by Ivy Layne
Charlotte could see right through me, but I wasn't going to talk about any of the doubts plaguing my mind at the Winters family dining table. Not with Vance sitting beside me. I had to work this out on my own.
"I'm fine," I said. "I just couldn't fall asleep last night after I got up to feed Rosie, and I'm worn out, that's all. What’s going on with you?"
"Nothing," Charlie whispered back. I didn't call her a liar out loud, but I knew she could see it in my eyes. She let out a sigh and said, "That house I showed you? It's under contract."
"Oh, that stinks. Is that what's bothering you?" I asked.
Charlie shrugged one shoulder and didn't meet my eyes. "Not all of it," she said. "But a lot of it, yeah. I guess I didn't realize how much I wanted the house until it was gone."
"The house or the lawnmower hottie next door?" I teased, nudging the side of her chair. A light flush brought color to her cheeks, and she shook her head, her ponytail swinging from side to side. I said, "I think it's the hottie as much as the house."
Charlotte's cheeks turned even pinker. "It's not the hottie," she protested. "I really liked that house."
"Then call the agent," I said. "Just because it's under contract, it doesn't mean it sold. A lot of stuff could go wrong. You never know."
"Maybe," Charlotte said.
"Do it," I urged. "Just in case. Now that you know, really know, that you want it, it'll make you feel better if you at least make a phone call."
"I'll do it tomorrow," she promised. The cook, who I'd never met personally but who Charlotte said was amazing, served us herself. I had to agree with Charlotte's assessment. Her food was spectacular. Herb roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and chocolate cake for dessert.
It was comfort food, not gourmet, but every bite was perfection. I'd forgotten what it was like to eat a dinner I hadn't cooked without rushing to finish before Rosie needed one of us.
By the time I took the last bite of chocolate cake, I was stuffed full, almost woozy with satiation.
I drank a glass of wine with dinner, and the wine combined with the food had me almost asleep on the short drive home. Vance's aggravated voice brought me back to full consciousness.
"What the fuck is he doing here?" Vance said, smacking his hand on the steering wheel for emphasis. I looked up and noticed with dismay that Brayden's luxury sedan was parked in front of the door. What the hell did he want with me?
"He's been calling me all day," I said without thinking. At the dark expression on Vance's face, I wished I'd kept my mouth shut. He looked like he wanted to beat Brayden to a pulp, and Brayden was absolutely the kind of guy who would press charges.
"Stay in the car," Vance ordered.
"No way," I said, undoing my seatbelt and jumping out as soon as the car came to a halt. I was around the hood and facing off with Brayden a second later, Vance right behind me. He put one hand on my shoulder, but he didn't try to move me. "Do you want me to call the police?" I said to Brayden. "Because I think I was very clear the last time you came to my house that if I saw you here again, I would call the police."
"Magnolia—" Brayden started. I was in no mood to listen.
"You don't have any right to be here. There's nothing of yours in the house, and you don't live here anymore. Go. Away."
"If you'd answer your phone or return one of my calls, I wouldn't have to come by," Brayden said with exaggerated patience. Just the sound of his voice put my teeth on edge. "I didn't get everything of mine out of the house. I need to come back in and go through some of the closets. I lived here for three years, and my stuff was spread all over. Unless you've been through every single room, you don't know that I didn't leave anything, and I know that I did, so stop being such a bitch about it."
"I will call you tomorrow," I said, slowly and deliberately. "I'm not letting you in the house tonight. We're tired, Rosie's tired, and I just want to go to bed."
"Why not just let me in now?" Brayden said. His refusal to leave was irritating the hell out of me. I didn't think this was about me, about us, but the next thing he said made me wonder. "You think you've got it all figured out now, don't you? Shacked up with Winters and his kid? You think I'm the asshole for breaking up with you and cheating on you. Maybe I am. But you're the stupid one.
