How did you tell someone you’ve loved, and still loved, that the relationship was over? That all the hours spent together, that the big fancy wedding where she’d promised to love, honor and cherish him before three hundred witnesses was nothing but a big fat lie? How could she intentionally break this man’s heart all because she had chosen to do the right thing by another?
She let out a sigh and looked down at the gorgeous ring still on her left hand. So many memories. Beautiful memories of their time together flitted through her mind. His patience and understanding, the tenderness he’d shown her, how he’d respected the difficulty she had in moving on with her life. Of how he’d loved and cared for Phoebe as if she’d been his own daughter. For that alone she’d always be grateful to him.
Except she knew Trenton and he wouldn’t want her gratitude. He’d want her to choose him. He would be angry. He would be hurt. But she couldn’t stay with him. Not when the man who’d been the center of her existence was alive. She’d been given a second chance, and she had to honor that.
Trenton would understand...eventually. At least she hoped he would.
His reflection showed in the window as he neared, glass of Coke in his hand. She turned, took the soda he offered and managed a thin smile. “Thanks,” she said, without looking at him. She took a drink, but the cool liquid was about as refreshing as hot lava.
She moved away from the window and toward a club chair. Trenton’s condominium had always reminded her of corporate housing in its perfectly accurate portrayal of what the living space of a young urban professional should be. Not that there weren’t Trenton’s personal touches scattered throughout, but for her, the condo had never reflected his warmth. Yes, he was a hot shot attorney, a brilliant litigator, but he was also a kind man with a subtle sense of humor who cared deeply and honestly.
And she needed to tell him good-bye.
She sat on the edge of the chair and drew in a deep breath, gathering her courage. “Trenton—”
“Don’t,” he said sharply. “Don’t say it.”
Her hand trembled as she set her glass on the end table. “What do you want me to say?”
“That you chose me.”
Moisture blurred her vision as she struggled to say the words he didn’t want to hear. “I can’t,” she whispered, her throat raw as she struggled in vain to hold her emotions in check. “I’m so sorry.”
Trenton turned away from Mattie the second the first tear slid down her cheek. Dammit, he’d known. He’d known from the minute he’d walked into that house two days ago and found Grayson with his hands on Mattie that she would leave him and run back into the bastard’s arms. He’d known, had tried to prepare himself for the inevitable, but that knowledge had done squat to stop his heart from being ripped out of his chest.
He stalked to the bar, then decided against the bottle of tequila he wanted to guzzle in the hope that an alcoholic haze would stop the pain from tearing him apart. Instead, he carefully set his glass of Coke on the countertop, then braced his hands against the cold, pristine quartz.
“Did you fuck him?” He knew he was being a bastard. Lashing out at Mattie wasn’t going to alleviate his pain, but he couldn’t help himself. He hurt and he wanted her to suffer right along with him. “How long did it take before you spread your legs for him?”
She gasped. “How could you ask me that? I expected better from you.”
The hurt in her voice had him tightening his grip on the edge of the countertop. He looked away. If he saw the hurt mirrored in her eyes, he’d cave. He needed to be pissed off. He needed to fucking survive losing her.
“These are simple questions, Mattie. Was it the first night?”
“Knock it off.”
He pushed off the counter and stalked around the bar to stand in front of her. The anger in her eyes as she glared at him nearly stopped him, but he was too ticked off, hurting too deeply, to give a shit. “How about last night? Is that why you didn’t answer my calls? You were too busy fucking your dead husband?”
“Oh, that’s mature.” She stood and grabbed her purse. “I’m not having this conversation.”
“But he tried, didn’t he?”
She pressed her lips together.
He took hold of her upper arms and hauled her against him. “Did you suck his dick?”
She struggled to get away from him, but he tightened his grip. “Fuck you.”
He smiled coldly. “Is that an invitation?”
Her eyes glittered with fury. “Let go of me, Trenton,” she said, the warning in her voice loud and clear. “Now.”
