by Elle Kennedy
Magdalena the maid appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Holmes, the Worthingtons have arrived, along with Mr. Kildaire and his guest.”
“Make sure everyone is seated correctly,” Gregory said briskly. “And send young Mr. Worthington in here, please.” He glanced at Ryan. “Mr. Evans was just leaving. Take him to the dining room.”
Ryan shot Annabelle’s dad an overly bright smile. “Great chat, sir. Thanks so much for inviting me to dinner.” He made for the door. “Oh, and happy anniversary, by the way.”
The moment he was out of the study, Ryan discreetly released the breath he’d been holding, forcing his body to relax. Yet a gust of rage continued blowing inside him. The fucking nerve of that man. Did Annabelle know what a bastard her father was? Should he tell her?
Trying to steady his breathing, he trailed after the maid. The sound of voices drifted from the dining room, and he heard Annabelle laugh, not quite genuine but still melodic. He slowly unclenched his fists and tried to paste on a smile. He had to get through this dinner. He had to do it for her.
“Did Dad give you a hard time?” Annabelle asked quietly when he approached her.
“No, just the usual ‘what-are-your-intentions’ chat,” he said in a light tone.
She slipped her hand into his, gently stroking his fingers. “I’m sorry.”
So was he. He wished he could tell her what her father had just tried to do, but now was neither the time nor the place. The dining room was as enormous as every other room in the house, boasting a table that could easily seat fifty. Tonight it was a small party, only the Holmeses, the Worthingtons, who looked like complete pricks, and Joe Kildaire, a wealthy investment something-or-other whose date looked like she’d had at least thirty-five plastic surgeries.
Fuck, what was he doing here?
He snuck a sidelong glance at Annabelle, admiring her gorgeous profile, but not even the sight of her could dim his panic. He looked around the room, from the gleaming crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling to the perfectly set table with an endless amount of silverware and wine glasses.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out he didn’t belong here.
And he never would.
Chapter Seven
Ryan looked miserable. Annabelle felt terrible as she watched him pick at the filet mignon on his plate, his dark head bent slightly. He’d barely said a word since his talk with her dad, and she could tell he felt like an outsider as the guests chatted with her parents at the dinner table. He’d only raised his head a few times since sitting down, each time to send a scowl in Bryce’s direction.
Annabelle wanted to scowl too. Bryce had strolled into the dining room with her father, pulling her into his arms for a warm hug as if nothing had happened between them. She had to admit, he did look good in his pin-striped black suit, with his blond hair perfectly cut. His chiseled features focused on her every few seconds, and he kept shooting her endearing little smiles. She had no idea what he was up to, but she didn’t like it, whatever it was.
“So, are you enjoying your vacation, Annabelle?” Bryce asked pleasantly, lifting his wine glass to his lips and taking a long sip.
“Yes, San Diego is beautiful,” she replied in a polite voice.
“Not as beautiful as you look tonight, I’m sure,” he teased.
She noticed her parents exchange a pleased look. She stifled a sigh. Why was Bryce acting like Mr. Charming all of a sudden? He’d dumped her, for Pete’s sake.
The dinner dragged on. Bryce continued to flirt with her, Ryan continued to sulk, and Annabelle’s parents chatted with the Worthingtons and Kildaires as if nothing was out of sorts. By the time the small catering staff Sandra Holmes had hired cleared the dinner plates and brought dessert out, Annabelle was ready to tear her hair out. She tried to draw Ryan out of his shell, but he barely paid any attention to her.
His blue eyes became instantly alert, though, when Bryce suddenly cleared his throat and stood up. “All right, I think it’s time to put an end to all the tension,” he said cheerfully, holding the stem of his wine glass.
The adults at the table looked intrigued.
“Sandra, Greg, I know you were both upset to hear that Annabelle and I broke up,” he said to her parents, “but I want you both to know that Annabelle and I have seen the error of our ways.”
Huh?
