“Enjoy the party. I’ll explain later, okay?” Faith nodded, and Charity drew her into a fierce, tight hug. “I’m so happy to be here.”
As far as Miles could tell, the party was a (literal) screaming success. After the last excited little guests departed, Faith and Stuart ushered Gracie to their room for a bath and Charity’s parents, Erik and Rita, once again profusely thanked Miles for bringing Charity to the party, before heading to their suite to freshen up before dinner.
That left Charity and Miles standing in the foyer of the hotel.
“Faith told me that you’ve arranged a room for us,” Charity said, her voice cold and curt. He tried not to be disheartened by all that ice and nodded.
“We’re in one of the cottages. It has two bedrooms. I wasn’t sure if you wanted your family to know about…about us. And I wasn’t sure how you would feel after what I did.”
She sighed heavily. “Let’s go. I need a long, hot shower. We’ll discuss this when we get to the cottage.”
Miles showered and changed for dinner, but he wondered if he should fry himself an egg—he could only get the self-catered cottage at such short notice—and give Charity and her family privacy to have their long overdue talk.
After he and Charity had reached the cottage, she had barely given the quaint abode a second glance, instead heading straight to her room…telling him that they would “talk later”. They shared a bathroom, and he had allowed her first dibs at the shower, before spending a torturous fifteen minutes in a steamy bathroom that smelled just like her.
Now, nearly half an hour after her promise to talk, he sat on the side of his massive bed and stared at the bedside clock, watching the minutes creep by, and wondering when later would be.
Fuck. This was ridiculous.
He picked up his phone to send Charity a text: I think I’ll stay in tonight.
Why?
Figured you all should have some privacy.
The staccato rap on his bedroom door startled him, and he frowned.
“Come.”
The door swung inward, and Charity stepped into his room, a wry smile on her lips.
“What’s funny?” he asked, perplexed by that unexpected grin.
“For nearly two years, whenever you ordered me, or anyone else, to ‘come’, I’d imagine you saying it in the exact same clipped way to your lovers.”
He couldn’t quite figure out what she meant and stared at her in bewilderment.
“Y’know,” she continued. “During your most intimate moments? Commanding them to come on cue.”
He felt his neck flush, and the tips of his ears heated up.
“I’m not going to lie…” she said. “I always thought it was a little hot.”
“Charity!” Miles knew he sounded like a scandalized old lady, but he couldn’t help it. To say he was shocked was an understatement. For some reason, because he hadn’t thought of her as a sexual being back then, he couldn’t imagine her—no…Mrs. Cole—harboring such raunchy thoughts about him. Despite logically knowing that all along, she had been this same stunning woman standing before.
And Christ, she looked spectacular right now. He didn’t think she could outdo the pretty pink of this afternoon, but tonight she looked empowered and sexy in a figure-hugging fire engine red dress that complemented her coloring marvelously. She wore the same vibrant shade on her lips. Her short hair had been slicked down, and she had done something to her eyes that made them smoky and seductive and mysterious all at the same time.
“I know right?” she laughed, in response to his outburst. “I tell you, I shocked even myself every time the thought crossed my mind. I deluded myself into thinking I’ve only recently started seeing you in a sexual light. But I’ve always found you attractive. I just wasn’t ready to cope with anything remotely erotic before now.”
“Are you still pissed off with me?” he asked hesitantly. She was in a strange mood. He couldn’t figure it out. Not nervous, though he had expected her to be, given the dinner she was about to have with her family. Not angry, despite what he had done. Not sad.
She seemed almost…ebullient.
“I’m not pissed off with you, Miles. Well…I was. I was furious. But I had a lovely day, and it’s hard to hold onto a good mad, when you’re having fun and so freaking happy to be surrounded by your loved ones.”
“That’s—”
“But,” she interrupted him, holding up an index finger to indicate that she was not yet done speaking. “What you did was so incredibly unacceptable and just because it worked out for the best, doesn’t make it okay.”
“I know.”
“Do you, though? Or was this a matter of thinking it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission? Because, if that’s the case, it’s inexcusable. This was my decision to make, in my own time. The reason I decided not to come to the party, was partly because, yes, I was being cowardly and delaying the inevitable…but mostly because I wanted to enjoy our extremely finite time together. It’s all we have.”
She plunged those words into his guts like a sharp knife, reminding him of his place in her life with a succinct twist. While simultaneously offering him hope that their finite time together was not yet over.
“I’m sorry. I’m used to deciding what’s best for everybody, and sometimes I stomp around like a bull in a china shop, without giving enough consideration to the harm I’m causing. I understand now that this situation required more delicate handling, but I just wanted to do something for you. Something useful. Worthwhile…something that you would perhaps value. And instead, I bollocksed it up. I’ll get you flowers next time.”
She smiled and left the doorway to slowly walk over to where he still sat on the bed. The sway of her hips in that figure-hugging dress was mesmerizing. Sonnets have been written about lesser things.
She didn’t stop until she was standing between his parted thighs. He took a moment to appreciate the fact that his eyes were level with her perfectly pert and delicately scented cleavage.
And she grasped his jaw to slant his head until his gaze met hers.
