She let herself into their apartment and forced herself to go straight to the bedroom. Rip off the bandage, so to speak. As much as Bonnie would like to bleach her eyeballs and wipe out the memory of what she’d walked in on Friday night, she knew she couldn’t bleach the memory of all the years of Gabe away. Deep down, she didn’t want to. Those memories made up the tapestry of who she was, like Grandma Mary’s quilt … Oh, bad analogy.
She did not want to go there. But her mind went there anyway. And she had to admit, the metaphor worked in more ways than one. Made from pieces of old clothing from countless generations of Blythes, the quilt was a testament to all those lives. And while the last thing Bonnie wanted was a souvenir of that night, she also knew she’d never get rid of the quilt. She’d wash it. Several times. Maybe hide it in a closet, but she would never get rid of it. It was too precious.
Much as it hurt to even think about right now, she knew she didn’t want to get rid of her memories of Gabe either. Or her time with him. If she was truly honest with herself, if she did the deep listening thing Sadie was always saying her acting coach made her do, Bonnie knew the truth. It wasn’t the loss of Gabe she mourned so much, it was the loss of the idea of Gabe—the Gabe she’d created in her mind—the one she wanted him to be. The Gilbert to her Anne.
Beyond that, was the loss of the life she’d planned. Her friends teased her endlessly about how she had it all mapped out: marriage, kids, how many years apart each child would be, their names. She’d even mentally enrolled them in dance and art classes already. Daydreamed about watching her brood perform in the annual St. Patrick’s Day parade. It was the loss of all that—all she thought had been meant to be—that she mourned the most.
Admitting that was hard. Admitting that hurt.
Leaving the quilt where it was, Bonnie pulled a suitcase out from under the bed and began packing. As she emptied out her drawers, her mind shifted, as it did too often these past few days, to a certain dark-haired, blue-eyed Brit with devastating dimples. Speaking of devastated, maybe Theo was part of the reason she wasn’t as devastated over the breakup with Gabe as she should be. There was something there between them. Had been ever since she’d first met him back in London.
From the first smile he’d flashed her on a supper cruise on the Thames, she’d felt something. A lot of things, actually. But she’d ignored those thoughts and feelings, tried her best to smush them into a little ball, tuck them inside a box, lock it up tight, and drop it in a lake for good measure. But despite all her attempts to submerge those thoughts, they broke free, feelings rising to the surface again. And the kisses in his suite yesterday …
Knees weak, Bonnie sat on the edge of her bed for a minute. She needed to take some kind of Theo-conditioning class. Strengthen her muscles so she would stop going noodle-legged whenever his dimples appeared. She gripped one bed post, fingers curling around the glossy wood. She’d had this canopy bed since she was five, maybe six. She’d brought it to the apartment as another way to help save money, telling herself they could buy new furniture later, after Gabe finished school.
Now what? Should she bring the bed back to her parents’ house? Put it back in her old room? Moving her bed back to Mom and Dad’s posed another challenge—she’d have to tell them what happened with Gabe. Admit the engagement was off. There would be no wedding to plan, and even worse—in her mom’s mind—no honeymoon trip to book.
Bed or no bed, Bonnie knew she had to tell her family. And she would. Later.
Stuffed with as much of her clothes and shoes as she could cram into it, Bonnie rolled the suitcase out of the bedroom. She grabbed the travel mug of tea Gabe had made for her and headed into the kitchen. Flipping on the faucet, she went to rinse out the mug, but froze when she noticed the dishes sitting in the bottom of the sink.
As the water continued to run, images flowed through her brain. Images of Gabe and that woman having an intimate dinner for two, eating off the plates Bonnie had bought when she and Gabe had first moved in together. Plates she’d washed hundreds of times after hundreds of meals they’d shared. She shut the faucet off, but the images kept coming.
They’re just things. They shouldn’t matter. But it did matter. And it hurt; it hurt so bad. Stomach cramping, Bonnie pulled a wineglass out of the sink, noticing the smudge of lipstick along the rim. Holding it by the stem, she smashed it against the countertop. It shattered.
