“I’m just saying, this isn’t a man who needs to work for it, but he is. I think he really cares about you.”
“So? Honestly, Violet, why prolong the inevitable? If I was to call him up now and say, okay, let’s go back to how things were—or whatever he thinks he wants to do—eventually it’s going to end. It’s always going to end. I’m just skipping to the good part here.” I was saving myself heartache further down the line. If we didn’t last then I didn’t stand a chance. “There’s no point in going through a breakup twice.”
“You don’t know that. Maybe it will work out and you’ll grow old. Have babies.” She tossed me the card and it skidded across the desk.
“Life doesn’t work out like that.”
“Mom and Dad worked out like that. Harper and Max are doing a good impression of a happy couple. Love finds a way.”
I turned to her and looked her in the eye. “Not for me.”
“Then, my gorgeous sister, tell me why you accept these deliveries? If you’re so convinced you and Ryder aren’t meant to be, why don’t you reject them?”
Part of me didn’t want to let go. Not yet. I wasn’t quite ready. I shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t want to make a scene.” I needed to wean myself off him slowly, rather than go cold turkey.
“Well if you say so. Did you go back and get your stuff?”
“No. I asked him to box it up and send it to me.”
“What did he say?”
“No.” His response had been ridiculous. He’d replied to my email with a statement about how I’d need everything when I moved back in. The man was delusional. “Look, there’s no point in talking about it. It’s over.”
Violet sighed. “I don’t think even you believe that. And I certainly don’t.”
I snapped my head up at the tap on my glass door. It was the courier again. Violet scrambled to the door. “Sorry, dude, I forgot this,” he said as he handed Violet a padded envelope.
“More gifts,” she said. “If you don’t like it and it’s expensive, can I keep it?” she asked, handing me the delivery.
“Don’t be a brat.” It was Ryder’s handwriting. Curiosity overtook my desire to cut off Violet’s commentary and I turned the envelope over, opened it and reached inside.
I pulled out a small box with a note on top of it. The blue ink definitely wasn’t Ryder’s handwriting. Perhaps it was his lawyer. My stomach twisted.
Dearest Scarlett,
You are now Duchess of Fairfax. I can imagine that might seem a little strange for you, but please be assured, I’ve never met anyone so up to the task apart from my beautiful wife. Your good heart will guide you in life. Just make sure you quiet the voices that may try to drown out what it’s telling you. I know you’ve been married before and someone has made the mistake of letting you go, but don’t become cynical about the direction your heart leads you. Don’t let the past prevent you from having a beautiful future.
My dear wife’s necklace no doubt looked beautiful on you, and I want you to have these earrings that are to be worn with it. They were an apology to my love after behaving very badly toward her. I never deserved her, but after she accepted this gift, I spent my life trying to be a man she could be proud of.
Men are silly creatures. Often we don’t realize what we have when we are lucky enough to find it. And we don’t cherish the best things in our lives as we should. Ryder is a good man, but he’s still a man.
I’m giving you these earrings as a sorry in advance of all the mistakes he’ll no doubt make. There is no malice in his actions. He may be stupid, but he loves you. And you love him. Don’t waste a moment in argument for the sake of pride or principle—or just because things get difficult.
Make sure he knows what you’ll stand for and what you won’t. But ultimately, forgive him and yourself. I know you make him happy—I’ve seen it in his eyes since he first met you. And I believe I saw it in yours, too.
Indulge an old duke. Be happy.
All my love,
The Duke of Fairfax (Your grandfather-in-law)
I couldn’t hold the tears that blurred my vision as I folded up the letter and leaned forward on my desk, covering my eyes.
Thirty
Scarlett
My heels made satisfying clicks down the sidewalk as I headed north, carrying a large, white paper bag of Thai food. I’d never been to Ryder’s office. I had no idea what his routine was, or what he normally did for lunch when he wasn’t sitting across from me in my office. But he’d once issued an open invitation and today I’d decided to take him up on it.
He might not want to see me here at his place of business. He might send me away, unprepared to interrupt his day for a conversation with me. But I understood, finally, that time with Ryder was worth the risk of rejection.
About four o’clock this morning, I’d decided we needed to talk, and lunch seemed like a good time.
I’d spent the night awake. After two hours of tossing and turning, I got up and read and re-read Ryder’s grandfather’s letter.
Then I opened my laptop and scrolled through hundreds of photographs of my first husband and me, flicked through pictures of a life that seemed to belong to someone else. I smiled at some, cried at others. I finally finished mourning my first marriage. Sometime in the time since our divorce and the duke’s death, I’d moved on. I didn’t want him back. And I didn’t want my old life back anymore.
I wanted Ryder.
A life with Ryder.
And that was worth risking my pride for. That I’d received the divorce papers without ceremony or introduction wasn’t Ryder’s fault. And he wasn’t guilty of not sharing his feelings for me any more than I was guilty of not sharing my feelings for him.
I’d rejected him because I’d been hurt—prideful. And I didn’t want to be hurt again. But a life with him was worth risking my heart for. I understood that now.
I signed in at the front desk and rode the elevator up to the eleventh floor. As I stepped out into the lobby, I took a deep breath before pushing on the chrome handle of one of the double glass doors.
I was doing this.
I smiled at the receptionist. “Scarlett King for Ryder Westbury.”
I turned my head to the right to find Ryder staring at me through a glass partition in a conference room. The door to the room was open, and I heard someone call his name.
I tilted my head and held up the paper bag containing our lunch.
I saw his lips move but his eyes never left mine. Murmurings grew louder from the meeting room and people started filing out.
The last person to fill the door frame was Ryder himself. “Lyndsey, please make sure I’m not interrupted,” he said, his eyes still fixed on mine. “I’m having lunch with my wife.”
I couldn’t stop the corners of my mouth from curling up.