Chapter Thirteen
By the time Diana headed back to the Ocean Bluff Inn, most of the day was gone, and she was rumpled and covered with dust. Even though the movers did the heavy lifting, her back ached from hand-wrapping so many delicate items and arranging them inside cartons and crates. Her hair looked like a skein of yarn after a litter of kittens had played in it, and her shirt was smudged with dirt.
She couldn’t remember ever being this happy.
She’d scored a major professional coup. And she’d be seeing Nick tonight. Life didn’t get any better.
Which meant, of course, that life could get worse. She was stripped down to her underwear, ready to climb into the porcelain claw-foot tub in the bathroom attached to her room, when her cell phone rang. She lifted it, read the caller’s name on the screen, and grimaced. Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she thumbed the connect icon. “Hello, Mom.”
“Diana. Good grief, what is going on?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Diana said as smoothly as she could. “How are you?”
“I’m in shock. Peter contacted us yesterday and told us you gave him back his ring. What is the problem? Did you want a different stone? A different setting?”
Diana shook her head to clear it. What planet was her mother calling from? “Mom. I gave him back the ring because I broke up with him. The engagement is off.”
“No!” Her mother sounded so shocked, it occurred to Diana that Peter hadn’t told her parents the truth. Apparently, he’d told them she’d returned his ring, but not why. “How can that be?”
It further occurred to Diana that her mother was so fixated on Diana’s marriage to Peter—and had been so attached to the idea practically since the day Diana was born—that the notion of this marriage not happening struck her as preposterous, beyond the realm of the believable.
Everyone wanted Diana and Peter to marry. Everyone expected it. How could Diana dare to thwart destiny?
“I’m sorry, Mom. I wanted to give the reality a chance to sink in before I told you and Dad. But…I realized I wasn’t happy with Peter. I don’t think I could ever be happy with him.”
“Of course you can be happy with him. He’s a good man, Diana. And from such a good family.”
“And he’ll make some other woman a good husband,” Diana said. “His family is great. This has nothing to do with his family. It has to do with the fact that when I’m with him, I knock myself out trying to please him. I’m always giving in to his wishes, always worrying about whether he’s happy—and when he isn’t, I’m worrying about what I should do to make him happy.”
“That’s what marriage is all about,” her mother said. “Making each other happy.”
“He doesn’t make me happy,” Diana countered. “And honestly, I don’t know if I make him happy, either. I try so damned hard. I shouldn’t have to try that hard.”
“A successful marriage takes work,” her mother said.
A successful marriage also took balance. It took both partners working at it.
And it took great sex, she thought, a flush of heat surging through her body as she remembered the night she’d spent in Nick’s bed.
“Mom, you’ll just have to trust me on this. I’m doing what’s right for myself.”
“For yourself,” her mother said scornfully. “Apparently, what’s right for everyone else is irrelevant to you.”
Diana flinched. Did her mother really believe that Diana’s happiness wasn’t as important as her own? Or Peter’s? Or Peter’s parents’? “It’s my life,” Diana said, doing her best to filter her rage out of her tone. And wasn’t that typical of her? Once again, she was more worried about upsetting her mother than her mother was about upsetting her. She sighed and said, “I’ve got to go.” If she prolonged the conversation, her words would be like lighter fluid on hot coals. Flames would erupt. The conversation would turn into an conflagration. “I’m about to take a bath. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Good idea,” her mother said, and for a hopeful moment, Diana believed her mother was as eager as she was to step back from the flames and let the embers cool. “I’m sure once you sleep on it, you’ll realize that you and Peter are perfect for each other. We’ll get this marriage back on track.”
We? Diana shook her head. No, Mom. We will not. Diana’s marriage was not a group project. It was not a committee decision. It was her life.
“I’ve changed,” she blurted out, realizing as soon as she spoke that her mother would have no idea what Diana was talking about. How could she explain about the jukebox, the song, her newfound confidence, her professional accomplishment? How could she explain about Nick? “I’d better go,” she said more quietly. “And I’m sorry, but I’m not marrying Peter.”
She was still fuming when she stripped off her bra and panties and sank into the steaming water that filled the tub. Why had she said she was sorry? Why did she have to apologize for making her own decisions and determining her own future?
She’d changed, but she had more changing to do. Each change led to another change. Two days ago, she’d become more self-assured in her work. Yesterday she’d become more assertive about her personal life. Last night…
Last night she’d made love to someone who wasn’t Peter. And it had been glorious.
For the first time since she’d heard her mother’s voice emerging through her cell phone, she smiled.
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