Yesss. The sound the glass made as it broke, shards flying, felt good. Really good. She stared at the jagged stump that remained, touched her finger to the edge, watching as a thin line of blood beaded on her skin.
It was a fitting reminder. Broken things were sharp.
Setting the cracked stem aside, she reached into the sink again and took out a plate. Bonnie lifted it over her head, dropping it on the tile floor. Smash. She did the same with the other plate. Shards of crockery littered the kitchen and spattered her clothes.
Next, she grabbed the mug Gabe had given her this morning. Dumping the dregs of the now-cold tea into the sink, Bonnie turned, pulling her arm back and hurling the mug across the room. It exploded against the wall. She ducked, covering her face as fragments rained down.
Breathing hard, she straightened, admiring the carnage. Then she brushed off the pieces still clinging to her and inspected herself for damage. Aside from the cut on her finger, she had a few nicks on her arms. Nothing too serious. The wounds would heal quickly.
She wondered if the same could be said for her heart.
CHAPTER 11
AT HALF PAST six on Sunday evening, Theo left his hotel room and paused outside Bonnie’s door. They’d agreed to meet in the lobby in fifteen minutes. He ordered his feet to keep walking down the hall toward the lift, but his body ignored him. Overruled, he knocked.
“Yes?” she called through the door.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Theo?” She opened the door.
He put a hand on the doorframe and leaned toward her. “You shouldn’t open the door if you don’t know who it is.”
“I knew it was you.” She crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at him. “But how did you know this was my room?”
A guilty flush heated his skin. “I asked Cassie.”
“Oh.”
They were both silent a moment. Theo gestured toward the elevator. “Should I wait downstairs for you, then?”
“What?” Bonnie shook her head. “No. I’m ready.” She stepped back and held the door open for him. “Just give me a minute to grab my things.”
He followed her inside the suite. She scurried to pull her coat on, her arm tangling in a sleeve. “Here. Let me.” Before she could argue, Theo gently tugged on the coat, holding it for her as she settled into it. A chunk of something fell from her hair and he caught it. “What on earth…” He held up a shard of broken pottery.
She glanced over her shoulder, blue eyes darkening as she stared at what he held pinched between his fingers. “Long story,” she said, turning and holding out her palm.
Despite being desperately curious, he decided not to press. “I’m sure.” He dropped it into her hand.
An embarrassed chuckle escaped her. She tossed the shard in the dustbin and grabbed her handbag. “All set.” Beating him to the punch, Bonnie popped her elbow out, offering him her arm. “Shall we?”
His mouth twitched, but he nodded and accepted her invitation. “How’s your heel?”
“Much better, thank you.” She pulled the door to her room shut and made sure it locked.
Theo studied her covertly as they entered the lift. Her long red curls were mussed, and while he often gave his mate Logan shit for his head of unruly red hair, on Bonnie, disheveled was decidedly fetching.
“Long day?” he asked.
“Yes and no.”
He frowned at her riddle of a response, but before he could ask her to elaborate, they’d stopped at another floor and several people joined them. Theo moved closer to her as they squeezed toward the b
ack of the small space, making room. They rode the rest of the way to the lobby in silence, bodies pressed together.
Which was fine with him. He liked the way her lush little body curved against his. His hands itched to map the landscape of her shape. Learn each dip and slope. Were the curls between her legs the same shade as her hair? He ached to know. Mouth dry, he followed her into the courtyard of the hotel.
“Where to?” he asked, wincing at the hoarse rasp in his voice.
“You’ll see,” she said, not seeming to notice his distress as she led him to one of the cabs idling nearby.
Good. Hopefully she wouldn’t notice what was happening in his trousers either. He followed her into the backseat of the cab, adjusting himself discreetly. What was his problem? He’d been indulging in too many fantasies about her, was what.
