CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The restaurant was the same as she remembered it. Of course, the staff was different but the menu and décor—but for a few small changes here and there—transported her back to a less complicated time. Bryce whispered something into their server’s ear and sure enough, they were led to the same table that he had been seated at on that first day. A high chair was promptly provided for Kayla, and after taking their drink orders, the server bustled off and left them to stare silently at each other. Kayla was excited by the new surroundings and picked up her toy cell phone to tell her cousin “Wees” about it.
“Why did you bring us here?” Bronwyn broke the silence with a defeated little sigh, and he shrugged.
“I was feeling nostalgic.” No. This had definitely been a deliberate decision that had very little to do with nostalgia. When he had agreed to her moving out, she had thought that he was beginning to accept her decision to get a divorce. This move, however, seemed to be the opening salvo of a counterattack.
The server returned with their drinks and for their meal orders. Neither of them had even glanced at the menu, but Bronwyn knew it by heart and ordered steamed chicken and vegetables for Kayla and chicken Marsala with mashed potatoes for herself. Bryce kept his eyes pinned to hers as he directed his order to the hovering server.
“I’ll have the milkshake. Chocolate. And the Brie and bacon burger.” The young man, clearly a much better server than she had ever been, reconfirmed their orders before leaving.
“Bryce, I’m not sure what you’re hoping to achieve here but . . .”
“You were standing over at that table when I first saw you.” He pointed toward a nearby table and she blinked over at it. “You had this look of utter panic on your face. I’d been to this restaurant several times before and knew that if you were serving at that table, then you were probably working this whole section. That’s why I requested this table.”
“You requested this table?” She gaped at him in disbelief, absently picking up Kayla’s bright-pink toy phone when she dropped it on the table and handing it back to her so that she could continue her make-believe conversation. Bronwyn had always assumed that he’d been placed at one of her tables by chance.
“I did. I noticed you almost immediately and then simply couldn’t look away.” Yes, she remembered that disturbingly intense stare. She’d been even more of a klutz as a result of it. “I was riveted, charmed, confused, and fascinated. Unequivocally and helplessly fascinated.” He gazed off into the distance, lost in his memories. The harsh lines of his face had softened, and a sweet, wistful smile flirted with the corners of his lips.
“I barely heard a word Pierre said and categorically dominated your time by calling you over for the smallest little thing,” he recalled.
“I didn’t mind,” she confessed, allowing the sweetness of the memory to claim her as well. “I was equally fascinated. I barely remembered that poor Pierre was t “You were the most entrancing thing I’d ever seen,” he said, his voice gruff, and she shook her head dismissively.
“Hardly.”
“You still are, Bronwyn.” He brushed aside her automatic protest. “You’re not some boring, conventional beauty, true. And yeah, you tend to be a little clumsy at times. But you’re unusual, interesting, and to me you’re just so indescribably gorgeous. I never thought that I deserved you. You were too good for the likes of me.”
She didn’t understand that sentiment at all. He was heartbreakingly handsome and she was painfully plain. He came from a background of wealth and privilege while her family had been as poor as church mice. He had been Oxford educated with a master’s degree in business while she had barely made it through high school. It had been a classic Cinderella tale, and Bronwyn had been the one to feel inadequate when compared to him.
“I should have left you alone,” he was saying, his low voice alive with misery and his eyes filled with such profound sadness that Bronwyn felt her eyes tearing up in response. “I tried to leave you alone after that day, but I just couldn’t stay away from you. I had to see you again. You were so sweet and gentle and every time I was with you . . . I felt . . .” His voice had gone so quiet that she could barely hear him, and the last word was almost silent, but she could have sworn he said cleansed. He’d felt cleansed when he was with her? It was such an odd choice of words that she knew she must have been mistaken, but what else could it have been?
His voice had faded away completely now and he wasn’t speaking anymore, merely staring down at the place setting in front of him. His large hands were curled into fists on the tabletop, and Bronwyn reached over to cover them with her own hands. The gesture brought his eyes back up to hers and she was startled see moisture sparkling in them.
