by Sami Lee
“So it was me,” Greg deduced, a mixture of remorse and irritation churning hotly in his gut. Thinking back on how he’d been—focused on the end goal as Rochelle put it—he admitted he might have gotten carried away. But if he’d been overbearing, she should have said something, no matter how difficult it was.
Penny would never have let him get away with bossing her around like that.
“I said it wasn’t your fault,” Rochelle countered. “I never objected to any of it. There was nothing to object to. It all sounded perfect. A big wedding, a lovely home and a terrific husband. Every girl’s dream. And you were nothing but decent to me. So charming that you swept me off my feet. How could I have a problem with any of that?”
“But you did.”
Greg took a sip of his own drink—black English Breakfast tea with sugar. He’d requested it when Rochelle had tried to order a double espresso for him and a spark of rebellion had ignited at her presumptuousness. It seemed they’d both been prone to making assumptions about each other. Like when he’d assumed her lack of objections meant “yes” and Rochelle had assumed he wouldn’t want to hear the truth.
Perhaps he hadn’t at the time. But that wasn’t him anymore. He wanted the whole, unvarnished truth. All of it, no matter how harsh.
“Rochelle, how many men had you been with before me?”
Her eyes widened at the question. “Excuse me?”
“I’m asking how many other relationships you had, how many affairs, one-night stands, etcetera.”
“One-night… Oh my. How can you ask me that?”
Greg cocked a brow. “We were engaged to be married once. Surely I can ask about your sexual history. You could have asked me about mine.”
“I didn’t want to know!” Rochelle’s gaze darted round the café, as though she thought someone might overhear their conversation. “That’s private.”
“Too private for the woman who would have been my wife? No. It’s obvious to me that we kept more things from each other than either of us realized. We should have been more forthcoming.”
“You mean about our sexual habits?”
“Among other things. Did you know I thought you were a virgin until the first time we made love and I realized you weren’t?”
None of Rochelle’s perfectly applied makeup could hide the raging blush in her cheeks. “I was twenty-six. Of course I wasn’t a virgin.”
“But you acted like one. Shy and unsure of yourself. I thought you were afraid to sleep with me.”
When she had, Greg had gone out of his way to be gentle. Six weeks of dining and dancing and long good-night kisses after which he’d gone to bed alone, and he’d still managed to take it slow, to whisper constant reassurances to her while he made sure she was ready, to ensure he didn’t hurt her. He’d fallen deeper in love with her that night because he’d thought her trust in him was precious.
Compare that to how his first time had been with Penny, and there couldn’t be two more different experiences. She’d been demanding, honest and earthy in her responses. She’d hidden nothing. He thought of Penny sitting on his bathroom counter telling him with bravado that she’d slept with ten men and she knew a thing or two. Rochelle couldn’t even admit to him back then she wasn’t a virgin.
Neither had he ever used dirty words in bed with Rochelle. She would have been scandalized. Not that he’d cared at the time. He hadn’t even known he had that kind of raw passion in him. Not until Penny had he ever said anything like I’m going to fuck you so hard or I want your cunt. Jesus. In bed with her he was an animal, and she loved it as much as he did.
Penny sure did know how to push every one of his buttons. It made the sex great, but it also led to arguments. Healthy, air-clearing arguments. Had he once thought the fact he didn’t fight with Rochelle meant they were well suited? All it meant was that they’d never really spoken to each other. Not honestly. Not with any real feeling. Greg had been in love with an illusion, an act, the idea of marrying someone who seemed right for him.
Which meant he’d never been in love at all.
“Of course I’d had other relationships,” Rochelle said in a near whisper. Greg started when he worked out she was answering his question about her past lovers. “But I know how women are supposed to behave. Men don’t marry sluts.”
An idea Rochelle had probably gotten from her sour, uptight mother. Greg actually felt sorry for her for a moment. “Rochelle, I wouldn’t have cared one whit how many men you’d been with.”
She stared at him, mystified. “But you asked…”
“It wasn’t the number. I’m just sorry you felt like you had to put on an act for me.”
“I didn’t know you wanted anything different.”
No, she’d never known what he wanted at all. But how could she have? He hadn’t known it himself. Now he did. He wanted Leyton’s Headland. He wanted something real and messy and imperfect. And he wanted that with Penny.
Suddenly, Greg was seized by the knowledge of how God damn lucky he and Rochelle were. They’d dodged a bullet when they didn’t get married. He remembered how he’d felt, how confused and devastated he’d been, as he’d watched her bolt down the aisle of that church away from him.
The remnants of that devastation melted away, to be replaced by a bone-deep relief. Rochelle had done him a favor when she’d jilted him. If she hadn’t they’d be married. He would never have moved to Leyton’s Headland, would never have met Penny. He would never have met Penny. What a horrible reality that would have been.
In an impulsive move that stunned the hell out of her, Greg stood, leaned over the table and gave Rochelle a hard, resounding kiss on the forehead. “Thank you.”
She stared at him agog. “For what?”
“For not marrying me.”
“For not… You’re glad we didn’t get married?”
“Hell yes,” Greg said emphatically as he sat back in his chair. “Aren’t you?”
