When they faced the remaining reporters, the paparazzo who had asked the questions was voluntarily slinking away with his tail tucked between his legs, apparently well shamed by the answer they’d provided to his question.
Maggie recaptured her composure and escorted the last of the reporters into the Savannah Courtyard, and Owen followed her in and sat at a table that had been set aside for family. Bryce Sinclair sat with Mrs. Patrick, who was wearing her Sunday best. Tracy, Connie, and Emma were also there, and he was surprised that he hadn’t noticed them before now. Of course, most of his attention had been on his wife.
He greeted everyone and took a seat beside Connie, who immediately leaned over and said, “That was some show you put on there.”
“No show, Counselor. I love my wife,” he said, even if he was upset about the possibility that the reporter’s words about Maggie losing her homes was true.
A reluctant mutter of acceptance came from Connie while Emma remained silent, although he could feel her intense gaze on him. Tracy, on the other hand, was smiling like the Cheshire cat, apparently pleased by what she had seen.
A server came around and laid out the items for the high tea, and all the while, Maggie’s chair remained empty as she worked the crowd, making sure every guest shared a moment with her. She took photos with each of the customers who had been invited to join them. Her smile was brilliant, but Owen saw beyond it to the brittleness around her lips and the stormy blue of her eyes. She was upset without a doubt, but any discussion would have to wait for later, so he turned his attention to the guests around him.
* * *
Maggie smiled again and again for the cameras, wanting to make sure every invitee felt as if they were special. Plus, she needed to be away from Owen as the questions the reporter had asked ricocheted around in her brain, creating uncertainty and distrust.
She chatted with Mildred Evans, the woman who had once been a server in the Savannah Courtyard when Maggie’s mother was alive and who was now the supervisor of the kitchen.
“Your mother would be so pleased with what you’ve done, Maggie,” the older woman said.
“Thank you, Mildred. This would not have been possible without you. My mom would be so happy to still have you as part of our family,” she said and embraced her.
Mildred returned the hug and was just stepping away when her father walked up to them.
“Everything was fabulous, Mildred. Elizabeth would have so enjoyed everything your staff prepared,” her father said.
“Thank you, Bryce. That means a lot,” Mildred said with a sniffle and excused herself to go check with her people.
Her father eased an arm around Maggie’s waist and leaned close to her. His familiar scent, sandalwood soap and peppermints, teased her senses a second before he dropped a paternal kiss on her cheek.
“Your mother would be very proud, Maggie. This place looks better than it ever did.”
Tears shimmered in her gaze as she looked at her father. As one escaped, she swiped at it and said, “I appreciate that, Dad.”
“It’s more than just that, Maggie. You were right about everything. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you before. If I had, things might not have gotten so bad,” he said, emotion making his voice gruff.
She laid a hand on his cheek and stroked the sandpapery rough skin. “It’s okay, Dad. We’re doing it together now. It’ll work out.” Or at least she hoped it would. She glanced back toward where Owen was sitting with her friends, smiling and chatting with them. Only she could see the hardness in his gaze and the jerkiness of his movements.
“You didn’t tell him, did you?” her father asked, tracking her gaze.
She shook her head and looked away. “I didn’t want to think about it, so much so, I drove it out of my mind, and it never occurred to me to mention it.”
Her father hesitated for a second. “Maybe he felt the same way about the situation with his father.”
She wanted to believe that, Lord how she wanted to, but somehow, the nagging doubt had settled in and was refusing to let go. As another customer walked up to thank her for a wonderful time, she smiled and snapped a selfie with the woman as her father strolled back to the table with Owen, Mrs. Patrick, and her friends.
* * *
Owen sat patiently, waiting for Maggie to finish up. He was alternately hurt, angry, and anxious about the reporter’s comments. Hurt and angry that she hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him about the mortgages on her family’s homes. Anxious because she was sure to ask questions about his father’s threat.
It seemed like forever before the high tea wound down and Maggie finally came over to their table. She hugged everyone and then tiredly plopped into the chair, exhaustion evident in every line of her body. All the worry and work leading up to this event and the big moment had clearly taxed her, as had the incident with the reporter.
“We should go so you can get some rest,” he said.
She shook her head. “Not until everyone’s gone.”
He understood and did what he could to offer support as another couple of hours passed while people finished the meal and lingered to chat and take photos. It was nearly seven o’clock by the time the last of the crowd dispersed, leaving only those at the family table, and he pressed her again.
“Time to go home. You look beat,” he said.
She finally gave in. “Yeah, I am tired. Thank you all for coming.”
“It was lovely,” Tracy said.
“We wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Connie added.
“Everything was fabulous,” Emma chimed in.
Mrs. Patrick gushed with similar sentiments. “Your mother would be so proud. She loved this place and you’ve brought it back to life again,” she said, tears in her eyes.
Maggie’s father, eyes also misted with tears, echoed his earlier comments. “Good job, Maggie. You were so right about reopening the Courtyard.”