“I should have stayed away from you,” he repeated. “But I couldn’t. I can’t. You’re my light, Bronwyn. You’re my love. I’m so lost without you. I’ve always been so lost without you.”
“Bryce.”
He shook himself and glanced over at their perceptive daughter, who had stopped playing and was watching them with wide and worried eyes. She looked on the verge of tears.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have started this conversation with Kayla around.” He forced a smile for the little girl’s sake and dragged his hands out from under hers. She watched as he brusquely wiped at his eyes and put on a cheerful front for their daughter.
She kept stealing glances at him, wondering at the unfamiliar man that he’d allowed her to catch a glimpse of today. That was what she had wanted—demanded—from him. Honesty. And he had just given her a huge chunk of honesty. But whatever his truth was, she now knew that it was devastating, and she was certain that whatever it was had been responsible for his painful reaction to her pregnancy. Some truly awful thoughts were starting to form in the back of her mind, but her suspicions were so ugly that she forced them back down and dismissed them as impossible.
She watched as he gently teased and played with their daughter and forced herself to remember the day that she’d told him about her pregnancy. He had reacted in a near-violent explosion of emotions, accusations, and . . . fear. She recalled the look in his eyes and now understood that he had been absolutely terrified by her news. She was completely staggered by this unexpected new insight into the confusing events of that night.
“Protect us from what?” she asked, but he was playing with Kayla and didn’t see her question. She waved her hand to get his attention, and he blinked up at her, his too-long hair flopping over one eye in the process. That errant lock of hair made him look so boyish and vulnerable that she felt a lump forming in her throat. She unthinkingly reached over and brushed the hair out of his eyes with gentle fingers. He leaned into her touch, but she withdrew her hand almost immediately.
“A couple of weeks ago you said that you wanted to protect us from something.” She went back to what was foremost on her mind, absently rubbing her fingers—still tingling from the brief contact with his skin—on her denim-clad thigh. “Protect us from what?”
He sighed harshly.
“Let’s talk about this when we get home. I was stupid to think this could be the place for that discussion,” he deflected cryptically, and her brow furrowed in frustration. She was sick of the diversions and delays. The conversations that started but never seemed to finish. She picked at her food after it arrived and made sure that Kayla ate hers with as little mess as possible. The little glances she sent Bryce’s way revealed that he was merely toying with his food as well.
“Do you remember our first date?” he asked her, and she smiled at the memory.
“How could I forget?” she said, recalling. “You showed up here at the end of my shift, asked me out, and spent the rest of the evening lecturing me about crime and safety.”
He snorted.
“We also talked for hours about our favorite movies, music, and books,” he reminded.
“Yes. And all the time you kept staring at my mouth.” She hadn’t meant to say that, and when his gaze—which had already been fixed on her mouth—went blistering hot at her words, her breath quickened and the residual tingling in her fingertips spread like wildfire through her body before gathering in the sensitized tips of her breasts. Her bra felt uncomfortably tight, and she could feel the blood slowly inching into her cheeks.
“You wouldn’t believe the fantasies I was weaving around that mouth,” he said absently, licking his lips as if he could taste said mouth on his tongue. “And those mile-high legs of yours. God, I could picture them wrapped around my waist or thrown over my shoulders . . .” Both scenarios had come to fruition the first time he’d gotten her into bed here half of the time.”
Her breathing quickened even more as she remembered that particular night—he had been insatiable and so very creative. God, she missed him in her bed . . . in her body. She shook herself, tossing a guilty glance at her daughter, who now had her toy phone pushed up against the side of Broccoli’s head so that the doll could “speak” to Rhys as well. The girl caught her eye and smiled.
“Firsty, Mummy . . .” Bronwyn sneaked a little peek over at Bryce and could see that his own cheeks had gone a dull red, his pupils were dilated, and his breathing was labored. She recognized the signs of his arousal immediately and knew from the way he shifted in his seat that his jeans were getting a little snug in the crotch area. God, this wasn’t helping their cause. She had to control herself. She couldn’t seem to keep her hands off him for the most part, and it wasn’t doing either of them any good. She looked away from him, trying very hard to ignore what was happening to both of them, and smiled down at her daughter, who was starting to look a little grumpy at being ignored.
