“Tell me what happened, Mom,” she said, attempting to mask the strange emotions she was experiencing. “Why does Dad want a divorce?”
And then she leaned back in her car, closed her eyes and listened.
Chapter Ten
The quote, “What a tangled web we weave, when we first practice to deceive,” circled endlessly in Cole’s head, like the lyrics of one of those blasted songs you couldn’t get rid of, no matter how hard you tried. His fault, again, for many reasons. Not the least of which was underestimating Rachel’s enthusiasm toward helping him woo his girlfriend.
Who’d have guessed she’d take to it so...passionately?
But this...well, he should have anticipated this. Even a lame-brained idiot knew that proper proposal protocol entailed a man on one knee with a certain piece of jewelry clutched tight in his sweaty hand. Yeah, Cole absolutely should have seen this one coming from a mile away. It was a sad, sad state of affairs that he hadn’t.
Thirty minutes earlier, he’d met Rachel for coffee at the Beanery. His assumption had been that they’d chat, maybe go for a walk and she would hightail it back to Andrew. Wrong.
Oh, they’d had the coffee. Had gone for that walk. Along the way, she’d asked him about his proposal, about what he planned on saying to Mary. He’d flubbed that bit up good, muttering that he hadn’t really given the actual proposal a lot of thought yet.
Rachel had given him what could only be described as a pitying look and dragged him here, to a jewelry store. To choose, of all things, an engagement ring for Mary.
Cole’s father had warned him not to take his plan too far out of bounds. He was damn confident that Paul Foster would declare buying a diamond ring with no one to give it to as being too far out of bounds. But hell, what was he supposed to do about that now?
The manager, an older gentleman with a receding hairline, ushered Cole and Rachel to a glass counter on the far end of the room. “I’ve put together a lovely selection of rings, based on our phone call yesterday,” he said to Rachel. “If these aren’t right, we’ll look at other options.”
She’d phoned ahead? Cole mentally shook himself. Passionate? Try vehement. He had to find a way out of this.
“Thank you,” she said somewhat absently. “I’m sure we’ll find the perfect ring.”
“Maybe I should do this on my own.” Desperation clung to his voice. “The ring a man gives a woman should be special, something he chooses to reflect...um...their love and commitment and...it should be personal.” He nodded, hoping he’d sounded convincing enough. “Yes. Better, I think, if I come back later. By myself.”
“You’re being silly again,” she said. “We’re here now, so why not just take a look? If you don’t find what you want, or need more time to consider, you can return later.”
That was enough of an out for Cole. He’d look but wouldn’t buy. Easy enough. Capitulating, he shrugged and said, “Sure. That’s okay, I guess.”
The sales manager beamed and unlocked the display case, saying, “Many a nervous young man comes through these doors, and I can assure you they do much better when they have help in making their selection.”
“See, Cole? It’s good that I’m with you.” Rachel squeezed his hand, as if offering support. Other than her insistence in bringing him here, she’d been quieter than usual today, less sarcastic, too. Tired, maybe.
Possible reasons for her tiredness ticked off in his brain, each one causing his stomach to spasm with acid. Hell. If she’d modeled that nightgown for Andrew, then... No.
He was not allowing his thoughts to go there.
Winking, the manager brought out a long, narrow, black velvet display sheet that held one glittering diamond ring after another. “So,” he said with another wink, “let’s find the diamond that will make your lady swoon, shall we?”
The following forty-five minutes were a combination of odd and otherworldly. While not quite as uncomfortable as Cole had assumed, the discussion surrounding each ring—from the diamond’s clarity and cut, to the setting, to the band itself—white gold versus yellow gold versus platinum versus titanium—left him feeling slightly on the nauseous side.
Fortunately, Rachel and the manager carried on that discussion just fine without him. All he had to do was hold the ring, turn it over in his fingers as if he were considering that specific ring’s merits and listen. Every now and again, he’d toss in an “Ah,” or a “Hmm,” or an “Oh.”
A method that seemed to be working quite well. Cole wasn’t asked for his opinion, or told to take a second look when he’d pass the ring back to the store manager. Rachel didn’t pester him with questions about what Mary would like or if he preferred one cut over another.
Everything was going along about as well as humanly possible, considering the ridiculous set of circumstances Cole was in, until...well, until the manager passed him the ring.
Rachel’s ring.
And damn if he didn’t hear the sound of trumpets blaring in his ears, feel the earth come to a grinding halt and came this-close to kneeling down and actually proposing. God help him, please. Somehow, and he didn’t have a clue how, Cole reined in his nonsensical reaction and just stared at the ring. The perfect damn ring, right here, in his hands. The ring he would buy, regardless of its cost, if Rachel was his to propose to.
This time, he actually paid attention as the store manager and Rachel went into their discussion about the ring. He heard words such as, “art deco,” “hexagonal frame,” “hand engraved filigree crown,” “platinum setting,” “vintage,” and “one-point-five carats.”
