chapter 2 #2
“Since the summer we graduated from high school.” They’d made the most of those final, sun-filled days by lying out at Charlotte’s
pool, playing sand volleyball at the beach, going on their friend Trevor’s sailboat—his parents were even richer than Charlotte’s—and
partying with another friend whose parents were always going out of town. So being back in LA conjured up memories that’d
made him eager to reconnect.
“Even Sloane hasn’t talked to Charlotte for a while,” his mother said.
“It’s been over a year.”
“Why, do you think? Sloane and Charlotte were always so close.”
“Sloane says Cliff cut her out. She claims he would only accept his own family and friends. To get along with him, Charlotte
had to become part of his world and leave her own behind.”
“It would be easy to resent that.”
Julian nodded. “But she was trying so hard to make her marriage work, I got the impression she never even considered the cost.”
She adjusted the small blanket draped over her lap. “Is that why her parents have been so reticent about their son-in-law?”
“I didn’t know they had been reticent.”
“We ran into them at a charity function—a firefighter’s fund raiser—last summer. Everyone was excited to hear about the NBA
star who’d joined their family, but they didn’t say much, didn’t seem all that happy to have such a close connection with
him, which took me by surprise.”
“They were probably sorry to see their only child marry someone who wouldn’t accept them into his life.”
“Makes sense. Penny seemed kind of sad, to be honest.”
Julian thought of the shots his friend had gotten tonight. He couldn’t wait until they were splashed all over the internet
to show Cliff that Charlotte would be just fine without him. The friend he’d asked to take those shots would be compensated,
since he’d be able to sell them for a good price, so everyone came out a winner—except Cliff, who deserved a dose of his own
medicine. “Now that he’s moved on, Charlotte and her parents are better off.”
“It’s hard to be tossed aside.”
“She’ll get over it eventually.” He started to cross the room to the hallway, but she spoke again.
“Did you tell her?”
He knew what his mother was talking about; the gravity in her voice made her meaning clear. “No.”
She twisted around to face him. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t want anyone to know—other than you, me and Dad.”
“You said you’d talk to Sloane.”
“I will, when the time is right.”
“When?”
He couldn’t say. He sensed something was going on with his sister. Until he had the chance to spend some time with her and
figure out what it was, he wasn’t going to dump his problems at her feet. It’d be different if there was anything she could
do to help—but there wasn’t. “When I’m ready.”
“Your friends and family should have the opportunity to love and support you through the coming months just like you’re trying
to support Charlotte.”
“My situation’s different,” he pointed out.
“How? She’s facing a challenge. You’re facing a challenge.”
He frowned. “Not one that I can win,” he said and continued on to his room.
Sloane sat behind the wheel of her car at a stoplight, staring off into space, worrying about her marriage and where it was
going—which wasn’t anywhere good. Ben was a wonderful man and a great spouse, but if she couldn’t wrap her mind around having
children—and soon—where would that leave them?
The car behind her honked. She hadn’t realized the stoplight had turned green.
Glancing in the rearview mirror to see the angry driver behind her, she gave her Subaru some gas.
She wished she and Ben could find a compromise, but either they had children or they didn’t.
And the push/pull over that subject was putting so much strain on their relationship, they were killing what they had.
Sure, they still came home from work, made dinner together and acted as if everything was okay.
But then she sat, numb, as they had a drink before bed, and he talked about his two nieces and nephew and how he couldn’t wait to be a father.
He’d been pressing her to get pregnant—to at least start trying—but she hadn’t yet visited the doctor to have her IUD removed. She kept telling him the doctor was booked solid and the earliest
appointment she could get was months away. But she hadn’t even spoken to anyone at the doctor’s office. Every time she picked
up the phone, she had a panic attack and hung up during the “Press 1 for English” recording that came on as soon as the call
connected. She liked her life the way it was, didn’t want it to change. Even seeing her husband’s nieces and new baby nephew
didn’t evoke the response she felt it should—a burning desire to become a parent herself. She was excited for Caitlyn, Ben’s
sister. She thought Caitlyn’s children were sweet. She even offered to babysit when Caitlyn needed help. But that was enough
“kid time” for her. When she imagined living Caitlyn and John’s life—when she saw firsthand the huge commitment raising a
family entailed, the lifelong commitment and how it changed absolutely everything—she felt positively claustrophobic.
The worst part about it? She’d thought she wanted children when she first met Ben. It wasn’t fair that she’d changed her mind.
But how could she force herself to go through with something that impactful if it wasn’t what she wanted now? She preferred
to focus on her career and not take on that added responsibility, couldn’t even imagine trying to juggle being a good mom
with being a good decorator and business owner.
She pulled in behind the small downtown boutique she co-owned with her college friend, Rory Gaiten.
Despite knowing how difficult it would be to start their own interior design firm, she and Rory had moved ahead with their dream and were making it happen.
The business was still in its infancy—they were relieved whenever they covered overhead by mid-month—but they were gaining more clients as time went by, so Sloane hoped they’d be on safer ground soon.
They’d recently been featured in a local magazine that praised them as being “fresh, innovative and extremely talented,” so this month was proving to be an especially good one.
“There you are!” Rory said.
Sloane checked the oversize watch she wore. It’d belonged to her grandfather before he passed. “Am I late?”
Slight and clean-shaven in a fitted white shirt, tailored gray slacks and Italian loafers, Rory cleared his desk, which he
never let get very cluttered, by putting a piece of paper in his drawer and centering his coffee mug on its coaster. “Later
than usual.”
“Traffic was bad.” She tossed her keys on her desk, which faced his in the back section of the store. “And the line at Starbucks
was out the door.” She set down her to-go cup and circled around to take her seat. “Did the paintings come in for the Jones
house?”
Rory shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Damn it! She’s entertaining for her anniversary next weekend and wants us to be finished—understandably.”
“I’ll email the artist again,” he said and started typing.
“Thanks.”
Rory looked up from his computer as she put her purse in her drawer. “Do you feel okay?” he asked.
She looked up. “Of course. Why?”
“I don’t know. You seem . . . tense.”
Her personal life was starting to bleed into her professional life. She needed to find a resolution—the sooner, the better.
“It’s just . . . been a hectic morning,” she said.
“Except you seem to be getting worse by the day,” he pointed out.
“It’s nothing.” She’d have to bury deeper the way she felt about the disintegration of her marriage, improve her acting . . .
something.
He frowned at her. “You’re not going to tell me?”
Tucking her dark hair behind one ear, she put even more effort behind her smile and hoped it would be convincing. It was the
best she could do when she felt trapped between two choices—neither of which she liked. “There’s nothing to tell,” she said
as brightly as possible.