“Okay, sweetie,” she placated. “Do you want water or some juice?”
“Duce,” Kayla demanded, and glared defiantly back when Bronwyn leveled a reprimanding stare at her. Her rebellious lower lip started quivering before she sighed dramatically and gave in. “Peese. Duce peese.”
“Good girl.” Bryce, who seemed to have gotten a modicum of control over his body, praised her in a hoarse voice. He flagged the server over and nodded at Kayla. When she understood what her father wanted her to do, her tiny chest puffed up with pride, and she smiled winningly up at the younger man.
“Duce peese.”
The server grinned.
“Orange or apple?” He wisely gave her only two choices, and she opted for the apple.
When the man trotted away, Bryce looked meaningfully over at Bronwyn.
“You know that I’m as hard as a steel pipe for you right now, don’t you?”
“Bryce,” she squeaked, tossing a scandalized look over at Kayla. The little girl was oblivious to them and craning her neck to see where her new friend—the server—had gone.
“And it’s always been that way between us. From the very beginning,” he pointed out, ignoring her shock. “That’s another thing I never told you. While I was riveted, charmed, fascinated, and all of that, I was also turned on beyond belief. Aside from not wanting to leave when Pierre did, my body didn’t give me much choice in the matter. I was pretty much incapable of standing upright without shocking every damned person in here that day. Every time I thought I had it under control, you’d smile or something and I’d go to instant attention again. I had a terminal case of wood for most of the first year of our marriage as you know . . . but in those first few months it was damned near impossible to control. I was like a horny teenager with you.”
“I never quite understood what you saw in me,” she admitted on a whisper, and he sighed quietly.
“Bronwyn, I don’t know how much clearer I can make this, so listen up. To me . . . You. Are. Stunning. Sometimes I can’t stare at you for too long because it almost physically hurts me to look at you. It’s crazy, my chest tightens and burns to the point of actual pain until I remind myself to breathe.” He smiled bittersweetly. “That has happened more often than I care to reveal. You’re so lovely that something as fundamental as breathing becomes damned near impossible around you.”
She searched his harsh face for any sign of deception, but his strong jaw was clenched, his eyes almost hard, and she knew that it couldn’t have been easy for him to reveal that particular tidbit to her. She really affected him that strongly.
“You’ve stolen my breath on numerous occasions too, you know,” she confessed, reaching over to stroke his jaw. The server chose that moment to return with Kayla’s apple juice, and Bronwyn’s hand dropped down to the table, where she started toying with her dessert spoon.
She thanked the server for the juice and reached into the baby bag for Kayla’s sippy cup. After transferring the juice from the glass into the cup, she screwed the top on tightly and gave it to Kayla, who was not very happy about having the grown-up glass confiscated.
She refused to take her juice from the sippy cup, and Bronwyn gave her a sip of the leftover juice in the glass. She refused again and tried to take the glass from her mother. When Bronwyn moved the glass a safe distance away from her, she started kicking up a fuss. She was showing all the telltale signs of a toddler in desperate need of a nap and on the verge of a tantrum. Bronwyn had only to glance over at Bryce before he summoned the server over for the bill. Their conversation was put on immediate hold as their parental roles took precedence.
They packed up and left the restaurant pretty quickly, and as he drove them home, with a crying Kayla strapped into her car seat, Bronwyn felt a pang of regret over yet another unfinished conversation.
Bryce found Bronwyn in the conservatory a few hours later, sitting on the sofa with her legs tucked beneath her and a glass of wine in her hand. She was staring pensively out as the sun dropped gracefully into the ocean and set the horizon on fire. It was a beautiful sunset, but if Bronwyn’s somber face was anything to go by, she wasn’t fully appreciating the sun’s last hurrah as it fled from the night. She was running one elegant finger round and round the rim of her wineglass, her restlessness betrayed by the swift, repetitive movement.
