Love Changes Everything (Romance on the Go Book 0)

by Peri Elizabeth Scott

  After pulling on a pair of pajama pants, their sharp creases mute testament to lack of wear, he stumbled to the bathroom and threw water on his face. The effects of the scotch remained, a faint throbbing behind his eyes, but Grace’s response had sobered him up damn fast. Of all the times to drink…

  He scrubbed his teeth and poked at his hair, then checked to see if she was awake before heading downstairs. Her pale face with those feathery lashes stroking over her cheeks stayed with him as he gained the kitchen. While unaware of the stage of her pregnancy, he knew she couldn’t be more than a month or so along. If things were the same as before, it meant she’d be struggling with appetite and feeling pretty tired. Two things he could address.

  Fighting against the sick sensation of her possibly losing this child as well, he located his phone and texted his PA to cancel his day, and to make an appointment with Grace’s doctor as soon as possible. Jenna might raise an eyebrow, but she wouldn’t noise the news about. Then he turned his attention to putting together a light breakfast. The paltry choices somehow lent themselves to a decent meal.

  He put everything on a tray unearthed from a cupboard that appeared to be made specifically for items of that shape and size. Everything was in its place and the kitchen was surgically clean, as sterile as the rest of the house. He winced at the inference. Grace should have a home, not this mausoleum. As he picked up the food to take it upstairs, he felt her.

  She hovered in the doorway, wearing a fluffy robe, her shorter hair a loose cloud around her head. He spoke as she turned to flee, her intent evident on sleep-softened features.

  “Morning.” He tried not to give the appearance that he’d noticed her intention.

  She appeared to hang in space, on the balls of her feet before she settled. “I thought you’d left. For work.”

  “I told you we’d talk today.”

  “I thought you meant after work. When you got home.” He didn’t need to work hard at deciphering the inference there. Except, there was no real accusation, but the stating of a simple fact.

  “I’m home today,” he said, watching her soft mouth set. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Not feeling sick?”

  “No.”

  “I made breakfast. Something that shouldn’t upset your stomach.” He pulled out a stool from the island. “Will you sit?”

  “O … kay. Though I’m not really hungry.”

  “But you came down for something.”

  “A banana.”

  “I have one on the tray, sliced, in milk with a little raw sugar. Plain toast. Herbal tea.”

  She ducked her head, but not before he saw her eyes well with tears. “Grace? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Probably hormones.”

  “I remember. From before.”

  She stared at him from troublesomely now dry eyes. What had he said? Done?

  “Right.”

  He’d pissed her off in reminding her, but he wanted her to know some part of him had been invested back then. “I paid attention, Grace. No matter how things … unfolded afterward, I noticed.”

  Lifting the spoon, she nibbled on a piece of banana, and he could almost see her thoughts coalescing. “You were … decent for a while. After the baby—”

  Decent. As a man that would be faint praise, as a husband? Abysmal. “I wasn’t the most amenable groom,” he agreed.

  “I don’t really remember.”

  He knew she was lying if only to herself. The quick, civil ceremony hadn’t been a joyous occasion, with only his father, hers, Kamil and her friend, Charity present. It was tense and echoed with blame and misery. Her hand had been cold to the touch when he’d slipped the ring her finger, all the while avoiding her pleading gaze. He’d brushed her cheek with a brief kiss. “I remember.”

  He’d been pissed off to the maximum while he watched his life narrow down to instant wife, instant family before he was ready. Before he made the choice. The fact that in all likelihood he would have chosen Grace, given more time, curdled his guts with shame. Who had been the adult? A twenty-six-year-old man or a nineteen-year-old girl?

  And speaking of rings… Her left hand was conspicuously bare and his possessive, caveman side flexed and roared. He bit back a comment and maintained silence. Behaving like an ultimate asshole wasn’t going to win him any brownie points.

  She crunched a bite of toast and took a sip of tea. “I’ll just go and get dressed. And then we can talk. We should … finalize things.”

