Hanging up, I reverse out of the driveway and head off to the store. I need supplies for this incredibly awkward conversation. I don’t think I made the decision to choose Cash at any point. The fire burning between Duke and I feels too real, too ready to ignite. It’s too intense.
Cash feels easier, something I’m more ready for. And I am going to have to break my own heart.
At exactly ten o’clock, on the dot, Monday morning, I’m pulling a freshly baked blueberry lemon loaf out of the oven when Duke knocks on the door.
“Come in!” I call out loudly, hoping he can hear me down the stairs as I have a whole Donna Reed thing happening with my apron and my potholder as I present my homemade food.
I hear his heavy footsteps on the stairs and see his head appear at the top. He looks at me with his usual searing intensity, and peruses me from head to toe, pausing on my flowered apron and my bare feet. He toes off his boots, and I’m fascinated by him in his socks. It’s oddly comfortable, knowing under this intense, broody man is just a guy with messy brown hair and clean white socks. It’s humanizing, I guess.
He gives me a half smile, not nearly as radiant as the one I got in the stockroom, but I’ve figured out by now he doesn’t share them much and that one was special for me. In his hands, he has a bag and a cup carrier with two cups of coffee in it.
“When you invited me, I didn’t know if this was a ‘let me cook you breakfast’ sort of situation so I brought some biscuits and coffee.” He gestures to his packages, awkwardly.
Smiling brightly, I rush over and take them. “No worries, more food is better, not worse. Hey, maybe you won’t like this homemade bread and freshly cooked eggs and bacon thing I’ve got going on.”
He gives me a deadpan look that makes me laugh. I set the food on the counter and unpack the bag.
“I’ll definitely take the coffee though. I can never make it asgood as when you buy it somewhere, you know?” Taking a large sip, I moan a little with pleasure at the rich, nutty flavor.
Duke’s eyes darken at the sound, and I clear my throat. I can’t let the fire grow right now. Not in this quiet, private place.
“Let’s eat,” I tell him, trying to redirect.
“I would love to,” comes his purred reply, which almost makes me drop my coffee, my gaze finding his and seeing a little mischief there.
“Flirt.” I carry the food to the table and set two plates out. “Sit.”
“She’s bossy, today.”
I put a hand on my hip, cocking a brow. “You better listen then.”
He does. I cover our plates with food, hiding behind the tasks to delay the inevitable. We eat silently for a few minutes before he looks up at me, a piece of blueberry bread in his hand.
“This has got to be the best blueberry bread I’ve ever had. Seriously, Caroline. Amazing.” He takes another bite, and satisfaction radiates through me at the praise. I’m apparently a sucker for Duke’s praising mouth, and he seems to like it too.
“I think it’s time to talk,” I say. His face immediately falls, the comfortable moment interrupted, and I immediately regret bringing it up. “Before I can get to the end, I need to tell you the beginning.”
With his smoldering gaze on me, I begin.
“I grew up in a small town in North Carolina, not super unlike this one but with a beachy vibe since we were near the coast. I had two amazing parents who were madly in love. I went away to college, like one does, and spent four years buried in books, studying. I graduated with a degree in English in June and I met the perfect man in September. Freshly twenty-two and freshly out of college, I was a little reckless, a little impulsive and a lot lost. And Roger seemed perfect. He was considerate,kind, and doted on me like a lovesick puppy.” He watches me warily, but his face gives nothing away.
“We dated for four years before he took me to Savannah for a long weekend and proposed in front of the fountain in Forsyth Park. It was like a fairy tale and my prince was down on one knee promising to love me. Of course, I said yes. He had spent four years devoted to making sure I knew he loved me every day. I planned the perfect wedding for a year, it was stunning. We got married by the river under a canopy of calla lilies and gardenias. I loved those flowers so much. I could still smell them in my hair the next morning.” I break off, my voice cracking. I see his jaw tighten, almost imperceptibly. I know this is going to be a tough conversation.
And at the end, both of us will have our hearts broken.
Chapter 21
A Broken Wing
Duke
Hearing her voice crack talking about her wedding flowers guts me. I don’t know where she’s going with this story or what happens at the end, but I have a feeling I’m going to fill in a lot of blanks today and answer my own questions.
“My daddy gave me away, and the day was stunningly perfect. I could not have done anything better; the sun was shining, it was warm. The reception was fun. We danced, we enjoyed our families. As the night wore on, Roger got more and more drunk. By the end, he was completely out of it. When we got back to the rooms we rented for the wedding night, it was set up for the beginning of our honeymoon, but Roger was too drunk to care or even notice. I figured out how to get out of my dress all alone, while Roger drank the champagne that was left on ice for us.” She takes a few calming breaths, building up to something. I’m tense. On edge. Afraid of where this is going.
“As I climbed in bed, Roger joined me and—” Her voice breaks again, fat tears starting to fall from her lashes. I reach outto grab her hand, but she keeps it firmly in her lap. “Let’s just say, he wanted more than I wanted, considering his state. He did not accept my refusal. He made it clear that I was his wife, and therefore his property and that was that. The next day, he was back to his loving, doting self. He acted like it never happened. We never mentioned it. I thought maybe he didn’t remember it. It was like he was a demon, and now the demon was gone.”
Fury burns in my chest, white, hot, fury with no outlet. I’m radiating with restrained anger at how a man, any man, could have hurt her. The betrayal of her wedding night. I feel the soft touch of her hand on mine, pleading with me—to calm down, to listen.