Huh. None of that meant anything to him. Nor, as it turned out, did he care. His gut had identified the ring as being the right ring. That was all that mattered to Cole.
Rachel and the manager stopped talking and waited for Cole to make his general, not interested comment, and return the ring, like he had with every other one.
When he didn’t, the other man chuckled. “This is the one, isn’t it? I’d recognize that expression anywhere. A beautiful choice, young man. A spectacular ring that any woman would be pleased and proud to wear.”
“Can I see it, Cole?” Rachel asked, her voice soft and hesitant and warm. “If that’s okay with you, I mean. I wouldn’t want to...” Her voice dropped off and she shrugged.
“Of course you can see the ring, Rach,” he said, handing it over. He wasn’t actually considering buying the darn thing, now was he? No. Of course not.
That would fall into the extreme end of impulse shopping.
She held the ring up for a closer view, twisting the band in her fingers as she did. A breathy sigh escaped and her blue eyes darkened to the same shade as the nightgown he’d about died seeing her in. That was one image he’d never forget.
This one, too, he thought, watching her as she was now, with her hair alight from the sunlight streaming in the store windows, her cheeks a rosy pink, her lips a touch more red, holding the ring for which he’d give away his last possession to see on her finger.
“Beautiful and spectacular,” she said. “I...love it. I mean, you probably don’t care what I think, but if you do...care, that is...I love it.”
“Try the ring on,” he said before he could think the request through. “I...I need to see how it looks on...er...a woman’s hand.”
Blink. Blink. Pause and blink. “Oh, no. That wouldn’t be right. Not at all.” She shook her head back and forth. “No one should put on an engagement ring before the pro
posal. Bad luck.”
“I don’t believe in luck. Good or bad.” He composed his features, unwilling to show exactly how much he wanted to see Rachel wearing the ring he would choose for her. “Friends, remember? I helped you out at the...mall. Help me out now. Please?”
“I really, really don’t want to.”
“Come on, Rach,” he said, going for nonchalance. “What’s the big deal?”
“It’s a huge deal,” she whispered, looking from the ring to him. “I... Are you sure, Cole? Are you really, really sure you want me to put on this ring, right now?”
“I’m really, really, really sure.”
“Fine.” Confusion and uncertainty colored her expression. “If...if that’s what you want.”
Her hand—hell, her entire body—visibly trembled as she brought the ring to her right hand, as she started to slip the band on her right ring finger.
Reaching over, he stopped her, took the ring and grasped her left hand. “Wrong hand, Rach,” he said. He swallowed, hard, and slid the ring—Rachel’s ring—on her finger.
And hell if he didn’t tremble a bit himself.
There. Glorious. Perfect. The way it should be. Every image he’d ever had of them, the past that had actually occurred and the future he’d hoped for, flashed like a movie reel behind his eyes. He loved this woman. He would probably always love this woman.
But she wasn’t meant for him.
All of his prior concerns seemed silly. Meaningless. Oh, he knew they weren’t. Not really. If Rachel loved him like he loved her, they would have had no choice but to clear the air in order to build a steady, longstanding foundation for their future.
In this minute, though, in this tiny speck of time, all Cole saw was a myriad of lost opportunities. Why the hell hadn’t he said something before? Why had he focused so much on the past, instead of taking control of the future? Stupid. Such a stupid waste.
“I won’t be buying a ring today,” he said to the store manager. Then, once Rachel had removed the ring and pushed it across the counter, he took her by the hand and led her outside.
“What’s wrong, Cole?” she asked. She always could read him rather well.
“We need to talk,” he said quietly. He couldn’t end the entire charade, but he damn well could put part of it to rest. “I’ve changed my mind. I won’t be proposing to...Mary.”
Every drop of color drained from Rachel’s skin. She blinked a few times, lifted her chin and swept her gaze somewhere off to his left. “All right,” she said in a smooth, emotionless, almost robotic voice. “Let’s talk. Where to?”
“How does my place sound?” he asked. He was about to lie through his teeth. Some privacy was in order, and her place wouldn’t work. Not with Andrew in residence.
She redirected her focus to him, nodded. “That’s fine,” she said in that same odd tempo. “I’ll drive myself and meet you there.”
* * *
Nervous butterflies flipped and flew in Rachel’s stomach as she waited for Cole to join her in his living room. Currently, he was in the kitchen, making them coffee. She didn’t really want any, didn’t need the caffeine screwing with her already freaked-out system, but holding the mug would give her something to do with her hands.
She breathed in through her nose, out through her mouth, fidgeted on the couch and tried to calm her racing heart. Had she screwed up in taking Cole to the jewelry store? Maybe.
Her sole objective in teasing him and tormenting him with engagement rings was to push him into admitting the truth, so he’d drop the Mary pretense once and for all. Instead, he’d insisted she try on a ring—a beautiful, to-die-for, every-woman’s-fantasy type of ring.