Beaming, Bryce went on. “I’m happy to announce that the wedding is back on.”
As Annabelle’s mother clapped her hands together in delight, Bryce walked around the table to where Annabelle was sitting and reached for her hand. A sick feeling rose up her chest, settling into a lump in the back of her throat. What the hell was he doing?
“Stand up, sweetheart,” Bryce urged. “Let’s toast to our happiness.”
“What? No, Bryce, this is not—”
Without letting her finish, he took her arm and pretty much forced her to her feet. Annabelle’s gaze sought out Ryan’s, but he refused to meet her eyes. His broad shoulders were as stiff as a board and she noticed a muscle in his jaw twitching. Oh God. This was a disaster.
She opened her mouth to object again, but Bryce broke out in a long, bullshit toast about happiness and marriage, and everyone at the table raised their glasses, clinking them together in celebration. Annabelle had never seen her parents look happier, and she could have sworn she saw a flicker of satisfaction in her father’s eyes, as if he had known this was coming. Bryce’s parents got up and hugged her, expressing their joy that the two “children” were still getting married.
Bryce smiled warmly, then whispered close to her ear. “You forgive me for all those things I said, right, sweetheart? You know I didn’t mean them.”
Her lips tightened. Trying to control her anger, she whispered back, “I don’t know what the hell you’re up to, Bryce, but I am not going to—”
The words died in her throat when she heard Ryan’s chair scrape against the parquet floor. Without a word or a look in her direction, he walked out of the dining room.
Panic filled her body. “Ryan—” she called, but Bryce tightened his grip on her hand.
“Let him go. This is obviously very awkward for him, us getting back together,” Bryce said smoothly.
“We are not getting back together,” she hissed out. Then she shrugged his hand off her arm and ran out of the dining room after Ryan.
She caught up to him just as he reached the front door. “Wait,” she said breathlessly. “Please, Ryan, don’t go.”
Very slowly, he turned to face her, his blue eyes utterly expressionless. “Do you seriously think I’m going to stay?”
“Bryce and I are not back together,” she blurted out. “I don’t know what the hell he’s up to, but I promise you, Ryan, I am not marrying Bryce.”
He didn’t answer.
Annabelle stepped toward him, cupping his chin with her hands. “Please don’t go. Or at least wait for me to change and I’ll go with you, okay?”
Weariness etched into his features. Sighing, he covered her hands with his and very gently removed them from his face. “You can’t go with me,” he finally said, his voice rough.
She wrinkled her nose. “Why the hell not? Trust me, the last place I want to be right now is here. I just want to throttle Bryce for what he did back there. He knows damn well we’re not back together.”
“Look, it doesn’t matter.” There was a chord of frustration in his voice.
“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?”
He paused for a few long beats, then let out a heavy breath. “You should probably go back to Bryce anyway.”
Ice hardened her veins. “Pardon me?”
“This isn’t really my scene, babe.” He shrugged, then reached up to loosen his tie. “It’s a little too much for me, actually.”
“What exactly are you saying?”
“I’m saying I don’t belong here.” He tore off his tie and shoved it in the pocket of his black trousers. His voice was suddenly cool, careless. “We were ju
st having some fun, Annabelle. I didn’t sign up for family weekends and drama and all that crap.”
Her hands trembled. “You offered to come home with me.”
“Yeah, and it was a big fucking mistake, okay?” He raked one hand through his dark hair. “Let’s just make this easy, babe. We spent a couple of weeks together, had a good time, but now it’s time to end it.”
“End it,” she repeated dully.
“Yes. Because honestly? The fun’s over for me.”
The cruelty of that comment hit her hard. Her chest felt like someone had sliced it open with a knife, and at that moment, she realized just how much she cared about this man. Damn it, she’d fallen in love with him. Her heart squeezed in pain and humiliation. God, she was so stupid.
“Can I ask you something?” she asked quietly, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “Do you even feel anything for me?”
He hesitated, and her heart ached again.
“Do you?” she demanded.
