He was a damn fool.
Byron set the glass on the counter and braced his hands on the edge. Leaning into it, he ducked his head and breathed until he felt the heat in his neck subside. Why was the anger rising again? Was it Richard or was it pride?
Either way, he couldn’t go back to her with ire. Even if it was his pride, she’d been through enough without him piling his bruised ego on the proverbial heap.
The small window above the sink drew his attention. He looked out on the listless bay. The lights of Mobile flickered far beyond the inky black waters broken only by the small bits of light from the tavern and the inn. The watery peaks were brushed with hushed gold filigree.
He did his best to absorb the calm and lulling placidity those waters brought with their small, whispering waves. This was why he’d gravitated to Fairhope in the wake of Dani’s death—the serenity.
Calmer, he eyed the dishcloth beside the sink. He grabbed it, balled it up and ran it under cold water for several seconds. He wrung it out and walked slowly back into the living room, where Roxie sat on the settee.
He extended the rolled-up cloth to her. “Here.”
She narrowed her eyes on it as her hand lifted. Questioning, her gaze rose to his.
“Your hand,” he said. He took her wrist and wrapped the cold cloth around her injured knuckles himself.
She sucked in a breath. A line dug in between her eyes.
After a moment, he asked, “Better?”
She gave a nod. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “Do you...do you think that there’s one great love for everyone? Just one?”
Byron lowered back to the settee. He reached up and loosened his tie, still a touch too warm. He thought about Dani. He thought about the doomed attempts at reconnecting with women since. The Strong family creed. “Yeah, I do,” he answered truthfully. “And I believe you shouldn’t settle for anything less than the extraordinary. Not when it comes to the rest of your life.”
She fell silent and contemplative once more.
“Have you talked to Richard about this?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “He’s been away, somewhere. His parents say he’s ‘working on himself.’” She used air quotes. The line was still entrenched between her eyes.
Byron weighed himself. He weighed her, their friendship. “Maybe you should contact him. Talking to him might give you the clarity you need.” When she looked to him, he added, “You don’t seem sure. And you need to be sure, duchess. Absolutely sure.”
She nodded. Her chin lifted. He saw the poise, a shade of the confidence that had drawn him to her in the first place. “I will.” She pressed her lips together. “How will I know if he’s the one, do you think?”
“I only have one frame of reference,” Byron admitted, “but I’m pretty sure when you love someone, you’ll just know it.”
Her mouth tipped down uncertainly again. “But if I love him, really love him, shouldn’t I already know whether or not I want him? Do I really have to see him to be sure? Or is it just—”
It was impulse. Complete and utter impulse. But chances were, he’d never get to do it again.
He leaned in. She stilled. Her mouth stopped moving, her eyes went round. As he lessened the gap, he saw them begin to close. There, he thought.
His hand found its way into the dip of her waist. It stayed there as he nudged her head back by fitting his mouth to hers.
It was simple. It was soft. For him, it was explosive.
He’d known there was something there. He’d known some part of him had wanted some part of her from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Like all things unattainable, he’d ignored it.
It must’ve festered. Under cover of his ignorance, his attraction had bred on itself.
It had bred like bunnies. He couldn’t count the stupid bunnies.
He broke away, stifling the protesting noise in his throat. It was his turn to press his lips together. She tasted like raspberries. Knowing that definitely wasn’t going to lower the bunny quotient.
Are you happy now, Strong? He sat back. She stared at him, owl-eyed. She hadn’t moved so much as an inch since he’d leaned in.
So much for their friendship. Byron cleared his throat and raised a brow. “Did that answer your question?”
Her round eyes shifted slightly. “Question?” she repeated in a scant voice.
“Who’re you thinkin’ about right now, duchess?” he asked. “Me or Richard?”
“Richard?” She lowered her face. There was color in it again. Lots of color. “Richard,” she said once more without the question behind it.
He bobbed his head in an indicative nod. “Well, there you have it.” When she didn’t move, he lifted her glass from the table and extended it to her.
