by Ryan, Lexi
He’s been so focused on giving to me that I don’t think it ever occurred to him I might not want it. And it never occurred to me just how much he needed me to accept his gifts.
My hands shake as I set the jewelry box to the side then dump the purse onto the cold concrete floor.
Lipstick, loose change, and a few bills fall along with a blue ticket the size of a playing card.
“There it is,” Savvy says.
I lift the card that came from a fortune-teller machine, the machine I no doubt used thinking of my dead sister. And when I read it, I know exactly why I married Marston that night.
“Does that smile on your face mean you’re going to run and beg for his forgiveness now?” she asks.
I shake my head. “There’s something else I have to do first.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Brinley
Only after I left a message at their hotel claiming I had an “urgent matter to discuss” did my parents finally agree to meet me. They chose breakfast, at the country club, of course—their turf—and I came here right after dropping Cami at school.
“What was so urgent?” Mom asks after we’re all settled in a private dining room.
“Do you remember when I went out to Vegas for my twenty-seventh birthday?” I don’t wait for an answer before barreling forward. “I spent that night with Marston Rowe.”
My father grunts. “Never expected that kid to make a damn thing of himself.”
I straighten. “Well, he did, and I always knew he would. But that’s not what I need to tell you. That night, we got married.”
“What?” Mom squeaks, and Dad stays silent, nostrils flaring, his face going red.
“And since I’d taken my anxiety meds and had a couple of drinks, I didn’t remember it the next day.”
“How long have you known?” Mom asks.
I lift my chin. “Marston found out about my engagement to Julian and came to town to stop the wedding. That’s when I found out.”
Dad glares at me, anger and disgust in his blue eyes, but it doesn’t cow me like it used to.
I’ve spent so much of my life wanting those eyes to see me. To accept me and be proud of me. I never realized how freeing it would be to let go of that dream. “You married that punk at some walk-in chapel like a piece of low-class trash?”
There are so many words in that question that I take issue with, but I don’t bother to argue. “I did.” I swallow. “Because somehow, for that one night, I found the courage to give myself what I wanted without worrying about the consequences.”
“That’s right. You didn’t think about the consequences,” Dad growls. “Only yourself. Only ever yourself.”
“And he didn’t tell you?” Mom asks in a whisper. “He never thought to mention it until you were lined up to marry someone else?”
“He assumed I regretted it and was giving me space.”
“He was waiting to hold it over you when it served him best,” my father says, pushing out of his chair. “And now he can use it to embarrass this entire family—my surviving daughter, a teen mom and soon-to-be divorcee. No wonder Julian walked away from you.”
I don’t even flinch. His angry words are sleet against the walls I’ve put up around my heart—walls I’ve put between me and my parents in order to protect myself. I should’ve done it years ago.
“Everyone calm down,” Mom says. “Abraham, no one needs to know. This doesn’t have to mean anything. We’ll get our lawyers on it right away. They can see about expediting an annulment.”
“No,” I say, and now it’s my turn to stand. “I love Marston. I’ve loved him since I was sixteen, and I pushed him away because I thought loving him was hurting you.” I turn to my dad. This isn’t the man who scooped me into his arms the first time I fell off my bike or the one who stroked my hair when I couldn’t sleep. That man left us the first time Brittany’s cancer recurred, and if he hasn’t come back by now, he never will. Tears well in my eyes. “I cut Marston out of my life and told him not to come back because I was grieving and hurting, and I needed my dad.”
“I won’t let you use your sister’s death to manipulate me.”
I shake my head. “But I’m not. I’m not here to ask for your forgiveness or for your blessing. I’m here because I’ve finally accepted that you can’t be the father you used to be. You can’t be the dad I need. And no matter how hard I try to be perfect or how badly I screw up, you can’t find it in yourself to be him.” I blink back the tears I promised myself I wouldn’t cry today. “I forgive you for that, but I’m not going to keep hurting myself trying to make you love me the way parents should.”
Dad sets down his untouched coffee and pushes himself out of his chair. He stops just before he reaches the double doors to the hall, and when he turns on me, his eyes are hard. “You’re no longer my daughter.”
I swallow. “You’ve said that a few times before.” I shrug. “I’ve finally decided to believe you.”
Mom presses a trembling hand to her mouth. “Abraham, maybe we can talk this out.”
Dad’s eyes blaze. “Don’t make me repeat myself, Harriet.” Then he storms away.
Panic glistens in Mom’s eyes as she turns them to me. “Why do you have to provoke him like that? You know how he’s going to react.”
I shake my head. “If you ever decide you need to get away from him, or that you just can’t bend to his will anymore, I’ll help you leave.”
She gasps and jumps up from her seat. “I have never once tried to leave your father.”
“I know, Mom. But if you change your mind, I’m here for you.”
She holds my gaze, and her bottom lip trembles and a single tear rolls down her cheek. “I have to go.” She follows my dad, and I sink back into my chair, feeling light and heavy all at once. Untethered but grieving for the parents I so badly wanted them to be.
