by Robyn Thomas
I don’t care about the money.
She stared blankly at Gabe, willing him to go away. He was inconsequential compared to Ethan. Her hopes for a dream wedding had been massive. They’d defined her, setting her apart, making her special, and Gabe had been a big part of that. He’d worked alongside her, helping her to achieve her dreams.
Ethan, on the other hand, had assessed her problems from a distance. He’d devised a quick fix that involved lying and manipulating the situation to his own advantage. God, when she thought of the things he’d kept from her: Gabe’s marriage and the fact that her insurance policy was void.
They weren’t small deceptions.
If whisking her away to LA to live with him had seemed like a better option than telling her the truth, he must have a pretty low opinion of her coping skills. She would have been emotional if he’d levelled with her as soon as he found out about Gabe’s marriage. She couldn’t deny it, but she wouldn’t have been heartbroken.
Now she wasn’t so sure.
Chapter Fourteen
Back in their room, Ethan’s concern for Sara grew. She’d withdrawn into herself, doing that oh-so-polite thing she’d done when she was hungover. Every time she nodded, agreed, or blindly accepted something, his tension ratcheted higher.
“Sara?” He hesitated, torn between comforting her until she recovered, or baiting her until she snapped at him. “It’s almost midday. Do you want to head home or stay another day?”
“Home?”
Her flat, expressionless voice was the scariest thing he’d ever heard.
“You should go. I’ll stay. Here’s as good a place as any for me.”
The walls of the small hotel room felt as if they were closing in. It wasn’t in his nature to sit around and wait. Her ex and his next were here in LA. There’d never be a better time for her to slip back into her hometown in Utah and tie off any loose ends.
He paced to the far side of the room and called his PA at home.
“Find out if there’s a direct flight to Salt Lake City from LAX this afternoon. Two. Yeah, myself and Sara.” He stifled a grin when Sara sprang off the bed and stalked toward him. “Ah, Sara has something to add. Let me call you back.”
“Don’t handle me, Ethan. I’m not going back to Utah, and I want that divorce you promised me. I’m not blissfully happy, and you have no hope of changing that inside of two weeks. You’ve lost the bet. Pay up.”
He studied her, wondering what had prompted her to ask for a divorce ahead of schedule. He’d begun to hope that their thirty-day marriage might stretch to sixty-days and then a hundred. No pressure, just a natural extension. Sharing his home with her was the biggest commitment he’d ever made, and it was something he was willing to build on. He smiled benignly and gathered their luggage before opening the door for her.
“After you. We’re taking this discussion home.”
Her loose hair bounced delightfully as she swanned past him.
“The home ground advantage won’t help you that much.”
“Of course not. It’s your home too.”
“Not for long. I don’t intend to live with you while you process our divorce papers.”
He was surprised she didn’t continue their argument. Her silence in the car was unnatural, her tightly clasped hands hinting at inner turmoil. When they got home she went downstairs without a word.
“We missed breakfast, so I’m phoning in a lunch order.” His voice echoed off the walls of the stairwell. “I’ll collect it because it’ll be quicker. What do you feel like?”
She didn’t answer, so he took a guess. When he arrived home an hour later, the house was empty and all of her possessions were gone.
Two weeks later, Sara moved out of her budget motel room into the new apartment she’d rented. It looked amazing and she couldn’t wait to show Zoe. A stranger approached her as she walked from her car to Zoe’s front door.
“You are Sara Kate Greaves?” The guy waited for her nod and then thrust what appeared to be an invitation into her hands. “You are served.”
She almost laughed. This was absurd. These weren’t divorce papers, so what were they? And how did anyone know where she’d be? She signed for the delivery and carefully opened the envelope. Wow, there seemed to be about twenty invites stacked one on top of the other. She shrugged and read the uppermost invitation.
Sara, I miss you. I miss things I didn’t even know existed before I met you. I admit I made some poor choices on your behalf, and compounded them by being secretive. They’re decisions I can’t take back, but I will never stop trying to win you over.
