Chapter 19
Quentin slowed his car to a red light and impatiently drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He was eager to get to Lexi’s house. He hadn’t seen her in over a week, and he missed her like crazy.
But that wasn’t the only reason for his eagerness that afternoon.
Smiling, he reached inside his breast pocket and removed a small black box.
Thumbing the lid open, he examined the four-carat princess-cut diamond ring nestled in velvet.
He hoped it wasn’t too much. Lexi had never been flashy or materialistic.
What moved her more than anything was the sentimentality in simple gestures, like the flowers he’d given her that day in Dijon.
Or the romantic dinner he’d arranged to re-create their experience in Burgundy.
Yeah, he knew she wasn’t the kind of woman who’d appreciate expensive trinkets he threw her way just because he could afford to do so.
But, damn, he couldn’t wait to slide this beautiful ring onto her finger.
Assuming she says yes, an inner voice reminded him.
As the traffic light clicked to green, Quentin snapped the box closed and kissed it for good luck.
A few minutes later, he pulled up to the familiar two-story redbrick house and did a double take. There was a For Sale sign in the yard.
He frowned. When had Lexi decided to put her house on the market?
Maybe she’s ready to take the next step and move in with you.
Perfect, he thought.
But as he climbed out of the car and walked to the front door, he couldn’t shake a sense of foreboding. Because he knew Lexi wouldn’t have put her house up for sale without telling him first. Unless she had a specific reason for not telling him.
A reason he wouldn’t like.
When she answered the door, he took one look at her drawn face and knew something was wrong.
“Quentin.” She gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Welcome home.”
He stepped inside the house, swept her up into his arms and kissed her the way he’d been dying to all week. When she responded with equal hunger, he felt some of his misgivings dissolve.
Drawing back, he ran a hand over her soft hair and smiled into her eyes. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” she whispered, her arms looped tightly around his neck.
“That was the longest week of my damn life.”
“Mine too.”
He gave her another kiss, then set her back down on the floor and closed the door behind him. “We have so much to talk about.”
“I know.” Her voice was subdued. “We hardly spoke on the phone this week.”
“I know,” he agreed with a grimace. “Between your book-tour schedule and the fires I was putting out at the D.C. office, there just weren’t enough hours in the day. I want to hear all about your whirlwind tour. When do you leave for the West Coast?”
“Tomorrow.”
Quentin groaned. “So soon?”
“Afraid so.”
As they moved into the living room, Quentin claimed his usual spot at one end of the pin-striped sofa. Instead of sitting next to him, Lexi sat on the adjacent mahogany settee.
That set off another warning bell in his head.
He searched her face, noting the faint dark smudges beneath her eyes that indicated she’d been sleeping poorly. “Are you feeling all right?” he asked with gentle concern.
“I’m fine. Just…tired.”
Struck by a sudden suspicion—or hope—he stared intently at her. “Are you…pregnant?”
She visibly tensed, a shadow crossing her face. “No. I’m not.”
Disappointment crashed through him. Ever since they’d been named godparents of their friends’ baby, Quentin had been daydreaming about getting Lexi pregnant.
He’d imagined her, lush and petite, waddling around with an adorably swollen belly.
And he’d gone further, envisioning her in the kitchen with their daughter, a miniature version of herself, a smudge of flour on their noses as Lexi taught their child how to make one of her divine French dishes.
He would have given anything to walk through her front door and hear the words we’re going to have a baby. Talk about an unforgettable homecoming.
Reluctantly pushing the thought aside, he focused on the grim, tense woman before him. “What’s going on, Lex? Why didn’t you tell me you were selling the house?”
Something flickered in her eyes. Something that sent a dagger of fear through his heart. She dropped her gaze to her lap, where her hands were tightly clasped. “I was waiting for you to get back.”
“Okay.” His voice was remarkably even, considering the awful pressure that had clamped over his chest. “So what’s your game plan? You buying another house or…?” He deliberately let the question hang, waiting tautly.
An interminable silence followed.
Finally she lifted guilty eyes to his. “I’m leaving, Quentin.”
He felt the bottom drop out of him. Stunned, he stared at her. “Leaving what? Leaving this neighborhood? Leaving DeKalb County? Leaving your job? Leaving what?”
“Leaving Atlanta,” she whispered.
“The hell you are.” His voice was low, feral.
