Susan Meier - The Tycoon's Secret Daughter

“The tooth fairy, huh?”

Knocked out of her reverie, she faced him again. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure she knows it’s me who leaves the money, but she’s okay with it.”

“I guess she no longer believes in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, that kind of stuff.”

“No. You missed those.”

She’d meant that to sound flippant and fun. Instead, when the words left her mouth the room became silent.

And stayed silent so long that she couldn’t take it anymore. The big elephant in the room was that he might have been a drunk, but she’d hidden his child from him. She’d had good reason. Tons of good reasons. But could a woman really keep a child from her father without at least a little remorse? A sense of responsibility for hurting him, no matter how bad a husband he’d been?

“I’m sorry.”

He glanced up sharply, caught her gaze. “For what?”

“For hurting you by keeping Trisha from you.”

“You did what you had to do.”

Relief saturated her. “You accept that?”

“I have to.”

“Part of twelve steps?”

“In a roundabout way.”

He was so calm. So accepting. So different.

Confused, she scooped her glass of iced tea from the coffee table. He genuinely seemed committed. And that could be nothing but good for Trisha. But it also intensified her guilt.

“So,” he said, obviously changing the subject. “I noticed she had a lot of dolls.”

“Most little girls do.”

“Going to be weird for me to insinuate myself into her life.”

Since he was trying and she was tired of feeling guilty, maybe she should just do what he was doing—pretend nothing was wrong? “I’ll help you.”

“That’d be great.”

He smiled a genuine smile and her heart swelled with longing as her brain filled with memories of him before he’d started drinking, when he was young, happy, downright silly sometimes.

The conversation died again. She glanced around at the room she’d decorated and looked beyond it to her kitchen, her living room. Even the foyer tables, lamps and art that were her choices.

He’d loved her. He’d loved her enough to give her a free hand and then enjoy what she’d chosen. They’d been so happy—

Tears blurred her eyes and she bounced out of her seat. “You know what? I’ve gotta go.”

He rose. “Okay.”

She raced toward the French doors. Damn him for being so accommodating! So nice. So easygoing now. Now, when it didn’t matter. Now, when there was no going back.

The sense of loss swelled in her. Halfway to the doors, she spun around. “You ruined it.”

He didn’t even attempt to pretend he didn’t know what she was talking about. “I know.”

“We had it all! Everything other couples longed for. Money. A house. A great sex life. Laughter. And you threw it all away!”

“Why do you think I quit drinking? Because I know that! At first when you left, I was so lonely and miserable that I drank more. Then one day it hit me that I’d done this to myself—” He blew his breath out on a sigh. “I’d done this to us. And that’s when I went to AA.”

The last thing she wanted to hear was that he’d quit drinking because he knew that was why he’d lost her. It hurt too much. The tears on her eyelids threatened to spill over and she tightened her jaw.

“I also know I’ve had seven years to get past a lot of stuff that you’re just facing now.”

His voice was soft, apologetic. But that only made it worse. Her tears teetered on the edges of her eyelids, then tumbled onto her cheeks.

She pivoted and raced to the door. She had to get the hell out of here.

“Kate, don’t.”

She stopped, her hand on the doorknob. “Don’t what? Don’t leave? Don’t care?”

“It doesn’t do any good to put yourself through the mess of remembering everything every time you see me. It’s over. It’s done. We might have lost us, but we have a daughter. And that’s something wonderful for me. So don’t go back in time wishing for what could have been. Just help me deal with today.”

Her chin wobbled with the effort not to sob. He’d had so much time to get over this that it almost seemed as if he had no emotion about their lost marriage.

But she did.

And it hurt.

Damn it. It hurt.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, she yanked open the door. “Sure. Fine. You can come by again tomorrow at one.”

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