Chapter 13 #2
The clothes she had been so excited about no longer had any appeal to her. Snagging a simple black cashmere turtleneck dress, she proceeded to get ready.
*****
The service was inspiring, the people friendly enough. She was greeted with enthusiasm and urged to come back. She refused the offer to stay back for refreshments and to get to know the members. She was not certain she was ready for that level of commitment.
Deciding that she could not bear to go back to the empty house where the memories would haunt her, she switched directions and went to the museum.
She parked in the crowded lot and just sat behind the wheel, her fingers drumming on it.
She wasn't in the mood to view her usual art.
The idea of strolling the different aisles and taking an interest in ancient history was not appealing to her.
But if she went back home, she knew she was going to fall to pieces.
Even sitting in the back pew at the church had disturbed her enough to make her want to cry.
She needed something else to take her mind off her troubles. Sniffing back the tears, she reached for her phone and called Abigail.
"I was just about to call you."
"Why?"
"My divorce is final. That lowlife piece of crap I made the mistake of tying myself to is out of my life for good, and I need someone to help me eat a gallon of rocky road ice cream and drink a bottle of the best champagne money can buy."
Kara smiled at that. "Are you sure you can afford the bottle?"
"Honey, he didn't get a cent. I had a shark of a lawyer. Come on over."
*****
"Have some more ice cream," Abigail urged.
"If I take another spoonful, I'm going to gag," Kara told her honestly. "I made a pig of myself."
"We're entitled to every now and again. And you look like a strong wind would blow you to the state of Texas. You're too skinny."
"I think the correct term is slender." Kara tried to sound dignified but spoiled it when she ended up giggling. The champagne had gone to her head.
"My ass." Abigail snorted.
They were inside her lovely blue and cream salon.
Flowers scented the air from the various vases strewn around the room.
The glass doors overlooked an arbor with clinging vines and more flowers.
Kara knew her boss spent as much of her free time as she could kneeling in the dirt and tending to her garden. The effort was spectacular.
"Men," she continued, pouring some more champagne into both glasses and ignoring Kara's weak protest. "Can't kill them, and that's a pity. They're pigs, all of them."
"Not all." Kara was impaired enough to spill.
Abigail squinted at her myopically. "Huh? I suppose in your vast experience, you can tell me differently?"
"Yes." Automatically reaching for the glass, she took a sip and savored the texture on her tongue. "I was with someone the entire weekend, well, except for today. That's because I blew it."
Sitting up on the chair, Abigail gaped at her. "You were with William?"
"Did I say that?" Her lips curved slightly. "I told you I broke it off with him."
"And you found someone else that quickly? Honey, who the hell are you?"
"His name is Zane Stanhope." Kara waited for the reaction and wasn't disappointed.
"Zane Stanhope." Abigail forgot about the drink in her hand and simply stared. "How? When? I'm sorry, I really need details."
"I met him some time ago. You saw us at the function a few weeks ago-"
"And you said nothing happened."
"I lied. He took me out to the garden and kissed me."
"Good God! Zane 'bad boy' Stanhope. I've been hoping to get him to tumble me into bed.
What?" she barked, noticing her friend's look.
"He might be younger, but so the hell what?
He's gorgeous. And all that aloof and bad boy image is highly appealing.
So-" She fanned her hot cheeks. "I'm going to need to live vicariously through you. How good is he?"
"I'm not discussing sex with you."
"You will if you don't want champagne, a very pricey one, dumped all over you," Abigail warned.
"He can go for hours," she murmured, a secret smile touching her lips. "We started on Friday evening and never stopped until the early hours of Saturday morning. Then we went almost the entire day."
Abigail stared at her, her mouth open. "You're lying."
"No." She took another sip of her drink. "He took my virginity and was so sweet about it."
"You-" Abigail almost choked on her own saliva. "You were waiting for a wedding ring."
"I decided not to." She shrugged.
"Just like that. You ditched values and morals you had been holding on to for years." Abigail shook her head. "He must be quite something in bed."
"That and more." She smiled whimsically. "He's- he was-" She shook her head. "I don't have the words to describe it."
"Bitch," Abigail muttered. "So now what? You two a couple?"
"No." Tears threatened, and she had to concentrate hard to not let them fall. "He left."
"That son of a bitch! He just left after-"
"No!" Kara felt her heart tearing. "It's me. It's my fault."
"Honey, stop blaming yourself. What did I tell you about men? They're lice."
"No." Kara held up a hand. "You don't understand. I messed up."
And she proceeded to tell Abigail all about it.
Abigail drank champagne and shook her head. "That mother of yours is a piece of work. Well, what are you going to do about it?"
"I don't know what to do. It's for the best. We barely know each other anyway."
"You know each other well enough. And from where I'm sitting, you're in love with him.
And from what you told me, I think he cares about you.
No man is going to stand there and take that kind of abuse from a woman's family and stay after if he just wanted a roll in the proverbial hay. Trust me, I know," she added darkly.
"He was so angry."
"Can you blame him? You made him feel as if he wasn't good enough, and that's on top of what your mother said to him. Honey, what're you going to do?" she repeated.
"I need to think."
Abigail waved an impatient hand. "About what?"
"It's not easy for me," Kara said defensively. "She's still my mother."
"All right." Abigail poured more champagne for herself.
"Spend the rest of your life living for your mother's approval.
Drive away a man who seems to care about you.
Or you can just go back to William, the dull and boring.
Please your mother by marrying that jerk.
And when you do, please, for the love of God, don't come complaining to me about how useless your life is. "
"You're right." Pushing from the chair, Kara had to steady herself as the effect of the champagne swam through her blood, making her dizzy. "I have to stand up for myself."
"Honey, there's no other way."
"He's probably still upset with me." She worried her bottom lip and walked over to stare out the window.
"Well, of course." Abigail watched her closely. "You're going to have to convince him that you've changed your mind. Have you?"
"What?" Distracted, Kara turned to look at her friend.
"Have you changed your mind about him?"
"I was intimidated by his appearance, especially his tattoos. He has one on his stomach as well, and one on his left thigh." She smiled as she recalled tracing her fingers over the ink and asking him what they meant.
"Nothing in particular." He had seemed amused by her fascination. "I happen to like them and decided what the hell. Do they disturb you?"
"I think they're cute."
"Cute?" His growl had made her laugh. "That's certainly not what I was aiming for."
The conversation had come to an abrupt ending when she trailed her fingers further up his thigh. The memory had her going weak.
"No." She shook her head in response to her friend's question. "I would not want to change anything about him. He made me feel special," she added.
Walking over to the chair she had abandoned, she sat on the edge of it and picked up her glass. "No one ever made me feel the way he did. I'm such an idiot."
"It's not too late, honey, for you to do something about the mistake you made." Abigail lifted her glass in a toast. "Go and get your man and don't let anything stand in your way."
*****
He felt considerably better. The fact that his sister had persuaded him to have dinner at the manor was a testament to how much better he was feeling. And it was a pleasant gathering. For the first time in a very long time, he could sit at the table and have a normal conversation with his family.
Maybe he was getting mellow, he mused wryly. Maybe falling in love had softened him and given him a different perspective. He just knew he felt different.
He even stayed over for brandy and strawberry truffle, and had a lengthy discussion with his father about the ongoing project.
He was even open to going into the office to help with a case.
Yes, he decided ruefully as he opened his front door, he was getting soft and did not mind it one bit.
With his plans in place for tomorrow, he got ready to retire for the night.