Chapter 25
25
W ith the sun long gone, her room was dark. It had been an amazing day and a fabulous cruise. If it hadn’t been for the roses and her phone exploding with texts, Greer would have called it perfect.
She didn’t need to look to know the text overload was all Conrad. And she absolutely wouldn’t let the excessive number of pings on her phone ruin how good she’d felt on the catamaran. Instead, she relished the memory of the few fleeting but sexy kisses she’d shared with Dean in the water, the delicious dinner she’d savored, and his hand wrapped around hers as he’d slipped his key card between her fingers.
She would not let Conrad ruin any of this.
Flipping on the hallway light, she immediately saw that some thing had joined the gift basket on the bureau. And it seemed to steam. Her heart beat loudly in her ears as she stepped fully into the room. Chocolate-covered strawberries on a bed of dry ice.
Her mouth watered even as her anger flared. Why was he doing this?
There was another card she didn’t want to read. She’d rather shred it and throw the strawberries over the balcony. Yet another part of her wanted to ask why he’d stopped doing all these sweet things. The romantic displays. The attentiveness. The passionate words. His jealousy wiped out all of that. And she’d stood for it far too long.
She felt compelled to open the card. No flowery words this time, the note read, Come outside on your balcony when you get these.
Curiosity had her sliding open the glass door and stepping to the railing.
Even in the dark, she knew the silhouetted figure on the bridge below. As if he’d figured out exactly which room was hers, Conrad gazed up. Moving into the circle of light beneath a lamp, he wrapped his arms around himself, hugged his body as if he were holding her. Then he put his fingers to his lips and blew her a kiss.
The tableau set off a mixture of emotions inside her. He was suddenly giving her the things she’d wanted for nine months, all the pretty words, the gifts, the attention. If he’d done all of that instead of hurling his horrible accusations, how different would things have been?
With the sliding glass door open behind her, she heard her phone ping with a text. Conrad. He’d stopped hugging himself and was holding his phone.
Maybe it was stupid, but she turned back into the room, grabbing her phone to find all the texts he’d sent while she’d been snorkeling. And spending a wonderful evening with Dean.
I love you. I need you. Please forgive me. I’ve been so stupid. Take me back. Give me a second chance.
All one-line texts. Until the last one.
I want to think of you in your bath, surrounded by bubbles, drinking champagne, and eating chocolate-covered strawberries. I want to imagine you rubbing lotion into your body. You always smelled so good after your bath.
The words, though they were Conrad’s, made her think of Dean. Even as she’d told Bernice she planned to take a bath, she’d hoped Dean would imagine her in all the bubbles.
Conrad had been this way in the very beginning, giving her the words she’d craved, wining and dining her, thoughtful gifts, luxurious compliments. Until they’d moved in together. Until all his compliments turned to accusations.
Now it was Dean who gave her more, Dean who told her she was beautiful and sexy and that he couldn’t get enough of her.
Holding her phone in her hand, she could have texted Conrad. She could have told him to go home and leave her alone. She could have thrown out his gifts. But she’d had enough. More than enough. Without allowing time for any second thoughts, Greer marched down to the bridge where Conrad stood.
Thank God no one else was around. Witnesses would have curbed what she needed to say. Standing on the bridge, silhouetted by the moon and stars like he was Prince Charming, he held his arms wide. “Darling,” he cried out.
It was so effusive it tipped her frustration over into anger, and her feet pounded on the concrete until she was almost nose to nose with him. She poked him in the chest, hoping that would deflate him.
It didn’t. “I knew you’d come.”
She wanted to roll her eyes. He was like a bad romance hero. Actually, the antihero, the one the woman doesn’t choose. Holding up her phone, the screen lit with his texts, she pushed it close to his face. “You’re saying all the things I’ve wanted to hear for the last nine months.”
He reached for her then, as if he didn’t notice the deadly tone of her voice. Or as if he chose to ignore it.
Greer stepped back. “It’s way too late for this, Conrad.” Then she lambasted him with all the emotions roiling inside her. “If you hadn’t accused me of all those terrible things. If you hadn’t walked out on our vacation. If you hadn’t tried to stop me from seeing my friends because you said they were a bad influence?—”
“I’m so sorry, darling.”
“I’m not your darling ,” she hissed at him. “And I haven’t made my point yet. If you hadn’t done all those things, maybe our relationship could still work. But you’ve shown me your true colors. I never looked at another man when I was with you.” Until Dean. But then Conrad had already taken that irrevocable step. “I never flirted with your colleagues. I certainly didn’t flirt with your boss. You made all that up in your mind.”
He held out his hands, imploring. “I know, sweetheart.”
She almost told him to stop calling her sweetheart as well.