Bryce glanced down at the sheaf of papers he held in his hand and shut his eyes as he sent an uncharacteristic and desperate prayer to a God he hadn’t really acknowledged since he was a boy. He was all out of options here. He had no choice but to give her what she wanted.
“Bronwyn,” he murmured, and she jumped, nearly spilling the wine. She blinked up at him as if surprised to see him standing there. She self-consciously tucked an errant strand of brown hair behind her ear.
“Bryce, you startled me.” He sat down next to her and turned to face her.
“Sorry about that,” he apologized. “I just wanted to give you these.” He handed over half of the papers he was holding, and she put the glass onto a side table to take hold of the documents. She stared blankly down at the big, bold words at the top of the first sheet.
“That was fast,” she murmured. He reached over and angled her jaw upward, and she realized that he hadn’t been able to read her lips. She repeated the three words, keeping her face determinedly neutral.
“I had them drawn up last week. I gambled on the fact that I knew you well enough to guess which place you’d go for.”
“Why bother showing me the other places then?” she asked, and Bryce shrugged. Yes, he’d been confident she would go for the last place, but he had wanted her to have choices and . . . he had wanted to spend time with her.
His first instinct was to cling to his reticence, but all her accusations of secrecy were valid. He had kept things from her—important things that would probably have made a big difference to their marriage. But if he wanted any kind of future with her, he would have to let go of his fear of appearing weak and vulnerable in her eyes and keep her “in the loop,” so to speak. And if that meant keeping her up to date on the minutia of his every fleeting thought, then so be it.
“I wanted the choice to be yours. You may have hated that last one. I didn’t want to presume too much.”
“And yet you went ahead and drew up the necessary paperwork?” she asked with an incredulous little shake of her head.
“I like to be prepared,” he muttered, abashed. “All you have to do is sign these and the flat will be yours. Finances have been taken care of.” Naturally.
“Still you could have taken me to three or four places instead of eight.”
He sighed and bit the bullet.
“I also wanted to spend some time with you and Kayla,” he confessed. He could see the shock in her eyes and wondered if it was a result of his words or the fact that he’d actually said them out loud. He watched her luscious lips form an o and took a deep breath before rushing in to the next bit of this ordeal.
“I wanted to spend some time with you before I gave you these,” he said, holding out a second sheaf of papers. He had a moment’s hesitation when she reached for them and tightened his grip when she tried to take them. After a brief tug of war, he reluctantly released the papers and stepped back. He tried to gauge her reaction, but her usually open face had closed up and revealed not a single emotion as she read the top of the first page. He was breathing in uneven gasps, and he counted slowly to twenty, then thirty, as he tried to regulate his breathing.
She looked up at him and the impact of her devastated gaze hit him like a two-ton truck. She said nothing for the longest time, and when she spoke her words nearly sent him to his knees in agony.
Thank you, she signed.
Bryce nodded before turning and walking away.
Bronwyn stared at the signed divorce decree in her hands for the longest time and now understood that the restaurant hadn’t been a counterattack, it had been a farewell. For an endless age shock kept her numb, but by agonizingly slow degrees feeling returned. She felt . . . raw. Her entire body felt like an open, festering wound. She sat perfectly still, afraid to move because even the simple act of blinking was excruciating. When she allowed herself the luxury of crying, it wasn’t a cathartic act meant to heal. Instead the tears lodged in her throat and scalded her skin like acid.
She had gotten what she had asked for. Her marriage was over.
Hours later she found herself staring at the front door of the only place she could think of to go. She rang the doorbell, and after several minutes a disheveled-looking Rick opened the door. He blinked down at her in confusion.
“Bron?”
At the sound of his voice the fragile control she’d managed to exert over her emotions shattered, and she burst into tears and launched herself into his arms. He folded her into his embrace and murmured soothing little sounds into her hair. “What’s this now? Shhh, sweetheart, it’s okay. It’s okay.” He was drawing her farther into the house. And after a few long minutes of inconsolable weeping, Bronwyn surfaced enough to take in her surroundings.
