by Jillian Dodd
“Sure.”
“I’ll miss it too.”
My vision’s a little blurry as I leave his room and walk straight into a hug from Hayley.
“It’s gonna be okay,” she whispers, squeezing me tight. “It’s gonna be just fine.”
I have to wonder. I really do.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“I’ll say this for your time at that resort. It added color to your complexion.” Though, naturally, my grandmother can’t give what sounds like a compliment without tempering it with a heavy dose of criticism. “I hope you took care to protect yourself though. Nothing ages like the sun.”
“Which is it?” I have to laugh. “Is it good that I got a tan or bad?”
She rolls her eyes. Sometimes, it seems like she’s picking up bad mannerisms from me. “Don’t make a habit of it. Let us leave it at that.”
“Fair enough.”
“You enjoyed your time there?” She passes me a plate of sandwiches, which I can’t help but notice aren’t as tidy-looking as our tea sandwiches usually are.
“I did. What’s with the sandwiches?”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re usually so cute and neat-looking. There’re little bits of crust still on the ends, and there’re bits of egg salad hanging out. Is Peter okay?” I look over my shoulder, expecting to see him. Or hoping to. It’s nice to get a look at him, to make sure he’s healthy and well.
“I don’t understand what our sandwiches have to do with Peter.”
“Stop playing around. He does the cooking. Even now. And I’ve never seen the sandwiches looking this way. Is he sick?”
“No, he isn’t sick. He’s … no longer performing domestic duties. I’ve brought on additional help since you last paid me a visit.”
My jaw pretty much hits the floor. Not that I didn’t hope she would do this. I didn’t expect it so soon, is all. And I certainly didn’t expect her to bring somebody into the household and let them act with anything other than perfect precision.
I’ve seen the woman nearly throw a fit over something as stupid as a fingerprint on a wineglass.
That was a different time though. Peter has changed her in many ways.
If not changed exactly, he’s granted her a sense of perspective she didn’t possess before. That’s closer to the truth, I think.
“Well?” she asks with a blithe shrug. “It isn’t right for him to continue in his former duties. Granted, we’ve made things a great deal less formal than they used to be, yet that wasn’t enough. He will either be my servant or my—”
“Don’t say it. Please,” I beg. I don’t need to hear the word lover come from her lips just now.
She accepts this with another blithe shrug.
“Where are they?” I ask in a whisper.
“You sound curious.”
“Oh, I’m insanely curious.”
“As any good domestic help does, they remain where they’re needed. Which means you would find them in the kitchen if you were gauche enough to snoop around in search of them.”
“You know how gauche I can be when given the opportunity.”
A smile twitches her lips, though the rest of her face stays still. “Tell me about your trip. I’ve wished all week to hear about it. Did you rest? Did you have a nice time? What about the wedding?”
I explain the ceremony and how nature threw everything but the kitchen sink at the happy couple.
She’s chuckles softly. “I’ve seen quite a few memorable ceremonies in my day, but that sounds like one for the record books. The bride must have been beside herself.”
“She took it in stride. Honestly, it was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”
She’s a sharp one. Woe to anyone who takes her age as a sign that she’s slowing down, even a tiny bit. Her brain is as fast as it ever was.
“Why do you sound so sad when you say it?”
“I do?”
“I do?” She bats her eyelashes.
“Oh, this is a new leaf you’re turning over. Mimicking me. Very mature.”
“Call it a rediscovery of my youthful charm.”
“I go out of town for a little while, and look what I come back to.”
Her eyes don’t reflect my smile. There’s a touch of sadness in them. “Why did you sound that way? What happened?”
“What usually happens. The same thing as always. Only this time, there were bookies and other unsavory characters involved.”
I didn’t come here today with the intention of telling her about Kellen—at least, not the bad things. It’s been a few days since I saw him at the hospital, and I’ve been doing my best to take a healthy, understanding view of the situation.
In other words, I don’t feel like talking about it.
But it’s too late for that now. I’ve already piqued her interest, and if there’s one thing I inherited from her—aside from the blue eyes and the icy stare—it’s the inability to be turned away once curiosity takes hold. I know there’s no hope of leaving the house unless I share at least the basics.
Which I do. Within reason.
There are certain things the woman doesn’t need to hear.
By the time I’m finished, she’s forgotten her tea and the sloppy sandwiches. She’s watching me, studying, anticipating. “And? Have you heard anything else about this young man? What’s to become of him?”
“I have no idea. Honestly, I’m not sure I want to know. Or whether I want to keep up with him.”
Her stern expression surprises me.
“Is that wrong?” I ask with a frown.
“Not necessarily, my dear. I do not sit in judgment over you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”
“It isn’t so. I can’t blame you for refusing to keep up with this Kellen’s activities. Especially as he lied to you about his friend as a means of determining how you would react when he spoke the truth. I wonder how long he might have left you in the dark if he hadn’t been … discovered by the men searching for him.”