The thought of doing so had crippled her.
When he’d grabbed her left hand to slip the ring on her himself, her legs had weakened and goose bumps had sheathed her skin. One look at Cole, at the determination gleaming in his eyes and the hard set of his jaw, had told her this was about to be a very important moment.
And it had been. Oh, yes. Just not in the way she’d thought.
He hadn’t come clean. He hadn’t professed his love. And no, he sure as heck hadn’t proposed. Rachel shivered and rubbed her arms briskly. She hadn’t thought—not even for a second—that he was about to propose in the middle of the jewelry store, before they’d even told each other their feelings, so the fact he hadn’t was fine.
What wasn’t, what had chilled her and petrified her in equal measures, were the words “I’ve changed my mind,” followed by “We need to talk.”
She crossed her legs. Uncrossed them. And then crossed them again.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t already had plenty of adrenaline and anxiety to deal with after yesterday and this morning’s repeated and nonstop phone calls from her parents.
No, her father had not asked for a divorce. He had hinted at one, however. Rachel knew this because she’d called dear-old-Dad as soon as she’d hung up with her mom.
The details were pretty clear, actually. Dad, finally tired of waging war with his wife, had suggested marriage counseling. Mom said no, she didn’t want to air their “dirty laundry” in front of a stranger. That was when Rachel’s father had hinted at a divorce.
Of course, none of that explained their penchant for drawing Rachel into their issues. Or, she supposed, her inability to remove herself from those issues, despite her many attempts.
They hadn’t yet asked her to return home to “mediate,” but they would. Sooner or later. She sighed, fidgeted again. Concern for both of her parents pooled inside, mixing with all of her other unsettled emotions. Even so, she wouldn’t go home to mediate. Not this time.
But she couldn’t ignore what was happening, either.
Cole walked into the room, carrying two large mugs filled with steaming coffee. He set hers on the end table closest to her and then moved to the chair catty-corner to the sofa.
Neither spoke for a good thirty seconds, though it felt more like an eternity. Resisting the urge to squirm, Rachel picked up her coffee and took a small sip. Good and strong and sweet.
“Asking for your help was wrong,” Cole said, breaking the silence, his voice heavy and deliberate. And, Rachel noted, very, very sure. “So...I’m sorry for doing that. I shouldn’t have dragged you into my...romantic dilemma.”
“You don’t need to apologize for asking a friend for help,” Rachel said. She gripped her cup tighter, striving for balance. “At the jewelry store, you said you’d changed your mind. I thought you wanted to talk about that. Is...is this about something else?”
Please, please say yes, Rachel thought, tell me this is about your feelings, about us, about something real. Please.
Oh, God. Please.
“I was so sure, you see. So damn sure of my feelings, that I barged ahead without thinking a damn thing through.” He stood, started pacing the length of the living room. “And then I saw that ring on your finger, and everything inside went cold.”
“Just that fast, huh?” Rachel closed her eyes, breathed and reminded herself of one very fortunate fact: Cole did not know that she knew. If she kept her voice calm, her behavior as normal as possible, he would never know that she knew. “You must have had doubts before, or simply seeing a ring on a woman’s finger wouldn’t have done that to you.”
“What relationship doesn’t include doubts?” He stopped pacing, placed his palms against the wall and leaned his body forward. “I had doubts, have for a while,” he
admitted. “But I stupidly thought I could overlook all of them.”
“Does this...um...have to do with the serious concerns you brought up last week?” The concerns they’d never discussed. “About...Mary?”
His body stilled. “Yup. I...realized today, when you had that damn ring on your finger, that I’d taken this too far. Everything suddenly seemed serious and...real, I guess. Too real, with the problems between me and Mary.”
Dammit! She wanted him to stop speaking in code. Wanted him to say straight-out what he was thinking, and who he was thinking those things about.
She pulled together every last bit of courage she’d ever had in her entire life, sat up straight and said, “Why don’t we play a game of pretend, Cole? Just for a few minutes. It might help clear a few things up. Maybe...I can still help you with your romantic dilemma.”
He lowered his forehead until it touched the wall. “Go on. What type of game?”
“You and I have a troubled history. One in which we’ve never properly discussed.” Oh, dear Lord, was she really doing this? Yes. She was. “So if we pretend—just for a few minutes, mind you—that I am Mary, maybe we can talk through this using our experiences.”
Pushing himself off of the wall, he faced her. Ran one hand over his jaw. “Is that a good idea, Rachel? There are a lot of words between us we’ve never said about that time in our lives.”
She went to take a sip of her coffee, noticed how badly her hands were shaking and carefully set the cup down. “Maybe it’s time we did, then. Maybe, in addition to helping you with your concerns regarding Mary, it will help us, as well. Our friendship.”
“Our friendship has survived in spite of our never getting into any of this.”
Hurt was there. She saw it, glittering in his dark, dark eyes. Hurt she had put there.
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