  Staring after her retreating form, he grimaced. Whatever had changed for her, his gut clenched at the realization his sweet, complaint bride was no more. It wasn’t that he decried her spirit and independence, he’d discovered he didn’t want to lose any part of her and fixing things just got harder.

  He cleaned up and headed to the master suite to shower and dress. Grace perched on the chair by her dressing table, tugging a pair of socks on. She gave him a vague smile, her mind clearly elsewhere and he wondered what she’d do if he stripped her out of that pedestrian outfit and tumbled her back into bed.

  Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face or in his demeanor because she tensed, watching him through narrowed eyes. With a shrug, he commenced his morning routine, albeit without his wife pretending to be asleep in their bed. How many times had he thought about starting the day with something different than picking up coffee on the drive? But he hadn’t because he didn’t want to change the status quo. And it suited him to punish her with his withholding. Asshole.

  Swallowing a savage curse, he finished his shower, breathing in the mingled scent of his and her grooming products. Grace always smelled of lavender and some unfamiliar flower. Verbena, maybe. The strange name popped into his head out of nowhere. Which was precisely where he appeared to be when it came to her.

  With a towel around his hips, he eschewed a shave but brushed his hair into submission. He strode into the now empty bedroom and found some jeans—designer—and a vintage t-shirt.

  The other side of the closet was hung with a mishmash of garments. Dresses and outfits from the Kilmer line for Grace, when she was required to attend events, and clothing of her own taste. He fingered the fabrics and grimaced. He hadn’t even taken an interest in her clothes, his bread and butter.

  Making a mental note, he went in search of his wife, finding her back in the cold and elegant living room, curled up in a chair by the fireplace.

  “Want it switched on? It’s going to rain for days.”

  “All right.” She pulled a shapeless sweater around her and stared toward the street.

  After flicking on the gas, he took the remote with him to the couch and tried to get comfortable. A carafe of coffee and a big mug sat on the coffee table.

  “Thanks, Grace.”

  One shoulder lifted in a dainty shrug. “You made breakfast.”

  “You aren’t having any?”

  “I can’t have caffeine. And I’ve lost the taste for it anyhow.”

  “Right.” No caffeine—which meant her giving up her beloved chocolate—no alcohol, no OTC drugs, aside from a specific few, and a host of other things to remember. “How far along are you?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s been seven weeks…”

  “When did you find out?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “And yet you went to see a lawyer?”

  “I found out afterward.”

  That didn’t make it a whole lot better. The news hadn’t changed her mind about leaving him. “Optimally, a child needs two parents.”

  Her big silver eyes shone, her lovely features marked with incredulity before she schooled them. When had she learned that skill? He knew why.

  She said, “Optimally, a child needs at least one parent who loves them unconditionally. And is raised in a home free of stress—as much as possible.”

  He decided to circle around. “Did you want to marry me?”

  “I didn’t see any option, either.”
/>   Considering the pressure from her father, and his, he supposed that was true. Still… “Will you answer my question?”

  She watched him, big eyes focused, her full lips set. She looked, even more, the wood sprite or elf he remembered when he first saw her. So different than the other women…

  “I wanted to marry you. I thought we could get past…” A faint, bitter laugh scored the distance between them. “I thought wrong.”

  “Was it only because of the child or did you marry me because you loved me?”

  Her lids slammed shut and a big breath lifted her torso. For a moment he regretted the bald statement but Grace was shoring up some pretty impressive defenses. He thought to breach them as quickly as possible with a reminder.

  “I thought I loved you,” she said in a near whisper.

  “Sweetheart.” She threw him a dagger of a look and he swiftly backpedaled. “Grace, you told me I had your heart. I regret I didn’t take care of it better. I swear.”

  Her head tilted, but he couldn’t read her. “What’s this leading up to, Beckett?”

  “I don’t want a divorce.”