Last night, it had been late when he’d returned to the hotel after his evening with Camille, and yet he found himself restless and unable to sleep. He’d paced the suite, thinking of Bonnie, of how she had sat on the chaise in his room, remembering the gentle curve of her calf resting on his knee, the feel of his hand wrapped around her ankle. Then he’d collapsed onto the chaise, wondering what would have happened if he’d let his hand inch up her bare leg, let his fingers stroke the inside of her thigh. Imagining just that, he’d unzipped his pants and stroked his cock.
When was he going to stop? Stop thinking about her? Wanting her? Did he think he could jack his need for her out of his system?
Hardly.
If anything, it was making the situation worse. Schrödinger’s cat or some bloody nonsense. He saw her, and bam, instant hard-on. What would happen later this summer, as preparations for Logan’s wedding got well underway? Now that’d be a sight, the best man walking down the aisle, cock first, sporting a raging stiffy because he had the hots for the maid of honor. Theo shook his head.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He jerked, realizing she was watching him, and wiped a hand over his face. “I’m, uh … frustrated is all.”
She nodded in sympathy. “Long day for you too?”
He waved a hand dismissively. “We were going to talk about your day.”
“We were?”
“In the lift,” he prompted. “Remember?”
“Oh, right. Well,” she began, leaning back against the cracked leather of the cab seat, “I talked to Gabe.”
Rage bloomed in his chest, and again he had the urge to shove his fist into the worthless fuck who had hurt her. Head, gut, he didn’t care, so long as it bloody hurt. He recalled the broken bit of pottery he’d found in her hair and frowned. His fingers curled, knuckles tight with tension. Had there been a fight? Had the arsehole hurt her? More than emotionally this time? Holding himself in check, Theo asked, “How did that go?”
“Not horribly.” A chuff of laughter escaped her. “Not too horribly anyway.”
“Oh.” He studied her face, lit by the streetlamps passing overhead in rhythmic intervals. “How did you spend the rest of your afternoon?”
“I attacked a bunch of dishes.”
“Pardon?”
“After meeting with Gabe, I went back to our place to pack up some of my things…” She paused, mouth working. “Anyway, I may have worked out some frustration in the kitchen.”
“I see.” That explained the pottery shard in her hair. “Feel better now?”
“I do, actually.” She smiled sheepishly. “It was stupid, I know, but God, it felt good to break something.”
“I understand.” Hell, did he ever. He shifted on the seat again and glanced out the cab window. “May I ask where we’re going?”
“I told you, you’ll see,” she replied with a teasing lilt. “Trust me, you’ll love it. Everyone does. It’s a Chicago favorite.”
Theo gave her his best polite smile and steeled his stomach. Much to his surprise, and gustatory relief, when the cab dropped them off a few minutes later, it was not at a pizza parlor.
He paid the fare and she pulled him through the revolving glass doors of a place called Portillo’s. If the size of the crowd was any indication, the food must be good. People packed every booth and table, and the queue to order snaked through the restaurant. Over the murmur of dining room chatter, a woman wearing a black beret barked into a microphone, briskly calling out numbers.
Bonnie held his arm and stood on tiptoe, craning her neck to scan the room. He glanced around as well, easily zeroing in on his mate’s wild thatch of red hair in a booth toward the back. He pointed. “Over there.”
Logan stood and slapped Theo on the back while the girls greeted each other with a hug.
“We’ll see to the food then, aye?” Logan asked.
“How about we handle ordering the meal?” Bonnie shrugged out of her coat and tossed it into the booth. “Since we know the menu.”
“You two can take care of getting drinks.” Cassie pointed to a corner of the restaurant, where a smaller line was queued at a bar counter. “I’ll take a beer,” she told Logan, then asked Bonnie. “Beer or wine?”
“A beer sounds good.”
Cassie nodded, flashing a smile at her fiancé. “Two beers for the lassies.”
The Scot laughed and brushed a quick kiss across Cassie’s cheek. “Come on, then,” he said to Theo. “Let’s see to procuring refreshments.”
“Don’t worry,” Bonnie assured him. “I’ll get you something good.”