"You're a fucking doormat. You let me get away with murder for years—I let you pay the bills, I was cheating on you, and I strung you along with an engagement when I had no intention of marrying you. So yeah, I'm an asshole, but here you are letting this guy do the same fucking thing. He gets a kid all of a sudden, and now you're what? His girlfriend or his nanny? Just remember that while you're blowing me off, thinking he's got your back. He's doing the same thing to you that I did. At least I'm willing to admit it."
Brayden got into his car and slammed the door. Vance's hand tightened on my shoulder and he jerked me backward, out of the way, as Brayden hit the gas, tires spinning, and flew past us down the driveway. I stood there, frozen, Brayden's words ping-ponging back and forth inside my head. There was something vindicating about his admission that he was an asshole.
I hated having it laid out that way, how he'd intentionally used me. It was humiliating that he’d admitted it so easily. It was also liberating, in a way. Yes, I'd been an idiot. I knew that. But it reminded me that the real failure in our relationship had nothing to do with me. It was him. Brayden was an enormous flaming jerk. The only thing I'd done wrong was put up with him.
Which left me with Vance. That part of Brayden's little speech stung. Vance was not Brayden. He wasn't. I knew he wasn't. I wanted to believe that I'd learned my lesson. I wasn't a doormat. Not anymore. But what Brayden had said was so close to Sloane's accusations. Vance himself had admitted to Sloane that he wasn't looking to be anyone's husband.
I wasn't expecting a ring. We'd only been together a few weeks, but I had to be honest with myself. He and his daughter were living in my house. If he wasn't thinking that we were a family, didn't see himself as a husband, then what were we doing? I felt a little sick. I was in love with Vance. He was my closest friend, and I'd fallen in love with him. My whole life was wrapped up in him.
I shook my head, trying to banish my uncertainty. Vance was not Brayden. It might look the same from the outside, but I was not making the same mistakes with Vance I'd made with Brayden. I wasn't.
"You okay, Babe?" Vance asked. "If he shows up again, don't say a word to him. Just get back in your car and call the police. I don’t like that he’s so insistent about getting into the house.”
I nodded numbly, saying only, "Do you need help with Rosie?"
"I've got her," Vance said, studying my face in the dim light outside the front door. "You sure you're okay? You're not letting him get inside your head, are you?"
"No, I'm fine. I'm just tired," I said. I was saying that a lot tonight. I was tired. Everything would look better in the morning. I took the keys from Vance and unlocked the front door. I didn't want to talk anymore, and with everything tumbling around in my head, for the first time, I didn't want to have sex with Vance. I couldn't think when he touched me. My body trusted him, wanted him, and my brain didn't trust my body.
I washed my face and changed into a nightshirt while Vance was busy with Rosie. When he came to bed, I pretended to be asleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
MAGNOLIA
* * *
I woke up to the sound of the baby wailing, my eyes sticky with sleep, my head aching. I'd fallen asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow the night before, but I felt as though I'd cried myself to sleep. Rosie was moving around in her crib, fretful and unhappy. Vance was nowhere to be seen.
I sat up and pushed the covers back, shaking my hair out of my eyes. I had to get to Rosie. I stumbled into the bathroom to brush my hair and splash water on my face before I pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Rosie's diaper was wet and worse. I loved that baby to death, but good God, her diapers were horrible.
I got her cleaned up an
d made her a bottle, which stopped her crying and left me desperate for coffee. Both Vance and Scout were missing when I went downstairs, a note leaning against the coffee maker telling me they were out for a run. At least the coffee maker was full, but it would've been nice of Vance to ask if I wanted to go for a run instead of leaving me with the cranky baby and that toxic waste dump of a diaper.
I put Rosie in the floor gym as soon as she finished her bottle and I'd burped her—mercifully, without her throwing up in my hair—and sat at the island to finish my coffee.
I'd told myself that everything would seem better in the morning. I'd been wrong.
I was just as confused as I'd been when I'd fallen asleep. I was frustrated with Vance and more frustrated with myself. The mess I was in wasn't really his fault. It was mine. It was me. I was the one who let him in—into my house, into my bed. He never made me any promises, never declared any intentions other than wanting to have sex with me.
