Page 70 of Broken Vows
I bob my head. “When the world was still full of magic.”
A hand slides under the fall of my hair, clasping the nape of my neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin there. Grafton leans down, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear. “It’s still full of magic.”
He’s not looking at Marjorie, so he doesn’t see the way her eyes flare with surprise, right before she fans her heated cheeks. My blush must match, but she just shoots me a conspiring smile.
“Well, I won’t disagree with that,” she tells him, pulling her professional mask back on. “Now, do you have any other questions about the property, or do you want to see anything else?”
Grafton straightens, his fingers still gripping me. “I actually wanted to talk to Henry about a vacant property over on Mill Haven Street.”
I frown in bemusement. “What property?” Mill Haven is where the more industrial side of town is, so I know he can’t be asking for me, because it wouldn’t make any kind of marketing sense as a location for The Sterling Thread.
Grafton pulses his fingers around my neck. “I’m considering opening up a Reynolds & Media branch in Sterling Creek,” he drops casually, lips tipping up when I gasp.
“What?”
Keeping his hand where it is, he steps in front of me and presses a hard kiss to my mouth. “I don’t mind commuting,” he reassures me when he pulls back, “but I like the idea of being close enough if something were to happen.”
My stomach swoops. “Something like what?” The question is a whisper.
“I don’t know.” One broad shoulder lifts. “Something to the kids, something to you. I can still go into the city when I’m needed, and I can hold meetings here.” Somethingmischievous flashes through his eyes. “People will come to me if they want to work with me.”
There’s a truthful arrogance to his words. An involuntary shiver runs through my body, and it feels like I might melt into a puddle.
A few feet away, Marjorie’s looking between us, her eyes gleaming. “I actually have my laptop with me, and there’s an old table in the break room. Why don’t you show me the property you mean, Grafton, and we can talk it through now? I’m happy to set up a time to view, or you can wait for Henry to return to work.”
He hasn’t looked away from me, his body still as he waits, and I dip my chin. “Okay,” I concede. “I’ll go grab us some coffees from Frothy Cakes.”
“Alright, darling,” he murmurs with a quick grin. He ducks his head once more, slanting his mouth over mine. His tongue demands entrance, thrusting forward and tangling with mine. And then he’s gone, leaving me wide-eyed and breathless as he follows Marjorie through the door at the back of the shop.
Outside, the sun is shining brightly, the breeze crisp with a hint of warmth, teasing at the summer bearing down on us. I tilt my head back, lifting my hair away from my neck as my heart slowly eases back into a normal rhythm.
The last few weeks have flown by, and it feels like I’m still trying to catch my breath, wondering when Grafton will stop surprising me. At the same time, I never want that to happen.
I do my best not to measure him against the standard Christopher set because there is no comparison. And I know Grafton gets that I’m untangling years of learned experiences and rebuilding my foundations to trust again.
But I do trust him.
With my heart and with my children.
And maybe after everything with Christopher, that makes me naive. But I can’t imagine walking a different path now. Not when I know what it feels like to be truly loved by someone, and not just as an accessory on their arm.
I’m jolted from my thoughts when a nasally voice calls, “Lynley,” the familiar tone dripping with condescension. “I thought that was you, although I can’t imagine what you’d be doing here.”
Francine Delcourt is standing on the sidewalk, looking like she’s just walked out of the country club, her eyes narrowed as they laser on me. Her husband, Bradley Delcourt, stands a step behind her, one hand tucked into his dark slacks and his focus on the phone in his hand.
“Francine,” I say coolly. “Bradley.”
Her pencil-thin eyebrows arch as if she’s expecting me to say something else—probably that it’s nice to see them—but I’m making a conscious effort not to lie.
Bradley clears his throat, eyes never leaving his phone. “I would hope she’s here to hit the pavement for employment,” he drawls. “After all”—he looks up, his mean eyes landing on me—“she can’t expect to live off Delcourt money for the rest of her life, can she?”
“Certainly not,” Francine agrees, lips flattened together. “You threw that name away, didn’t you, Lynley? Along with your marriage.”
I nod slowly. “Oh, good, I was worried Christopher hadn’t told you the truth.”
Her expression grows even more pinched at the dry words. She takes a step toward me. “Listen to me, you uppity little bitch,” she hisses. “I don’t know what gameyou think you’re playing, but we all know you’ll be crawling back in no time. People like you…” She sniffs. “You know, I had warmed to you, Lynley. I guess you were just biding your time to prove me right.” My brows practically crawl into my hairline because if there’s one thing this woman never did, it was warm to me. “How long do you plan on throwing this little tantrum?” she demands. “You must know people are talking.”
It’s painfully obvious that in whatever narrative Christopher has painted for his parents, he chose to tar me with the dirtiest of brushes. I sigh. “I don’t care if people are talking. Christopher and I are officially divorced, but our marriage was over a long time ago.”
