“I said that he didn’t buy me a ring, not that he wouldn’t,” Brighton snapped.
Genevieve looked confused. “Oh. Well, it’s none of my business, I suppose.”
“No, it’s not.” Brighton smiled sweetly and let the silence expand.
Finally, the exquisite blonde rallied with, “I came here to apologize. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling about all this. But I also came to explain that Jacob and I have a long, complicated history, and it’s not over. It will never be over.”
“Mmmm.” Brighton ran her fingertip along the rim of her glass. “Because after he made a bunch of money, you still rejected him. In front of a roomful of people.”
“That was . . .” Genevieve’s flawless complexion flushed. “That was complicated. I had already promised to marry another man.”
Brighton glanced at the socialite’s bare fingers. “And how did that work out?”
“It was the worst mistake of my life. I married a man I didn’t love and I paid for it every single day.” Her blue eyes brimmed with tears.
“I’m confused; break this down for me again.” Brighton rested her chin in her hand. “Why did you get that annulment?”
“My parents were going to cut me off.”
“From what?”
“My trust fund. The family investments. What was I supposed to do?” Genevieve shed a single dainty tear. “Be penniless? Drop out of college?”
“You didn’t have to drop out of college. You could have applied for student loans and done work-study.”
Genevieve stared at Brighton as though she had started speaking in tongues.
“And why did you marry that other guy after Jake came back with a million dollars?”
Genevieve looked stricken. “I know how this is going to sound. I know. But . . . a million dollars isn’t really all that much. And a good marriage is about more than money. My family and his family had known each other for years.”
“And yet it didn’t work out.”
“It didn’t.” Another ladylike tear ran down her cheek. “As I said, I suffered for my sins.”
Brighton rolled her eyes. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
“You wouldn’t say that if you’d been in my marriage.”
“Okay, but be honest: Why are you showing up now?” Brighton asked. “He’ll never be up to your lofty standards. He’s moved on. He’s married someone else. Why don’t you give back his grandmother’s ring and let him be?”
“I tried. I’ve been trying for years.” Genevieve rested her fragile, spindly wrists on the edge of the bar. “But as I said, there’s something about him that makes him impossible to forget. Which is why I wanted to talk to you, woman to woman.”
Brighton snorted. “‘Woman to woman’?” She pushed her stool back. “We’re done here.”
Genevieve rested one hand lightly on Brighton’s shoulder. “If he didn’t want me, I’d leave. I’d go away and never come back. But the truth is, we’re not done with each other, and I’m not sure we ever will be.”
Brighton shook off Genevieve’s hand. “He is done with you. He married me.”
“After fifteen years of being single. On the day I contacted him. Isn’t it possible that he married you to send me a message?”
“Yes, and I don’t think the message was: ‘Please show up at my house at your earliest opportunity.’ If you’re so insistent on chatting ‘woman to woman,’ let me ask you something.” Brighton tried to remain emotionless, but she wasn’t as good at this game as Genevieve was. “Why did you contact him? Why now, after all this time? What do you want from him?”
“Who says I want anything from him?”
“I do.” Brighton thought back to what Hattie Huntington had said about the Van Petten family’s financial distress. “Call it woman’s intuition.”
Genevieve looked a bit discomfited. “I don’t expect you to understand our history.”
“Good. Because I don’t. What I do understand is that you didn’t want him enough to stay with him when he was poor, you didn’t want him when he ‘only’ had a million dollars, but now that your trust fund dried up, suddenly he’s the long-lost love of your life.” She had to stop to catch her breath.
Genevieve’s expression froze. “Who said anything about my trust fund?”
Brighton leveled her gaze. “I heard that the Van Pettens are having a cash-flow problem. I heard that all you have left is social currency, and that doesn’t pay the bills.”
Genevieve’s lip trembled. “That’s just vicious gossip.”
“So you’re saying that you’d be here throwing yourself at him if he were still making minimum wage and eating SpaghettiOs?” God, she was hungry.
Genevieve pulled herself together and sat up straight. “You don’t need Jacob. I do.”
I don’t need him, but I want him.
“Stop calling him Jacob,” Brighton said.
“But that’s his name.”
“His name is Jake. Jacob is annoying and pretentious.”
“You’re only saying that because you don’t like me.”
“Fair point.”
“I married Jacob—Jake”—Genevieve looked pained as she forced herself to say the nickname—“for the right reasons. We were desperately in love. Both of us.”
“No, you weren’t.” Brighton said this instantly, almost as a reflex. But maybe she was wrong. Jake hadn’t married Genevieve because he was drunk and bored and reckless. He’d married her because . . . well, maybe he had loved her. Maybe once upon a time, Jacob Sorensen had been capable of a deep, genuine connection.
“He loved me more than anyone else has ever loved me before or since.” Genevieve sounded stronger with every syllable. “I didn’t appreciate it at the time because I was so young, but he would have done anything for me.” She inhaled slowly. “You need to let him go, Brighton.”