“Eyes up, sir. I’m over here,” she instructed him cheekily, and he grinned. Her soft hands smoothed the hair back from his forehead, and she held his eyes for a long moment, while his breathing ceased completely, and his heart raced out of control in his chest.
“I’m terrified that if I forgive you for this, it means I’m falling into the same patterns again. Forgiving a man for a wrong he has done to me and thereby allowing his behavior to escalate.”
“Not all men are like Blaine Davenport, Charity. Sometimes we think we know best and fuck up. Because we’re idiots. We apologize, learn from our mistakes, and move forward.”
Miles wasn’t a short man, and he had rarely had anyone tower over him in this way before. But he found that he didn’t mind it. And he enjoyed the power and control it gave her. Because he knew that, in this moment, she needed the added security. And he definitely didn’t mind how close she was standing. How he could feel the heat coming off her, hear the escalation in her breathing, and feel the slight tremor in the soft fingers entangled in his hair.
“What you need to do,” he continued, his voice hoarsening with the desire he was trying to keep under rigid control. “Is figure out which men are which.”
“How do I do that?”
“You start by trusting yourself again. Stop punishing yourself for Blaine. What happened in your marriage was not your fault, Charity. It was all him and the parents who enabled him.”
“I don’t want you to stay in tonight,” she said, the shift in topic abrupt yet somehow not jarring at all. “I want you with me when I tell them. I love them but I want, I don’t know, a neutral party at the table, I suppose.”
“Okay. But I have to warn you…I’m not neutral. I’m like 150 percent in your corner.”
She beamed at him, and he sighed in relief. Grateful that, for now, she seemed to have let his dumb mistake slide.
“Well, that�
��s okay too. But not a word. I don’t need you to make things easier for me. I just…need you.”
“You have me.”
It was a promise. An oath. An utterly unbreakable vow.
She had him. And she would always have him. Now and forever.
When Charity and Miles reached the hotel foyer, it was to find her parents and Faith already waiting at reception.
“Where’s Stuart?” Charity asked, confused by her brother-in-law’s absence.
“He’s staying with Gracie. We don’t have a ‘sitter here. And I’d rather not have a stranger watching my child. He told me to tell you he’d see you at breakfast."
“So, it’s just us?”
“Sandra and Paul couldn’t stay. She wasn’t feeling very well,” her mother explained, with a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you were looking forward to spending some time with them as well.”
Charity bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from responding, and she felt the back of Mile’s hand lightly brush against hers. The touch was so delicate she was sure no one present noticed. But she noticed…and she sucked in a grateful breath at that silent show of support.
“What’s the plan?” Charity asked, with a forced smile.
“Dad’s made a reservation at a fabulous restaurant on the neighboring estate,” Faith said. “The one here is very nice, but we wanted a quieter venue, so that we could talk and catch up in relative peace.”
“Great. Can Miles and I bum a lift with someone? His rental car is only being delivered in the morning.”
“We can all fit into Daddy’s showboat of an SUV,” Faith piped up. “I don’t know why anyone needs a massive vehicle like that.”
“The only way to safely transport my golf clubs,” their father quipped. When their tiny mother jabbed him in his ribs, he winced and added, “And my lovely wife, of course.”
Their parents were a sickeningly cute couple. Both were surgeons—their mother cardiothoracic and their father neuro—and yet they were polar opposites in so many ways. Their mother was five foot one, and their father six foot three. He was pale, blond and hazel-eyed. She had a rich brown complexion, a shade or so darker than Charity’s skin, midnight black hair and sultry eyes. He was slender and muscular. She was comfortably curvy.
He was loud and jovial. She was quiet and contemplative. He made stupid dad jokes, and she rarely got them.
They balanced each other perfectly.
Charity had never seen two people more in love. And Faith appeared to have found a similar relationship with Stuart. Charity had dreamed of having the same with Blaine…perhaps that’s why it had been so hard to accept or admit what was happening at first. Because this was her template, and she had tried to force the abomination of a marriage she’d had with Blaine into this same mold.
Only it would never fit…the jagged edges of that relationship had been too ugly and too sharp and had ripped her fragile mold apart.
Her father enfolded her mother in an affectionate embrace and kissed the top of her head.
“Come on, kids,” their father invited, leading the way. “To the dadmobile.”
“Oh my God, Daddy. Do you have to be so lame in front of a guest?” Faith complained as they all filed out after the older couple. Charity laughed, enjoying the moment. Knowing that all too soon, there would be only confusion and pain.
Her hand drifted into Miles’s…as she silently sought the unwavering support that she knew was right there for the taking. His palm kissed hers, and their fingers meshed.
For now, this would do.
The evening was filled with small talk, reminiscences, laughter, and sentimentality. Miles enjoyed watching the lighthearted byplay between the older Coles and their daughters. This interaction between father and kids was not something he’d had plenty of opportunity to observe firsthand, and he found himself envious of that affectionate bond. He had lost his dad at an age when he had needed him most.
His mother had tried her best, bless her. His first shave had been with a pink woman’s razor and floral scented shaving gel. The horrifically vague “birds and bees” talk after his first wet dream. The awkward condom discussion had involved a cucumber and a lot of accidentally torn condoms. If nothing else, he had learned that condoms were most certainly not infallible.