Ryan’s gaze didn’t waver as he gave a slight shake of the head. “No,” he finally admitted.
Tears pricked her eyelids. She quickly blinked them back. Anger joined the sorrow swimming in her gut, and she narrowed her eyes at him, unable to accept what he’d just said. “You’re lying. You do have feelings for me.”
“You turn me on, sure,” he said callously. “But I don’t love you, if that’s what you’re getting at.” He grimaced. “Fuck, we both know I’m in love with someone else.”
The knife in her heart twisted several more times, leaving her chest raw and empty. “Jane,” she said softly.
“Yes.” He averted his eyes. “It’s always been her, all right?”
“Were you using me to try and get over her?”
He nodded.
The tears returned, this time doing more than stinging her eyes. They streamed down her cheeks and she viciously swiped at them with the back of her hand. She took a deep breath. “Go then. You obviously don’t want to be here, and frankly, I don’t want you here either, so just go, Ryan.”
His blue eyes flickered with regret. “I’m sorry, Annabelle.”
“Yeah, me too,” she said bitterly.
He started to reach for her, then seemed to change his mind. “It was fun at least, no?”
Anger ignited in her body. “Yeah, loads of fun,” she answered darkly. “Now do me a favor, Ryan, and get the hell out of my house.”
It was past midnight when Ryan let himself into his apartment, his suit rumpled from the flight and his heart battered from everything he had put it through tonight. You did the right thing, the voice in his head said, but he didn’t feel reassured. Had he done the right thing? He couldn’t get the image of Annabelle’s tears out of his mind, and it killed him knowing that he’d hurt her.
But she would be better off in the long run, right? He didn’t belong in her world, and he would never fit in to that wealthy lifestyle of hers. Her father had made that pretty damn clear. Annabelle would be fine. She’d probably get back together with that asshole Bryce, move into a big mansion, and have a luxurious life. He was sparing her the embarrassment of being with some military bum who made in a year what her father probably earned in a week.
You are not good enough for my daughter.
Gregory Holmes’s harsh words continued to buzz in his brain. He groaned softly, then pulled his tie from his pocket and hurled it across the room. He stalked into his bedroom, where he tore off his suit and slid into bed, naked and pissed off. The moment his head hit the pillow, the scent of orange blossoms filled his nostrils, which only made him angrier. Damn Annabelle and her snobby parents and her sexy orange blossom smell and all that sexy sarcasm. He groaned again, the sound muffled by the pillow, and then in an uncharacteristic burst of fury, he threw the pillow across the room. The damn thing hit the stack of DVDs atop his dresser, sending the pile crashing to the floor.
With the instincts of a well-trained Navy SEAL, Matt suddenly appeared in the doorway, looking alert and urgent. “What happened?” he demanded.
Ryan let out a hysterical laugh. “Nothing. DVDs fell, that’s all. Sorry if I woke you.”
Matt studied him, a worried expression filling his face. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Nothing,” he said again.
“You have crazy eyes, man. The same look you had on your face during that last gig in Afghanistan.” Matt furrowed his brows. “Weren’t you supposed to come back from San Francisco tomorrow night?”
“I left early.” Then he thought, to hell with it, and added, “I broke up with Annabelle.”
Matt’s eyes widened. “What? Why the hell did you do that? We both know you’re crazy about her.”
He smothered a sigh. “I’m crazy about Jane,” he corrected.
His friend went silent for a moment, confusion practically radiating from his body. “No, you’re not.” A shrewd glint entered Matt’s eyes. “You don’t have that lovelorn little boy look on your face anymore when you say her name.”
“Fuck. Just mind your own business, O’Connor. Annabelle and I are over, and that’s that.” Sarcasm dripped from his tone. “If you want her around that badly, you date her.”
Matt raised both eyebrows. “Wow.”
“Wow what?” he grumbled.
“You’re in love with her.”
Ryan gritted his teeth. “Would you go back to your room already? I’m trying to sleep here.”