“Can I tell you something?”
“Always, dear.”
It takes a second since I want to make sure the tears threatening to take hold will stay where they are. Inside me, not on my cheeks.
Once I know I’ll be able to get through it, I whisper, “I don’t know if I did the right thing. Should I have stuck by him? Was it mean, deserting him like that?”
“Deserting him? After a quick dalliance and a few promises of the time you would spend together once you got home? Oh, don’t bother.” She snorts with a wave of her hand when I try to argue with her. “We are both women of the world, and heaven knows I’ve expressed my thoughts on sex and relationships with you on more than one occasion. Did you imagine you would shock me?”
“I don’t love talking about it with you, in case you’ve never noticed.”
“You write about it.”
“Not the same.”
She accepts this with a shrug. “Regardless, you owed him nothing. Friendship perhaps, and as far as I’m concerned, you have not reneged on that friendship. I know you. I know you would answer his call and lend an ear if need be.”
With that, she leans in. “My granddaughter is a smart girl. Sharp and wise and clever. She knows better than to become attached to someone with a problem like his. I don’t doubt how difficult it is for him. Brutal even. He has no control over it, not now. There is nothing wrong with turning away from someone whose weaknesses would drain you. Not only financially. Emotionally as well. That is not the formula for a happy or successful relationship, dear.”
“You sound like you know what you’re talking about,” I say it with a soft snicker, reaching for another sandwich. Sloppy or not, they’re tasty enough.
When I look her way again, I notice she isn’t smiling. She isn’t even looking at me, her gaze focused across the room.
Where a portrait of my grandfather hangs.
“Grandmother?” I follow her gaze to the portrait.
He’s always struck me as being powerful. Strong. Imperious even. She always speaks of him in glowing terms, talks about how much they loved each other. How no other man would ever compare.
Until Peter, no other man has ever lived up to her memory of her late husband.
Now, she doesn’t stare at his portrait with love in her eyes.
“I know what I’m talking about,” she murmurs. Her mouth is a crimson slash, lips drawn tight together.
“Grandmother, was he …”
She sits up a little straighter. Her hands are folded so tight; it has to be hurting her joints.
“It was not the sort of thing people spoke of in my day. If a man—or woman—had such a weakness or addiction, we didn’t speak of it outside our immediate families. And even then, I never spoke to my family of it. My parents would never …”
She turns her face away a little, toward the window. Is her chin quivering?
“It was the most helpless I’d ever felt in my life. There was nothing I could do. I was out of control of my life, my marriage. Our money. We could have well lost everything.”
After a deep, shaking breath, she adds, “I wouldn’t want that for you. Not for anything, dear. You have too much potential. Too much ahead of you.”
I can’t help but reach out and touch her hand. “I’m sorry you went through that.”
She pats my hand, taking another breath, and then she smiles. “That time is long over. Peter is a good man. Stable.”
“And he adores you, which happens to help a little.”
She lifts a shoulder. “It doesn’t hurt.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
He moved over her. Inside her. Driving himself deep. Bringing emotions to the surface every time they came fully together, every time their bodies slapped gently against each other.
Happiness. Hope. Relief.
Love. So much love.
She clutched him—arms, legs, fingers digging deep into his shoulders, dragging up and down his back. Marking him, making him hers and nobody else’s. Holding on to him for all she was worth and letting him take her as far as she could go.
“More,” she whispered in his ear before nipping the lobe until he growled.
It was sweeter than before since she’d worried they would never have this again. Not only the pleasure pooling in her core, turning her into a gasping, moaning wreck. The connection too. The sense of stripping away everything outside of what was important. The two of them, the only thing that mattered.
His eyes locked on to hers. Lust was there. Heat. Desire.
And love. She would never question that again.
No matter how she wanted to close her eyes, to let him take her away, she couldn’t do it. Didn’t want to waste a moment of knowing he was there with her. Really there. That more than their bodies had joined in this most basic and fundamental act.
“I love you,” she whispered between strong, deep thrusts that drove both of them closer to the edge and beyond. “I love you.”
“Missy …” He kissed her once, twice, before smiling. “I love you. Always.”
Always.
If always meant this for the rest of her life—Trent with her, inside her, loving her—that was more than enough.
Yeah, that will work.
Maggie will surely think so. Granted, she made me considerably spice up their first encounter, but otherwise, she was happy as a clam with the rest of the book.
Though, of course, in typical Maggie fashion, she had to ask for details.
“So? What was he like? Are you still seeing him?”
“He was nice. And, no, I’m not seeing him. He served his purpose.”
She didn’t like that too much. “I don’t want you to think of these relationships that way.”
“They aren’t relationships. Not all of them.”
“Fine. Hook-ups. Does that sound better? I don’t want you to think about it that way.” She sniffed softly before adding, “I don’t think of it that way. If anything, I envy you.”