They were all cringe-y, but fond memories…but he occasionally wondered how life would have been with an adult male influence in his life.
As the evening progressed, Charity grew more and more distant. The others were starting to pick up on it, and Miles noticed Rita and Erik exchange a few concerned glances.
“I’ve decided that I’m moving back to the Cape after Miles returns to London.” Charity blurted out over dessert and coffee. Her words effectively silenced all the slightly desperate banter that had been darting back and forth between Faith and the older Coles.
“That’s wonderful, darling. We’ve all missed you so much.” Rita squeezed Charity’s arm, seemingly oblivious to her tension. Miles wasn’t sure if they were just ignoring it and trying to pretend that everything was fine. Or if they genuinely could not tell how stressed Charity was.
“But?” The soft word came from Faith. Miles was relieved that someone could see that there was more to be said here.
Charity shot her sister a grateful look before gulping down a mouthful of red wine and then grimacing.
“But…I’d prefer never to see Sandra and Paul again.”
“Charity,” Rita’s voice was gently chastising. “I know it’s diffi—”
“Pleased don’t say it’s difficult,” Charity interrupted her sharply. She cast a self-conscious glance around the room, but the other patrons hadn’t noticed the slight rise in her tone. “The only thing that was difficult for me was having to watch you all cry for him. Miss him. Mourn him. And to pretend that I felt the same way.”
Rita’s mouth opened and then closed. Clearly lost for words. Erik was frowning, but Faith…Faith had paled. With her drawn face and distraught eyes, she looked like someone who had just witnessed a fatal accident.
“What did he do to you?” she asked, her voice pitched low, and Erik made a soft, distressed sound in the back of his throat. Rita still looked confused and horrified. Not as quick as her husband and older daughter…probably too sweet and insulated to even imagine such a thing happening to one of her precious children.
Charity laughed. There was no humor in the awful sound. Only bleakness and despair and anguish.
“Oh God,” she murmured, scrubbing her palms over her face. “What didn’t he do? It was like he followed an abusers’ manual or something, because he did it all.”
Rita made a choked sound, and her hand shot up to cover her mouth, her lovely eyes glittered fiercely above that hand.
“It started on our wedding night. It ended the night he killed himself. And he only did that because he thought he had killed me. He called his parents before he shot himself though.
“Knowing Blaine, he was too vain to allow our bodies to lay there undiscovered possibly for days. So, he called his parents who always took care of everything for him. And they came running. The police were not to know that he had tried to smother me with a pillow, of course. So, they concocted this story about him mistakenly thinking I was going to leave him. And, as a result, he shot himself while I was asleep. I was in shock, and traumatized to find myself covered in blood after regaining consciousness. Numb and confused…it was simpler to sit back and allow Sandra and Paul to dictate the narrative.
“Everything I said and did was always to preserve Blaine’s perfect public image. And then his precious memory. I was so…conditioned to do what was expected of me by then that I, once again, allowed them to control my thoughts, my words, even my emotions.
“Blaine and I had an argument. He thought I was going to leave him. He killed himself because he loved me too much to lose me. That was our story. I took the blame and his devoted parishioners hated me for what I did to their precious pas
tor. I played the victim, the villain, and the grieving widow all at the same time, when inside I was just so…relieved that he was gone. But you all were so sad. And I couldn’t stand it. I had to get away.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Rita’s tears had overflowed, and she was hanging on to Erik’s arm as if her life depended on it. The older man also had tears streaming down his devastated face as he stared at his daughter in horrified silence.
“I was so ashamed.” Her voice wobbled on the last word, and Miles palmed the vulnerable nape of her neck and squeezed it reassuringly to remind her that he was here if she needed him. “He made me feel like there was something wrong with me. Like I was to blame for everything he did. He didn’t want me to work. I know you thought I was wasting my education and when I mentioned possibly joining, or starting, a practice, he… he…” She shook her head, but the starkness in her eyes told its own harrowing tale.
“He isolated me from everybody. Not only because he wanted to control me, but because he was so possessive that he felt threatened and was jealous of any other relationships. I once had lunch with Faith, and afterward, he demanded to know where we had gone. What we had spoken about. What I had worn. None of my answers satisfied him. And he snapped. It never took much for him to snap. He broke a couple of ribs that time, and Sandra drove me to hospital to have them strapped. To this day, I don’t know how she explained it away. But she always had a handy excuse available for her clumsy daughter-in-law’s silly accidents.
“And the worst part of it all is, that I was so grateful to her for always helping me. I didn’t even understand until much later, how much she enabled him. She used my dependency on her to control my emotions. It wrecked me every time she told me she was disappointed in me for not being more aware of Blaine’s needs. For driving him to such extreme measure. For being so difficult.”
She stopped talking to take a thirsty drink of water. Faith was swearing, a steady stream of angry and impressively colorful invective. Rita and Erik were both still silently crying, and Charity, as if only now becoming aware of how her words had affected them blinked and gasped in horror.
The Best Next Thing Page 28
