For a long moment, he studied Marin’s mother. Then he shook his head. “I don’t have to think about it. If Missy’s disposition is any indication of your child-rearing abilities, then I have nothing to worry about.”
Marin felt her mouth gape at his implication that her disposition, as opposed to her sister’s, was less than ideal. But that was beside the point. She still couldn’t believe her mother was serious about babysitting these kids. “Mother, are you sure—”
“When do you need me to start?” Angelica asked.
“Monday morning at eight?”
“Perfect.” Angelica smiled. “And don’t you even think about paying me. I do not want your money.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“I’m the wife of Arthur Camden, Mr. Harding. I would prefer that you send any money you’d be paying me along to Carla. Under the circumstances, her family will likely need it.”
“In that case, I’ll add the funds to the severance I was already going to give her.” He nodded. “Would you like to work the details out now?”
“You’re still busy with work.” She smiled. “Monday morning is fine.”
“Okay, then.” He turned to walk away, but then stopped and turned. “You’re sure about this?”
“Positive. It’ll be my pleasure. One more thing, though?”
He held her gaze.
“If I were in the construction business, I’d be ashamed of that swing set in my backyard.”
Adam glanced at the old metal set and chuckled. “Point taken.” Then he turned and walked on.
Marin waited until he was out of earshot before spinning around. “Are you out of your mind, Mother?”
“No.” She grinned. “What I am is damned happy to have a purpose to my days and those children need someone. So does their father. The kids, I can help with. The man?” She chuckled. “I’ll bet he’d take your mind off Colin Everett Masterson III.”
“He has kids, Mom.”
“No one said you had to marry him, Marin.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE CAPE COD MARIN AND HER mother had rented had only two bedrooms, and Marin’s mother had chosen the one on the first floor, leaving the entire upstairs, basically, a remodeled attic, to Marin. Pale moonlight streaming through her bedroom window, Marin flicked through her cell phone messages as she walked into the bathroom getting ready for bed.
Her father had called Marin at least four times since she and her mother had arrived at Mirabelle and had left two voice mails. As she brushed her teeth, she quickly texted to let him know they were fine. What else was she supposed to do?
Colin, on the other hand, had left no fewer than twenty messages, text and voice mail combined. They ranged from soulful apologies to frantic appeals to angry outbursts, and she’d deleted every single one of them.
How could he have done this to her? She rinsed out her mouth and washed her face, scrubbing roughly. They’d been as good as soul mates practically since the day they’d met in grad school. They’d been cut from the same cloth, both of their families coming from old, East Coast money. They liked the same books, movies, TV shows, food, colors, decor and even hand soap. They’d fit together, their lifestyles, their dreams and aspirations. And he’d been entirely content with her decision to not have children.
All in all, they’d wanted the same things in life. Or so she’d thought. Shutting off the water, she dried her face. Then he’d broken her heart. She slathered on a moisturizer.
Or had he?
Shouldn’t she be more inconsolable if her heart truly had been broken? Shouldn’t she want to throw her phone across the room, smashing it into a thousand pieces? Shouldn’t she be unable to sleep or eat? Shouldn’t she have cried at least once?
Instead, it was almost as if she’d expected this outcome to their relationship. Maybe that’s why she’d kept delaying the wedding date, almost as if her subconscious had known that when she’d come home early from that conference that she was going to find Colin in bed with someone. What she hadn’t expected was for that someone to be Colin’s best friend. Marcus.
It explained so much. She padded to her bedroom. It probably even explained why she’d found herself so undeniably attracted to their neighbor Adam, a man as virile and down-to-earth as Colin was cerebral and refined. And gay.
Pretty simple, really. Available woman in need of an available, attractive—very clearly heterosexual—man. No reason not to act on it, right? Except that she wasn’t entirely sure Adam was attracted to her. Maybe there was something wrong with her. Maybe she just wasn’t feminine enough to attract a masculine man.
With a heavy sigh, she climbed onto her bed and dialed Colin’s number. He picked up on the first ring. “Marin, thank God, you called. Where are you? Your doorman said you’d left the city.”
“I’m on Mirabelle,” she said quietly, not wanting to wake her mother who’d gone to bed almost an hour ago.
“You went to Melissa’s? Why?”
“You expected me to stay in Manhattan? With everything that’s going on?”
“The paparazzi have been hounding me to death.”
“Better you than me. This is, after all, your doing.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” He sighed. “Oh, Mar, I’m so damned sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”
What else could he say? She knew his family well. His father and mother wouldn’t just be surprised. They’d likely disown him if they found out. Colin wasn’t a bad man. In fact, he’d been her friend before they’d gotten engaged. He was still her friend.
“I have to know,” she said. “Did I do something? Not do something to…cause this?”
“Oh, Marin, how can you say that? Think that. It’s not you. It’s me.”
“How long have you known?” she asked, trying to understand.
“Do we have to go there?”
“I do. Did you know before we started dating?”
He was silent for a moment. “Yes.”
“You son of a bitch.” The words came out of her mouth without heat. As much as she tried, she couldn’t seem to summon an appropriate amount of anger, let alone indignation.
“I guess I thought you knew,” he said. “Inside. I mean, come on, Mar. We weren’t exactly a match made in heaven, but I assumed it was a match that suited you. Your needs. The way the facade of our engagement suited mine.”
“I was convenient, is that it?”
“No. You were…content with…mediocrity.”
That made her angry. “Content with—I thought I loved you! I thought you loved me. I thought we were good together! I thought—”
“Marin, you’ve worked ten- to twelve-hour days from the day I first met you. Between your career, your volunteer gigs and your workouts we barely saw each other. Maybe, if we were lucky, we ran into each other in bed in the middle of the night once a week and made love. The truth is that I spent more time with Marcus than I did with you. And you can almost include the time we spent sleeping together in that equation. Can you honestly tell me that’s a vibrant, healthy relationship?”
He was right. She swallowed. But he was wrong, too. Maybe she’d worked so many hours and kept so busy because she’d been, underneath it all, so dissatisfied