“It’s just … interesting, that’s all.”
“Don’t give me your Minnesota ‘interesting,’” Bonnie huffed. “I know what that means.”
Cassie laughed again. “No, really. I’m serious. I find it very interesting the two of you happened to cross paths like that.”
Bonnie rolled her eyes. An avid fan of romance novels, Cassie was always seeing meaning in things like this, the hand of destiny at work, blah blah blah. Not that Bonnie wasn’t guilty of doing the same. But Gabe was supposed to be her destiny. She was Anne, and he was her Gilbert. This wasn’t supposed to be how their story ended.
Only Anne hadn’t caught Gilbert screwing some blonde on Marilla’s quilt.
Her heart thudded in her chest as the reality of the situation gripped her. A sob ripped from her throat. Damn it, she was crying again.
“Bonnie?” Cassie’s concern was clear through the phone. “Bon? Are you crying?”
“No,” Bonnie lied.
“That’s it, I’m coming over,” Cassie said, her voice brooking no argument. “You’re in Sadie’s dad’s suite, right? The one we stayed in for her birthday?”
“Uh-huh,” Bonnie said, sniffling.
“Got it. See you soon. Should I call Sadie and Ana? Make it a girls’ night?”
“They’re busy doing family stuff. It’s Passover.”
“Oh, right. Okay, well just me and you, then. Still a girl’s night. I’ll bring chocolate.”
“And ice cream too?”
“Already planning on it.”
“Perfect.” She rubbed at her tear-streaked cheeks. “Thanks, Diana.”
“No problem, Anne.”
Bonnie smiled through her tears. Gabe may no longer be her Gilbert, but Cassie would always be her Diana. When Bonnie Blythe had met Cassie Crow for the first time in first grade, she’d known they’d be the best of friends. With initials like B.B. and C.C., how could they not? And when Bonnie had read L.M. Montgomery’s books a few years later in third grade, she knew she was right, and that she, with her head of frizzy red hair, was Anne Shirley, and Cassie was the dark-haired, dark-eyed Diana Barry, Anne’s best friend. Her bosom buddy. Sisters for life.
“You’re the best. See you soon.” Bonnie ended the call, her heart lighter.
Theo had been right. She was glad she’d told Cassie.
* * *
Much as he wanted to, after Bonnie left, Theo didn’t step into the hall to watch her make her way to her suite. Instead, he closed his hotel room door and pressed his face against it, thumping his forehead a few times. Maybe that would rattle things around up there, get him to focus on the tasks at hand. Tasks which did not involve an adorable redhead with freckles sprinkled across her knees like cinnamon sugar. He pushed away from the door and checked his watch. He had about an hour before the car arrived to take him to meet Camille.
He stripped off the soiled T-shirt and tossed it on the chaise, then hit the loo for a quick onceover on his face with the electric razor, glad he’d remembered to pack the power adapter. He rinsed his face, now smooth again, and reached for a towel. His damp shirt still hung over the rail. Theo pulled it down and examined it, pleasantly surprised to note it was perfectly clean. Wrinkled and wet, but clean. She’d managed to get the stains out.
The memory of her tear-streaked face made his heart lurch. That bloody friggin’ tosser. To make Bonnie cry like that. How could anyone hurt her so badly. Betray her? He wanted to kick the man’s arse and thank him at the same time. But he would do neither. It wasn’t his place.
Theo set the shirt aside, wishing he could set thoughts of Bonnie aside as easily. But unlike the stains she’d so tidily wiped away, the moment they’d shared couldn’t be erased. As he began to pull on his formal wear, he acknowledged he didn’t want to erase it. He didn’t regret the kiss. Would do it again if given half the chance. If he was honest, he hoped he’d get that chance.
Was it wrong that he was preparing to spend the evening with one woman while wishing he could be with another? Did that make him no better than Bonnie’s jackass fiancé?
Ex-fiancé. He rubbed a hand over his face. Your point, mate? She might be free, but he wasn’t, not really. Right now, he had to focus. He was here on family business. Theo checked his watch. Thirty minutes.