* * *
Marston
Brinley’s the last person I expect to see at my door at ten a.m. on Tuesday, but there she is, looking half angel, half temptation in a gauzy white dress that barely reaches the middle of her thighs. My chest is a traffic jam of emotions when I see her, and I wonder if I’ll ever get to the point where I just feel lucky that, for part of my life, I got to know what it was like to be loved by her.
“Is this an okay time?” she asks.
“Sure,” I croak, then clear my throat. “Sure, it’s fine. Come in.”
The echo of her clicking heels fills my too-empty home and makes my gaze drop to her feet. She’s wearing the Vegas shoes.
I swallow hard. I want to believe she wouldn’t wear those if she wasn’t here with good news, but hell—they’re just shoes.
She stops just inside the foyer, and I have to shove my hands into my pockets to resist the urge to pull her against me. She’s all business with a red tote slung over her shoulder, some files sticking out the top. She pats it with her hand. “Could we sit somewhere? At a table, I mean? I have some paperwork from my lawyer.”
If anyone else would’ve asked, I would’ve told them my heart was as broken as that blown glass orchid in her office, but I guess there were some pieces left to break, because they shatter under the weight of those words. Paperwork. From her lawyer. “Whatever you want,” I say. Because that’s what I’ve promised myself. I don’t know any other way to prove to her that I’m not her father. That I’m not Julian. That nothing I give her has any string, stipulation, or ulterior motive, aside from giving her what she wants. Even if it’s a divorce.
“Do you want coffee or anything?” I ask as she sits down at my dining room table. “Wine? Bourbon? Brandy?”
She shakes her head. “I’m good.”
I drag a hand through my hair. “Do you mind if I drink?” Because I’ll do this for her, but I’m not sure I can get through it without a little liquid courage.
She smiles. “Sure.”
I feel her eyes on me as I walk across the dining room and pour myself a snifter of brandy. One mig
ht say it’s a little early in the day for hard liquor, but I’d counter that it’s a little early in our marriage for divorce papers, so fuck it.
I take a generous sip as I stroll back to the table and take my seat across from her.
She’s already pulled a manila folder from her tote, and she taps her fingers on it nervously, no doubt as ready to get this over with as I am.
“Listen,” I say, “I’ll sign whatever you want me to sign. I’ll give you whatever you want, but can I apologize first?”
Her head snaps up and she meets my gaze. “I think I’m the one who owes you an apology.” She sighs. “I overreacted, and while I stand by what I said when I told you I didn’t want you to buy me anything, it wasn’t fair for me to imply that you’d use the spa as leverage in our marriage.”
I lean back in my chair. “Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t hear you all those times you told me you didn’t want me to buy you anything. But, Brinley, in my mind, the only difference between the guy who was in love with you then and the guy who’s in love with you now is money. I have it, fucking plenty of it, but in every other way, I’m the same person. I love you as much as I did then and in the same way—with every fucking piece of me. And I say this knowing damn well it probably indicates I need some serious therapy sessions, but I need you to understand.” My whole body feels like it’s vibrating, as if my brain is so determined to deliver these words that it’s putting physical energy behind them. “Who I was then, in high school—he wasn’t enough, and this is the only way I could bridge the gap between who I was and the kind of guy your parents always wanted for you. The kind of guy I thought maybe you wouldn’t have shoved out of your life.”
“I figured that out,” she says, staring at her hands.
Then why are you here with fucking paperwork? “You were right to be angry with me. I see that now. I shouldn’t have made any assumptions about our life or about whether or not you even wanted to be with me . . . let alone where we’d live or where you’d work if we did. It’s just . . .” I take another sip of my brandy, willing its warmth to calm some of this frenetic energy that’s making it hard to stay seated. “You were so convinced we wouldn’t work because of where I live. I thought if I could fix that . . .” I take another sip of my brandy to stop my own rambling.
It’s over, and I need to let her go. I don’t want her walking out of here feeling heavy with guilt. I’ve had enough chances with Brinley Knox. If I haven’t made it work by now, that’s on me.
She lifts her gaze. “I want to circle back to this—the gifts and the plans. But first . . .” She taps the folder in front of her. “Can we look at this?”
My stomach cramps hard. “Whatever you want.”
She squares her shoulders and blows out a breath, then opens the folder.
I frown at the heading on the top of the first sheet. It’s a business proposal. For the purchase of The Orchid.
“I’ve wanted to buy The Orchid for years, but as I’m sure you know, the original owners refused to consider anything but a cash offer, and my credit is worse than shit.”
“This is about The Orchid?” I ask. Because if I hope and I’m wrong, it might destroy me.
“Hear me out?” she asks, flashing a tentative smile. I nod, and she continues. “I spoke with Alec, who was able to give me good information about market rates and what kind of return you might expect on an investment like this. Since he had the information in your system from your work at The Orchid, he was also able to help me by doing a quick analysis and providing me with a conservative time frame in which the spa could pay for itself.” She lifts her eyes to mine. “I didn’t want you to buy me the spa. I wanted to buy it myself. But since that didn’t work out, I’d like you to sell it to me on contract, essentially acting as the seller and the bank, and allowing me to use The Orchid’s profits over the course of ten years to buy it. Of course, there are substantial risks to you agreeing to a deal like this, including any unforeseen economic downturn that could profoundly affect business or a competitor coming in.”