She took it. Drinking deep, she nursed the remainder as they sat in heavy silence.
CHAPTER THREE
“YOU’RE ALL GOING to hell,” Roxie proclaimed. It was Wednesday morning, a brisk forty degrees. Not even the hearty bay pelicans had ventured out for their morning repast. And here she was chugging up the hill from the Fairhope Pier to the towering bluff that overlooked the Eastern Shore in all its splendor.
Adrian Bracken fell into step beside her, moving marginally faster, dressed in a gray hoodie and black yoga pants. A sun-battered baseball cap crowned her red bob. “This was Liv’s idea. Not mine.”
“Oh,” Roxie said, her voice dropping a level. Her breath was whistling at the back of her throat and her calves were screaming. “There’s a special place in hell for you, Liv.”
The roar of a gas-powered motor crept up behind them. Roxie and Adrian glanced over in unison to the woman behind the wheel of a John Deere Gator. She had one UGG-clad foot propped up beside the steering wheel and a gloved claw wrapped around a chocolate éclair fresh from Briar’s kitchen. “You know,” Olivia Leighton said as she chowed down on the pastry. “If the two of you would stop squawking like seagulls, in all likelihood we’d be back home eating Briar’s quiche by now...” She shrugged and stuffed the rest of the éclair into her mouth. “As it is...”
“Are you even allowed to operate an ATV on the open road?” Adrian wanted to know.
Olivia looked around, nonplussed. “Nobody’s stopped me.” She reached inside the box on the passenger seat for another pastry. “Come on, pick up the pace. I brought Gerald’s Indiana Jones whip and I’m not afraid to use it.”
Roxie groaned, falling behind Adrian a few more paces as the stitch in her side flared up and choked the wind out of her. “I’m sorry your doctor says you can’t run yet because you just squeezed two babies out of you. But we don’t deserve this.”
“Huh,” Olivia said with a smirk. “Bitter and out of shape. I’d feel a mite more friendly if I’d spent the night with a certain supersexy Greek man-cake.”
Roxie stopped, planting her hands on her knees. Not for the first time since waking up to him in her apartment Tuesday morning, she felt the urge to wring Byron’s foolish neck.
She’d insisted he sleep on a pallet in her living room, since they’d finished close to two bottles between them. The next morning he called down to the inn for coffee, meaning both Briar and her husband, Cole, knew that he was at her place early enough to be suspect. They’d informed Adrian and her husband, James. Who then told Olivia, who, of course, blabbed the news to everybody from here to the Flora-Bama. Roxie had half expected the stranger standing next to her at the grocery checkout yesterday to give her a sly thumbs-up. She’d tolerated as much from all three of her wedded friends.
When Roxie finally caught her breath, she lowered to the sidewalk, leaning back on her hands to ease the stitch in her ribs.
“Hey,” Olivia said, the ATV coming to a halt as Adrian ran ahead to catch up with Briar. “Ass, elbows off the concrete. You’re falling behi
nd last week’s time, which I’m sorry to say was shameful enough.”
“Shush,” Roxie said, too tired to raise her voice. She closed her eyes. Breathe. Breathe. “I’m trying not to envision man-cakes or any other type of Greek pastry.”
“Why not?” Olivia asked, studying the éclair in her hand with a smug grin. “You still stuffed from Monday night?”
Roxie shook her head and fought hard not to laugh. At this point, it would hurt. Really hurt. “Nothing happened. In fact, I wish I could go back and make that whole twenty-four-hour period disappear forever.”
Footsteps beat toward them. Roxie looked up to find Adrian returning, her high cheekbones pink from the February nip. “I can’t catch Briar. She’s like the female version of the Flash.”
“My star pupil,” Olivia said fondly, gaze combing the cliff above. Catching sight of the blonde along the sidewalk, she lifted the bullhorn from her lap. Her lurid voice boomed over the park, making Roxie grimace and Adrian plug her ears. “That’s it, cuz! Boot and rally!”
