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Perhaps her mother had been sure Lark could handle the situation on her own.
And live the life she’d imagined for herself.
“For starters, I wanted to say that I’ve learned a lot about myself this month. About where I went wrong in our marriage.” She hesitated a moment, still uneasy about sharing the full extent of her insights. But was that being brave? Living courageously?
“Lark, I made the mistakes,” he said somberly. “Far more than you ever—”
“Please, let me just say this.” If she wanted a better relationship, she needed to take bigger risks. She could even picture herself telling her patients as much. Why hadn’t she taken the advice seriously for herself? “After telling you about the miscarriage, I wondered if part of the reason I’d kept it to myself for so long was just another way to keep you at arm’s length. To not risk being...” She had to pause to clear her throat, and when she spoke, the words were raspy. “Vulnerable with you again.”
Gibson’s warm palms moved to her shoulders bared by the thin spaghetti straps of her gown. His fingers flexed into her skin, and she had to close her eyes against how good it felt to have him touch her.
“And that’s understandable. I wish I had been a better man for you while we were married, but I wasn’t present enough for us to build the kind of relationship I think we both wanted.” His thumbs sketched small circles on her arms where he touched her, soothing and inciting at the same time.
“It’s not understandable, Gibson. It was wrong of me.” She’d been so upset with herself—and him, too—that she hadn’t been able to face the mistake. Not then, and not for a long time afterward.
It had been easier to run than to face all the frustrations she’d suppressed in her marriage. To articulate her hurt and work toward solutions. She’d told herself she’d handled the breakup well—better than her parents had survived the dissolution of their relationship. But she’d only been holding it together on the surface. Deep inside, she’d fallen apart, too.
In spite of all her precautions not to let love wreck her.
“You’re too hard on yourself.” He pulled her into his arms now, surrounding her with his strength and warmth. His scent.
She breathed him in, grateful for the chance to be close. Grateful that he’d listened to her and didn’t hate her for keeping the news of his child from him.
After a long moment, she realized he was stroking her hair over the middle of her back, his cheek pressed to her temple. And nothing in her life had ever felt as right as being in his arms.
Angling back from him, she laid her palms on his chest, feeling the expensive silk of his suit. The warm heart beating beneath. Taking a slow breath, she reminded herself that she was here to take risks. To live the life of her dreams.
“I don’t want to leave Catamount.”
Her words were met with silence as he stared at her. His eyebrows lifting. Jaw working slowly as if he was warming up to speak.
Her stomach twisted. Her chest ached where she craved this man’s love.
At last, he lifted a hand to her face and tilted it upward another degree.
“I don’t want you to leave Catamount either. Not tomorrow. Not ever. Unless you take me with you wherever you go.” His thumb grazed her cheekbone, rubbing lightly.
Her pulse leapt. And she suspected her eyebrows were the ones arching high now. Because she had not expected this for even one second.
“What?” She shook her head to clear her ears, her heart hammering too loudly for her to hear him over the whoosh of it echoing in her head. “What are you saying?”
She tried to listen hard. In her degree program, she’d learned about generous listening, where you opened your mind to people without anticipating what they would say or how you would respond. It was a tool she used often in her practice, and she leaned into it now to hear what Gibson was saying, because it was wildly different from how she’d expected this conversation to go.
“I love you, Lark. I don’t think I ever stopped loving you.” He spoke with a gravity she’d never heard from him before, a sincerity that matched up with the dark intensity of his eyes.
Hope sparked brighter. Still, she had to be sure. “But when I left your house the other night, I thought—”
“I didn’t handle the news well, but mostly because I was so disappointed with myself for not being the man you needed me to be while we were married. That you couldn’t even have me in the same room as you to share your pregnancy news—news that would have been so welcomed—it hit home what a rotten husband I’d been.”
On the lawn behind the trees, a roar of laughter went up over the romantic melody of the guitar and fiddle. A champagne cork popped, and then another and another.
“That’s not true.” She’d been frustrated with his travel and with the media, but despite their problems, she’d never stopped loving him. “When we were together, I was happy. And I thought I was being a good wife not to complain about the long separations, but I know now we owed it to ourselves to find solutions instead of just wading through those hard times.”
“I owed you far better than I gave you,” he said resolutely. “But you’re not the only one who has learned things this month. I know I can do better now.”
Excitement tickled along her nerve endings as it occurred to her this was really happening. Gibson Vaughn loved her. He wanted to be with her again.
She couldn’t suppress a smile. It bloomed over her face like the new happiness filling her insides.