“That’s an easy promise, because everything here is good.” Cassie winked, and the girls headed off to join the masses waiting to order food.
Theo followed Logan to the beer counter.
“How’s things?” Logan asked, his tone casual.
Theo didn’t miss the curious gleam in his friend’s eye. “Decent.”
“Family ‘business’ wrapped up, then?”
He also didn’t miss the quotation marks in his friend’s voice. “For now. So mind your own bloody business.”
Snorting, Logan moved to the counter and placed their order. Theo reached into his pocket for his wallet, but the Scot shook his head. “I got this.” Before Theo could voice a protest, his friend continued, “Trust me, I owe you.”
“You do?”
Logan handed Theo two heavy beer steins before grabbing the other two. “Aye. By the time my darling wife-to-be gets through explaining her plans for the wedding, you’ll understand.”
They returned to the booth and arranged the four glasses around the table. Cassie appeared, loaded down with napkins and assorted condiments. “Need any help?” Theo asked.
She waved him off. “You two sit. Drink your beer. Talk. We’ll be back in a minute.” She disappeared into the crowd again.
Theo frowned.
“You heard the lass,” Logan said, easing into the booth. “Now stop hovering and have a seat.”
“I’m not hovering,” Theo protested. Though he was, indeed, hovering. It felt odd to sit here and relax while the women stood waiting. “Perhaps I’ll just see if they need—”
“They’re fine, Theo. Don’t be a prig. Sit and drink your beer like you were told.”
With what Lo would likely call a very priggish harrumph, Theo sat. This was not the way things were done. He eyed the beer in front of him. He wanted a sip, but his manners were so ingrained, his mind would not allow his body to pick up the glass, wouldn’t process the desire and turn it into action.
“It wouldna kill you to wet your whistle while we wait.” Logan lifted his heavy glass and took a long pull on his own beer, eyes taunting Theo over the rim. He set the glass down, smacking his lips and sighing with exaggerated pleasure. “Now,” Logan began, the curious gleam in his eye growing downright fiendish, “what’s going on between you and wee Bonnie?”
Willpower cracking, Theo took a sip of beer. He should wait for the ladies to return, but he needed something to fortify himself, especially if he was about to have this particular conversation. He knew his friend. Lo was like a dog with a bone, and wouldn’t let up unt
il he got to the meat of the story.
“You’ve heard, I take it, about Bonnie’s engagement?” Theo began.
“Aye.” Logan cracked his knuckles, ruddy color darkening his cheeks. “The goddamn bastard.”
Theo smiled grimly, gratified at the banked violence in his friend’s response. He’d like nothing better than to pay a visit to the bugger who’d caused Bonnie so much pain and have a word with him. Though he’d likely let his fists do most of the talking. He glanced up, checking on the girls. There was no sign of them, still lost in the crowd surrounding the pick-up counter. Another stab of guilt. He started to stand. “I really should go and help them…”
“Theo,” Logan ordered. “Keep your arse right where it is. They can handle themselves, aye?”
“So I’ve been told,” Theo grumbled.
Logan laughed. “Someone not appreciate your trademark British manners?”
“I was only being polite.”
The Scot snorted into his glass.
“I fail to see the humor.” Theo bit the inside of his cheek, gaze drifting to the pick-up counter again.
“Go on with you, then.” Logan waved a dismissive hand. “See if they need your help.” The Scot raised his eyes heavenward. “Save me from the stuffy, overbearing English.”
Unfolding from the booth, Theo stood and stared down his nose at his friend. “We can’t all be uncivilized heathens.” He spun on his heel, the Scot’s amused snort bringing a reluctant grin to his own lips. That had been a rather stuffy response on his part. Ah well, he was what he was.
Theo scanned the crowd again. Now that he was standing, the girls were easy to spot. Especially Bonnie. He moved toward her red curls. She was at the condiment station, filling little paper cups with a red sauce. “Can I be of assistance?” he asked over her shoulder.
Smitten by the Brit--A Sometimes in Love Novel Page 10