Doing up his tie, the familiar sensation of being choked by his future began to creep in. But for once, the prospect didn’t seem quite as suffocating. While he wasn’t exactly looking forward to this evening, Theo realized he wasn’t dreading it. Camille was pleasant, well-spoken. Aside from the awkwardness when he’d behaved like a buffoon once he became aware of Bonnie’s presence in the tea room, he’d enjoyed their little “reunion” this afternoon. His mother had been smart to arrange it, not that he’d ever tell her so.
He could see the wisdom in her latest choice in quarry. As far as chess moves go, this one was savvy indeed. The Fairfax family did not have as high a standing in the peerage as the Whartons, nor did they own vast estates. But they were well-respected, their holdings were secure, and more to the point, profitable. Very profitable. Theo wasn’t sure how big a piece of the pie Camille was entitled to, but he knew his mother well enough to be sure if she’d sent him here to play escort, it was a generous slice.
Regardless of his personal feelings, on a purely objective level, Theo could see the advantages to this match. Beyond the financial gain, Camille would make a fine duchess. She understood the duties and responsibilities of the role, had grown up navigating the same social circles. And unlike many of the spoiled little heiresses his mother had paired him up with in the past, Camille was, well, nice. She’d seemed genuine. Easy to talk to. Smart, even. And again, on an objective level, he could admit she was attractive too, if in a pale British rose sort of fashion.
Yes, but are you attracted to her?
Refusing to dwell on that question, Theo straightened his suit jacket, adjusted his sash and ducal crest, and manned up. It was time to go.
CHAPTER 10
THE WARM BUTTERY scent of crêpes from a corner café greeted Bonnie as she exited off the Red Line at Harrison and crossed State Street. Her stomach twisted. Bonnie wished the pain was caused by hunger. Sunday morning. How many lazy Sunday mornings had she and Gabe made the short walk from their apartment to this café together? How many quiet weekends had they sat at one of those tables, people-watching or quibbling over the crossword in the Tribune? The ache in her middle expanded, compressing her lungs and stealing her breath. Bonnie stuttered to a halt.
Maybe it was best Ana had called to cancel brunch. With the way her insides were churning, Bonnie wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep anything down. She wasn’t sure she was ready for this meeting either, but after talking things out with Cassie last night, she knew it was best to get it over with and had arranged a meeting with Gabe.
Her apartment was less than a block away, but she couldn’t go home. Not yet. She couldn’t face him there. So, she’d chosen a location nearby, a place both familiar and safe. A place of comfort. She glanced back, toward the other end of Printer’s Row, focusing on the giant redbrick clocktower of the old Dearborn Station rising in the distance.
Without making a conscious decision, her feet began moving again, carrying her forward. The moment she pushed through the doors of the Harold Washington Public Library, the ache receded, still there—a black hole of bitterness and pain—but more compact. Manageable. Riding the elevator up to the ninth floor, she took several slow, deep breaths.
The atrium on the library’s top floor was one of her most favorite places in the city. It was a secret haven, a bastion of quiet. A refuge. Morning sunlight spilled across the tile floor from the wall of windows on the east side of the building. She walked toward the small nest of tables and chairs, her footsteps echoing in the open, airy space. Rarely crowded even on the busiest of days, on Sunday, Bonnie had the entire ninth floor to herself.
She settled into a chair and closed her eyes, soaking up the silence, th
e familiar scent of worn books and sun-warmed dust cradling her. The sound of the elevator chiming startled Bonnie, and she shifted, bracing herself.
“There you are.” Gabe’s voice broke the peace of her sanctuary. “I brought you some tea.” He held out a ceramic travel mug. One of her own from home.
Bonnie imagined him in their apartment making this for her. The image shifted, and she saw her, standing naked in Bonnie’s kitchen, wrapped in Grandma Mary’s quilt, kissing Gabe while the tea brewed. Cassie’s temper boiled, and she glared at her former fiancé.
He must have sensed the anger rolling off her because he abruptly drew his hand back, as if realizing offering her a cup of scalding hot liquid probably wasn’t his best idea. Smart man. He set the cup on a nearby table.
Bonnie reached for it. He recoiled, and she smirked. “Calm down, I’m not going to throw this in your face”—she paused and glanced at his groin—“or anywhere else.”