“Fuck you back,” he said, then kissed her. Hard. Punishing. There was nothing kind or loving about the way his mouth clamped down on hers, but he was beyond caring. He wanted her to feel the same gut clenching agony, to know the pain losing her was causing him.
She shoved him. Reluctantly, he let her go and put some desperately needed distance between them.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded. She lifted a trembling hand to sift it through her hair. “Damn it, Trenton. I don’t want us to—”
“Don’t want us to what? To end things badly?” He laughed, the sound rough, callous. “Baby, there’s only one way this is going to end, and it’s badly.”
“I know this is awkward.”
“Farting in an elevator is awkward. Watching my wife run back into her dead husband’s arms? That’s a fucking nightmare.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what else I’m supposed to say.”
“Say you want me, damn it.” He dragged his hand down his face. “Say you’ll stay with me,” he said in a more civil tone. “Say it’s me you can’t live without.”
Instead, she remained silent.
He had his answer. Grayson was the one she couldn’t live without.
He kept his distance. What else could he do? Anything else would be far too agonizing. He walked back to the bar, poured some tequila into a glass and downed it.
Eventually, he looked at her. She looked wounded and angry. Damn if he didn’t want to console her. He poured himself another shot of Patrón.
“I never meant to hurt you.”
He knew that, but it didn’t change the fact that she’d cut him wide open and left him lying in his own blood, his heart an obliterated mass of wounded tissue. The hurt went so deep, he didn’t think he’d ever heal.
“Whatever,” he muttered, then downed the shot. He really wanted to smash his fist into a wall. A year and a half of his life that he’d never get back, wasted. Their plans for the future, shot to hell. “Guess this means you’re not knocked up.”
“No,” she said. “I’m not pregnant.”
“How fucking convenient.”
He contemplated another drink, but the way his mood was souring, thought better of it. “What have you told Phoebe?” he asked her. Mattie wasn’t the only one he was losing. He’d been a part of Phoebe’s life, too.
She crossed the room and stood in front of the windows. “Nothing. Yet.”
He wanted to know if Phoebe had asked about him at all in the past forty-eight hours, but he didn’t want to hear that she’d been so enamored with her long-lost father she hadn’t given him a single thought. That was a hurt he couldn’t bear.
“She included you in...” Mattie shook her head. “Never mind. I’m not sure how to explain all this to her.”
“I’m sure you’ll handle it just fine,” he said, struggling to sound more charitable than he was feeling.
“I won’t stop you from seeing her,” she said. “You’ve been an important part of her life.”
Grayson wouldn’t take the news well. Too fucking bad. “Thank you,” he said, knowing he never would. Phoebe would be confused, and he’d come across as trying to use her to stay close to Mattie. He was better than that.
He didn’t know how long they stayed that way, him contemplating another drink, her staring out the windows, but when the doorbell rang, he was damned grateful fo
r the interruption. While he paid the delivery guy, Mattie excused herself and took off down the hall to the powder room.
He carried the paper sack loaded with two heaping pastrami sandwiches, the Kosher dill slices Mattie liked, along with a container of broccoli slaw into the kitchen and dropped it on the counter. Not that anyone would be eating anytime soon. He sure as hell had no appetite.
As he considered chucking the whole thing into the garbage, Mattie emerged from the bathroom. Her eyes were red rimmed, no doubt from crying. What little makeup she’d worn had been washed away. He should probably feel guilty about her tears, but the only safe emotion he was willing to summon was anger.
“I’ll take care of returning the wedding gifts.” She went to the chair for her purse and slung the strap over her shoulder. “Will you handle the cash gifts?”
He nodded, because he didn’t trust himself to remain civil. Or worse, beg her to change her mind.
“I do love you, Trenton.” Her voice trembled with emotion. “I know it doesn’t seem that way now, but I do love you.”
Slowly, she slipped his ring from her finger. Ice surrounded his heart and inched though his veins.
“I’m sorry,” she said one last time, before she went to the door and walked out of his life for good.