Maggie hugged her father tightly. “Thank you, Dad. That means the world to me.”
“Ready when you are, Maggie,” Owen said.
She looked at him but didn’t smile. Didn’t take hold of the hand he held out to her. The blue of her eyes was clouded with worry, and fine lines of tension bracketed the tight smile she gave him.
“Let’s go, Owen.”
Chapter 30
Maggie should have been joyful at seeing the Savannah Courtyard restored to its former glory and hearing her father’s acknowledgment of what she had accomplished. But as she climbed into the limo beside Owen, the tension between them spiraled into an ever-tighter coil with each block that passed. As the limo pulled up in front of the town house, she sprang from the car and rushed inside, wanting privacy for the discussion that couldn’t be avoided.
Owen entered their home at a more leisurely pace and casually tossed his keys into the dish on the foyer table, but tension radiated from every inch of his body.
She struck first, lunging at him with her question. “When were you going to tell me?”
A stony scowl on his face, he parried with, “I might ask the same of you.”
She hated that he deflected her query but answered anyway. “I hadn’t really thought it was something you needed to know when we first started dating.”
He arched a midnight brow, his dark-gray eyes glittering with icy shards of silver. “You stand to lose homes that I know are very special to you and now to me, and you didn’t think I needed to know? Or is it that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me?”
Guilt sunk its claws deep, because she couldn’t argue with part of his assessment. She should have told him, but not telling him had nothing to do with not trusting him. She’d had full trust in him until the reporter’s nasty questions.
Dragging a hand through her hair, she looked away and said, “It happened well before our bargain, and I had driven it to the back
of my mind because I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to consider that I wouldn’t succeed and that I’d lose those two pieces of my heart.”
* * *
Pain sliced through Owen at what she didn’t say. That she didn’t trust him, for starters. And that, unlike the stores and the homes, he wasn’t something she might regret losing with her actions. Sucking in a deep breath, he held it for a second, and then the words exploded from him. “How bad is it?”
She shrugged, shook her head, and started to walk away, but he grabbed her arm to stop her flight.
“You can’t run away from this, Mags,” he said.
She jerked her arm free and faced him, chill anger in her crystal-blue gaze. “Don’t you dare manhandle me, Owen Pierce.”
“How bad is it?” he repeated more calmly, although he was feeling anything but calm.
Tilting her chin up in a defiant gesture that had become so familiar, she said, “If the stores can turn a decent profit, I can recoup what I put in and pay off the first few balloon payments on the shore home. After that, I can pay off the loans on this town house.”
“And if they don’t turn around?” he pressed.
“I’m pretty much wiped out except for this brownstone, but I can’t sell it off and have enough to pay off the mortgage on our Sea Kiss home. I could call in the notes with my family’s company, force them to liquidate some holdings to cover the loans, but I don’t want to do that. It would cost too many people their jobs.”
Wiped out, he thought and couldn’t imagine ever putting himself in that kind of position. But then again, by marrying her, he stood to lose more than just money. He stood to lose all that he’d known for most of his life, just like she did.
“Why, Mags? Why would you risk everything—”
“Why would you, Owen?” she challenged. “The reporter said your father threatened to disown you for becoming involved with me. Is it true?”
It would be the perfect time to tell her. To spill his guts about the deception that had allowed them to be together, but the words got trapped in the tangle of emotions he was feeling over her lack of truthfulness. Over her lack of trust in him. Over his fear of losing her and how powerless that made him feel. As powerless as the young child who had watched his mother walk away and never return.
“You know my father. The way he is,” he said, leaving it to her to put the pieces together, even if she assembled them wrong.
* * *
Maggie stared at him hard, trying to decipher what he wasn’t saying, since it was clear he was keeping something from her. “I know the way he is, and I thought I knew you too, but I don’t, do I?”
His lips thinned into a razor-sharp slash that cut into her as he said, “I guess we don’t really know each other all that well, do we?”
Emotion clogged her throat as she asked, “What else is there, Owen? What else aren’t you saying?”
He started to speak, but then he stopped abruptly, looked away, and shook his head. When he faced her again, his features had softened somewhat, and pain filled his gaze.
“I love you, but there are things…” His voice trailed off, and he seemed to be fighting himself over something before he finished with, “Don’t believe everything you hear, Mags. Believe in me, in us.”
For weeks, she had lost herself in the happiness they had shared and the certainty she’d possessed that their love was real and true. That happiness had driven away fears about everything else that was so uncertain. The way their love was suddenly uncertain because of their failure to communicate. To be honest with each other.
She stepped closer and cradled his cheek. She met his gaze directly and said, “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I want us to be totally honest with each other.”
A maelstrom of emotions swept over Owen’s face like a sudden summer storm. It was impossible for her to miss that he was struggling with something, but then his features smoothed into a mask that hid whatever he was thinking.
