Second Chance With Her Billionaire. Therese Beharrie
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her bait about how he hadn’t fought for their marriage. She’d decided he wasn’t good enough to be her husband. How was he supposed to fight that?
He did linger on her comment about her father though. It spoke to that thing he’d picked up between Summer and Trevor earlier. That…vibe. He wasn’t sure how they were connected; he only knew they were.
‘When people say silly things about Africa, I wish I could show them this,’ she said suddenly, and he looked over. Her face had lost some of its earlier tension, making it seem softer.
Soft Summer made him think of Vulnerable Summer. Behind-the-Mask Summer. The effect of that was immediate. Potent.
He cleared his throat. ‘You mean, you’d rather show them this than the picture of your pet lion?’
Her lips curved. ‘Exactly. I’d prefer not to exploit Nala like that.’
Wyatt chuckled, and wondered if he should be allowing himself to enjoy her. She’d hurt him. This was the first time since he’d truly come to terms with the fact that she had—since signing the divorce papers—that he was seeing her. He shouldn’t even be wondering about enjoying her. He should be tempering the anger; taming the hurt.
And yet he still found himself enjoying her.
‘I’m sure Nala appreciates it.’
‘I don’t do it for the fame, Montgomery. It’s the right thing to do.’
She lifted her glass and took a slow sip of her lemonade. His lips twitched. Heaven only knew why. He shouldn’t be attracted to her sense of humour. He shouldn’t be watching her tongue slip between her lips as it checked for leftover lemonade. That moment earlier should have been enough warning about his attraction to her. When he’d felt her body against his after he’d caught her, her butt pressing into an area that had immediately awakened, as if it had been in a deep slumber since her.
He’d told himself the fact that he’d had no sexual interest in anyone since his divorce was normal. He’d never been through a divorce before to know for sure, but it seemed logical. Of course not wanting to risk his heart in another relationship seemed logical.
Until he’d realised he’d never risked his heart in any of his relationships before Summer. He’d had a distinct sexual interest in the women he’d dated before her though.
Then he’d seen Summer again and his body had responded to her as if she were the prince in a fairy tale; he, the princess put under a spell that only she could break.
He was immediately disgusted with himself for the fanciful notion. The anger he’d been struggling to keep a grip on was suddenly firm in his hands, too. She was making him feel this way. Even though she’d left him as everyone else in his life had, he was allowing her to make him feel this way. Which made him just as angry at himself as he was at her.
He was angry that she made his body betray him. That for the second time that day, she’d called him by his surname. He was angry that he missed that. And that even though he’d missed it, he still didn’t want her to use it.
It was something intimate. Something people who were close to one another did. He and Summer weren’t close any more; they no longer shared intimacies. She had no right to use it in the same way she had when they’d still been married.
His anger had nothing to do with the fact that no one else in his life called him that now. It had nothing to do with the hurt he felt at that fact; or the longing; or the inevitable resentment. He still had Trevor. So what if their relationship wasn’t a surname-calling one? Relationships didn’t only look one way. Being close to someone didn’t only look one way.
This was the worst part about seeing Summer again, he thought. Contemplations on things he’d gleefully ignored most of his life. She did this to him. She made him think about his feelings. Sure, feelings were natural—but they were feelings, and he had no patience for them. Not when he knew he shouldn’t entertain them.
Not entertaining them had got him through a father who’d left when he was ten. It had helped him survive a mother who’d almost died from alcohol poisoning when he was fourteen. It had kept him sane when he’d been bounced between his mother’s house and foster care until he was eighteen. It had kept him from hitting rock bottom when he’d returned from his first term at university to find out his mother was selling the family house and was nowhere to be found.
‘I can hear you stewing,’ she commented into the silence that had grown tense as he’d been thinking.
‘I’m not stewing.’
‘You don’t have to stay here, you know,’ she replied, ignoring his denial. ‘I do, because my mother asked me to, and, obligation.’
‘You don’t think your father was asking the same of me when he told me to cut you some slack?’
‘No,’ she said simply. ‘Though if he was, you’ve fulfilled that obligation. You’ve been perfectly cordial to me.’ There was a brief pause. ‘I’ll be sure to tell him that if you like.’
‘Why does this sound like a bribe?’ he asked, feeling more sullen than angry. ‘I leave, you get to spend time alone and you tell your father I’ve been nice.’
She snorted. ‘No one said anything about nice.’ She tilted her head towards him, though her eyes were still on the view ahead of them. ‘Cordial. Or polite, though they mean the same thing. That’s my final offer.’
He didn’t reply, but he didn’t move either. He supposed that gave her an answer.
She sighed. ‘So, you’re going to be stubborn.’
‘I’m not going to leave the first event at your parents’ anniversary celebration because you asked me to.’
‘Especially not if you think my father would disapprove.’
‘What does that have to do with anything?’
Her eyes slid over to his, and there was a sadness there he’d seen come and go during their short relationship. His last memory of it had been outside the lawyer’s office after they’d signed the divorce papers.
‘Everything,’ she answered softly. ‘It has everything to do with it.’ There was a pause. ‘But if you feel like you have to stay for his sake, I won’t stop you.’
‘Thanks,’ he answered dryly, though he was still thinking about what her answer meant.
‘We don’t have to talk though.’ She looked out into the distance again. ‘In fact, I’d prefer it if we don’t. We can just pretend that we did.’
‘You were the one who heard my stewing,’ he muttered.
‘Pretend I didn’t interrupt you.’
And he did. For all of a minute.
‘What did you mean by that?’ he asked. ‘“It has everything to do with it”,’ he repeated, when he saw she didn’t understand.
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Then tell me.’
‘That would cause unnecessary drama.’
‘So it does matter.’
‘Let me rephrase this,’ she said, turning towards him now. He didn’t think she realised it, but in that movement, she’d cut off the world around them. ‘It’s too late to matter.’
He frowned. ‘This cryptic thing doesn’t work for you, Summer.’
‘I don’t particularly enjoy it either.’
She shifted again, her body seemingly relaxed as she set one hand on the ground behind her. The other still held her half-full lemonade. He’d forgotten about his. He took a sip, barely tasting it.
‘We’re being watched,’ she said, a pleasant expression