* * *
Ford knew he was in over his head, but he refused to admit defeat. He didn’t know how it had happened, but he’d been made. He’d faced countless enemies. Had taken out bad guys and lived to tell the tales. Hell, he’d even managed to withstand years of captivity and unspeakable cruelties. So how on earth was it possible a five-year-old had taken him down?
He let out a sigh and surveyed the destruction. What he needed was backup, and fast. Mattie was due home within the hour. No way did he want her to witness his downfall. Especially when she’d warned him, not once, but three times, that Phoebe could be a handful. Even when she’d called to let him know she had a couple of stops to make since she was in the city, he suspected part of the reason for her call was to check on Phoebe.
As he stared at the disaster zone his daughter had left behind, he realized he couldn’t help that jealous niggle in the back of his mind. Was Mattie really out running a few errands, or had that been a convenient excuse? Could she be warming Avery’s bed one last time?
He immediately squelched that thought. Mattie wasn’t devious, and she wasn’t a cheat or a liar. Although it killed him to admit it, she was a woman who’d been forced by circumstances to end a relationship, really, a marriage. Maybe all she needed was a little alone time to wrap her mind around the ramifications of their situation. She needed time to mourn. Again.
He snagged the cordless phone from the charger and dialed the number he still knew by heart. “Tom,” Ford said, a little embarrassed at the relief in his voice. “You busy?”
“Not especially,” his father-in-law said. “Lily and I just got in from an early dinner at Goldie’s.”
“Meatloaf Monday,” he said, and smiled at the memory. Goldie’s Diner on Main Street was a Hart, Texas staple and no one, not even his wife, could duplicate Goldie’s legendary meatloaf. He’d spent a lot of hours there as a teenager, and made a note to stop in soon and pay his respects.
“Still as good as it ever was, too,” Tom said. “So, what’s up?”
“Well,” he said, drawing out the word. “Operation Glitter Princess is FUBAR.”
Tom chuckled. “Is that a white flag I hear waving in the background?”
“Not quite, but it’s definitely on deck.” He checked the clock on the stove. Time was running short. “How soon can you be here?” If they moved quickly, he just might manage to destroy the evidence of his downfall.
“We’re on our way,” the older man said.
“Thanks, Tom.” Ford disconnected the call, then went to the utility room for the bucket and mop. He’d already tried using a broom, but that had proven useless. All he’d managed to do was spread the glitter around and coat the broom bristles. Rinsing it off had been an even greater mistake. Who knew wet glitter was the bonding equivalent of mortar. The stuff was the instrument of the devil.
Which reminded him. He still had to figure out how to remove craft glue from a few spots on the countertop. Once the Calvary arrived, he’d take a minute to do an Internet search on what cleaning agents wouldn’t trash the counter.
“Uh-oh. Daddy?”
He stilled.
No, no, no. He hadn’t even cleaned up the current mess. She couldn’t have created another disaster. Could she?
“Oh, Daddy?”
The sound of his daughter’s sing-song voice caused a chill to slither down his spine. Now what had she done?
He left the kitchen and took off down the corridor to her bedroom. Her empty bedroom. “Phoebe?” He looked under the bed, in the closet and behind the door. “Phoebe? Where are you?”
“I’m here,” she called.
Mattie’s bedroom. Oh, this wasn’t going to be good.
* * *
Mattie walked into the kitchen and came to an abrupt halt. “Oh, my goodness,” she murmured, as she looked around in horrified fascination. Purple and pink glitter stuck to nearly every surface within her immediate sight line. The sacks she carried slipped from her fingers and landed on the hardwood floor with a quiet thud.
“Ford?” she called, but was met with silence. Her father had closed ranks and called to warn her that disaster had ensued during her absence, but she hadn’t expected quite so much—glitter.
Lots and lots of glitter.
The area surrounding the breakfast bar had taken the brunt of the damage, but the countertop and barstools were just as bad. The discarded mop was coated with glitter and goo, and the abandoned bucket full of sparkly water had her shaking her head, wondering why Ford hadn’t brought in the ShopVac from the garage to clean up the mess. Men were all about duct tape and ShopVacs, and her husband was no exception.