She was sitting on a sofa, curled up against Rick’s bare chest, which was now slick with her tears. Lisa was sitting on her other side, patting her back comfortingly.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice hoarse after her extended bout of crying. “You were asleep. I wasn’t thinking of the time.” They were both dressed for bed. Rick in loose pajama bottoms and Lisa in a tank top and shorts. A quick glance up at the clock on the wall told her that it was nearly midnight.
“Don’t worry about it,” Rick dismissed. “Tell us what happened. You didn’t drive here in this state did you?”
She blinked in confusion, trying to gather her thoughts.
“No. No, of course not. Cal brought me.” She vaguely recalled waking the man up and remembered the concerned glances he kept directing at her via the rear-view mirror. Lisa held up a box of tissues, and Bronwyn gratefully took one and blew her nose.
“Is Kayla okay?” Rick asked urgently.
“Yes, she’s fine. She’s with B-Bryce.” She stumbled over his name and almost lost it again. “He signed the p-papers,” she told them, and Lisa’s eyes immediately went soft and sympathetic. Rick merely looked confused.
“What papers?” he asked.
“The d-divorce papers,” she whispered, and Lisa hugged her fiercely.
“Aaah God.” Rick sounded pained.
“I’m so sorry, Bronwyn,” Lisa said.
“I thought this was what you wanted.” Rick’s confusion was obvious, and Bronwyn glanced up into his bewildered face.
“It’s for the best,” she said. “But it still hurts, Rick. It hurts so much. I never stopped loving your brother. I just can’t . . . live with him anymore. Do you understand?”
Rick sighed and nodded slowly.
“Yeah, I get it. Bron . . .” he said gruffly. “I love you like a sister and while I failed you for a while there, I still want you to be happy. I get that you don’t think you can be happy with Bryce anymore. His behavior was . . . inexplicable. But I hope you understand that I have to go and make sure that he’s okay. You stay here with Lisa, all right?”
“Yes. This can’t be easy on him.” She was grateful that Bryce would have someone there for him. This wasn’t what he had wanted. He had done it for her because he thought that it would make her happy. “You’ll need these.” She handed over her house keys and the electronic gate remote. Rick nodded and—after one last hug and kiss for Bronwyn—left the room to get dressed. He returned briefly to let them know he was leaving, and then it was just Lisa and Bronwyn. Lisa took control of the situation, shepherding Bron into the kitchen and pouring some sweet tea down her throat. Bronwyn just couldn’t seem to stop the endless flow of tears.
“I didn’t expect it to be this hard,” Bron confessed after Lisa led her to a spare bedroom.
“I know,” Lisa responded quietly. “I can’t even imagine how this must feel, Bron.” Bronwyn laughed half hysterically.
“I think the only one right now who has any idea how I feel is Bryce. Can you believe that? Our marriage is over and all I can think is that Bryce would understand how I’m feeling. That I can talk to him about this. It’s so messed up . . . I had to leave the house before I sought him out for comfort. I’m just a walking disaster, Lisa.”
After aimlessly wandering around the huge house like a lost little boy, Bryce eventually found himself standing in the nursery. That was where he discovered a modicum of peace. He dropped into a rocking chair and watched his precious daughter sleep. He didn’t know how long he sat there, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his fists folded one over the other. He had his mouth pressed into his knuckles in an effort to keep from uttering the despairing cry that had been lodged in his throat since he’d handed over those papers all those hours ago.
So absorbed was he in his thoughts that he remained unaware of the third presence that had entered the room until he felt a warm hand cupping the exposed nape of his neck. He jumped, but the hand squeezed his neck reassuringly, and the familiar scent of Rick’s aftershave immediately dampened his fight-or-flight instincts.
He got up and followed Rick out of the room into the well-lit den. His brother walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured a couple of whiskeys before coming back and handing a glass over to Bryce. The scene reminded him of the one weeks ago when Bronwyn had told him that she’d filed for a divorce, and he forced away the sharp stab of pain as he sat down in the same chair he had occupied that night.