Her pink glossed lips flapped open and closed a couple of times. “I don’t know.”
“Rochelle, you’re the one who ran out on me.”
“I’m aware of that but…the men I’ve met since. I can’t tell you how horrible they are. They’re not decent and kind like you.”
Greg remembered what his mother had told him on the phone a while back. “Max Rogers?”
Rochelle scowled. Greg didn’t think he’d ever seen her scowl before. “He’s a scoundrel.”
“I could have told you that. You can do better than him.”
Her expression eased into a resigned half smile. “Better than him…but not you.”
Greg shook his head. “We well and truly missed our moment. I’ve moved on, and you should too. To someone other than Max.”
“You’ve moved on.” Rochelle grimaced. “To someone called ‘yoga girl’?”
Greg’s cup of tea stilled halfway to his mouth. “What did you say?”
“Your phone rang while you were in the bathroom,” Rochelle explained. “I know I shouldn’t have, but I picked it up. I saw the caller ID. Yoga girl. Curiosity got the better of me, and I figured I ought to know who she was if there was a chance we’d get back together—”
“There’s not.”
“Yes. Thank you for reiterating.” She took one look at his face and conceded with a sigh. “I know, I deserve worse than that.”
Greg wasn’t interested in discussing what Rochelle did or did not deserve any longer. His heart was seizing in his chest, wondering why Penny was ringing him. Imagining what conclusions she might have come to when Rochelle had picked up his phone. “What did she say?”
“She asked for you. I said you were in the bathroom. Then she asked who I was.”
“And you told her.” The teacup clattered as Greg replaced it in the saucer and rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Fuck.”
Rochel
le gasped. “Greg!”
“Oh for Pete’s sake. I’m a grown man and I’ll say fuck if I want to. Fuck, fuck, tits, bum, cock, bugger, cunt.”
Greg had never seen anyone’s mouth and eyes grow so wide. Her expression was so comical, he laughed. Jesus. He was going to have an interesting time explaining this to Penny. Rochelle had said he was in the bathroom, which made it sound like they were nice and cozy. Like they’d spent all night fucking and he had to wash the sex sweat off his body.
Hell. If Penny thought he’d done that he was going to tan her cute hide for her.
Eventually, Rochelle spoke. “I knew there was something different about you when you walked in here wearing jeans, but the new vocabulary is a surprise.”
“Not looking like such a decent guy now, am I?”
She smiled softly. “No, I think you’re still the most decent man I’ve ever met. I hope yoga girl is worthy of you. I know I wasn’t.”
“Her name is Penny, and she’s so worthy I’m going to marry her one day. In a big, obnoxious church wedding if she wants one. Because it’s not the wedding that matters, it’s the person you’re marrying. I’ve worked that much out.”
“Married, huh? You have been busy this year.”
“Not really. I’ve only been dating her two weeks.”
To his surprise, Rochelle laughed. “I should have known. You’re the impetuous sort.”
“I am not.”
“When it comes to love you are. Go on. Call her and fix it. I can see you’re busting to.”
Greg showed her a lopsided smile. “You’re going to be okay, Rochelle. You’ll find someone who’s right for you as well. I promise.”
Rochelle waved a hand, and there was a telltale glistening in her eye. “Perhaps I ought to work out what is right for me first, eh?”
“You will.” Greg squeezed her hand on the tabletop. “Good luck.”
She gave him a watery, but genuine, smile. “You too.”
Soon Greg was out of the café, striding down the street. He hit Penny’s number as he moved, heading to the parking structure that housed his car. The call wouldn’t connect. This device is out of service or switched off, said the robotic voice.
What the hell did that mean?
He located his car, paid for parking and took off, exiting the car park with a screech of tires. He immediately got stuck in the snarl of Sydney traffic and cursed, wishing for the open roads of the north coast. He had to get back to his mother’s place—once the family abode—at Cremorne Point, repack his things in the bag he’d brought yesterday and hit the road to Leyton’s.
“Oh, fuck!”
Greg thumped the steering wheel when he recalled his promise to take his mother to the Cancer fundraiser tonight, the one she’d been supposed to attend with the now-absent Richard. She’d been so inconsolable about the Bryan thing yesterday that Greg had agreed to be her escort for the evening, thinking a night out might cheer her up. He’d already decided to see Rochelle today anyway and figured he could do with another decent night’s sleep before he made the eight-hour drive back home.
Home. Leyton’s was his home. Penny was his home. But his mother was still his mother, and he didn’t relish the thought of abandoning her at the last minute to attend an event she couldn’t bear to attend alone. He tried Penny’s number again only to get the same frustrating message. Was she ignoring him on purpose?
The thought hurt, and it angered him at the same time. Didn’t he deserve more trust than this?
An hour later he was back at Cremorne Point. He spent the next two hours working out in the state-of-the-art home gym that probably hadn’t been used since he was here last. He couldn’t imagine his mother bench-pressing one-fifty to work off her frustrations. By the time evening arrived and he was dressed in his formal gear—which he’d never bothered to take to Leyton’s Headland with him because what use did he have for a tuxedo there?—Greg was fuming.