I knew Vance cared about me, but I didn't think he was in love with me. And I sure as hell wasn't going to ask him. I was tired of feeling like I was begging for love. I was head over heels for him, and head over heels for Rosie. I was putting myself out there, my heart on the line, and I was going to end up shattered. When it happened, it wouldn't be anyone's fault but my own.
I stood in the kitchen, looking out the bay window to the backyard, missing my grandmother with every fiber of my being. She was the only time I'd ever known real love. Unconditional love. The night before, at Winters House, love had been everywhere. Those couples glowed with it. Love was the backbone of the Winters family. They'd been through so much and they would fight to the death for each other. The only person I'd ever had who loved me was my grandmother, and she was gone.
Was I going to spend the rest of my life satisfied with crumbs? I realized, too late, that the reason I'd been okay with Brayden's lack of devotion was that I'd had Vance. By the time things had started going wrong with Brayden, I'd already been working for Vance and we'd grown close. Nothing had ever happened between us. It wasn't a romance, but his friendship had turned into my main source of emotional support.
I hadn't needed Brayden to be perfect, because I'd had Vance. When things eventually fell apart with Vance, I would be alone. Truly alone. As if my mind had conjured him up, Vance appeared in the backyard, Scout at his side. He was shirtless, his golden skin gleaming with sweat. Scout followed him through the yard to the carriage house in the rear of the property.
A lot of carriage houses from this era had been turned into guest houses. This one was really no more than a glorified garage that no one used because my grandfather had added an attached garage in the 80s. The building was in good structural shape and had been freshly painted, but the inside was a disaster of disorganization. Decades of the Henry family's junk—stuff we were attached to or too lazy to throw away.
When Vance opened the door, I was half curious as to where he'd gotten the key and half worried the interior would collapse on his head in a wave of boxes and papers and broken bicycle parts.
He disappeared into the carriage house. It was at least ten minutes and half a cup of coffee before he reappeared, a determined expression on his face, and headed to the back door.
"What's with the carriage house?" he said as soon as I opened the door.
"What do you mean? It's a carriage house. No one uses it, as I'm sure you could tell. Where did you get the key?" I asked.
"It was in the kitchen drawer," he said, shrugging. "I think we should empty it out and turn it into a studio. Then I could work there instead of going in to the loft every day."
I stared at him, speechless. Converting the carriage house to be used as a studio would be a major renovation. Vance's work was a fire hazard. The first floor of his loft had been specifically designed to accommodate his welding equipment. If he wanted to use the carriage house as a studio, we’d have to gut the building and redesign it from the inside. That was a big deal. A huge commitment.
This house, the property, were the only things I had of my grandparents. I hadn't even redecorated, even though a lot of the furniture didn't suit my style. Tearing out the inside of one of the buildings to give Vance a studio? I struggled to find words.
"Magnolia? What? Don't you think it would work?"
"I don't . . . I think . . ." An awful realization washed through me, and words tumbled out. "I think you need to move out." I snapped my mouth shut in horror.
Had I just said that? Vance's eyes widened and his face went pale. I guess I had. I hadn't even been thinking it. I'd just opened my mouth and heard myself speak with no input from my brain.
"You want me to move out? Babe, we don't have to do anything with the carriage house. It was just an idea," he said, turning to grab a coffee cup and filling it.
My stomach rolled with nerves and dismay. I could take it back. I wasn't sure Vance had really heard me. I opened my mouth again, planning to apologize.
"I think you need to move out," I repeated. I spoke as if on autopilot, my voice flat. "I don't think I can do this with you anymore."
"Do what with me?" he asked, eyeing me warily.
"You and me. I can't do this. Everything changed so fast after you found Rosie. You both moved in, and then we were sleeping together, and now you want me to remodel my house so you can work here . . ."