  “But you said… When you called me you said you things had to change.”

  “They do, but not with a divorce.”

  “You can still be part of the baby’s life. I won’t try to stop you, as long as you, uh, behave.”

  He should be offended, but he wasn’t. That would take a really big pair of balls and even he wasn’t that arrogant. “I plan to be part of his life. And part of yours. I planned that before I knew you were pregnant.”

  She didn’t bother to hide her confusion, pursing her lips, her brows lowering. “Why?”

  “Because you’re my wife and it’s time I worked with that.”

  “Worked with that…”

  “Poor choice of words, Grace. I meant—”

  “Oh, please, Beck. Give it up. What’s this really about? Is it my father? Yours? Their bromance?” She dropped her feet to the floor and waved a slender hand in the air. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled.

  He was fascinated by this side of her and turned the fuck on. His cock had no honor or appreciation for the circumstances. Willing his libido under control, he said, “Our fathers would be upset. For sure. But it’s not about them. They’ve bridged whatever gap or issue that held them back before, anyhow. It’s been some time and business is booming.”

  “Then, what?”

  “I’m not giving up on this marriage,” he said, stubbornly, unable to come up with anything else that sounded believable. Where was his vaunted charm and gift of convincing speech? Buried with that muddle of feelings for her I locked away so I could take proper umbrage and exercise my outrage.

  “Not a quitter,” she scoffed. “I know that’s always been your motto, but I told you. I’ve initiated it. I’m not giving you any choice.”

  “I won’t sign,” he replied.

  “I’m moving out, of this.” She gestured around the room. “Charity and I are finding a place.”

  “Bullshit.” He was suddenly faced with the very real possibility she was going to walk away.

  “Cursing at me won’t change anything. Is there anything else?” She frowned at him and stood, turning toward the door.

  “Tell me why.”

  “Why I’m leaving? Are you…” She bit her lip, even upset with him she didn’t name-call.

  “I’m not stupid, Grace. I just want to hear what the grounds for divorce are.”

  “Irreconcilable differences.”

  “That’s not truthful.”

  “What?” She paced past the fireplace and back, glaring at him. “What would you call it?”

  “Emotional cruelty, neglect. I don’t know if the law has a name for promoting distance? You didn’t do anything to contribute to the failure of our marriage. If I recall, you made every effort to make it work.”

  She stared at him, so many emotions flitting over her pretty face he couldn’t keep up. “I was too ashamed to tell the lawyer those things. I told him you didn’t abuse me and I didn’t mention the … women.”

  Something grabbed his belly and twisted as hot shame lanced through his chest. She’d never believe he wasn’t doing those models, not in her frame of mind. “I won’t let you shoulder any of the blame.”

  “I want a divorce, Beckett.”

  “Then you’ll have to be honest about the grounds for it.”

  “All right. Okay. I’ll have my lawyer draw up a new set of papers to incorporate the … infidelity. I can withstand that humiliation.”

  Fuck. He had to correct her misunderstanding—but he was struggling with how he’d humiliated her in his own mind. Humbled, shamed, demeaned, degraded, and belittled—the list ground into his conscience.

  “I’m going to make things right,” he insisted, grabbing at straws.

  “You can’t.”

  He had to make the effort, tell her about his fidelity. “I can, Grace. But first of all, look at me.”

  She had been looking, but with his demand, her stare focused and he winced at the judgment contained there. Manning up, he said, “I have never been unfaithful to you. Not one single time.”

  Her eyes widened and disbelief radiated from every inch of her slender body. “It’s out there for everyone to see, Beckett.”

  He shook his head. “No. People see the models I escort to events that promote both the fabrics and clothing lines of the businesses. I took you whenever possible at first, but … well, you hated it. And the clothes. I thought it was a kindness not to make you attend.”