“I know the numbers,” I say. I’m practically staring a hole in the damn contract, because I need to know what’s beneath it. “You run a tight ship, and your growth trajectory is incredible. What you’re describing is feasible and done frequently when small businesses are sold.”
“That’s what Alec said too,” she says. She turns her head to look out the dining room windows, and her earrings catch in the light. “It’s important to me that this is the kind of deal you’d take from anyone and not a special concession you’re making for me.”
“It . . .” Those earrings. That necklace. She’s not just wearing the shoes I bought her in Vegas. She’s wearing the jewelry too, and hope makes my chest swell.
I shove my chair back and stalk around to her side of the table. I stand behind her chair and lean over her as I pick up the stack of papers and slowly flip through the contract. This is all business paperwork. Every page about a deal between my subsidiary company and Brinley.
I toss the stack back on the table and swallow hard. “I thought you were bringing me divorce papers.”
She hops out of her chair, gripping the edge of the table. “I don’t have a personal interest in pursuing those, but if you’d like—”
“Not a chance.” I kick the chair out of the way and slide my hands around her waist, pulling her back to my front and relishing the way every one of her soft curves feels pressed into me. I nuzzle her neck until I’m drunk on the smell of her perfume and the feel of her perfect skin under my lips.
“I need our relationship to be separate from my business. I need to be proud of what I’ve made for myself there, and I don’t ever want any part of what we have to feel burdened by business.”
“Not a problem.” I breathe her in again. She’s real. This is real. “I love you. Fuck, do I love you. So much I don’t know who I’d be without that love.”
She turns in my arms and lifts her chin. God, she’s beautiful. “I love you too.”
My breath snags in my chest, right alongside hope and joy and my quickly mending heart. “Say it again.”
She smiles. “I love you, Marston Rowe.”
I can barely breathe, I want this so much. “I want a shot at this marriage, and I know I’m asking the impossible since your parents—”
“I don’t care what they think. I made my choice before we went to that chapel in Vegas.”
“But you don’t even remember why you decided to marry me.”
“Now I know why.” She shakes her head. “No, I’ve always known why I married you. I love you, and I want to spend my life with you—that’s why. What I didn’t know was how I found the courage to do it, but that mystery’s been solved.” She reaches into her tote and pulls out a blue piece of paper the size of a playing card.
“What’s that?”
“Savvy told me you and I left the second club after I used one of those fortune-teller machines they have in touristy gift shops and at fairs. Brittany used to love those, and apparently on my birthday I insisted on playing in her honor. I don’t know what question I asked, but I went digging and found this in my purse from that night.”
She hands it to me, and I flip it over and read the small print on the back.
Let go of the relationships that cause you only pain. We make our own family.
“Isn’t that what Brittany told you once? We make our own family?” I lift my eyes from the card, and Brinley’s smiling at me, tears in her eyes.
“I’m not saying my sister spoke to me from the grave,” she says, then clears her throat and blinks away tears, “but as soon as I found that card, I knew why I walked down the aisle to you.”
I blink down to the words that brought her back to me, and my chest feels crowded—too full of warmth and sunshine and love to allow me to speak.
“I’m sorry I let them win,” she says, her eyes brimming with new tears. “After Brittany died, I felt like I was drowning, and I thought my family could sa
ve me. I thought I could make them love me the way I needed them to love me. I thought . . .” She bites her lip hard. “I’m ashamed I forgot my little sister’s wisdom so soon. I needed you, my family by choice, and I pushed you away.”
I pull her body tightly against mine and nuzzle her neck. “I shouldn’t have let you, but my pride . . .” I shake my head. “My fucking pride had me convinced it was best for you.”
“My family—the only one that’s ever counted—is Cami, Savvy, Abbi, Stella, Smithy, and Kace. But I’d really like to include you at the top of that list. Marston Rowe, my husband, my friend, my lover.”
I press a hard kiss to her soft mouth. “As long as you’ll take me, I’m yours.”
She smiles against my lips. “I have video evidence to prove we already agreed on forever.”
Epilogue
Brinley
The patio behind The Orchid and overlooking Lake Blackledge makes the perfect setting for intimate weddings. Once the tables are cleared out, we can seat as many as forty for a ceremony and then open the doors between the restaurant and patio for the reception.
I peek out the window from inside the bridal suite. The guests take their seats in white folding chairs. At the front of the aisle, an arbor covered in red roses and dark green ivy overlooks the lake. The groom and his best friends laugh together, waiting for the bride.
Every wedding we’ve held here has been breathtakingly beautiful, but today’s is my favorite.
“Stop!” Cami grabs my hand and pulls me away from the window. If you ask me, she’s going to steal the show in her hunter-green junior bridesmaid dress. “He’s going to see you, and that’s bad luck.”
I wrinkle my nose at her. “You think so? Even though we’re already married?”
She props her hands on her hips. “I know so.”
On the other side of the room, my bridesmaids, Savvy, Abbi, and Stella, have their heads together and are whisper-arguing about something.
