Once Upon a Second Chance

by Marian Vere

  It was a dream, right?

  It had to be. I have that dream—or at least a version of it—all the time. And then I wake up. Though I will admit, I usually wake up in my own bed. As I’m trying to make sense of all this, lips press into the hollow behind my ear.

  “Are you awake?” a husky male voice asks against my hair.

  “I thought so, but I guess not.” I roll to my back, finding Nick’s achingly gorgeous face mere inches from mine.

  “I’m pretty sure you’re awake,” he says with a grin, kissing my nose. I’m not sure he’s right, but I’m not about to argue. “I’m also pretty sure you’re freezing.” He traces a finger down my arm over the goose bumps. I shiver, proving his point—though I think it may have more to do with his touch than the cold—and he rolls out of bed. After locating and pulling on his boxers, he adjusts the thermostat and pulls two T-shirts out of a small suitcase against the far wall. He puts on one of the shirts, and then walks over to my side of the bed. He bunches the shirt up to the neck and holds it out as if he were about to dress a small child. I sit up and give him a questioning look.

  “Arms up.”

  I laugh and oblige, lifting my arms over my head. He pulls the shirt down over me, slides his hands around the back of my neck, bringing my hair up and out of the neck hole, and bends down to kiss the top of my head. “I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, and then leaves the room.

  I gather up the front of the T-shirt in both hands, bury my face in it, and inhale. Something about the worn, faded cotton that smells exactly like him brings tears to my eyes. After another deep breath, I move my legs to lay crisscross in front of me and try to pull myself together.

  For the first time since I got here I have a moment to glance around the room, or should I say rooms—this is obviously a suite. Two glass French doors separate the bedroom from the sitting area, which has a fireplace, though it’s hard to see. In any case, it’s much nicer than any hotel room I have ever seen, much less stayed in.

  A door opens, and Nick comes back around the corner, giving me a heart-melting smile. He comes to the foot of the bed and crawls across it, falling onto his side and gently pulling me down with him. He tucks me back into his chest, brings the covers up over us, and wraps both arms around me.

  “So, Miss Basham,” he says, snuggling his face into my neck, “what am I going to do with you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We should probably sleep, as there is a wedding to attend tomorrow…or later today, I guess.”

  “Mmm, probably, but I’m not tired.”

  “Me either,” he sighs. “So, what then?”

  I hold my breath as I turn over to face him, anchoring myself in his peaceful eyes. “I’m sorry.” As much as I don’t want to spoil the moment by bringing up the past, I can’t help myself. If we can’t talk about any of it, it will always hang over us. But more than that, he has to know.

  For a split second he looks confused, but my somber expression explains the statement for me, and realization flashes in his eyes. “Jules, you don’t have to—”

  “Yes, I do,” I interrupt firmly. “I let you down, and there was no excuse for it. You had every right to hate me for what I put you through, and I want you to know that I understand. I failed you—I failed us both, and I’m so sorry.”

  Less than a heartbeat later, his lips brush lightly against mine in a tender kiss. “Thank you,” he whispers slowly against my mouth. After a blissfully long moment, he presses his lips to my forehead with a happy sigh. “I’m sorry, too.”

  “What?” I pull back to look at him.

  “It’s wasn’t all your fault, Jules.”

  “No, I’m pretty sure it was.”

  “I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. I should have fought harder—fought period—but I didn’t. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about how things could have worked out if I had given myself a day or two to calm down and then come back to talk to you. I shouldn’t have let you off the hook that easily.” He smiles sadly. “I failed us too, and I’m sorry.”

  I don’t fully agree with him, but I am also not about to argue when his words clearly mean a lot to him. After another kiss I roll back over and snuggle into him as he pulls me back into his chest with a sigh.

  “And I never hated you, Jules.” He slowly combs his fingers through my hair. “I’m sorry to say it, but I did try. In the beginning, I thought hating you would make it easier.” I’m glad my back is to him as I blink back tears. He struggles with some of his words, obviously not wanting to discuss this any more than I do, but he also seems to realize that it’s necessary. “Hate seemed like it would be easier to live with, but it wasn’t real. I was just lying to myself. So, I moved on to spite. I figured if I focused all my energy on proving the world wrong, then I wouldn’t have any left over for hurt. I immersed myself in work, almost to an unhealthy level, but at least I felt constructive.” He pauses for a few moments while I try to keep my breathing even. “Once the company was up and running on its own, I decided it was time to try to have a normal life outside of work. I even got engaged.”

  “What?” I say, turning to look over my shoulder at him. It’s ridiculous of me to feel jealous, but I can’t help it—though I do my best to hide it.

  “Mmhmm, to a woman in London,” he says, chuckling. “It was a textbook case of an engagement of convenience. We met at a conference. She had just dumped the guy her parents wanted her to marry, and I was trying to build some semblance of a personal life again. We both thought we needed to be with someone, so we just sort of fell into this mechanical relationship. I didn’t love her and she didn’t love me, but that didn’t seem to matter.”

  He wasn’t in love with her; I guess that’s something.