  She watched him more closely, silvery eyes intent on his face as if to see into his head. “So, you’re saying none of those beautiful women…”

  He noticed she ignored his brownie point. And it had been one, probably the only one. Grace despised the socializing, the shallowness of it all and it bothered him to insist and watch her struggle. Maybe he wasn’t a total asshole, merely ninety-five percent. “Not one. I always came home. To you.”

  An expression of distaste twisted her features and she swallowed. “God.”

  “I didn’t develop an appetite and satisfy it at home if that’s what you’re thinking now,” he said quietly.

  “Sure.”

  “I’ve never lied to you, Grace. Have I?”

  “By omission.” She nearly spat the accusation before looking away.

  “Please explain. I’m putting it out there, and I wish you would. Say it.”

  “You sought me out to… You said you cared about me, that I was special. But it was only to get me in bed. And I found out your dad wanted my father’s business.”

  Fisting his hands, he set them on his knees and leaned forward to look up at her. “The latter part’s true, but I’m not my father. Never will be. I don’t work like that. Sure, I met you because he orchestrated it, but I mean, you and… Well, I meant everything I said back then. Including how beautiful you are. And how sexy. And of course, it was to get you into bed.

  “I’m not a hearts and flowers kind of guy, sweetheart. I wanted you and set out to have you. But I made sure you wanted it too. If that’s seduction, I guess I’ll have to own it.”

  “My father said you used me.”

  “And he effectively led me to believe you trapped me.”

  After dropping back into her chair, she rested her chin on her hand. “Rehashing all this isn’t helping. And it doesn’t change anything. I want out.”

  Desperate, he said, knowing he was begging and caring less, “Doesn’t the fact that you love me mean anything? When I’m promising to fix this, to make it up to you and have our marriage become a real one?”

  Her voice a mere whisper, she replied, “I have nothing in my heart for you, Beckett. Not anymore. And you’ve never said you held anything for me in yours.”

  Out of time, out of ammunition, he grappled with a horrible sense of loss as she pushed to her feet and hurried from the room. He listened hard, willing her to return, until he could only
hear the faint hiss from the fireplace and an ominous ticking of the stupid brass clock on the mantle. Nothing in my heart. What was in his? He couldn’t find the words.

  His coffee cooled as he stared into the fake flames and reflected on the shambles his life had become. Was he one of those men who only wanted something when he couldn’t have it anymore, as she’d intimated? The truth smacked him up alongside the head. He’d wanted Grace from the moment he laid eyes on her, wanted her forever, and his stupid, fucking macho attitude had squandered nearly a year of that forever.

  His cell chimed and he grabbed for it, grateful for the interruption. Jenna had come through with an appointment for that very afternoon. Shoring up his courage, donning the mantle of testosterone, he went, once again, to find his wife. One battle didn’t win a war, even if one combatant felt mortally wounded.

  Chapter Six

  Grace sat, rigid on the chair in her doctor’s waiting room, Beckett lounging at her side. Women in various stages of pregnancy alternately looked his way in overt curiosity or slid sideways glances before returning to their phones or leafing through worn magazines.

  She was furious, and really shouldn’t be, because in making the appointment he was looking out for her and the baby. How could she argue? Except he’d taken over, established himself as part of her life despite her honest, but callous final salvo that morning. And here she was, with him tagging along, like a do-over.

  “Your face could freeze in that expression if you aren’t careful and our son will think all women look like that.”

  She glared at him and went back to ignoring his presence. The woman beside her made a muffled sound she suspected was laughter and she gritted her teeth. She was having a girl, so there.

  He’d marched into the far guest room she was been using as a makeshift office, his glance sweeping the space and doubtless cataloging everything, before announcing he’d arranged for her to see Dr. Gibson.

  She’d protested, insisting she be in charge of her pregnancy, but he calmly pointed out his concern, stymying her. Without sounding petty and a total witch, she grudgingly agreed, and then lost the next skirmish when he decided to drive her. After all, he’d taken the entire day off for their “talk”, something unheard of.