He’d tried Penny four more times over the course of the afternoon. No response. She was behaving like a child having a tantrum, instead of the audacious woman she was. She was the type of person to demand answers when she had questions, not sulk. Why was she doing this? Had the thought of him with Rochelle hurt her so much she’d had a meltdown?
The notion slowed Greg’s angry pacing of the living room rug. He didn’t want that. She was the last person he’d ever want to hurt.
Of course, there was the possibility she’d simply turned her phone off at work. She might not care at all that he’d spent the morning with Rochelle. Perhaps when she’d told him to go see his ex-fiancée, that had been her way of getting rid of him. Maybe she didn’t love him as he’d begun to hope she did.
“Almost ready, darling.”
Greg turned to see Zoe Danvers gliding into the room. She wore a tasteful black dress with an emerald green wrap he figured probably cost more than Penny paid in rent every month. More than Bryan had stolen from her months ago.
Maybe Penny doesn’t want to be with you because you’ll always be Bryan’s brother.
“You look pensive,” Zoe noted as she went to the sideboard and poured herself a finger of genuine Russian vodka. “Something on your mind?”
“I’ll never understand women,” Greg groused.
Zoe laughed, a high tinkly sound. “Men never do, darling. We’re complicated creatures.”
“It’s very frustrating.”
“Does this have something to do with Rochelle?” Zoe arched one finely plucked dark brow. “You didn’t tell me how your visit went this morning.”
“It wasn’t a visit, Mum. It was coffee and…” Throwing out the old baggage once and for all. “Goodbye, I suppose. This has nothing to do with her.”
“Someone else you’ve met? Is she from around here? You know how I’d love it if you moved back.”
Greg barely managed not to groan. Not this again. “I’m not moving back. I live in Leyton’s Headland.”
Zoe clutched dramatically at her chest. “Oh dear. First Bryan and that business and now this.”
“Mum, that should not be a surprise. I’ve been telling you for months.”
“But I feel alone in this big old house sometimes.” Zoe looked wistfully around at the stylishly decorated but quiet, and yes, lonely, house.
“You don’t have to live here, you know,” Greg pointed out. “You could move anywhere you want. I’d even help you find a place near me, if you’d like.”
The thought of his mother living close enough for regular visits made Greg wince inwardly. He’d started to enjoy his solitude this past year. But what could he do? She was his mother, and she was standing there telling him she was lonely. If the clients who thought he was such a vicious shark could only see him now.
“I couldn’t do that.” His mother dismissed that suggestion with a wave of her hand. “Everyone I know is here.”
Greg rolled his eyes. “Everyone except me.”
“Exactly. Which is why you should come back here.”
Greg stared at her, dumbfounded by her tenacity. For a woman who claimed to have a weak heart, she was pretty darn steely. To his surprise, and Zoe’s, he started to laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“Mum, you’re one in a million, and I love you. But I’m never moving back here. I’m in love with a vegetarian, left-wing-voting yoga enthusiast who you’re probably going to hate. But I intend to make her part of my life. I hope you can deal with it.”
“You intend to make her part of your life? What does that mean?”
Greg shrugged. “It means I have intentions towards her. But I might have my work cut out for me. At this point she’s not talking to me, and in truth I can’t even be sure she loves me.”
It made his stomach pitch to even say it. Damn it, Penny, why won’t you even talk to me? Can’t you see I’m crazy about you?
Greg smiled, walked over and kissed his mother on the forehead. In her own strangely manipulative way, she loved him. She loved Bryan too, and Bryan was going to need to know that in the next few months. “Promise me you’ll go see Bryan on every day he can have visitors. Don’t you dare let what anyone else thinks stop you.”
Zoe seemed surprised by the embrace, and it took her a moment to sink into it. She pressed her face into Greg’s shoulder and clutched his jacket sleeve a moment. When she spoke her voice was raspy. “I will, Greg.”
“I know there’s not much hope Dad will say it, so Bryan needs to hear from you that you love him, and that you’re proud of him. Okay?”
Her breath hitched, and for a moment Greg thought she was going to cry. But she stepped back out of his arms and thrust her chin out in a determined point. “You’re right. Bryan needs me. I’ll be here for him. I promise.”
Greg smiled and squeezed her shoulder. She smiled one of those soft motherly smiles that she gave rarely, but that meant the world. Then the doorbell rang and they broke eye contact.
“That must be the car service,” Zoe said. “Why don’t you get it and I’ll fetch my purse.”
Greg nodded and went to the door, glad the night was getting underway. A few hours of polite conversation and he could kiss these stuffy charity dinners goodbye forever.
All the breath left his body when he opened the front door and Penny stood there, bedraggled and overwrought and beautiful in a knee-length floral dress, her brown boots and a denim jacket. She looked him up and down, assessing his formal wear with surprise.
“Darling, I can’t find my purse. Have you seen it?”
It was his mother’s voice calling from the other room. From the look on Penny’s face, Greg figured she’d drawn a different conclusion.
The thought was confirmed when she drove the pointed toe of her boot into his shin.
Chapter Seventeen