  “Looking back now, I think the fact that she wasn’t someone I could love was actually the appeal. I was able to be in a relationship which gave me at least an echo of the normal life I wanted, without the emotional weight of actually caring for someone. I felt safe knowing that, since she didn’t mean anything to me, she couldn’t possibly hurt me.”

  My heart lurches painfully, but I don’t interrupt.

  “We did everything we should have done, and to anyone on the outside looking in, we were the perfect pair. I proposed when it seemed like I should, and she said yes because she felt like she should, but it was like we were following steps in a manual. In the end, we had no business being with each other. We weren’t even friends. Eventually we both realized there was no way we could go through with it, and went our separate ways. I never even told Cathy.”

  I lie still, totally lost in his story, and as much as it hurts to hear, it is also strangely liberating.

  “By the time I decided to move back to the U.S., I was convinced that I had put you behind me for good. I was even able to go full days at a time without thinking about you. During the waking hours, anyway. There was nothing I could do about the dreams.”

  Oh, how well I know…

  “Life went on, and I wanted to think I was happy, but deep down I knew I wasn’t. Then I signed up with SMS Financial Planners.” I hear the smile enter his voice. “I had no idea you worked with the Herstein Group until I got the welcome packet in the mail from Margaret that had all your names in it. Soon as I saw it, I completely panicked,” he says, chuckling. “I called the receptionist so many times to cancel my contract, but was never able to go through with it. I must have hung up on her at least ten times!” We both giggle. “I couldn’t do it; I was determined not to run away. I was convinced that you no longer had any control over me, and that I could handle it.” He lets out a long sigh.

  “And then I saw you. I couldn’t believe my eyes; all of a sudden I was furious. I had expected to see the woman I remembered, but you weren’t her at all. The Julia I knew was bright and fun, but the one that stood in front of me that first day was pale and submissive. You might as well have been a part of the furniture. I wanted to take you by the shoulders and sh
ake you.” He gives my shoulder a gentle shove to make his point. “I was so angry—at you, for letting life run you over, and at myself, for caring. I resolved to do what I promised myself I would—prove that you were no longer important to me, and that I could ignore you just like I could anyone else. So that’s what I did.”

  “And a damn fine job of it too,” I say, rolling over to face him, and playfully punching his shoulder.

  “I was a petty bastard, I know. And that’s not even—” He stops, and looks down at the bed, almost as if he’s embarrassed.

  “What?”

  He sighs. “That’s not even the worst of it. There was that whole mess with Bree…”

  “Mess with Bree? What do you mean?”

  “You and Chris…at the house…” He looks down again, his face red. “You two were getting along so well, and Chris doesn’t tend to take to people so fast, and the two of you, being all friendly…I didn’t like it.” Oh, my God! He was jealous of Chris and me? “Bree seemed to like me, so…”

  “So…?” I ask, then it hits me. “You were flirting with her on purpose!” He squeezes his eyes shut in shame, and I have to stifle a giggle. “You were trying to upset me?” Suddenly something else becomes clear. “Oh my God, that day at the beach? That’s why you called her out to you? That’s why she got stung? No wonder you felt so bad!” He buries his face down into the bed as I laugh hysterically. Just hearing the truth melts the tension inside me.

  “It’s really not that funny,” he mumbles against the sheets, though his tone tells me he’s not as upset as he’s letting on.

  “Yeah, it kinda is!” I kiss his head, still giggling, and he comes up to meet my lips with his. After a moment we settle back under the covers.

  “Horrible as that day turned out, it was actually a weird blessing. It made me realize what an ass I was being, but more than that, it made me realize how much I needed you. How much I still loved you. Though maybe realize is the wrong word.” He thinks for a moment. “Acknowledge is more like it. That night I couldn’t sleep, and I decided to talk to you about everything. I was so close to telling you that morning by the side of the house, but Derek showed up. I promised myself I would talk to you later that day, but then you were gone.”

  “Of course I left! I walked in on the two of you kissing! Or…at least I thought I did, but it turns out it was just bad timing.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “You know, when I walked in the library, and you and Bree were in there. I didn’t see Chris, though she told me he was there too. You and Bree had your arms around each other, and I could swear to God I saw her kiss you…”

  “And that’s why you left?”

  I hang my head as my cheeks flush. “Just wait, it gets worse. Up until I met Bree and the rest of the bridesmaids at the dress shop that first time, I thought it was you she was marrying.”

  Now it is my turn to bury my face in the pillow while Nick howls with laughter. “How the hell did that happen?” he asks, when the laughter dies down.

  “It basically boils down to me being an idiot, and always assuming the worst.”

  “God, we’re a pair,” he chuckles, wiping his eyes. “But really, you were jealous? You? When I’m the one who had to find out you were seeing some little schmuck named Zach who was sending you flowers?”

  “Zach and I…wait, how did you know he sent me flowers?”

  “Bree couldn’t stop gushing about it! I had to sit through dinner with her and Chris the night you got them. She told us all about how you were dating some guy named Zach, and he seemed so sweet, and he sent you flowers. Then, he shows up at the SMS party and kisses you! I have never wanted to hit someone so badly in my life.”

  “You should have.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah…turns out he’s a con artist.”

