn’t want to think about how tired she was of being the only one who knew the whole truth. Or how she was the only one suffering for it.
She wanted to go back to the time when she didn’t feel so alone. The last time that had happened was with Wyatt. Before he’d told her about his broken family. And how grateful he was to be a part of hers. She’d gone right back to feeling lonely then; the Wyatt who’d understood her had disappeared before her eyes.
She wouldn’t get him back. She couldn’t risk trying. Trying would involve telling him her family was broken, too. It would rob him of the life he’d always wanted.
The life she knew was a lie.
Summer pressed her face deeper into Wyatt’s chest.
* * *
This was...disturbing.
Which was frightening, since disturbing wasn’t a description Wyatt had thought he’d ever use for Summer. Unless he was describing her beauty. Or her ability to make him forget why relationships never worked out, resulting in impromptu proposals and weddings.
But a show of emotion from the Queen of Control herself? That was disturbing. And explained why his arms were folding around her soft body instead of pushing her away.
He should have. He should have acted like a complete jerk and pushed her away. Run away, for his self-preservation. Instead, he was diving head-first into the vulnerability that had made him fall for her in the first place.
He remembered it all too well, that day at the Bishops’ annual Christmas party. It had been the first time he’d built up the courage to go. Before that year, he’d believed he’d needed to prove himself to Trevor before he could attend such an intimate event. Or any event Trevor had hosted. It had been an excuse, even his younger self had suspected, though for what, he hadn’t been—and still wasn’t—sure of.
That year he’d brought on his third and biggest client to Bishop Enterprises: Callahan Farms. Rumours had been going around for months that one of the biggest providers of pecan nuts to the Western Cape—and one of the biggest suppliers in South Africa—had been looking for someone to manage the exportation of their nuts abroad. Wyatt had known that if the rumours had been true, he had to score them as a client. His place at Bishop Enterprises would be secure then and he’d finally be able to thank Trevor for all the other man had done for him.
He’d done the work and found out the rumours had been true.
Weeks later, Callahan Farms had become a client of Bishop Enterprises.
So that year, he’d attended the Christmas party. He’d met Autumn almost immediately upon his arrival; Summer had been missing, which Trevor had seemed faintly annoyed by. But Wyatt had met her eventually, hours into the party, sitting on the steps in the west wing of the Bishop mansion.
She’d stood immediately. ‘No one is supposed to be here.’
‘I’m sorry, I was—’
He’d broken off, because the beginning of his excuse had already been formulated the moment he’d seen someone sitting on the stairs. That had been the part that had come out smoothly.
The rest had died on his lips because he had been too in awe of Summer’s beauty.
‘You were?’ she prompted, taking the last steps down until she was on the ground level, walking to him.
‘I was,’ he repeated, before figuring out he was acting like an idiot. He cleared his throat. ‘Sorry, I think I got lost.’
She dropped her head. ‘On the other side of the house to where the party is?’
He winced. ‘Fine, you caught me. I was exploring. This is—’ He broke off, shaking his head.
She gave a sparkly laugh, though there was something hoarse in the sound that had his eyes resting on her face.
‘Yeah, I know. It is...’ Her mouth curved. ‘Summer, by the way.’
‘Yeah, I know.’ He’d seen pictures, but it hadn’t at all prepared him for the reality. ‘You’re the other sister.’ He winced again. ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t worry,’ she replied with a small smile. ‘It’s not inaccurate. Who are you?’
‘Oh, yeah, sorry.’ He cleared his throat. Again. ‘Wyatt Montgomery.’
‘Nut Boy,’ she said with a smirk.
He blinked. ‘I’m sorry—what?’
Her smile widened. ‘You’re the man who secured Callahan Farms for my father? You know, the man who charmed Pete Callahan into allowing Bishop Enterprises to sell his nuts abroad.’
He smiled. Stepped closer to her. ‘I guess I am Nut Boy, then.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ she said, taking another step towards him.
It was the first time he’d seen her eyelashes were wet, clumped together as if she had been—
As if she had been crying.
His heart had collapsed at her feet.
She wasn’t crying now though. He knew it because her body was absolutely still in his arms. The only reason he assumed she still wanted him to comfort her—if that was what she wanted—was the fact that she was still there.
Unable to resist, he rested his h
ead on top of hers, taking in the smell of coconut and shea butter of her hair. She hadn’t loosened it for her night-time stroll, though it wasn’t in the stern hairstyle she’d worn earlier that day. She’d wrapped it in a silk scarf, so that the top of her curls was visible while keeping them away from her face.
The smell of her, the feel of her, sent an intense wave of longing through him. And now he understood some of the anger that had kept him from going to bed that night. A lot of other nights over the past two years, too, he thought.
She’d given up on this. On the fact that they could stand in each other’s arms and not know what was wrong, but still comfort one another. It was a small thing, this, and it was one of many, but it cut through him easily. As if the thought had been specially designed to cut through him.
He pushed it aside when she pulled back.
‘I’m sorry.’
She wasn’t looking at him again. Which hadn’t ever been something she’d done before, but he recognised as a tactic. A protective tactic; to protect herself from him.
‘You don’t have to apologise,’ he said. ‘I get it.’
‘No, you don’t.’
‘No, I don’t,’ he agreed. ‘But the chances of you telling me are slim, so I won’t even ask.’
There was a long silence.
‘I was...remembering.’
His heart thudded hard against his chest as he thought about the look on her face before she’d gone into his arms. The way her expression had twisted, tightened, and then fallen in what could only have been pain. What was she remembering?
Hope he hadn’t known existed inside him inflated, swelling even more when she looked up at him and there was longing in her eyes.
They looked at each other for a long time, and though he knew it probably wasn’t the best idea to let it linger, he did. He let the connection soothe the hurt inside him. Felt it skim over a deeper, darker hurt he’d refused to listen to.
Now wasn’t the time to listen to it either, and yet he did, unable not to. The hurt about his father’s abandonment was simple. One day Wyatt had come home from school and the man was no longer there. He’d always been there when Wyatt had got home. He’d worked the late shift at the pharmacy to look after Wyatt until Wyatt’s mother had got home in the evenings.
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