Well, it took long enough for her to be serious about it. Sure, she’d been joking all this time about how nice it would be, living in my shoes. Being young and unattached and able to date around and have sexy adventures.
She didn’t ever come out and talk about it seriously. Not until our conversation after I submitted the first draft.
I’m working on edits now, but overall I’m happy with the finished product.
I guess, in the end, that’s the most an author can say. That they’re proud of their work. Happy with it. That they did the best they could.
I only wish I felt better about this one. It’s sort of bittersweet really since thinking back on the week at the resort makes me smile. The memories themselves are nice, so long as I separate them from what happened afterward.
Is that what I’m supposed to learn from this?
Inevitably I have ended up learning something from each of the men I’ve dated—something about myself. About my self-worth. What I’m willing to put up with and what I can’t.
I’ve learned how to speak up for myself in a relationship.
How to set boundaries.
How to let go and not attach so much importance to every little thing that happens.
Though I’ve clearly got a long way to go, since I’m still smarting over Kellen. He taught me a valuable lesson though.
Don’t let window dressings fool you.
“I let him fool me,” I concluded to Hayley not long after we heard he was released from the hospital. “The whole external package. The charm, the designer clothing, the expensive watch and perfect haircut. He sold himself well. I bought the whole image.”
“Don’t be upset. And don’t let it trick you into overthinking everything more than you already do. I would hate to see this set you back when I’ve been working so hard at forcing you to loosen up a little.”
“Oh! Is that what you’ve been working on all this time?”
“Please. I deserve a full-time salary. Benefits. A 401(k), for that matter.”
“I’ll look into it.”
Still, no amount of joking around can lessen the fact that I bought into the image that Kellen was selling. I hope for his sake that, one day, it’ll be more than just an image. That he’ll grow to be the man he presents to the world.
It comes as a complete surprise when he calls me a few days after I sent him the first draft. I wanted him to see it, to know I didn’t paint him as some degenerate. I would never do that. It’s not how I see him.
But I wanted him to know for sure since, in the end, we didn’t get to know each other all that well. He might like me, but there’s no real reason for him to trust me.
Amazing, how clear things are on this side of things. In Manhattan, in my apartment, away from the beach and the patio and the pool. Now that the giddy flush of lust has waned.
“So?” I’m pacing the living room, chewing my thumbnail, wishing I could fast-forward through this conversation and be done with it. “What did you think of your counterpart?”
“He is nothing like me.”
“Oh, stop.”
“He isn’t. He’s a much nicer person than I am.”
“He pushed Missy into the pool when they first met.”
“She sort of deserved it.”
“Okay. Now, I know you’re kidding.”
He snorts softly. “A little. No, seriously, it’s a fantastic book. I’ve never read a romance before, but your book was better than I imagined.”
I don’t have it in me to pretend this isn’t funny. “What did you think? It’s all heaving bosoms?”
“And fiery loins. Yeah.” When I laugh out loud, he insists, “That’s how it always was in my mom’s novels back in the day!”
“Oh, but you’ve never read a romance novel before reading mine?”
He grumbles, “Only the good parts. I mean, I was twelve and curious and horny all the time. A twelve-ye
ar-old boy will do just about anything to satisfy those urges.”
“I bet.”
Darn it, this is so nice. I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody I got along with so well, so quickly. We understand each other. We have a similar sense of humor—for the most part. He’s a little darker than I am.
“So, you approve of Trent?”
“Oh, of course. I wouldn’t say otherwise.” He sighs softly. “Not after what I put you through.”
“You didn’t put me through all that much. Don’t beat yourself up. It wasn’t that severe.” I almost used the word serious, but that could have been taken the wrong way.
Every once in a while, I manage to think twice before my tongue runs away with me.
“And how are you?” I ask since I’m just about bursting with curiosity.
“You mean, am I whole and healed up?”
“Yeah, for starters.”
“I’m a lot better. Still a little sore, still have to move carefully. But I’m okay. My parents agreed to help me out this last time on the condition I go to meetings, so I’m doing that now.”
“I’m glad.”
“And how are you?”
“Well, now that I’m through with the first draft and working on edits, I’m relieved. These new deadlines are getting easier to hit. It was inconceivable to me at first. I was used to deliberating over every line. Now, I have to make quick decisions and move on. I have to trust my writing instincts, I guess you could say.”
“That’s nice, but it’s not what I was talking about. Which I think you know.”
It’s a good thing he can’t see the face I’m making. “I’m okay. I am, really. Life goes on.”
“It does. Some of us are lucky it still goes on.”
He’s not wrong about that.
Does the fact that I’m glad when the conversation ends make me a bad person? Because I’m relieved to be off the phone with Kellen by the time we’re finished. I genuinely wished him well—he’s not a bad person, not anywhere close to it—but this time wasn’t like the others. It’s not like saying good-bye to Blake Marlin or Jake Becker.