“No, you’re not. You’re trying to sulk.”
“Fuck off, Matt. Just leave this alone.”
Matt shook his head, but rather than pressing the subject, he simply walked away. A moment later, Ryan heard Matt’s bedroom door shut with a soft click.
Damn it. Matt was wrong. He wasn’t in love with Annabelle. He couldn’t be. Two weeks, that’s all they’d spent together. Had some sex, shared some laughs—that wasn’t love.
Was it?
He settled back in his bed, staring up at the ceiling in dismay. No, he couldn’t love her. And he just prayed that Matt really would leave it alone. He didn’t need his friend harassing him about this break-up, if you could even call it that, and he certainly didn’t want to think about Annabelle anymore. It was over. Done. Better off forgotten.
But apparently the words leave it alone weren’t in his best friend’s vocabulary, because when Ryan walked into the kitchen the next morning after a sleepless night of tossing and turning, he found none other than Jane sitting on one of the stools in front of the narrow counter. She wore a turquoise sundress, her red hair hung in a loose braid down her back, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel a burst of longing when he saw her.
“So how’d you fuck it up?” she asked when she saw him, cutting right to the chase.
He ignored the question, heading for the fridge. He pulled out a jug of orange juice, poured himself a cup, then leaned against the sink as he took a deep swig of juice. “Don’t you have better things to do than bug me at—” he glanced at the clock on the microwave, “—seven o’clock in the morning?”
“Nope,” she replied breezily.
He drained his glass and dropped it in the sink with a clink. “Did O’Connor call you?”
“Yep.” Her blue eyes searched his face. “He said you dumped Annabelle and asked me to come over to slap some sense into you.”
“Trust me, ending it made perfect sense,” he muttered under his breath.
“I don’t believe you.” Her chin jutted out in its usual stubborn pose. “Annabelle is awesome. She’s funny and smart and it was obvious you two really hit it off. So how on earth does it make sense to just dump her like a piece of—”
“Her father tried to bribe me to get out of her life,” he cut in, his voice hard.
Jane’s jaw fell open. For once in her life, she was actually speechless, and Ryan could see her brain working overtime, trying to figure that one out.
“No way,” she finally said, sounding horrified.
“Yes way.”
So he did. He told her about the trip to San Francisco, about the goddamn palace Annabelle’s parents lived in. The way her mother had looked down her nose at him, the fun chat with Annabelle’s dad. He even threw in Bryce’s surprise the-wedding-is-back-on announcement, just for kicks. When he finished, Jane looked utterly amazed.
“That sounds…terrible.”
“It was,” he confirmed. “Really awkwardly terrible. Now do you see why I ended it?”
She looked at him in disbelief. “No, I don’t, actually. When the hell did you become a coward?”
His skin prickled with offense. “I’m not a coward.”
“Yes, you are. You felt out of your league, got all insecure, and took off like a scared little bunny rabbit.” She softened her tone. “Look, I know you didn’t have the most luxurious of upbringings, and I’m sure being around all those rich people was overwhelming, but come on, Ryan, you’re better than that. You’re better than them, and you should have fought for her instead of letting her father scare you off.”
Ryan suddenly regretted ever telling Jane about his childhood. He should have known she wouldn’t understand. She came from a great family, and even if she hadn’t, she seemed to fit in wherever she went. He could see Jane getting along splendidly with Annabelle’s snotty parents, that was just the kind of person she was. But him? He would never fit in with those snobs.
“I just don’t get how Annabelle didn’t see through your bullshit break-up speech.” Jane shook her head in bewilderment. “She seemed pretty sharp when I met her at the hospital.”
Guilt swarmed his gut as he remembered what he’d said to Annabelle. It’s always been her. He quickly avoided Jane’s eyes, scared she might read his mind, which of course she did.
“There’s more, isn’t there?” she said with a sigh.
“No,” he lied.
“What the hell did you tell her to get her to believe your crap, Ryan?”