by Roya Carmen
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have offered. I seem to have struck a nerve. I was merely trying to be considerate.”
“We don’t need your charity,” I snap. “What we really need right now is for you to leave us the fuck alone.”
I rarely curse. But it seems when it comes to him, I do. I know he hates foul language, and I want to hurt him. I want him to despise me as much as I despise him.
“Mirella,” he says softly, grabbing a hold of my wrist.
I jerk my arm away. “Do not touch me.”
He backs away. “I’m sorry.” I can’t count how many times he’s said he’s sorry now—and it’s starting to wear on me.
“You never loved me,” I whisper, still aware the girls are sitting not far away.
He sighs and closes his eyes. “Mirella…” he says softly.
“You’ve destroyed me,” I cry.
I see what I’ve been searching for in his eyes…pain. “The way I feel about you is the reason I had to do this.”
His words get to me.
“I’m falling in love with you,” he says, his eyes not leaving mine. “And I told myself I would break things off as soon as I could, if it ever came to that.”
It’s what I’ve wanted to hear all along, but somehow, it doesn’t change a thing now. “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?”
He doesn’t answer. He looks away, toward the girls.
“Does Bridget know about this?”
He shakes his head, not quite looking at me. “She doesn’t need to know.”
“She should know, Weston,” I tell him, realizing I’m being a complete hypocrite. I haven’t told Gabe about my feelings either.
“It’s better for everyone if she doesn’t,” he stresses. “Trust me.”
“Doesn’t she wonder?” I ask. “Did she want to end things too?”
“No. Actually, we had quite the row about it. She really wanted to keep seeing Gabe.”
His words shock me. I had never stopped once to consider how Bridget might be feeling about all this. “Do you think she has feelings for him?”
“No,” he says plainly. “I think she just likes the sex, to be honest.”
“I don’t think they have what we have.”
Silence lingers around us as we look at each other.
His striking eyes draw me in…there is so much sorrow in them.
I still crave him.
But I can no longer have him.
I need to move on.
“You’re…right…Weston,” I struggle to say, my heart heavy. “It’s for the best. You made the right decision.”
He pulls me into his arms and holds me tightly. “I will miss you so much,” he whispers.
“I’ll miss you too.”
He holds me for a long time…for what seems like eternity.
We’re having bowtie pasta with sausage. The girls don’t particularly like it, but they seem to be making an effort to eat. I’ve been feeling uninspired these last few days. I’ve just been going through the motions, doing the bare minimum. Gabe hasn’t seemed particularly upbeat either, but I’m sure he’s doing a lot better than I am.
I think about Weston’s visit today, and it makes me feel better, but also worse. I should really tell Gabe about it, I muse, stuffing a fork full of pasta in my mouth—forcing it down. I’m eating for the first time since the meeting at Weston’s office—I’ve been sustaining on bananas and iced tea—heartbreak robbing me completely of my appetite.
“A man came to talk to Mommy at school today,” Chloe suddenly blurts out.
“They talked for a long time,” Claire pipes in. “We had to sit and wait on a bench. He was tall like you, Daddy…and he had a black eye.”
Gabe eyes me with a curious look, his fork mid-air. I sigh. I was hoping to bring this up myself…but, it just happened, literally less than three hours ago.
“Weston…” I say reluctantly. “He came by the school after class.”
“Why?” Gabe asks, his tone eager.
“He wanted to say a proper good-bye,” I explain. “I swear it was nothing more. He didn’t like the way we left off. You should have seen his eye…I got him good.”
Gabe smiles a little but seems concerned. He glances quickly at the girls, trying not to reveal too much. “Has he changed his mind?”
Claire and Chloe listen intently—probably trying to figure out our conversation.
“No. He hasn’t. It was actually good closure,” I admit. “I think we both needed that.”
“Did he tell you why they…ended things? They never really gave us a good explanation.”
I shake my head and decide to not tell him about the details of the conversation, about what Weston had mentioned about Bridget not wanting to end it, about Weston’s feelings for me, and about the true reason we had to let go of each other.
He doesn’t need to know.
“He gave Mommy a big hug,” Chloe tells him. “A really long hug that lasted like a million hours.”
Nice going, Chloe, you little snitch, I think, feeling caught in the act.
Gabe cocks his brow and looks down at his plate, apparently deciding to let it go.
“It wasn’t a million hours, you silly,” Claire chimes in. Thank goodness for my sweet little girl.
“But…” she adds, tiny brows furrowed, little red mouth on bendy straw as she sips her chocolate milk, “it was a really, really, really long time.”
It’s been two weeks…and I’m getting better.
Although I’ve burned the dress, I’ve never destroyed the photos of us or the cute turtle brooch he gave me on our third date. I keep them in a secret box, stashed under my bed, hidden among a hodge-podge of boxes full of junk. I’ve only looked at the contents of the box once or twice, tears flowing down my cheeks.
I’ve been putting on a brave face for Gabe and the girls, and my kids at school, going on about my day, pretending I am completely fine. But every now and then, I lock myself up in my closet or in the bathroom, when no one is watching, and I cry.