After a moment, Gabe relaxed and took the seat next to her. “I’m glad you agreed to talk.”
Bonnie ignored him and sipped her tea. It was ginger cardamom, one of her favorites. With a bittersweet pang, she realized he’d even put a bit of honey in it, exactly the way she liked it. The problem with dating someone for most of your life was they tended to know everything about you. Or … almost everything.
She thought she’d known everything about Gabe.
Boy, had she been wrong.
“Who is she?” Bonnie asked without preamble, giving in to the overwhelming desire to fill in those blanks, to know the details.
“My adviser’s assistant.” Gabe’s voice was low, the words almost mumbled.
“Well, that’s not very original of you,” Bonnie scoffed. “I thought she looked familiar.” Her mouth twisted. “Though I admit, it was hard to tell at first, since she was wearing significantly less clothes than the last time I saw her. She was at your department Christmas party, wasn’t she?”
Gabe nodded, not meeting her eyes.
“She must have known about me, then.” Bonnie tried to take another sip of tea, but it tasted like bitter ash on her tongue. She set the cup down carefully. “She had to know about our engagement.” Bonnie had shown her engagement ring to more than a dozen people at that party. Quite possibly to the very blonde her fiancé had been banging on the side.
Gabe shrugged. Shrugged. As if he couldn’t muster the energy to form an actual reply.
A fresh wave of pain washed over her. “How long has this been going on?”
He didn’t answer.
“Please, Gabe,” she whispered, as a new thought struck her, “please tell me you haven’t been sleeping with this girl since before…”
“Before I asked you to marry me?” Gabe asked, finally meeting her eyes. “No.”
“Then when?” Bonnie pressed.
“Does it matter?” Gabe shot out of his chair, shoving his hands in his hair.
“Yes, it fucking matters!” Bonnie shouted. Her outburst bounced off the frosted glass ceiling, shocking them both. She didn’t often resort to foul language. Thank God so few people bothered to come all the way up to this floor.
She stood and stared up at him, hating each of the few inches he had on her. “How long, Gabe?” She poked him in the chest. “I deserve to know.” She did deserve to know. She wanted to know. She needed to know.
“Since last summer.”
Last summer. When she’d been on her trip to Europe. Out of the country for six weeks. Away from Gabe for almost two months. “I see,” she said. “You’re telling me this started after I left for Europe?”
“Yeah.”
Bonnie caught his second of hesitation. “Liar,” she sneered. The truth of that word burned like acid in her throat. For a moment, she’d almost felt guilty. Like somehow her absence made her partially responsible for Gabe’s infidelity. She knew that was illogical, and she’d unpack her own messed-up psyche later, but right now, she was going to get the truth.
“Care to try that again?” She stepped closer, no longer bothered by the fact that she had to tip her chin to meet his eyes. Fury made her feel six feet tall. “When did you start sleeping with her?”
Gabe swallowed, gaze darting around the room like a cornered rabbit. He retreated a step, and she advanced.
Why had she never noticed what a coward he was before? What else hadn’t she noticed? She sifted through her memories. That he’d been cheating on her, for one thing. “Come on, Gabe. It’s a simple question. When?”
“My birthday.”
She stared at him. His birthday was June first. He’d been sleeping with another woman for almost an entire year. Bullets of pain and shame and fury ripped through her. “How?”
“My adviser held a little party for me, remember? You couldn’t be there; you were chaperoning some event or something—”
“I wasn’t asking you how it happened, jackass. I was asking myself how I could be so blind, so stupid…”
“You’re not stupid, Bonnie.”
“No? The man I was supposed to marry has been screwing around behind my back for months!” Her voice bounced off the high walls of the atrium, her anger reverberating, building. “Were you ever going to tell me?”
He turned away from her, walking toward the bank of windows.
She followed him. “Were you ever going to marry me?”
Gabe stopped, his back to her.
Bonnie stopped too, her breath harsh and fast in her ears. She forced herself to be calm, to take slow, deep breaths. To wait for him to respond.
