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“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her voice shook slightly. “Grown-ups don’t want a ring on their finger?”
“No, only women who can’t earn their own way. Who can’t stand to be alone. I thought you were different.”
It had all been a lie. She was still an aspiring trophy wife hiding behind a business that got her into the middle of as many weddings as possible.
The disenchantment was harsh and quick. And it hurt. How could it hurt?
She visibly shrank in on herself. “Is that what you think? That marriage is only something a woman would want if she can’t be on her own? You think I want nothing more than to be an...an appendage?”
She was twisting his words, making him out to be the bad guy.
“I thought you were a woman who took charge. Who was my equal, strong and fiercely independent.”
If any woman could have been his match, it was that Cara. He’d wanted more with that Cara, thought he might have figured out how to be what that Cara needed.
But she’d vanished inside an immature girl who still dreamed of being Mrs. Someone, instead of a woman who took a setback like being left at the altar and turned it into a successful business. A woman with strength and determination could handle someone like Keith, who was bound to mess up, bound to look for that next challenge. A woman like that could understand him.
He and Cara weren’t even in the same book, let alone on the same page.
“And I thought you were a man who didn’t see the value in something with only one purpose,” she countered quietly, apparently still determined to pretend she wasn’t as pissed off and frustrated as he was. “Like a wedding dress. Or frosting. I have more than one use. I’m good for more than just sex.”
He shook his head and a half laugh escaped, though he found nothing funny about this fight that wasn’t a fight because they weren’t a couple. Maybe she really wasn’t upset. Maybe she’d figured out that she didn’t want “more” with him a long time ago and was perfectly fine with tossing him back once the expo was over.
He was fine with that, too. It was what he’d planned all along. Or at least it was what he’d planned before he actually got Cara into his bed. And before he’d gotten the contract extension. And before this conversation had started, during which he’d discovered Cara had no intention of continuing their relationship in any way, shape or form.
She’d mixed up everything.
And on second thought, he wasn’t fine with any of it.
“But that’s exactly my point, Cara. I don’t think of you as having only one use. When you lick off the frosting, you still have cake. You’re my cake, or at least I thought you were. I want you to be cake, not a mess that needs frosting to hide all the flaws. You have substance. That’s what I see in you, that’s what’s so attractive about you.”
How could she not be upset? Didn’t she see how wrong marriage was for them—for anyone who valued making their own way—but how right two independent, career-minded people could be together? That’s what he wanted. Right now. With the Cara he’d met since coming to Grace Bay.
“That’s precious. You want to have your cake and eat it, too.” She tossed her head and flopped onto her back, apparently feeling the opposite of exposed. “These metaphors are ridiculous. For once, just say what you’re feeling. Or is that too hard?”
“Cara, please.” She was taunting him, hitting below the belt for some unknown reason. He’d confessed to having difficulty in expressing his emotions and she was throwing it back in his face. “I’m feeling like we’re not even talking the same language. You said after the newlywed game that you didn’t think you wanted a relationship. Have you changed your mind? Instead of metaphors, why don’t you say what you really mean.”
“What, like I should tell you thanks but no thanks for calling me a mess and accusing me of using frosting to cover my flaws? Because that’s what I really wanted to say. Or better yet, maybe I should say I don’t want to get married just so I can hide a multitude of shortcomings underneath a name change.”
“Then why do you want to get married?”
“Because, Keith.” She sat up on her haunches, so thoroughly composed he wanted to rattle her just to make sure she was still breathing. “Cake is great by itself but frosting makes it so much better. I wish you could see that.”
“I’ve lost track of what frosting is supposed to represent.” Hence the reason for all the metaphors—neither of them could seem to lay it all on the line. “It would be so much easier if you’d just flat out tell me what you want me to hear.”
