Lime Tree Hill (A Reluctant Kiss #1)

20. Birthday Blues

20

BIRTHDAY BLUES

Mitch mentally braced himself as Prue strolled toward him. They’d spoken earlier, and his lack of interest surprised him. There was no longing, no lust, no regrets. She’d talked about her new boyfriend, Otis—who he’d known since they were kids—but Mitch hadn’t mentioned Tayla. At the end of their conversation, she’d wished him well, insisting there were no hard feelings and that he shouldn’t feel guilty. Not that he had anything to feel guilty about. Prue had instigated the breakup. He’d simply pulled the pin.

She stopped at his side. For a second, he thought she might kiss him, but she didn’t. “Are you all right?”

“Fine, why?”

Swaying a little, she took his arm and moved him away from the crowd around the fire pit, her breath thick with alcohol. “It’s just… I know I made a mistake, but I never expected you to run off and marry someone else on the rebound. To tell you the truth, I was devastated when I found out. I always assumed we’d get back together.”

“It’s been over six months, Prue. People move on.”

“Maybe, but you must admit, she’s hardly your type. ”

Mitch knew she was trying to bait him, but after a few beers, he wasn’t as sharp as usual. “What makes you say that?”

“I dunno. I just never imagined you being interested in some nerdy girl-next-door type with a flat chest and designer threads. I’ll bet the sex is as boring as her overpriced outfit.”

Mitch remained silent for a moment. With Prue, verbal retaliation was never a good idea, especially when she’d been drinking. But self-respect and an overriding sense of protectiveness toward Tayla meant he wouldn’t stand by and say nothing.

“I’ll say this only once.” He stopped to clear his throat, his jaw tight with discomfort. “Tayla is my wife. I won’t allow you, or anyone else, to come between us, understand?”

“But—”

“And you can gossip and disrespect people as much as you like, but that kind of destructive behavior won’t do you any favors. My relationship with Tayla has nothing to do with you. We’re over, Prue. And to be frank, our days were numbered anyway.”

“How can you say that?”

Mitch took a swig of his beer. They’d been over the reasons way more times than he cared to count. “You can’t cheat in a long-term relationship and expect to carry on regardless. It’s a pity you let your secretive narcissistic side out of its cage because I’d hoped we might stay friends, but I’m done here.”

“How many times do I have to say I’m sorry? This isn’t who you are. You don’t cut people off because of one mistake. I still love you.”

Mitch frowned. He’d passed the point of offering a verbal comeback, so he turned and walked away.

The bench seat was slightly damp when Tayla sat at the table on the veranda. She stared up at the stars, clear and bright, and wished she was anywhere but here. Although Mitch had been far from inattentive, she still felt uncomfortable mixing with large groups of people, especially as the new sideshow in town. Mitchel Harrington’s wife. The woman he’d eloped with. The rebound .

Earlier, Mitch had joined her on the makeshift line dancing floor, standing behind her and guiding her with whispered words if she fell out of step. At one stage, he’d placed both hands on her hips, and that one touch had set her imagination on fire. He’d left the dance floor after the next song, but whenever she’d glanced his way, he was watching her, his smile soft and reassuring. And as he gave a speech after CeCe cut her cake, she’d felt proud on his behalf. He didn’t talk about his sisters much, but they obviously shared a strong bond.

His ex had turned up—an uninvited guest. CeCe had pointed her out to Tayla when she arrived. Tall and voluptuous, with flat-ironed hair that fell around her face in a silky mane, she’d make any women under five foot six feel like a pixie.

So, what had gone wrong between them? He’d never offered any details, and although it was none of her business, Tayla was still curious. And judging by the way people were staring at her, so were his friends.

Tayla checked her watch. It was almost midnight, and she could hardly keep her eyes open. But by the sound of the raucous laughter coming from inside, the party was still in full swing. She glanced over her shoulder as footsteps echoed toward her.

Without invitation, Prue pulled out a chair and plonked down opposite her. “Mind if I join you?”

Too late. Tayla offered her hand. “Tayla Whitman.”

Prue ignored the gesture. “Do you actually know who I am?”

“Yes. Prue, isn’t it?”

Nodding slowly, Prue held Tayla’s gaze. “By all accounts, I should hate your guts, but that’s not my style. So, you didn’t take his name. How does Mitchie feel about that? He’s such a traditionalist, my Mitchie.”

My Mitchie? “I haven’t really seen that side of him. ”

“I have to say, the news shocked me.” Prue cocked an artistic brow. “But I know why he did it. Married you, I mean.”

Tayla remained silent. Had Mitch and Prue had the same agreement? Maybe theirs hadn’t been a love match after all.