Tears shimmered in those beautiful eyes. “Quentin—”
“What the hell happened?”
She averted her gaze, delicate nostrils flaring as she choked back emotion. “It’s not important.”
His eyes widened incredulously. “Not important? You’re talking about leaving Atlanta—leaving me—and it’s not important?”
“Please don’t make this any harder—”
Quick as a shot he was off the sofa and kneeling in front of her, trapping her with his hands on either side of the chair. “What happened?” he growled. “Tell me!”
That broke her. The tears she’d been holding carefully in check spilled over, and she covered her face with trembling hands.
Her anguish cut through Quentin like jagged shards of glass.
He pried her resistant hands away and pulled her hard against him, wrapping her tightly in his arms. She buried her face in his chest and wept, releasing a torrent of raw emotions.
He groaned raggedly. “Sweetness, you’re killing me. You know what your crying’s always done to me.”
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed against him. “I didn’t want to tell you.”
He lifted her from the chair, then sat down and cradled her protectively against his chest. Brushing his lips across her forehead, he whispered soothingly to her, patiently waiting for the storm to subside, trying not to fear the worst.
When she grew silent, he tipped her chin up to peer into her dark, haunted eyes. “Tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart.”
She inhaled a deep, shuddering breath and blurted hoarsely, “My father came to see me.”
Quentin went rigid with shock. “What! When?”
And out came the harrowing story of the night she’d nearly died.
Quentin listened with a combination of shock, horror, sympathy and outrage.
By the time she’d finished the devastating account, he was so visibly shaken that she laid a gentle hand over his galloping heart, as if to absorb his raging emotions back into her own body.
Quentin would never lay a hand on a woman, let alone someone’s mother.
But the savage fury he felt toward Carlene Austin made him glad that she was nowhere near him, lest he be tested.
And as for that son of a bitch Ray Austin, all bets were off.
“I’m so sorry, Lex,” Quentin uttered fiercely as he palmed her face, brushing his lips over her damp cheeks and eyelids, kissing away her tears. “I’m so damn sorry you had to go through that. All of it.”
“Me too,” she murmured. “But at least now I know why I’m so afraid of heights. Even though I was only two, I had repressed memories of the trauma.”
“God.” Quentin shuddered at the thought of existing in a world without her in it. Unthinkable.
They sat there for a long time, just holding each other and whispering tender reassurances.
But hard, cold reality eventually intruded when Lexi’s cell phone rang. Giving Quentin an apologetic look, she dug it out of her pocket and answered. After a brief conversation, she ended the call and drew a deep breath, as if to marshal her courage.
“That was my Realtor. She wants to show the house in an hour.”
Dread lodged in Quentin’s gut. His arms instinctively tightened around her. “You don’t have to leave—”
“Let me go, Quentin.”
Their eyes met, and he knew she wasn’t just asking to be released from his arms.
He shook his head slowly. “I can’t do that. I can’t let you go. I told you that before.”
“And I told you that this was something I needed to do!” she burst out desperately.
“Lex—”
“This place has become my own toxic wasteland, and no matter how hard I try to outrun the memories, they keep catching up to me. They’re poisoning me, Quentin. So I need to go away for a while, and you need to let me.”
His chest squeezed painfully. “How long?”
Her expression grew veiled. “I don’t know. However long it takes.”
She couldn’t have hurt him more if she’d driven a stake through his heart. His arms fell away from her, and she quickly climbed off his lap.
Too agitated to remain seated, he lunged to his feet. Lexi backed away from him, twisting the knife even deeper into his heart.
“Where are you planning to go?” he demanded. “Are you joining your brother and sister in New York? I’d rather not do a long-distance relationship, but if that’s what it takes—”
“I’m not going to New York,” Lexi said quietly.
“Then where…?” As comprehension dawned, the blood drained from his head and he stared at her. “France? You’re going all the way to France?”
She swallowed tightly, then nodded. “I’ve applied for a faculty position at Le Cordon Bleu school in Paris. Their chef instructors are predominantly French, but given my teaching credentials and the early success of my cookbook, my prospects look…promising.”
“In other words,” Quentin snarled, “it’s pretty much a done deal.”
She just looked at him, her eyes silently pleading with him to understand.
But he couldn’t. Maybe it was selfish of him, but he just couldn’t accept her decision to walk out of his life.
“You don’t have to do this,” he told her.
“Yes, I do.”