Second Chance Girl (Happily Inc. #2)

She spun back to glare at him. “Why didn’t you? How do you think it made me feel to know what we’d done and you didn’t even remember? You passed out. Is that better or worse than not remembering? What you said before, about me being special? Thanks for proving the point that I’m not.”

Before he could figure out what he was supposed to say to that, she grabbed her bag and walked out. Mathias started to go after her, then stopped. Maybe they both needed a little space and time. In the morning, everything would be better. Or at least more clear. It had to be because he had no damned idea what he was supposed to do now.





CHAPTER TWELVE

IN THE MORNING, nothing was better. While Sophie had had a good night—snoring and dreaming her doggie dreams—Mathias had spent most of his time staring at the ceiling. More things made sense to him now. The clarity of that last sex dream. No wonder there were incredible details of taste and touch and sound. He’d lived it.

He didn’t mind that he’d missed out on his end of things. He’d been with Carol and was sure everything would have been great. At least he’d pleased her. Or had he? Was he remembering her cries correctly?

By his third cup of coffee, he’d begun to question himself. Maybe he’d only imagined the feel of her coming as he’d loved her with his tongue, his fingers pushed deep inside of her. Maybe he hadn’t actually felt the ripple of her body convulsing around him, which was a problem because he needed it to have been good for her. Needed it a lot.

He walked to the window and stared out over the preserve. There was only one solution. A do-over.

While he was sure Carol would refuse his request, he would have to convince her. Them making love again was the only way to repair the rift between them. Surely she would see that. It made sense, it assured they were both satisfied and, well, he wanted to.

He’d imagined being with her so many times, he couldn’t believe he’d passed out in the middle of making love with her. Worse, that he’d forgotten. No wonder she’d been acting strangely for the last week or so. And now he knew what had been nagging in the back of his mind. So they would make love again and everything would go back to where it was supposed to be. It was the most sensible plan—he was confident she would see it his way.

He showered and took Sophie on a long walk while he decided what he was going to say. When they got back to the house, he and the dog got in his car and they drove to the preserve. He found Carol in her office.

She looked up at him as he entered. There were shadows under her eyes and a sad set to her beautiful mouth. Remorse gripped him—he was responsible for what she was feeling. He was the problem and he had to be the solution.

“Morning,” he began.

She rose and shook her head. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it.”

Sophie crossed to her. Carol dropped down to cuddle with the dog. Sophie eyed him as if pointing out this was the way to solve every problem. Doggie hugs and a quick kiss on the cheek.

She might have a point.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “About last night, about what happened before. Or didn’t happen.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“We have to.”

She rose and shook her head. “We don’t. Not at all. It’s in the past, let’s just leave it there.”

“I hurt you.”

“Not on purpose. I’m fine.”

“Let me make it up to you,” he said, holding her gaze. “A do-over. I want to show you what it can be like with me.”

She stared at him, her expression unreadable, then her mouth twisted and she walked around him toward the door.

When she reached the hallway, she glanced back at him. “No. Just no. I should have realized your ego was what mattered the most, so let me reassure you, the earth moved. It was fantastic and you have nothing to prove. Happy?”

Before he could answer, she was gone.

He picked up Sophie’s leash and led the dog back to the car. In theory Carol had told him exactly what he needed to hear. He should be fine. He should feel better. Only he didn’t. He felt small and scummy and like the biggest jerk on the planet. Funny how until Carol, women had all been so damned easy.

*

VIOLET STUDIED THE picture she’d downloaded, then looked back at the small dress. The lace was nearly a perfect match. Now she just had to sew a row of satin-covered buttons down the back and she would be done.

“You look intense.”

She glanced up and saw Ulrich standing in the doorway between their respective rooms. He still wore sweatpants and a T-shirt, which looked oddly regal on him. He’d showered and shaved, so the sexy, scruffy look was gone. In its place were the young duke works from home clean lines and strong jaw.

He was dreamy, she thought, doing her best not to sigh out loud. Funny and sweet and smart and those blue eyes of his...

“Violet?”

“Huh? Oh. Sorry. I was lost in thought.”

His mouth turned up at the corners. “Were you? It was difficult to tell.” His gaze dropped to the dress. “For a very small flower girl?”

She grinned and held up the garment. “Not exactly. It’s for a dog. A beagle, to be exact.”

“Someone wants a dog in their wedding?”

“It’s a long story.” She glanced at the clock and was surprised to see it was nearly one. “We need to order lunch. You must be starved. Do you know what you want?”

“Sandwiches are on their way,” he told her. “Any minute.”

“Oh. What did you order me?”

“What you said you wanted yesterday, then changed your mind about and were disappointed. Chicken salad, no nuts on toasted white bread.”

Which had been what she’d originally wanted. “You remembered all that?”

One shoulder rose and lowered.

She wanted to believe the information was significant. That his remembering was because he cared, only she knew better. Or at least she knew enough not to fool herself. Ulrich was used to taking care of a huge estate and running multiple businesses—having him remember her sandwich order was simply his impressive mind at work.

As if on cue, someone knocked on Ulrich’s door. He let in the server, who then set up their lunch at the table by the window. Violet took a seat. Ulrich sat across from her, then glanced out at the view.

“I know the mountains are there,” he told her, “yet they continue to surprise me. The peaks are so sharp. Nothing like the rolling hills back home.”

“There are mountains in Scotland, aren’t there?” she asked.

“Yes, but that’s hardly the same as the English countryside.”

She grinned. “Your Grace, I had no idea you were such a nationalist.”

He chuckled. “I’m not. A couple of hundred years ago, I would have been.”

“Or off with your head?”

“I believe the monarchy ceased using beheading as a way to keep the nobility in line long before that.”

“I’m sure you’re right. I’m a sucker for all things Elizabethan when head chopping still occurred.”

“We are a savage people.”

“Not anymore. Now you’re refined.”

“On the outside.”

Meaning what? There were hidden depths to him? Did any of those depths have a soft spot for her?