Page 36 of Trade It All (The Barrington Billionaires 3)
Propose?
He waited for the panic to come, but it didn’t.
He pictured coming home to Willa. Waking with her in his arms. A flash forward in time would have them visiting his parents with their children in tow.
There were many things he didn’t know, many questions he couldn’t answer, but how he felt about Willa was no longer one of them.
Chapter Seventeen
Willa wiped her hands on a towel and sat back to study her creation. At Emily’s suggestion, she’d spent every night that week working on a piece for Emily’s museum. It was a welcome distraction from what was otherwise turning out to be another miserable week.
I knew it would hurt when it ended, but I didn’t expect it to end so soon. Or so abruptly.
Or for him to lie.
Although Willa had started off thinking she would paint something, she’d turned to working with clay as a way to vent some of her frustration. Last week she’d worried that Lance was actually dealing with a crisis at work, but now she knew the truth.
Sex doesn’t mean the same thing to men that it does to women. We had a good time together, but that’s it. I just wish he’d had the balls to tell me he only wanted one night.
My heart would be just as broken, but at least I wouldn’t have run to my cell phone every time it rang like some idiot. I wouldn’t have opened my heart so freely to him.
Or maybe I would have.
It’s always been all or nothing with Lance.
When will I learn?
What wasn’t helping her forget him was the damn bouquet of flowers she still received from him daily. They always came with a note she refused to read. She didn’t want another apology from him. I want to stick those flowers up his ass.
He only pretends to care about me until I fall for it. Then BAM—every time.
As her mood darkened, Willa forced herself to go back to working on the clay sculpture. Maybe the flowers need to keep coming so I’ll remember what an ass he is.
He doesn’t define me.
She sat back and studied the piece she was working on. She’d chosen her relationship with her sister as the subject. Two identical figurines stood on either side of a double-sided full-length mirror, holding hands by reaching around it. Their reflection was a painting of their soul rather than their actual stance. On Lexi’s side, Willa had portrayed her sister as a warrior in her reflection with one hand placed defiantly on her hip, but she’d softened the image by making her eyes thoughtful, as if she had secrets that gave her great depth.
It was her depiction of herself in the mirror that Willa had struggled with. Her first attempt had been to show herself as trapped and afraid, but Willa realized that was no longer who she was. The feelings of abandonment that stemmed from when she was younger were still present, but they no longer ruled her.
So who am I?
Not a warrior.
Not a victim.
Willa worked the image in the mirror until she captured what she hoped represented herself. The lines of her face were soft, but her chin was set at a proud angle. Down her chest, she made a scar that hinted at a near-deadly wound that had healed over. The woman in the mirror wasn’t ashamed of her scar.
I’m that woman. Not perfect, but beautiful nonetheless. Scarred, but proud.
She dropped her hands from the sculpture again. And I’m a survivor. I don’t need Lance to be okay. He hurt me, but he didn’t break me. She went back to her image of herself in the mirror and tweaked the expression in the woman’s eyes. I’m in love with a man who doesn’t love me, but there is beauty in that. My ability to love and forgive is my strength, not my weakness.
Her cell phone rang. Since her hands were covered with clay, she didn’t answer it, but she checked the caller ID.
Lance.
A text came in a moment later. Call me.
Willa shook her head and walked away from the phone. Her emotions were flying in all directions as she went back to working on her piece.
Call me?
Really?
If he wants me to so much as look at him again, he’ll have to do a hell of a lot better than that.
Back in his office, Lance stood and stretched after answering the last of his morning emails. He checked his phone for a response from Willa but found none. She still wasn’t taking his calls, acknowledging his flowers, or answering his texts. Lance wasn’t worried, though. He had a plan.
He walked over to his office window and looked at the skyline as his thoughts flew back to his parents’ house the night before. He’d walked in with his mother on his arm and been greeted by almost every member of his immediate family. Asher, Ian, and Grant had stood beside Dale like a small army preparing for battle. Kenzi stood beside Dax, part of the group but off to one side.
Dale looked back and forth between his wife and his youngest son. “Is everything all right?”
Sophie had nodded and said, “Why don’t we all go into the living room and sit while we talk?”
She led the way and soon they were all gathered around where she and Lance were seated. “Lance why don’t you tell them what you discovered?”
Asher was the first to speak. “Dad said you’re in trouble. What’s going on, Lance?”
“If it’s financial, I could look over your books and come up with a plan,” Grant said.
Ever the problem solver, Ian said, “If it’s illegal, don’t say anything to anyone. Except us. Knowing exactly what you did will help us choose the best lawyer.”
Dax stood near the door, arms folded across his chest. Present, but silent.
Dale followed Lance’s gaze and said, “Whatever issues you two boys have, it doesn’t matter. We all need to support each other.”
It was what his father had always said, but they were just words. The unstated expectation that they should deal with things on their own had made that sentiment unnecessary.
With a nod, Dax confirmed his support, which was interesting since he didn’t have any idea why he’d been called there. His presence was a testament to his loyalty to the Barringtons.
And to me.
“Thanks for coming, Dax.” He looked around at his brothers. “Thank you all for coming, but I’m not in any kind of trouble.”
“Bull,” Asher said harshly. “Something’s wrong. You look like shit.”
Giving Lance another once-over, Ian asked, “Are you on drugs?”
Their mother shook her head in reprimand. “Really, Ian? Must you always think the worst? Let him speak.”
Lance shook his head. “Of course I’m not on drugs.”
“Are you sick?” Grant asked looking genuinely concerned that he might be.
“No.”
“Is guilt keeping you up at night?” Dax asked gruffly. All eyes turned to toward Dax and he shrugged. “Willa’s not having a good week either. You know why, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Lance said abruptly. It wasn’t easy to hear that Willa was unhappy and he was the cause, but he was about to change that. He liked Dax even more for the way he came to Willa’s defense.
He’s loyal to her, too.
You chose well, Kenzi.
“This is about Willa?” Ian asked incredulously. “I thought the two of you were dating now.”
“We are. We were. I messed up,” Lance answered.
“I can’t believe you called us here for this,” Asher said to Dale.
Dale gave Asher an authoritative look that always put him back a step. “Sit down, Asher. In fact, why don’t we all? Lance obviously wants our help.”
Grant rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “I don’t know what you expect us to do, Dad. This is between him and Willa.”
“Sit,” Dale said.
The Barrington men sat down in the couches and chairs around where Sophie and Lance sat. Kenzi encouraged Dax to sit with them.
Asher nodded at the open love seat beside him, “Get your ass over here, Dax. You wanted to be one of us. Welcome to the Twilight Zone.”