Keeping everyone at a distance is my biggest weakness. I hate to reveal anything personal, and I use my job to justify my single status.
So, in light of my numerous shortcomings, let me say this: I’ve fallen in love with you. I haven’t perfected it yet, but I’ve adopted your way of catering for two with every decision I make. And if you’ll let me, I’ll gladly propose to you in public. And follow it up with the wedding of your choice. Our life together is yours to direct, because without you, I’m just a cynical man in an expensive suit.
Love always,
Ethan Munroe
P.S. You may distribute the remaining copies to anyone you choose. Yours is the only opinion that matters.
Sara’s limp hands lost their grip on Ethan’s stack of gilt-edge confessions.
“Litterbug.”
Ethan’s gentle reprimand sent her pulse rocketing skyward. She remained with her back to him, unsure what to do or say next. A few pretty words couldn’t erase all that he’d done. If she forgave him, brushed aside the churning misery and regret of the past few weeks, it would be like admitting that she didn’t really matter.
Zoe appeared at the top of the steps and Sara had an idea. She stooped down to pick up the stack of gilt-edge cards and glanced at Ethan.
“For Zoe?”
At his nod, she climbed half the stairs and held one out to Zoe. “This is for you. I’ll call you later?”
“Sure. And Sara? Push for what you want. Don’t settle for less, okay?”
“My dreams are less elaborate these days. I just want to be happy.” She turned toward Ethan. He looked tired, stressed, and older. He also looked hopeful.
Sara tried to give him one of those stern lawyer-looks he did so well. “Words on paper? Is that all you’ve got?”
She’d meant it as a joke, but Ethan shook his head.
“No. I thought you might want this back.” He handed her a small red box. “If you don’t, you could always pawn it.”
A big ass diamond ring from Tiffany had no place in her life with Ethan. For the moment she didn’t want a ring at all, or a public declaration of love, or a proposal. She simply wanted Ethan’s time. She wanted dawn surfing lessons, impromptu dinner parties, sparkling fundraisers, and another trip to Vegas. A lazy one where room service featured heavily and leaving their room was optional. She grinned and slipped into Ethan’s arms.
“It’s far too showy. There’s a place in Vegas where I’m sure we could offload it.”
His slow, sexy smile made her stomach flip. Clearly his thoughts weren’t centered on the pawnshop either. “We’d probably have to stay for a while. Eat crepes, drink tequila, that sort of thing.”
“No shots for me. I still remember what I felt like the next day.” She stretched upward and pressed her lips to the dimple in his chin. “Crepes sound good, though. And I didn’t make it to the pool at all last time.” She played her lips over his then gave him a significant look. “I missed out on room service too.”
He stilled, something close to reverence shining in his eyes. “And is that something you want?”
“Yeah.” She shared a smile with him. “But before we start planning too far ahead, I’d like to show you the apartment I rented downtown.” She shook her head to discourage him from talking. “It’s convenient for meeting with clients, and thanks to Zoe, you’d be surprised how many I have. You might be won
dering what makes it worthy of your appreciation…”
“It’s near my office, isn’t it?”
“Close enough for you to stop by on your lunch break.”
He checked his watch. “It’s almost midday.”
She nodded. “On day thirty of our marriage. Didn’t you promise I’d be blissfully happy today? I believe you guaranteed it.”
He slid her peasant top off both shoulders and tugged it dangerously low, feasting his eyes on the upper slopes of her breasts. “Trust me, you will be.”
He dipped his head to her chest, seeming to have forgotten they were standing in the street. She stumbled backward, laughing and calculating how winded she’d be if she sprinted home from here. He wouldn’t be expecting her to run. Chasing her probably wasn’t part of his plan, but plans changed.
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Acknowledgments
Many thanks to my lovely editor, Alethea.
About the Author
Robyn lives with her husband and two sons on the outskirts of Melbourne, one of the most livable cities in the world. Writing romance helps to balance the effects of living in an all-male household. She loves to cook, hates to clean up, and keeps very odd hours. She’s almost certain that cheesecake is the sixth major food group.
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