“I’ve been so wrong.” His voice held a sickening note of pleading. “I’ve made so many mistakes. It was just, you know, my wife.” He couldn’t even say the entire thing, that his wife’s infidelity had made him crazy.
She looked at him, a long, piercing look. “She’s your ex -wife.”
He clutched his chest. “I know. But the damage she caused. It’s been so hard to get over it. And I know you never did any of those things. I believe in you. I just couldn’t help myself. It was my baggage getting the better of me.”
“We all have baggage, Conrad.” Though she kept her voice level, ice chips hung off the words. “When you accused me that first time, after the company barbecue, before we were even living together, I tried to understand.”
“I didn’t mean it.” He put his hands together as if he were praying. Or groveling.
“What you didn’t mean was that you’d never do it again. Because you’ve done it over and over. You broke that promise.”
“It’s more than a promise this time, my—” He cut himself off as if he’d been about to use another endearment. My darling , or even worse, my love . “It’s not a promise. This time it’s a vow.” He put his hand over his heart. “I vow never to pull that kind of stuff again.”
“You sound like an abusive husband who promises every time he hits his wife that he’ll never hit her again.”
Were those tears glistening in his eyes? Crocodile tears. Hand still on his heart, he went on, “That’s low. I’ve never hit you. I’ve never even thought about hitting you.”
“You’ve verbally abused me. And while it might not be physically painful, it caused mental anguish.”
He stretched out his hands. “I’m so sorry, Greer.” At least he didn’t try another endearment. “I’ll see a therapist. I’ll work on my damage. I’ll do anything. I swear to you, it’ll never happen again.”
She gazed at him, long and hard. And she didn’t believe him. He’d gone too far. “Even if you could keep that promise—which I’m not sure you can—it’s too late. You need to go home and leave me alone.”
Still, he pleaded. “Please, Greer, please.”
“We’ll talk about how to work everything out when I get home. I have to give my renters’ notice.”
“Yes.” His voice rose on a hopeful note. “We’ll work it out when we’re home.”
“I said I’ll work it out with my renters.”
“But you have to give them three months’ notice. Please, give me those three months to prove to you over-I’ve changed.”
Stepping close, she held up a hand, her palm almost touching his nose. “Stop.” Then she backed up. “Just stop. And go home.”
She turned on her heel and stalked, yes, stalked away from him, anger in every flap of her sandals. The elevator opened the moment she pushed the button. And once inside, with the doors closed, she did the most uncharacteristic thing. She danced like Snoopy, a happy dance, all around the elevator.
She was free to go to Dean. Without guilt. Without remorse. More than anything, he was what she wanted.
Back in her room, she tore into the basket, touching each of the bath goodies. She put the champagne and the glasses into the freezer to cool them faster. Running the water in the big tub, she opened the bubble bath, unwrapped a bath bomb.
There was Conrad, who was suddenly giving her everything she’d asked for.
And there was Dean, who’d given her what she wanted from the moment they’d met. He’d listened to her, complimented her, admired her. He hadn’t been effusive or over-the-top, like some of Conrad’s gestures. It had been real. Dean had given her so much pleasure, made love to her with so much feeling. It didn’t matter that their relationship had a finite term, that when she boarded the flight home, he would disappear like a phantom in the night.
Because she had him for now.
After tugging her coverup over her head, she stepped out of her bathing suit and tossed it in the sink to soak out the saltwater. Then she climbed into the hot, frothing water, dropped in the bath bomb, watched it fizz, the lavender scent rising with the steam. Closing her eyes, she lay her head back against the lip of the tub.
She was proud of finally calling out Conrad for all his bullshit. But why had she waited for him to say all the right things instead of telling him what she wanted? Why had she let her ex-husband dictate when they should have a baby? Why had she let him make her feel less-than when she couldn’t bear a child?
Why had she called herself a failure?
Was it the example of a subservient mother? A mom who made dinner, had her father’s drink ready for him when he got home from work along with a bowl of nuts or cheese or homemade Chex Mix. They ate only the food he liked, never tacos or lasagna or pizza. They watched what he wanted on TV. They drove with the car windows up while he smoked. He wasn’t a bad man. She wasn’t a bad mother. They’d just been born in a different time, when the man ruled the house even when he wasn’t there.
Greer swore she’d never be like her mother, but after she’d married Hal, she worked full time as well as cooked and cleaned. She’d told herself the division of labor was fair because Hal mowed the lawn and washed the cars on the weekends. But what about the laundry and grocery shopping she did on the weekends? Had it really been fair? Maybe you weren’t supposed to talk about fair in a marriage. Or maybe that was exactly what you needed to talk about.
But nothing mattered now except that she had Dean’s key. She’d get all gussied up, as the old saying went, walk down the hall to his room, and have her wicked way with him.
Because that was what she wanted.