Cathy Gillen - The Heiress

Since their divorce, Tom noted, that view obviously hadn’t lasted. Not that Tom had been a saint, either, in the fifteen years he and Grace had been apart. He had made love to a dozen women over the years, enduring everything from a single one-night stand to a relationship that had lasted almost four months. But none of the entanglements had been satisfying, because he hadn’t loved any of the women, not the way he had once loved Grace.

Grace stood, her slender shoulders stiffening. “This isn’t helping.”

You’re telling me. It had been days now and all he could think of was Grace naked beneath that robe, her young gigolo standing there in a towel. Had Paulo discovered how spectacular her body was? Had she kissed him back like she meant it, or had she simply endured her young lover’s caresses, the way she had often tolerated his?

Grace clamped her lips together. “You have no right to comment on my actions.” She glared at Tom resentfully. “We’re not married anymore.”

Tom stared right back at her. “But you felt compelled to flaunt your affair with that guy in my face anyway,” Tom noted bitterly as he ran his hand across his jaw, which was scraggly with a beard. His gut twisting with jealousy, Tom took another sip then set his bottle down beside him and turned his attention back to his reel.

“I didn’t ask you to show up at my place at the crack of dawn,” Grace continued, defending herself.

Not buying her excuse, Tom stopped rethreading the reel and regarded Grace steadily. “After what had happened the night before, you knew I would come to see you as soon as I could, to talk about Daisy and our four kids. Not that the other morning was the first time. You’ve been with that overrated, overpriced gigolo for weeks now!” And it killed Tom because he had thought—hoped—the relationship was just a flirtation, that at heart it was platonic. How foolish had that fantasy been?

Grace turned her face to the breeze.

Tom watched the soft blond layers of Grace’s hair get whipped around sexily by the salt-scented wind. “Being with him that way is wrong,” he snapped grimly. And you know it.

A mixture of shock and fury widened her eyes as she turned back to him. “Says who?” Grace advanced on him emotionally, looking as though she was tempted to haul off and hit him. “You?” She poked her index finger against his bare chest. “The arbiter of extramarital sex? Please.” Grace threw up both hands in aggravation. “You’ve squired your share of young and beautiful women around since we split. And for all I know, even before we separated.”

That was unfair but typical, Tom thought. He stood, and really pissed off now, squared off with her. “I was only unfaithful to you once,” he said.

“And since?” Grace queried, arching her delicate blond eyebrows at him.

It was Tom’s turn to move his glance away. A muscle working convulsively in his jaw, he shifted to the harbor beyond. “You left me, remember?”

“For good reason, if you recall,” she reminded him.

Tom shook his head in exasperation. “Yeah, because you put a wall between us.”

“We had children, a home together…” She spoke as if she didn’t believe he was turning the tables on her.

But Tom knew it was the truth. And he knew, whether she liked it or not, it was past time his wife faced just how cold and unaffectionate she had been prior to his interlude with Iris. “Yes, Grace, you distanced yourself from me.”

“I was depressed! Finding out I was sterile was a devastating blow.”

Or an excuse. Tom tread nearer, trying not to recall how much he had wanted to make love to her then, how much—despite everything—he still did. “We already had four children, Grace.”

“Five,” Grace countered miserably, “if you count the baby we lost when I miscarried, the year after Amy was born.”

“But you wanted more, didn’t you?” Tom remembered bleakly. And when she couldn’t have them, she had completely turned away from him, in her heart and in their marriage.

“We both wanted more kids. Half a dozen, remember?” Grace’s voice became a strangled sob as she forged on. “Only I couldn’t because of the complications I had after the miscarriage. But that didn’t stop you, did it?” Her eyes gleamed with hurt as she reminded, “Because you went right on to have another child without me—you had Daisy.”

Tom saw it all—the jealousy, envy, resentment—that another woman had given him what Grace no longer could. “That was never meant to be more than one night,” he told her with gut-wrenching honesty.

Grace stared at him and slowly shook her head, appearing as if she could hardly believe his naiveté. “That night created a child, Tom. It destroyed our family.” Tears flooded her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “But you can’t admit that to yourself even now, can you? You persist in saying and feeling I should just get over it.”

Tom swallowed hard. “Why can’t you?” he demanded, feeling more frustrated than ever.

Grace threw her hands up. “You know why I can’t! Because you betrayed me.”

Tom clamped down on his own hurt. Jaw set, he said, “I made a mistake.” It had been a bad one, yes. But it should not have ended their marriage.

“You ripped my heart in two,” Grace accused with insurmountable bitterness.

And, Tom thought sadly, she had never allowed him to put it back together again.

Grace turned away from him and walked over to the edge of the deck. Her back to the marina, she stared out at the harbor, and the coming together of the Ashley and Cooper Rivers. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” she said in a low, defeated voice.

Tom crossed to her side. Hands on her shoulders, he turned her resisting body to face him. “How can you say that?” he asked hoarsely. Didn’t she understand—would she never understand—his heart had been ripped into pieces, too?

“Because—” Grace turned her sad eyes up to his and continued dejectedly “—it would’ve happened eventually anyway.” She paused, shook her head in silent remonstration. “My grief and depression were just an excuse to do what you already wanted to do in your heart, Tom, what you had probably always wanted to do, which was forget the wife you had at home and bed down with some young, rich and sexy society girl.”

“That’s not true. It was you, Grace, who didn’t want me.”

Anger flared at the corners of her mouth. “Will you stop blaming me for what you did that night?” She balled her hands into fists. “You walked out on me, Tom. You answered Iris’s distress call and went to her apartment. You unzipped your pants, took off your trousers, and you were with her. And you probably would’ve kept right on seeing her if I hadn’t found you two.”

Tom knew it had been an ugly time. All because he’d had too much pride to go to Grace and tell her how lonely—how bereft and shut out—he felt. He should have gotten down on his knees and begged her to love him again. Instead, he had allowed himself to become angry, vengeful. And looked to another woman, who was just as needy and unhappy in her own way, for comfort. And for that, Tom would always blame himself. Just as virulently as Grace blamed him.

Mustering what little patience he had left, Tom explained, “You know I regret what happened that night with all my heart and soul. As for the rest…I stayed with you because I wanted to work it out.”

“No,” Grace corrected. “You stayed with me because you didn’t want to lose custody of your kids or hurt your business or let your infidelity become public knowledge!”

What could Tom say to that? It was true. He hadn’t wanted any of those things to happen. He hadn’t wanted their life to fall apart, any more than it already had. And a divorce would have ensured even more misery than they had already suffered.