This is so hard because I’ve never been heartbroken before. Gabe was my first love, and he’s always been by my side. I feel so ill-equipped to handle this.
But I’ve been working hard, trying to forget him. And I just can’t seem to.
I still miss him so much. I miss his touch…his smile…the way he makes me feel.
I don’t hate him anymore.
I am grateful to him. For the decision he’s made for both of us—for all of us. I wasn’t strong enough to do it. I never would have let go. But I’m so glad he did. Sure it hurts terribly, but it will get better in time. It was the right thing to do. I was so angry when I slung that briefcase at him, but now I realize he was just trying to protect us.
Gwen tells me it’s for the best. She says I’m very fortunate to come out of this with my marriage intact, she’d been worried about Gabe and me. She suggests I should forget about him and move on with my wonderful life and simply be thankful for having had the chance to have a little fun…a little adventure.
She’s right. I am blessed. I still have the man I love and my two beautiful daughters. It’s time to pour all my love and energy where it belongs—they need me. I’ve been so very selfish these past few months. And I came so close to messing it all up.
It’d been a while since Gabe and I have made love. As he holds me in his arms and strokes my cheek, I reach for him and press my lips against his. His tongue tastes sweet as he pulls me closer to him. And I know I have everything I need.
Right here.
I’m almost sure of that...
Excerpt from the second book in The Ground Rules series
I WALK OVER THE REFRIGERATOR and grab the carton of juice, busying myself. The last thing I want to do this morning is look at Weston.
“You and Gabe sure had yourselves a good time last night,” Weston says without preamble.
“Uh…” Suddenly, I’m flustered and embarrassed. It had seemed like a good idea
at the time—when I was a little buzzed and horny-as-hell. But now, in the light of day, stone sober, I’m really mortified.
“I’m sorry about that,” I say, barely able to look at him. “We didn’t—”
“It’s fine, Mirella,” he says, looking up at me through his dark long lashes. “I didn’t mind.”
His words shock me. There’s heat in his gaze. He’s looking good this morning in a soft grey T-shirt. His hair is mussed up a bit, and he hasn’t shaved yet. He looks carefree.
He watches my every move. His eyes are glued to me as I twist the jar of jam open…as I pull a knife out of drawer…as I grab the loaf of bread.
I pull my eyes away from him, my nerves lit up. I can’t quite bring myself to look at him, but I feel his gaze on every inch of my body. My heart pounds in my chest. I want to look up, but I just can’t.
“You wanted me to hear,” he says, his voice soft. It’s not a question but a statement, delivered with one hundred percent conviction.
I blush crimson. Oh, God…I seem to have forgotten a little fact—Weston Hanson is practically psychic. He’s very attuned to people’s behaviors. I’m also convinced he can read my mind. Of course, he knows what I was up to.
He sets down his fork and knife. “And I did hear, you’ll be glad to know. Loud and clear. The acoustics in this place don’t leave much to the imagination.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again. You’d think I could come up with something more substantial to say, but he’s rendered my mind useless.
His eyes fix on me as he drinks the last of his orange juice. He gently sets down the glass on the granite counter—a soft clank travels across the kitchen through the eerie silence. Still, his eyes don’t leave me.
He bites his bottom lip like he wants to say something. He seems to be working it out. I don’t take my eyes off him. I want him to say it—whatever it is.
He closes his eyes. “It was extremely arousing,” he says softly, “hearing you with him.”
I drop my knife with a loud clank on the granite counter. Strawberry jam splatters all over—the plate, the counter, my white T-shirt, my hands. But oddly enough, none of it seems to land on my piece of toast.
As he gets up from his stool, he smiles—a slow wicked grin. He sweeps past me to drop his dirty dishes in the sink as he shoots me a sly look, cool as a cucumber.
He smiles again as he leaves me…in an absolute fumbling mess.
Acknowledgments
A big thanks to my husband for always supporting me, and to my children for being so sweet. Another big thanks to members of my extended family for reading my first self-published book and offering feedback and encouragement. To my Mom (un gros merci) for being my #1 blog fan and for buying me my first laptop (on which, I promptly started working on my first romance, which I abandoned a month later for other creative pursuits and the Toronto bar scene). To my new writer friends, Emily, Kylie, Jennifer, Robin, and Carol for listening to my excerpts and being so encouraging. To Emily Sylvan Kim of the Prospect Agency (the first to read TGR) for offering constructive feedback and encouragement on Book 1. And lastly, but not least, to Traci, Robin, and everyone at Omnific Publishing for believing in my trilogy and giving me a chance.
About the Author
Roya Carmen is a book junkie, doodle addict, and self-professed chocoholic. A graduate of Ryerson University, she worked in Graphic Communications before becoming a stay-at-home mom. She has always loved writing, finding her passion for romance in 2008. She enjoys spending time with her family, camping, and painting. And of course, there is nothing she loves more than sitting down at her laptop and making up stories—and if those stories should include beautiful men, a little romance, and a few steamy scenes, all the better!
Roya Carmen lives north of Toronto with her husband and three children and is a member of RWA.
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