“Why? Because you want another chance? Sorry, life doesn’t work that way. You don’t get unlimited chances with a guy like Jake. One per customer, lady. You had your turn.”
Rather than argue, Genevieve changed the subject. “I wish we’d met under different circumstances. I feel as though we could have been friends.”
“I doubt you’d want to be friends with someone like me,” Brighton said. “I’m very ordinary.”
“You’re talented. I was sincere when I asked you about commissioning a piece of jewelry.”
“If you’re looking for someone to design your next engagement ring from Jake, you’re going to have to keep looking.” Brighton took another big gulp of sangria. Overwhelmed with loss and frustration, she turned to the only healthy outlet left to her. “Which reminds me, I should get going. I’ve got a few designs to finish up before Monday.”
“What are you working on?” Genevieve asked.
“Rings.” Brighton thought about Lila and Malcolm and their starry-eyed devotion. “For a couple that actually stands a chance in hell of making their marriage last.” She pushed her half-empty glass aside and flagged down Jenna. “Check, please.”
chapter 30
Brighton worked for hours in the back room of the Naked Finger. The hot light and the dull ache in her shoulders as she hunched over the workbench served as welcome distractions. At closing time, she locked the doors and continued to polish a thin platinum band, taking the occasional break for junk food she’d bought in a fit of despair.
At eight o’clock, Jenna popped over from the Whinery to make sure she was okay.
At nine, Kira texted to check in.
At ten, Lila called to ask why on earth she was still at the store.
Brighton assured everyone she was fine and declined to leave the premises. She had made a commitment to deliver these rings before she left town. Besides, it wasn’t like she could sleep right now anyway. She kept thinking of the mixtur
e of hope and despair she’d seen in Genevieve’s big blue eyes.
Brighton prayed that she wouldn’t still be getting over him a decade and a half later.
At ten thirty, she heard the metallic scrape of a key in the lock. She stashed the ring in a drawer and glanced up, expecting to see Lila.
Jake walked in, rumpled and unshaven and clearly exhausted. Her body responded instantly. She tried to look blasé as she picked up her plastic spoon and took a leisurely bite of Chef Boyardee’s finest.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Is this a trick question?” Brighton glanced down at her tank top, navy skirt, and bare feet. “I’m working and having a midnight snack. What are you doing here?”
“Lila gave me the keys.”
“Of course she did. You’re so charming and persuasive. But how’d you know I was here?”
He shifted his weight. “Genevieve mentioned you’d said you were going to work late.”
“Ah, yes. Genevieve.” Brighton pulled the ring back out of the drawer. “She and I had quite a conversation today.”
“She told me.”
Brighton studied the surface of the smooth platinum band for imperfections.
“Let’s go back to the house.” He took a step toward the door, expecting her to follow him.
She stayed right where she was.
He exhaled as he turned around to face her. “You know you’re more than welcome to stay there as long as you want.”
“I know. You made it very clear that you’d sign the deed to that house over to me right now if I asked.”
He nodded at her with evident relief. “You could stay here and work with Lila indefinitely. If you want, I’ll—”
“For the last time, Jake, I don’t want anything from you.” She peered through a magnifying lens at a tiny divot in the platinum. “I’m perfectly capable of providing for myself.”
“Eating SpaghettiOs out of a can?” He sounded angry, and she realized that this must be a sore spot. A throwback to the days when he was poor and struggling to be worthy of his bride.
Too bad. “I’d rather eat SpaghettiOs out of a can for the rest of my life than spend one more day eating twelve-dollar strawberries with you.” She spooned up another bite of pasta with an air of defiance.
A scratch at the door and a plaintive canine whine interrupted his reply. “Hang on.” He opened the door so that Rory, who’d been waiting outside, could come in. The giant brown dog padded over to Brighton, greeted her with drool-drenched kisses, and sprawled out across her bare toes.
Brighton reached down to pat his side. “Who needs fuzzy slippers when I’ve got you around?”
Rory’s tail thumped against the floor.
“Hey.” Jake frowned. “That’s my dog.”
Brighton patted Rory again. “Actually, he’s not your dog. He’s a dog. You said so yourself, remember?”
For once, Jake Sorensen had nothing to say.
Brighton cupped a hand to her ear. “Yes?”
“Maybe he’s not officially my dog, but he’s not yours, either.”
“Jake, I’m not going to argue with you about dog ownership. I’m too busy eating empty calories and working on what is probably the best piece of jewelry I’ve ever made in my life. So if you’re done—” She slipped on her safety goggles and flipped on her polishing machine. The humming noise drowned out further attempts at conversation.
He leaned over her shoulder until his cheek rested against hers. “Show me.”
She could feel, rather than hear, his voice. “No.”
He placed his fingers atop hers, his touch light but steady. “Brighton.”
“Ugh. Fine.” She switched off the polisher, put down Malcolm’s wedding band, and handed over the wax model of Clea Cole’s black diamond dog ring. “Behold, genius in the making.”
He studied her handiwork in silence.