“Please understand that the situation with my father…is difficult. There are things I’ve done…that I’ve had to do to handle it.”
Her hand trembled on his cheek, and she slowly pulled it away. She shot him a questioning look, hoping to break past that falsely calm mask, since it was clear there was more he wasn’t saying, but he remained silent. Stoic.
“I’m a little tired. I think I’m going to turn in early,” she said and, without waiting for him, trudged up the stairs.
* * *
Maggie’s steps were slow, almost like those of a much older person, Owen thought.
He wondered if she was waiting for him to follow and decided that she wasn’t. She needed time away from him, much like he needed distance to handle the day’s troubles and revelations.
He walked over to the dry bar in the living room and poured himself a bourbon. Plopping down on the couch, he loosened his tie and slipped off his shoes and suit jacket. After a sip, the smooth warmth of the liquor slid down his throat and chased away a little of the chill in his heart.
He told himself she hadn’t really lied to him, although her omission felt like a lie.
Glancing around the room, he tried to put into perspective all that she stood to lose.
So much that was important to her, he thought, and the dull pain came into his heart that she might not include him in what she might lose. But why would she? Why would she think that when he had supposedly signed on for better or worse? Through sickness and in health, they’d promised, only she probably wouldn’t feel that way if she found out about his deception.
But she hadn’t been totally honest with him either, he rationalized. Even though she’d said that she’d driven it to the back of her mind, it had to have been there front and center every day. You just didn’t forget something like that.
Anger brewed as he sipped his drink again and worked through everything she’d just told him. But even with that anger, he was trying to figure out what he could do to help her save those things that were so important to her.
He leaned back against the comfy cushions on the couch and put his feet up. He closed his eyes for a moment as fatigue settled into his bones. It had been a long day and tiring on multiple levels. As he lay there, he went over and over the words they had exchanged until he grew drowsy.
Long minutes later, he heard a footstep on the stairs and waited, wondering what she might say, hoping she’d ask him to come up, but she didn’t.
He lay there, gut twisting, telling himself to let go of anger and hurt and try to make things right. Only he couldn’t, and he stayed there, grateful when sleep finally claimed him.
* * *
Maggie paced back and forth in their bedroom, replaying that night’s fight. It could have been uglier, but they were both too civilized to let it get out of hand. She almost wished they had lost that civility and gotten to the truth. The whole truth, because she knew there was more between them that hadn’t been said.
And she knew she was as guilty as he.
She hadn’t lied when she said she’d driven the mortgages and everything related to them to the back of her brain. She had wanted to focus only on turning the stores around, because if she did, the dominoes would fall into place and the problem of the mortgages might be one that just went away. But the dominoes could just as easily tumble down another route. One where she lost the stores and her Sea Kiss home and even this brownstone.
Maybe even Owen.
It had been impossible to miss his incredulity at the thought that she had risked everything to save the stores. And yet, hadn’t he supposedly risked as much to marry her? If his father disinherited him, wouldn’t he lose his place in the business? All that he’d worked for his entire life? His future?
Unless he really hadn’t risked it. Unless there was more that had driven him to their bargain that he wasn’t saying.
&nb
sp; That niggling thought rose up and spread its poison inside her, creating doubt and mistrust. Making her wonder just what it was that Owen couldn’t trust her with.
She marched down the stairs, intending to confront him, but halfway down, she realized he was passed out on the couch. Seemingly asleep although she couldn’t be quite sure. Even in rest, a narrow slash of a smile was on his lips and he looked haggard. Despite her anger, empathy won out, since she was as exhausted.
She walked over to the couch, grabbed a throw from the back of it, and spread it over him. Leaned down and brushed back a lock of errant hair that had fallen onto his forehead. She watched him for a minute, wondering if she should wake him, but then decided it was better for them to have a little distance tonight.
Lumbering back up the stairs, she told herself it was better this way. They were both too tired, and continuing the discussion now could only rile the situation. It might risk having them both say things that would cause even greater hurt.
It was better they both get some rest and revisit the discussion in the morning. Clear the air about what had happened with calmer minds. But as she reached the door to her bedroom, she laid her hand on the jamb and stared at her empty bed.
In all the weeks of their marriage, she’d never been alone in that bed. She hoped it wouldn’t be the first of many nights without him.
* * *
Maggie sat at her home office desk, reviewing the financial numbers from the last two months and the two weeks since the Savannah Courtyard had reopened. But thoughts about her personal life intruded, and she set aside the papers and contemplated the frost that had clung to her and Owen since their argument that night.
They hadn’t fought again, but there was certainly still hurt and more creating a chill between them. They were guardedly polite with each other, and at night, they still made love but not as often. Even when they did, there was restraint there, as if they were both afraid of revealing too much in those most intimate of moments.
She didn’t know how to get past it, how to restore the happiness and joy that they’d experienced before, but she knew she was tired of the way it had been for the last two weeks.
One Summer Night Page 23