Eventually, he pivoted and faced her. “I don’t know. I wanted to marry you—I mean, I thought I wanted to, but then things started happening between Ali and me, and you were never around, and then you took off with your friends for that long vacation last summer…”
His voice held more than a touch of accusation, and it pissed her off. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare try to pin this on me! As if, what? You could have kept it in your pants if I’d been around more?”
“I didn’t say that.” His face flushed.
“It’s not like you were there for me either,” she snapped. Anger roiled, a snarling beast thrashing its tail inside her, wanting to lash out. “How often did you bail on me after I’d made plans for us? And I always made excuses for you, thinking you were working so hard…” Bonnie stopped, realization hitting her like a fastball to the sternum. “All those times you canceled our plans, or came home late, or missed a date. You were with her, weren’t you?”
“Not all the time,” he dodged.
Bonnie rubbed her thumbs against her temples, trying to release the tight knots of tension pounding against her skull. All the moments she’d thought something was off with him, when she’d wondered why he was being so distant and blamed school, their schedule, herself …
“Oh, well, pardon me.” The razor-edge of her voice sliced through the air. “We can at least agree you were with her the other night, yes?”
He didn’t reply. In the silence, she stared at Gabe, her gut twisting. She’d known him since she was barely old enough to ride a bike, a fact clear in her memory because it was the day she’d learned to ride her bike when she first met him. Mother’s Day, when she was six years old. He’d moved into the house three doors down from hers and was standing on his driveway as she’d come barreling down the sidewalk, yelling at him to get out of the way because she didn’t know how to stop yet.
By the time she’d turned eight, she had decided she was going to marry him. How could someone she’d loved for more than twenty years suddenly turn into a stranger? But he was. The Gabe who stood before her now was not the man she knew, was not her Gabe. Her mind raced, and she was six years old again, careening down the hill, training wheels off, not sure where she was going or how to stop. She tried to compartmentalize her feelings, like she did when she was teaching or performing, so she could focus.
“What happens now?” he finally asked.
Her mind formed the an
swer to his question immediately. “I want you to move out,” she said, without hesitation, her feelings crystalizing.
“What?”
“I want you out of the apartment.”
“My name is on the lease too,” he reminded her.
“Yeah, but who pays most of the rent?” She had him there. While he finished school, she covered most of their daily living expenses. She’d never minded. After all, he was working toward their future, and one day, when they decided to start a family, she’d take time off and he’d be the one picking up the slack. All part of her perfect, peachy plan.
All the plans she’d made for their future, the happiness she and Gabe would have, just like Anne and Gilbert, were gone. Erased. Not even. Hard to erase something that hadn’t been written yet. She’d spent so much time focusing on what was going to happen next, so eager to start the next chapter, she’d forgotten to pay attention to what was happening on the current page.
Well, plans had changed. But lucky for her, she had a new plan. Would start a new chapter on a fresh page. And this time, she would focus on the now, and worry about the next, and all the rest, later. She turned her attention back to Gabe. “You know, you’re right. Your name is on the lease too. Tell you what, you can have the place. I’ll move out.”
“Where will you go?”
“Not your problem.” She wasn’t about to tell him about the job in England. “Stay away from the apartment for an hour. I need to get a few things.”
“Where have you been staying these last few nights, anyway?” he asked.
Oh, now he was concerned? “Also not your problem,” Bonnie snapped. She wanted to ask if Ali had been sleeping over but restrained herself. The less she knew, the better. “I’ll be back for the big stuff sometime next week, and see about having the landlord take my name off the lease.”
“I can’t cover the rent myself. I’ve still got another month of grad school!” Gabe whined.
“Now that,” Bonnie said, gathering her things and preparing to leave, “is your problem.”
Back on the street outside the library, Bonnie sucked in a lungful of air. Seeing Gabe had been both easier and harder than she’d expected. He’d been such a big part of her life for so long—no, that wasn’t exactly right. A part can be removed, dissected from the rest. He wasn’t one piece of her puzzle, but part of the whole picture. She had grown up with Gabe, and their lives had seeped into each other’s, like colors bleeding into fabric, blending, leaving it forever changed.
Smitten by the Brit--A Sometimes in Love Novel Page 9