Prue reached into her clutch purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Cigarette clenched between her lips, she flicked the flame. Her first inhale was deep and dramatic. “I don’t normally smoke, only when I’ve had a few drinks. Helps calm the nerves.” She offered Tayla the packet.

“No, I’m good.”

Prue looked Tayla in the eye, hers bloodshot and heavily rimmed with kohl. “I guess you are. That’s why he married you and not me. I’d been a naughty girl. Too naughty for Mitchie.”

Tayla stood. She had no intention of getting into a catfight with Prue, the ex. “I should go. It’s been a long day.”

“Sit down. I’ve not finished talking yet. And if you want me to play nice, you’d better listen to what I have to say. Because Mitchie hates scenes. And when it comes to scenes, I’m an expert.” She lifted her beer bottle as if in a toast. “Especially with the help of this.”

As Tayla sat back in her chair, she felt Prue’s gaze crawl over her skin.

“He’ll never love you like he did me, understand?” Prue continued. “Said so the last time we talked…that he’d always love me, no matter what. This marriage has spite written all over it. Boys are silly sometimes, aren’t they?”

Prue flicked cigarette ash onto the tongue and groove deck of the veranda. “So, don’t be a bitch about it, Tayla Whitman . Walk away. Give the guy a chance at happiness, because he sure as hell can’t be happy with you.” She took a drag and blew the smoke out of the corner of her mouth. “Shit, you’ve only known each other five minutes. What do you even talk about? What prep school you attended? How rich he is?”

Silence stretched between them while Tayla mustered her courage. “Actually, I’ve known Mitch for years, and my relationship with him is none of your business.”

Prue took another drag of her cigarette then swigged her beer. “Maybe, but you’re not his type. Not even close. If you were, you’d be in there”—she cocked her head toward the living room—“feeding him cake and stroking his ego.”

Feeling sick to her stomach, Tayla held Prue’s gaze with steady eyes. She thought she’d learned how to deal with confrontational bullies a long time ago. Then again, it was easy to tell guys to get lost, your husband’s ex-fiancée, not so much.

“So, one piece of advice.” Prue pointed at Tayla. “No matter how well you think you’re doing around his friends and family, you will always be the bitch who stole my fiancé. You think you’re so clever turning up in my town, with my man, rubbing my nose in your shit, but you don’t belong here.”

For the second time, Tayla stood. “This conversation is over. And do yourself a favor. In future, learn to keep your mouth shut.”

“Prue, what the hell’s going on?” Mitch’s voice boomed across the veranda before Tayla had even noticed he was there.

“You did this,” Prue yelled, her finger stabbing the air in his direction. “You expect me to sit here and listen to her bullshit without defending myself? Not going to happen.”

“Tayla, go inside.” The words were uttered without even a glance in her direction as Mitch focused on Prue.

As she entered the house through the kitchen door, Prue’s words followed her every step: spineless bastard…how could you? I will never forgive you…ever!

Tayla walked down the hall and into their room. Fighting the rush of humiliation and close to tears, she sat on the edge of the bed.

CeCe knocked on the open door. “Are you okay? You’re white as a ghost.”

Tayla sucked in several rapid breaths as CeCe sat beside her. “I just need a minute. ”

“What happened?”

Waiting tears spilled onto her cheeks with no shame. “I’m sorry. My dad’s unwell, I’ve spent weeks packing up our family home, and wine makes me a little fragile. I’m sorry you had to see me like this.”

“Let me guess. Prue? What did she say?”

“Nothing complimentary. And Mitch walked in on the tail end of it. I shouldn’t have come.”

“For what it’s worth, I never thought they’d last the distance. She’s just pissed because he married you and not her.” Tayla sniffed as CeCe handed her a box of tissues. “Here. Shall I go get you some cake?”

Tayla smiled through her tears, trying to calm her racing heart as Mitch entered the room. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

He addressed CeCe. “Give us a moment, would you?”

“Sure. I’d better go say my goodbyes anyway. Then I’m off to bed. I have a headache ready to pounce.” CeCe squeezed Tayla’s hand, and as she rose from the bed, Tayla wished she would stay so she didn’t have to deal with Mitch on her own.

“Thanks, CeCe,” Tayla said.

He waited for his sister to leave the room then sat beside her, so close his leg touched hers. “You okay?”

Not trusting herself to speak in case the tears returned, Tayla nodded.

“I’m sorry you had to see that side of Prue. She was way out of line.”

She glanced toward the door. “I should help CeCe clean up before we go to bed.”

Mitch smoothed his hand over her hair and tucked it behind her ear. She closed her eyes for a second against the intimacy of his touch. “Stay there. I’ll give her a hand. See you in a bit.”