My voice trailed off, and I wished desperately for the words to explain how I felt, but everything that popped into my head made me sound too vulnerable. Needy. I was tired of feeling needy.
"Magnolia—" he started, and I interrupted.
"My whole life is about you and Rosie," I said. "Now you want a studio here, and I don't even know what we're doing together. I can’t keep playing house with you. I love Rosie. I—"
I almost said it. I love you. I bit my tongue hard. I was not going to tell him I loved him. I was not putting myself out there like that. He stared at me, incomprehension all over his face. Did he really not get it?
Apparently, he didn't because he said, "We're not playing house, Magnolia. That's not what this is."
"Then what is it, Vance? If we’re not playing house, then what are we doing?"
"We're together," he said in an exasperated tone that implied I should know what that meant.
My frustration exploded out of me in a tirade of words. "What does that mean, we're together? Together, like we're friends who sleep together? Together, like I'm your girlfriend?"
"Like you're my girlfriend, for fuck’s sake." He shoved a hand through his hair. "Magnolia, tell me what's wrong."
"I don't know what you want from this," I said, unable to meet his eyes. I didn't want to see annoyance, or worse, pity.
"I don't want anything," he said.
Disappointment speared through me, followed by dull, numbing resignation. I'd hoped. I'd hoped so hard that I was wrong.
"That’s what I thought you'd say," I whispered, my voice stuck in my throat.
"That's not what I meant," he said, setting his mug on the counter with a sharp clank. "I want us to be together. That's what I want."
I stared at my bare feet on the hardwood floor. I could still end this whole conversation, shrug and say I was having a bad morning and everything was fine. Was that what I wanted?
With a sick, sinking feeling in my stomach, I knew it wasn't. I didn't want to go on like this, always feeling at a disadvantage, loving Vance and waiting for him to leave me.
Talking around the problem and waiting for him to make his feelings clear wasn't getting me anywhere. I either needed to act like an adult and have the guts to be honest with Vance or I was never going to know where I stood. I'd been protecting myself, but if I wanted the truth, I had to take a risk.
I was going to get burned. I knew it. But I had to know.
Gathering my courage, I raised my eyes to his and asked, "Are you in love with me? Do you want to get married? Have kids with me?"
His face went blank, his lips pressed together. Not the resoun
ding yes I was looking for. My shoulders slumped in defeat.
In a voice that was almost too quiet to hear, I said, "I deserve that, Vance. I deserve to be with someone who loves me, who wants a life with me. I'm tired of going with the flow, hoping things will work out. We've known each other for years. If you don't love me now, you never will."
"Magnolia," Vance said. "Don't do this. Give me a chance. Everything is upside down right now. I'm still getting used to Rosie. I haven't thought about anything long-term. I just need time."
"No, you don't. You've had years of me by your side, every day. Now we're sleeping together. More time isn't going to change anything."
I crossed the room and shoved my feet into a discarded pair of flip-flops I kept by the back door. Picking up my purse from the counter, I took in his perplexed expression and said, "I don't trust my own judgement anymore, Vance. I love you. I love Rosie. But I don't want to be convenient. I don't want to wait and see how it works out. You and Rosie are my whole world. And I'm not yours."
I turned to leave the kitchen. Vance called out behind me, "Magnolia, we can talk about this."
Without looking back, I said, "I'm going out for a while. I don't want you here when I come home."
He said something else, but I didn't stick around to listen. I grabbed my keys and headed out the door, tears streaming down my cheeks. I'd put everything I had on the line and I'd lost.
Again.
I had my self-respect back, but it was cold comfort without Vance.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
VANCE
* * *
"Mr. Winters, he's in a meeting. It might be better if you waited—"
I waved a hand at Aiden's PA and strode past her, ignoring her protests. I needed to talk to my cousin. I pushed open the door to Aiden's office to see him sitting behind his desk, a man and a woman in dark suits sitting on the other side, both of them taking notes as Aiden spoke, one on a tablet and the other on a legal pad.