“Wonderful,” Roxie said, reaching for the side of her head. “I am now bitter, out of shape and one-hundred-percent deaf.”
Olivia set the bullhorn down and reached back for the lid of the cooler in the Gator’s cargo bed. She lobbed a bottle of water at Adrian’s head. “Stretch and hydrate.”
Adrian lifted her hands to block the bottle from hitting her square in the face. She bobbled it several times before catching it one-handed.
Roxie lazily watched the bottle meant for her sail clean over her head and bounce onto the grass beyond. “Thank you, Derek Jeter,” she drawled. She retrieved the Dasani, cracked it open and frowned at the clear contents. “I’m thinking about getting back together with him.”
Adrian stopped in the midst of a lunging stretch. “Richard?”
“No. Jose Conseco,” Roxie said condescendingly. “Who else?”
“Go back,” Adrian said, milling a hand. “What happened to Byron? Wait, go further back. What happened with Bertie?”
“Oh, right,” Olivia said, leaning over the passenger seat in interest. “I forgot all about that yahoo.”
Roxie scrubbed her hands back through her hair. “Julianna was wrong about him—to say the least. Luckily, as Bertie was dropping me off at the tavern on Monday night, Byron happened to be outside. He intervened when Bertie revealed his true colors. Very Perseus-type stuff.”
“Byron?” Olivia cracked a laugh.
Adrian wrinkled her nose. “So you were the Andromeda?”
“Sort of,” Roxie considered. “I was clothed but, still, humiliated. She was chained to a rock, though, so she wins.”
“Ah, bondage,” Olivia said reminiscently. “Didn’t Andromeda get the man?”
“Yeah, but the damsel-in-distress thing,” Adrian said. “Who wants it?”
A sly grin colored Olivia’s face. “Clearly, you’ve never done role-play.”
“Was Gerald the damsel?” Adrian asked, droll.
Roxie waved her hands. “No, no. No more unwanted pictures. Anyway, after the Perseus thing went down, I was a little shaken, so Byron walked me upstairs and kept me company for a while.”
“Kept you company,” Adrian said, picking through the words carefully.
Olivia coughed into her hand. “Man-cakes.”
“There was wine,” Roxie said, ignoring Olivia’s pastry reference. “We both imbibed a little too much but not enough to lose our sensibilities.” She refrained from mentioning his kiss. She was still trying to riddle through the consequences. Of Byron’s mouth. On hers. “He wound up staying overnight, on the floor. Like a gentleman.”
“Good,” Adrian said. “Byron’s a family friend, but I could still kick his ass. Or we could get Liv to sit on him. Either way.”
Olivia cocked her head at Adrian. “He can get in line.”
“What does any of this have to do with Richard, though?” Adrian asked.
“Before we went to bed—separately—I talked to him about maybe reconciling with Richard,” Roxie explained. She tiptoed over any mention of Byron’s marriage and his wife’s death—it was clearly a part of his life he wanted to keep private. Respecting that was easy. If she could’ve found some way to keep the breakup of her own marriage less public, she’d have done it in a heartbeat.
“What did he have to say about it?” Adrian prompted.
“He cautioned me against it at first,” Roxie said. “But in the end he suggested I speak to Richard about it in person.”
“Will you?”
“Yes.” Roxie nodded. “As soon as he gets back from...wherever it is he’s been for the last few months.”
“Why?” Olivia asked. She threw up her hands. “I’m sorry, but I’m not on board. The ink on the marriage license was hardly dry before he slept with someone else. Before he slept with your sister. That takes scumbaggery to a whole new level.”
It had been the deepest betrayal Roxie could have ever imagined. She’d cried. For months, she’d cried alone in the apartment above the tavern. She’d taken little with her but the purple settee from their French Colonial after toying with the idea of setting fire to the whole thing. Dousing gasoline over the Aubusson rug where she’d found Richard and Cassandra coupling had been so tempting.