They sat quietly for a while, sipping their drinks before Rick set his aside to sign something.
Bron is with Lisa. Bryce nodded an acknowledgment.
I know. Cal SMSed me and told me where he was taking her.
There was another long period where they merely sat and sipped their drinks.
You okay? Rick’s concern was reflected in his gray eyes and Bryce shrugged.
No. The sign was curt.
I’m sorry, Bryce.
Why? Not your fault.
You know what I mean. Bryce sighed and nodded.
It was inevitable. I don’t deserve her trust. Not after what I did.
Why did you react that way to her pregnancy? Rick asked, and Bryce stared at the proud and strong man sitting across from him. But all he saw was an earnest young boy with freckles on his nose and a gap-toothed grin, a boy whom Bryce had once protected with every fiber of his being. Bryce had suffered bruises, broken bones, and bloody noses for that kid and given half the chance would do so again. Their father had never touched Rick—had never gotten the chance—and as a result Rick was a well-adjusted man who had never known the evil that Bryce had grown up with.
He had never wanted Rick to know about it, had kept it from him all these years, but as he stared at his brother he acknowledged that Rick no longer needed his protection and right now Bryce needed to talk about the past.
“I thought that I’d . . . be like our father,” he said aloud. Rick said nothing, merely kept his gray eyes steady on Bryce’s. It gave Bryce the courage to continue. “I thought that I would be a danger to the baby, or Bron.” Not by a flicker of an eyelash did Rick betray any emotion as Bryce’s story came pouring out. Bryce dropped his eyes, trained his gaze on his glass, and spoke for what seemed like hours. When he risked a glance up at his brother after the words had trickled to a stop, Rick was leaning forward in his chair, with both hands clasped tightly around his glass. His skin was ashen and his eyes gleaming with suppressed emotion.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” he asked.
“I wanted to protect you from that knowledge.”
“Protecting me when I was a kid, sure . . . I get that. Protecting me now? Not so much.”
“I didn’t want to stain your childhood memories with the truth.”
“You couldn’t possibly have done that, since most of my memories involve you and the fun we had . . .” His eyes went distant, and Bryce watched his mouth form a foul word. “All those so-called sports injuries? He did that?” Bryce nodded, and Rick swore again. “Sonofabitch! Shit, Bryce . . . I’m so bloody sorry.”
“Not your fault.” Bryce shrugged.
“How many of those knocks did you take for me?”
“It’s not important, and this is why I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to blame yourself. I made a decision to protect you and I did. End of story.”
“Why didn’t you tell Bron about this?”
“Tell her what? That I allowed a dictatorial bastard to use me as a punching bag? That I may turn into the same dictatorial bastard and use my fists on her and Kayla someday? She’s a hell of a lot better off without me.” The words burned like acid but they had to be said.
“Why do you think you’d hurt Bron or Kayla?” Rick asked him, and Bryce could feel himself growling at his brother’s deliberate ignorance.
“It’s in my blood.”
“Yeah? It’s in my blood too. Think I’d ever harm a hair on Lisa’s or Rhys’s head?” Bryce blinked stupidly, completely thrown by Rick’s question. It wasn’t something that had ever occurred to him.
“Of course not.”
“Why not? He was my father too.” He watched Rick’s chest heave as the younger man sighed heavily. “Bryce, you have to talk to a therapist about this. You have to see that you would never physically harm your wife and child.”
“Ex-wife . . .” God.
“You have naturally protective instincts, Bryce,” Rick was saying, while Bryce still reeled from the emotional impact of the words “ex” and “wife” in relation to Bronwyn. “You . . .”
“Enough,” he whispered. “Enough, Rick. Please.”
Rick stopped talking but he didn’t make a move to leave, merely got up to refill their drinks and sat down again. He was clearly content to remain sitting for however long Bryce did. Comforted by his younger brother’s stoic presence, Bryce sat immersed in his thoughts for a while longer.