“It’s a poison ring,” she informed him. “See the lid right there? There’ll be a tiny chamber under there that one could use to conceal poison that one might pour into one’s ex’s Gatorade. If one were so inclined.”
He peered at the intricate ridges and curves in the blue wax, the hollows that would be filled with precious metals. “It’s beautiful.”
“Not really. It’s just stone and metalwork.”
He kept studying the wax, and she knew that he could visualize the finished product based on the negative space. He could see what would be there based on what wasn’t there.
“The divorcée who commissioned it ordered three. One for her, two more for her friends. Because, you know, lots of marriages end in divorce.” Brighton used the spoon to gesture between them. “We’re not special. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do. With my trusty sidekick.” She leaned down to pet Rory again. “I’m not afraid to file some paperwork and make it official.”
“You’re bluffing.” But he didn’t sound certain.
“We’ll see.” She prepared to resume polishing.
He rested his hand on her shoulder. “I don’t want Genevieve. Not anymore.” He started stroking her back, his hand warm and comforting.
She hadn’t realized how tense she was until she relaxed against him. “Then why is she still in town? If you don’t want her, tell her to go.”
“It’s not that simple.” His hand stilled on her back. “I can’t just turn her away.”
“Why not?”
He sat down next to Rory and scratched the dog’s ears. When he spoke, he sounded drained. Defeated. “I don’t love her. But I did. I won’t deny it.”
“She didn’t love you,” Brighton pointed out. “Nothing you did was ever good enough for her—until she got divorced and lost her trust fund.”
He acknowledged this with a wry smile.
“She doesn’t want you. She just wants to take the easy way out—again—by running back to you.”
“Yes.” He nodded.
“Doesn’t that bother you? To know she just wants to use you?”
“Yes.”
“But . . . ?”
“She can’t do it, Brighton. She can’t earn her own money. She can’t survive without a safety net.”
Brighton just looked at him.
“I know you don’t understand.”
“You’re right—I don’t. Getting a job and shopping at Target is not some Greek tragedy. Everybody starts over sometime. Everybody has to struggle.”
“No. You do. I do. But Genevieve can’t. She doesn’t know how. I can’t walk away from her when she’s begging for help.”
“Because you still have feelings for her.”
“We have a history.”
Genevieve had said the same thing. She had a history with Jake and Brighton didn’t. No matter how she felt or what she did, she couldn’t alter that fact.
When Jake saw Brighton’s expression, he added, “If you called me fifteen years from now, I would help you, too.”
“I would never do that,” Brighton said softly.
He regarded her with a mix of affection and respect. “I know you wouldn’t.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I can’t throw money at this problem. If I give her money, no matter how much, she’ll run through it, and then she’ll be back.”
“Well, then, I guess that’s that. I can live without you and she can’t.” For a moment, Brighton cursed her own strength, the stubborn practicality that wouldn’t allow her to plead with him the way Genevieve would. She was too proud to compromise her principles, too independent to surrender her goals, and so she would lose out to a softer, suppliant woman. Again.
“I don’t want Genevieve,” he murmured, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. “I want you.”
She could feel her anger melting away. It
would be so easy to turn around and indulge in one more night. One more that she would convince herself would be the last. Even as she reached back to cover his hand with hers, she said, “Then tell her to go.”
He stilled. “I can’t.”
Brighton flinched at the raw regret in his voice, and she understood what he could not tell her: He had failed again. He knew that he had hurt her, but he could not heal her. Just as she could not heal him. “Then I don’t have anything else to say.”
He left without another word. Rory remained at Brighton’s feet, snoring softly. Brighton swiveled around in her chair and stared at the door, but all she could see was the glare of the fluorescent light reflected back in the gleaming plate glass.
Let him go. Work through it. She tucked her hair behind her ear and went back to polishing the platinum band.
Five minutes later, her resolve crumbled. She snatched up her phone and dialed. “Hey, it’s me. I changed my mind. Can I come over?”
chapter 31
“Thanks so much for taking me in.” Brighton stood under the porch light along with her massive furry sidekick. “Sorry I woke you up.”
“No problem.” Kira, squinty eyed and wild haired in her pajamas, waved Brighton into her apartment. “You’re always welcome. Who’s your friend?”
“This is Rory. He’s a sweetie but he does shed, so I understand if you don’t want him in your house.” Brighton glanced back at her car, wondering where else she could take him at this hour of the night.
“Don’t be silly. Bring him in.” Kira led the way to the small, cozy kitchen, where she prepared a glass of warm milk for Brighton and a bowl of water for Rory. “So, what’s going on?”
“I need you to arm me with the verbal equivalent of a nuclear bomb.”
“Yeah, I try to use my powers for good.” After she handed out beverages, Kira directed Brighton and Rory to an oversize sofa, then handed out blankets and pillows.
Brighton kicked off her shoes and curled up on the couch. “I’m trying to quit Jake, but willpower alone doesn’t seem to be working. At all. Logic’s not working, drinking’s not working, and work’s not working.”
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