“What do you mean?” Greyson asked Olivia that evening after he walked her and Clara into her house.
He wasn’t sure he correctly comprehended the meaning of the statement she had just made. They had had a phenomenal twenty-four hours. Yesterday and last night had felt like a real turning point in their relationship. He hadn’t had much chance to speak with her today, but when she had invited him in now, he’d had high hopes for a repeat of what had happened between them last night.
Instead she had turned to him after they had entered the house and told him she was leaving.
“Leaving to go where?” he asked.
“I’m going to visit my parents for a few days. I wanted them to spend some time with Clara.”
“Why now?” he asked bluntly, and her eyes clouded.
“Greyson, things are complicated right now. What happened yesterday . . .”
“Do you regret it?” he asked, certain that he knew what her response would be. And dreading the confirmation of his worst fears.
“No.”
The single-word response—the complete opposite of what he had expected to hear—stunned him. And he reeled for a moment as he stared at her uncomprehendingly.
“What?”
“I don’t regret it. Not at all. And that confuses me. I need to think, Greyson. And I don’t believe I can make sound decisions with you around to cloud my judgment.”
“Olivia.”
“I have to do this, Greyson. For all our sakes.”
He blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the prickling sensation behind his eyes. The thought of her leaving absolutely terrified him. It felt like the progress he had been making with her, and with Clara, would be lost once she left. He couldn’t lose them again. It would kill him this time. He was certain of that.
“When are you thinking of going?” His voice was embarrassingly hoarse, and he cleared his throat self-consciously.
“Tomorrow. I was going to make an online booking tonight.”
“Don’t. I can arrange for the chopper to pick you up.”
“That’s ridiculous, Greyson. It’s an incredible waste of resources just for us.”
“It’s safer, faster, and more convenient. It would be better for Clara.”
“Greyson . . .”
“She’s my daughter, Olivia. You’re my . . .” He paused, reluctant to even think the word ex-wife. “You’re her mother. Please let me do this for you.”
“Okay, thank you.”
“I’ll drive you two to the airport.”
She nodded, and he was surprised by how acquiescent she was being. Usually she would argue about every little detail, and he wondered why she was being so agreeable. He wasn’t sure if this compliance was a good thing, or if she was just throwing him a bone before finally yanking that rug out from beneath him.
He didn’t think she had it in her to be that unkind. But despite what she had said about forgiving him . . . the thought of how cruel he had once been to her still loomed large in his head. He found it difficult to imagine her forgiving him for that. Perhaps because he still had such a hard time forgiving himself for it.
He reached out tentatively and caught one of her curls between his thumb and index finger, desperately needing the contact.
“I know you didn’t believe me last night, Olivia. And I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t believe me if I were you . . . but I do love you. I have for much longer than I realized. I thought you should know that.”
She stared at him mutely, her arms seeming to tighten fractionally around Clara’s small body. He grabbed the opportunity to lean in and kiss her gently.
“Good night. I’ll send you a text to let you know what time we’ll leave for the airport.”
He didn’t wait for her to reply but left before he could do something embarrassing, like begging her to let him stay.
He loves me. There was no misunderstanding his meaning this time. He had looked straight into her eyes and told her that he loved her.
The words reverberated through her mind as she settled Clara down for the evening, while she packed their bags and set her house to rights.
He loved her.
All her life she had longed to hear those words from Greyson Chapman. For so long she had created girlish fantasies around his romantic declaration of love. Reality had been much less florid and far from perfect.
Reality had been a stark collection of words said in a tortured tone of voice, with desperation shining in his eyes.
And yet those unembellished words rang with truth because they were so typically Greyson.
For the man who rarely smiled, barely laughed, and liked to keep his emotions under lock and key, those few words had been the equivalent of a chivalric knight writing a sonnet to his ladylove.
And Libby now had to decide if that was enough to revive a relationship she had nearly given up for dead.
Greyson barely slept, dreading the thought of driving the two people he loved the most in the world to the airport in the morning. After a restless night he got up just before dawn to take a long shower. And he sent Olivia a curt text afterward, telling her to be ready for pickup in an hour.