  He huffs a laugh, but then sees my expression. “Wait, you’re serious?”

  “Unfortunately. I met him when he was hired at Lisa’s firm almost two and a half years ago. They just found out that since then he has embezzled over a hundred and sixty thousand dollars.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “Nope. They arrested him the day after the party, actually.”

  “Holy hell!” he says, chuckling under his breath. “I’m sorry, I know it isn’t funny,” he snorts through his laughter.

  “Shut up,” I giggle, and shove his chest.

  “Any other Prince Charmings you’d like to tell me about? Maybe a money launderer or hit-man you’ve dated?”

  He is cracking up at this point, and I continue to laugh in spite of myself. I roll away from him, pretending to sulk, but he hooks his arm around my waist and drags me back against his chest.

  “Come on, it is a little funny,” he says against the back of my head.

  I can still hear the smile in his voice, and I know he is looking for a reply, but my mind starts to wander. I can’t help thinking about what he’d said about how driven he’d become in our time apart. How my rejection of him had sparked an intense need to succeed. Sure, it was born of pain and spite, but still it reminded me of something Susan had said that morning at breakfast.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, pulling me out of my bubble. I look up to find him propped up on his elbow and gazing down at me.

  “Nothing, just thinking,” I assure him.

  “About?”

  “I was wondering…” I roll over on my back. “Do you think you would have been as successful as you were if things hadn’t happened the way they did?” It wasn’t as descriptive a question as it should have been, but he knew what I meant.

  His expression turned thoughtful as he absentmindedly played with a lock of my hair, running it through his fingers. “Well, if you’re expecting me to say that the time we spent apart was for the best, then you’re going to be disappointed. I’ll never agree to that. But I do see your point, and honestly, I have thought about it. Sure, I’d like to think that I’d have been just as successful no matter the circumstances, but who knows? My initial success was almost entirely due to the connections and deals I was able to make in London. If we’d have stayed together, I most likely never would have gone.” He looks down and shakes his head. “I know I wouldn’t have gone. Maybe eventually I would have had the same luck in New York as I did overseas, maybe not. It’s impossible to say, which means it’s not worth stressing over. None of that matters. You’re here. We’re here. That’s all I care about.” He smiles and rests his hand on my cheek. “This—” he kisses me gently “—is all I care about.”

  I hold his face between my hands. “I love you,” I whisper, brushing my thumbs over his cheeks. He looks down at me with an expression that takes my breath away, before lowering his lips back down to mine.

  Ah.

  I knew looking for my underwear would’ve been a waste of time.

  19

  IT’S 7:21 IN THE MORNING, and the impossible dream that started last night still hasn’t ended. I’ve been up for almost an hour, lost in thought and unable to fall back to sleep. The most wonderful man in the world is still sleeping soundly, his head on my chest and right arm draped across my waist. I stare up at the ceiling and—try as I might to deny it—I am actually starting to think this all just may be real.

  Last night had been the best of my life. After our second round of lovemaking, we were both hungry. Not wanting to bother with room service, we decided the mini bar would have to do. After that, the evening fell into a wonderful pattern of intimate conversation and amazing sex. We talked about our lives for the past eight years, and told stories of the things we’d done, his tales far more interesting than mine. He told me about his life in London and about building his company, while I tried to put a good spin on the mundane turn my life had taken. We talked—and loved—over and over until around four thirty, when we both finally surrendered to sleep.

  It was perfect.

  Well, perfect for us. This night had imperfections galore—Nick cut his finger opening a can of c
ashews from the mini bar, and at one point I got a horrible cramp in my leg during a, ahem, position change—but I didn’t mind. I don’t want perfection, because that’s not real life. The imperfections are what made it real, and the fact that it was real is what made it perfect.

  The most surprising part of the evening was hearing Nick’s side of all the things that had happened over the past several weeks. I am still in shock at everything I’ve come to learn, and I’ve been mulling it all over in the dark for the past hour or so. One thought in particular keeps popping up.

  I was right.

  All along, I’ve been right.

  Every instinct I’ve had—from not wanting to break things off with Nick all those years ago, to thinking he still had feelings for me in Maine, to the weird feeling I had about Zach—all of them have been right on the money. This revelation should probably make me feel good or give me a new splash of confidence, but at the moment, I’m so pissed at myself I could scream!

  If I had just trusted my own judgment and followed my gut from the get-go, my life would have turned out completely different. I spent all that time bitching about being slighted by my fairy godmother, when I’d had one all along deep inside myself—I just wasn’t listening. I was too busy following everyone else’s advice, or forcing myself into a version of the life I thought I should have, when happiness was right in front of me. Last night was the first time I’d taken a real, honest risk, and look what happened! I’d always been so afraid to take any sort of leap, but that’s what life is! Sure, it’s hard, scary, and painful, but hell, so is childbirth, and people do that every day. Why? Because the reward outweighs everything else. Nothing worth having is free; just look at my life the past eight years. That was free, and that’s about all it was worth.

  Well, not anymore.

  Nick shifts, and I glance down to see him watching me.

  “Good morning,” he says, with a sleepy smile.