“Ford?” she called again. “Phoebe?”
Still nothing.
Gingerly, she picked her way around the man-size footprints and followed the glitter trail through the family room and down the corridor to her bedroom. She came to a stop in the doorway, where she folded her arms and gave the culprits a skeptical stare.
Seated on the chaise was Ford, with Phoebe on his lap, her head tucked against his shoulder, her eyes suspiciously closed. Spread over the bed were the contents of Mattie’s jewelry box. An opened container of white paste spilled onto the comforter. Nearby was Phoebe’s plastic tiara, adorned with varying shades of purple and pink glitter, as well as haphazardly applied costume jewelry pieces. Broken costume jewelry pieces.
Ford glanced up, but Mattie put her finger to her lips to silence him. He frowned.
She hiked an eyebrow and looked harder at Phoebe, not buying the sweet, innocent, I’m-sleeping-in-my-Daddy’s-arms routine, for a nanosecond. She smelled a rat. An adorable, precocious, glitter-baby rat.
“I see you’ve been busy.” Since it was his first time alone with Phoebe, she’d cut him some slack and save the I-told-you-so for another time. She crossed to the bed. The comforter could probably be saved, she’d just have to be careful removing the paste from the fabric.
“She must be worn out,” Mattie said as she plucked a large, loose gold-tone bauble from the bed and rubbed it between her fingers. Her costume jewelry was another matter and she doubted the survival of several pieces scattered over the comforter. After losing the pair of pearl studs Ford had given her on her twenty-first birthday to Phoebe’s crafting obsession, she’d learned to keep what good jewelry she owned locked away. The wall safe, which was hidden behind the framed Almond Branches in Bloom reproduction she’d purchased from Griffen’s antique shop, was something she’d had installed during the remodel. In addition to her jewelry, she also kept a loaded Glock 9mm pistol in there because it made her feel safe. She also kept the deed to the house and other important legal documents there, along with a small amount of emergency cash.
“Oh, she is.” His attempt to hide a smile failed. “She’s been a busy, busy girl.”
Mattie cast a surreptitious glance at her possum-playing daughter in time to see one eye open slightly. “Much too worn out to go with Granddaddy and Miss Lily for ice cream, I’ll bet.”
“Oh, no, Mommy,” Phoebe said, suddenly alert. She slid from Ford’s lap. “See? I’m not at all sleepy.”
“Good. Now you can help clean up the very big mess you’ve made, young lady.”
Phoebe’s forehead puckered with a frown. “But Daddy said I couldn’t help.” She turned to Ford. “Didn’t you?”
“I was hoping to minimize the damage.”
Translation—he’d sent Phoebe out of the room. Probably not his first mistake, either. More like his fifth or sixth. “And how’d that work out for you?”
He looked at the bed, then back at her, a mixture of amusement and regret in his eyes. “Not so hot.”
Mattie knelt down so she was eye level with Phoebe and pulled her closer. With her hands on Phoebe’s shoulders, she said, “You know you’re not allowed to play in my bedroom when I’m not here. You took advantage of Daddy because he didn’t know the rules. That wasn’t very truthful, was it?”
“No,” Phoebe admitted. She lowered her head and appeared genuinely contrite. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”
“Don’t you owe Daddy an apology, too?” Mattie asked her.
Phoebe nodded, then looked at Ford. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
He offered a patient smile. “Apology accepted.”
“Daddy doesn’t know all of our rules yet,” Mattie told her. “So it’s our job to teach him. Okay?”
Phoebe nodded again. “Okay, Mommy.”
“No more shenanigans?”
The girl grinned. “No more nanny guns.”
The doorbell rang. “That’s Granddaddy and Miss Lily. Why don’t you go let them in, and I’ll help Daddy.”
“Okay,” Phoebe said, then she took off like a shot.
Ford shook his head and chuckled. “Is all that exuberance for the promise of ice cream, seeing Tom, or getting out of cleaning up?”
Playing Dirty Page 13