There was no way she could go back to that house. If they were going to start over...if they both wanted to start over and fight for all that they had built over the last decade, they would need a clean slate.
“Listen,” Roxie said carefully, “I know you both think it’s foolish.” Adrian had said nothing but her reticence was answer enough. “And maybe it is. But I read this study recently about couples who decide to stay together and work for their relationship after a spouse strays once. Just once. The majority managed to make it stick.”
“Once a cheat, always a cheat,” Olivia opined.
Adrian sighed. “I’m sorry, but I agree with Liv for once. I always thought it was common sense that once someone cheated, they were likely to do it again.”
“Richard was never a cheater, though,” Roxie said.
“People change,” Olivia told her. “I’m usually the one who would tell you to go for it, but, Roxie, we were all here last March. We saw how devastated you were.”
“We just don’t want that to happen to you again,” Adrian added.
“If it does, we’ll have to kill him,” Olivia said. “Gerald hid my firearms after we found out about the babies, but I’ve still got my bat, and I think Richard could do without his kneecaps under the circumstances.”
Roxie let out a laugh. “God, you’re wonderful. You’re all so wonderful. I love the concern and initiative. But you know what they say about regret. I can’t go the rest of my life not knowing if I let go of the person I’m supposed to be with.”
“Can I ask you?” Adrian said, narrowing her eyes. “Do you love him?”
“Byron asked me the same thing. And the answer is yes—on some level, I do. I can’t be sure if it’s enough to sustain us, or if he feels enough for me to want to start over.”
“It’s your call,” Adrian determined. “Do what you have to do. Whichever way it goes, at least you’ll finally have closure.”
Roxie nodded. Closure. That was what she’d been missing for the last year. It was no good hanging in emotional limbo. No matter how often she’d told herself to move on, the hollowness inside had kept her tethered in the murky in-between.
Olivia frowned. “Well, damn. I had a whole list of ill-advised rebound candidates to throw at you.”
Roxie arched a brow. “You weren’t upset when you thought I’d rebounded with Byron. That was you playing Marvin Gaye on the jukebox after tavern hours all night last night. I know it was.”
The Cheshire cat grin sat well on Olivia’s face. “I do feel a bit bad now about
telling everybody you two did the hot dog dance.”
“Thanks for that,” Roxie replied.
A Jeep pulled up next to the ATV. The driver’s window rolled down and James Bracken leaned out in dark sunglasses and a devastating grin. “Howdy.”
“What are you doing here?” Olivia asked as Adrian softened. Every bit of her softened as she shaded her face with her hand against the brightening sun.
James jerked a shoulder. “I offered to head out and inform you that we menfolk have successfully thrown together a breakfast fit for a queen. Or four, in this case.”
Adrian’s smile turned knowing. She gave a laugh. “You bailed.”
“Bailed?” James’s grin faltered somewhat. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yeah, right!” Olivia said, catching on. She picked up another éclair. “You totally bailed on Cole and Gerald.”
James pursed his lips. He took off his ball cap and combed his fingers back through his thick brown hair. His colorful sleeve of tattoos flashed vividly. “They’ve got it handled. Cole managed to fry up eggs and sausage and sweet-talk Harmony into staying at the table. She smeared bananas all over the place, but she ate and not one of us said a word about the mess.” He pulled off his sunglasses and began to clean them with the edge of his shirt. “Then there’s Gerald.” He sent Olivia an impressive look. “It’s only three weeks in, but the man’s earned all the daddy badges there are to earn. Burping, changing, rocking. It’s like watching the Daddy Olympic games.”
“And Kyle?” Adrian asked, referring to her and James’s eight-year-old son.
“I helped him and Gavin haul the crab traps out of the water,” James told her, replacing his sunglasses and hooking a meaty arm through the open window. “Then I offered to let them tag along. But they wanted to stay behind and get to know their catch before we release them back into the wild. I expect all the crabs’ll be named after Marvel villains before we get back.”
Wooing the Wedding Planner Page 5
