She stopped, then stared at him. “Why are you objecting? You know you’re going to restore the grove, and I know how you can be when you put your mind to it.”
“So?”
“You can’t leave it in ruins.”
“I don’t plan to. It’ll be restored at some point, but I’m not interested in rushing the job just to please some guy in another state who doesn’t understand when he needs to let something go.” To repair everything on time, Salazar would have to personally supervise, but he didn’t want to get involved in a place where the old memories would haunt him. No. He’d just wait for a dependable general contractor to become available, then perhaps put Dane in charge. His first-born was exacting enough to make it happen, especially since Shirley had loved the grove so much. He’d adored his grandmother. “Don’t look at me like that. It isn’t my fault Jane’s father insists on paying for the wedding. Twenty thousand. What the hell? Can you even get a decent bouquet for that much?”
Flush colored Ceinlys’s cheeks. “Just listen to yourself. Not everyone needs a million-dollar wedding, Salazar.”
He felt his face heat as though she’d slapped him. He’d spared no expense for their wedding because he’d wanted to give her everything.
She continued, “The only thing Iain cares about is making his bride happy.”
That’s all I cared about, too. He’d thought he loved her, and that she loved him back. And it hurt so much to listen to her talk, like Iain’s feelings and intentions were so noble and worthy. If she found them that admirable, she could’ve just fucking loved Salazar back then, rather than telling her friend she’d married him for money.
He steeled his voice. “Then perhaps he should’ve found a girl more befitting his station in life, not some penniless waif he picked up in a D.C. suburb.”
Just like Salazar should’ve found someone more compatible with him, not the most dazzling woman he’d ever seen in his life, who became the center of his universe that everything else orbited around.
Her face paled, then she tightened her jaw. “I see. Well. You are welcome to try talking some sense into him. In the meantime, I shall begin work on the grove myself.”
“We haven’t settled things with the insurance company yet.”
“I don’t care about the insurance company’s money. I’ll use my own.”
He narrowed his eyes. The funds he’d given her as part of the divorce settlement.
“You aren’t getting any piece of the grove,” he warned her.
She gave him a withering look. “If you want, I’ll sign a contract to that effect.” She tilted her head in that stubborn way. “Now, take me back to the city.”
Chapter Eight
Hilary Rosenberg Pryce finished drafting the last executive memo for Gavin Lloyd—her boss—and raised an eyebrow when her phone beeped with a text. It was a quarter after noon, and she’d told Mark she would be working until around one. Granted it was a Saturday and she knew Mark wanted to spend some time together, but the work was critical. Billions of retiree dollars were at stake. Despite people’s assumption that Gavin’s clients were mostly the idle rich, his firm also managed multiple pension funds.
After taking a sip of coffee from a mug that read A WOMAN WORTH HER WEIGHT IN GOLD, she reached for her phone to check the message with a smile. Maybe she should ask Mark to be patient with a promise of something very naughty later that night.
Her smile slipped when she saw it was a text from her mother-in-law, Ceinlys. The impossibly elegant older woman had acted with polite warmth toward Hilary ever since the engagement, but it was difficult for Hilary to forget how systematically Ceinlys had tried to ruin her life.
Still… Mark loved his mother, and for him, Hilary would try to love Ceinlys as well.
Please call when you have some time.
Hilary shut down her laptop and dialed Ceinlys’s number. She was not the kind of person you put off and hoped for the best. Even though she hadn’t come from a moneyed background, she had an almost royal ability to cut just about anyone with a word or a look.
“Thank you for getting back to me, Hilary,” came Ceinlys’s modulated tone. Unlike before, there was the barest hint of warmth in the voice.
“I just got your text. Is everything all right?”
“Of course. I was calling to ask about a good general contractor who can do some restoration work at the grove.”
“What happened?”
“A small incident.” Ceinlys didn’t elaborate. Typical. “I know Gavin hired someone when he added that studio to his place.”
“Yes, he did.” And Hilary had been tasked with selecting the best one out of the candidates. She’d had a great motivator to make sure whoever she’d picked out was excellent. Gavin had zero patience for people who couldn’t do their job well, and when he got frustrated he’d ask Hilary to deal with it.
“If you could let me know who that was, I’d appreciate it.” Ceinlys paused. “It’s very important.”
Hilary frowned. Just what had happened to the grove, and why would Ceinlys care? Along with all the other property, it had remained with the Pryce family after the divorce. The only thing Ceinlys had gotten was money. “Let me check and text you the information. Is that all right?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
After they hung up, Hilary dumped her laptop and phone into her bag and went home—Mark’s penthouse wasn’t far from Gavin’s office. Once a typical bachelor pad, it now had a homey feel with both their things—their photos, the souvenirs from their trips together. It was amazing how quickly his place had become theirs.
Mark raised his head from his phone, placing the gadget on the table. “You’re home early.” He grinned. “Couldn’t wait to see me, huh?”
“Of course not.” She kissed him as she dropped her bag on the couch. His lips felt warm and firm, and she couldn’t stop delicious shivers running down her back or prevent herself from running her fingers through his thick, dark hair. There were times she still couldn’t believe he was hers. He was simply too perfect a man, too sweet, too devoted. Maybe he was fate’s way of apologizing for her hellish childhood and youth. Or maybe she was just damn lucky. “Productive morning?”
“Yes, and I got you something from André.” He produced a takeout bag from Éternité. The haute cuisine restaurant didn’t do takeout orders, but he was the boss, so he almost always got what he wanted, provided the executive chef—André—didn’t object. Mark poured her a glass of chilled dry Riesling, her favorite.
“Mmm, nice,” she said. “Thank you. I’m starving. I skipped lunch.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
She smiled. He seemed to love her body even though she wasn’t super slim like his exes. When she’d tried to diet for the wedding, he’d said, “If I wanted a skinny chick, I would’ve married one. You’re the one I want, and I love you just the way you are.”
You just couldn’t do better than a man like that.
They sat on the couch and he arranged the lunch containers. He pulled her closer as she started munching on seared yellow-fin tuna. It had some kind of creamy but light sauce that lent a refreshing aftertaste.