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“I understand, but you can’t go beatin’ yourself up like this,” Gretta comforted.
Vivian’s thoughts strayed to his wife. Did he feel like he’d betrayed her with Vivian? She was gone from the world, but no doubt she wasn’t yet gone from his heart. It was selfish of her, but Vivian wondered how in the world she could compete with a dead woman…assuming there was any competition at all.
Their kiss could merely have been a mistake. Nash had put away a few beers. Maybe he was just a little drunk and didn’t mean to. Maybe he didn’t really like her like that. Maybe Vivian’s needy personality and loneliness, her own desire to be wanted, was creating connections that didn’t really exist.
Was she just fooling herself?
Disheartened, she decided she should return to her room and think about moving on, letting these people get back to their lives without her interference. It would probably be best for everyone if she did leave. Here she was forcing herself to fit in somewhere she never belonged and likely never would.
Like Nash had said, she was a kept woman. She was used to the finer things in life, in people taking care of her. Here, everyone was the total opposite. They worked hard every day for what they had. They were warm and caring, loving even to strangers. It just felt so good to be surrounded by all of that. She’d thought maybe she could touch some of that, maybe find herself here, but maybe none of it was meant for her.
She couldn’t go home. She couldn’t stay here. But she could take with her a few memories.
Silently climbing the stairs back to her room, Vivian packed everything of hers back into their suitcases and, when she was done, carried the first and heaviest of them downstairs, careful not to make any noise, so she didn’t arouse notice.
The last thing she wanted to do was have it out with Gretta over her leaving. The woman would no doubt insist she stay, but it would be easier to fight with her after the car was packed and she was ready to leave.
Vivian didn’t get that far.
The moment she set foot on the front porch, Vivian’s arms grew heavy and fell to her sides, the suitcase crashing to the deck at her feet with a resounding thump. Shockstunned her stupid, as Gretta might say, as she stood there staring openmouthed at the sight before her.
A black limousine sat in the gravel driveway beside her Porsche, blocking Nash’s truck in from behind. She didn’t have to guess or take even a moment to think to know who was inside. When the back door opened, her suspicions were confirmed.
“What are you doing here, Andrew?” she asked through clenched teeth. It could only be one thing: he wanted to complicate her life further. “I already turned over the credit cards. What more do you want from me? How did you evenfindme?”
It wasn’t as if she’d left a forwarding address.
“Please, anyone can be found if you know who to pay.”
She’d bet that was true. Andrew always had a way of making the impossible happen. That’s how he’d gotten her to marry him. She hadn’t been interested initially, but he’d gotten in good with her parents and his family ran in all the same circles as her friends, too, so he was well-known. His party-boy reputation preceded him, which had been a turnoff, but then he’d maneuvered around her and everyone, wiggling his way into her parents’ and then her eventual good graces. She’d started off attending events as an extra, a friend, with no intention of anything moving beyond that, but his charm, wit, and intelligence, and her parents’ fondness for him eventually swayed her, and she’d grown attached.
She should have listened to that little voice inside her head when she’d had the chance. Too little, too late, but at least she was out now.
“Whatever,” she snapped. “What do you want?”
Andrew approached slowly, eying her Porsche that had been a Christmas present from him and was awarded to her in the divorce on those grounds alone. “We have a few things to discuss.”
“Like?” She folded her arms across her chest.
“Like you disappearing and leaving everyone worried.”
“Everyone? I highly doubt that,” she sneered, looking him up and down. How she ever thought the canvas shoes, khaki shorts, pink polo, and a sweater draped around the neck combination was attractive was beyond her. Jeans and basic white T-shirts held a far greater appeal these days.
“How can you say that?” he asked, appearing wounded as he reached the stairs and hesitated, Vivian’s warning look stopping him in his tracks. At least he was paying attention.
“The man you had an affair with helps.”
He brushed the accusation off as if she was speaking utter nonsense. “Vivian, honey—”
Vivian laughed outright, but it wasn’t borne of happiness—contempt at his audacity fueled the response. “We’re divorced, Andrew, in case you forgot. You don’t get to call me pet names anymore.”
“Divorced? No.”
“No?” Vivian repeated, frowning.
“The final papers only just came in yesterday. We haven’t signed anything yet. And, honestly, I’m glad,” he said as he took the first step.
Vivian backed away. He was lying. Had to be. She’d remember something that important. “Whatever, Andrew. Assuming I believe you, which I don’t, it’s a technicality and something easily resolved.” She’d have to contact her lawyer to be sure, but he was nearly positive he was pulling rabbits out of a hat.