He wandered aimlessly around the flat for a while before trying to calm down with a coloring project. When that didn’t work, he got up to pace again. Finally, after half an hour, he strode to the door. He was just about to open it when the sound of Tina’s voice calling his name startled him into yanking the front door nearly off its hinges.
He stopped abruptly, stunned to find his brother cozied up next to Tina on the porch swing. They both looked ridiculously contented, and Greyson was immediately happy for them.
“Yeah?”
“So I’m in love with your brother,” Tina said with a huge smile. “And he’s in love with me. We’re together. We’ll probably get married someday. Harris wants the world to know; I thought we’d start with you.”
“That’s truly fantastic,” he said, genuinely delighted for them. “And if I may say so, about damned time. Be happy.”
“Yeah,” Harris said. He kissed Tina’s neck, and she sighed softly. “I think we will be.”
“Right. I think . . . I’ll head out for a drive,” Greyson said, not wanting to ruin the moment for them by stating that he was taking Olivia to the airport. They deserved to have their happiness remain bright and untarnished for as long as possible. They didn’t seem to hear him, and feeling like an awkward third wheel, he hurriedly left the porch. Leaving them to their privacy.
He couldn’t help but be a little envious of their happiness. Things were just beginning for them, but it felt like everything was ending for him and Olivia, and his gut twisted at the thought.
He was unutterably drained, like a drowning man who had been desperately fighting to keep his head above water only to have a giant wave sweep in and pull him under. It felt like all his efforts had been futile and everything from the instant Olivia had so joyously told him she was pregnant had been leading to this moment of ineffable loss.
She was uncommonly quiet when he picked them up. And the drive to the airport wasn’t much better. Neither of them could find much to say.
“Harris is back,” he remembered, halfway through the thirty-minute drive to Plettenberg Bay Airport.
“Oh?” she asked, and he nodded, grateful to have something to talk about.
“It looks like they’ve reconciled.”
“That’s wonderful,” she said, her voice brimming with sincerity. “I’m so happy for them.”
Greyson nodded again, not sure what else to add to the conversation, and they both petered off into silence once more.
“You should leave your key with me,” he suddenly said, his voice overly loud.
“Why?” she asked curiously.
“So that we can finish the renovations on your house while you’re gone.” And it would help keep him sane and remind him that she would return. She had to. She had a life here.
She dug around in her purse and produced the key, dropping it in the coin tray on the dashboard. No argument. At least they had made progress on that front.
They reached the airport much too soon for his liking. The chopper had been fueled and was ready and waiting. It had been reserved for some other purpose, but Greyson had pulled rank. Something he would never have done if it were for anyone other than Olivia and Clara.
“Well . . . thank you for bringing us,” Olivia said with a strained smile at the security checkpoint, and Greyson nodded, finding himself quite unable to speak. He was holding Clara, and he gathered her close, hugging her small sturdy body probably a little too tightly and for a little too long. He breathed in her powdery, clean baby smell, memorizing the warmth and softness of her. Clara squirmed and made a protesting sound, and he forced himself to loosen his grip and hand her over to her mother.
He kissed the top of the baby’s head and directed his blurry gaze to Olivia.
“Greyson,” she said, her voice so quiet it was barely audible above the noise of the airport. “We’ll be back soon. I promise.”
He nodded, his jaw taut. He couldn’t speak. If he tried to talk, he was quite sure he’d break down and bawl like a baby. His whole world was walking away from him. For the second time. And he wasn’t sure he could stand it.
She turned to leave, but he couldn’t let her go—not like this—and caught her hand in his, halting her movement. She turned back to face him, and he palmed the side of her face before he dropped a hard, desperate kiss on her beautiful, lush mouth. It was over in seconds, and he pressed his forehead to hers.
Her hand lifted to where his was still cupped over her cheek, and she gave his fingers a soft squeeze. Acknowledging his words with a small smile.
“Goodbye, Greyson.”
She left him standing there with his shattered heart at his feet, helpless to do anything but watch as she walked away from him.
“Hey, I have someone here who wants to say hello to you,” Olivia said in deliberately jovial tones, and Greyson grinned at her words. She had been FaceTiming at the same time every evening so that he could speak with Clara, who always reacted with excitement at the sight of him.
“Hello, Clara,” he greeted her, inserting the genuine excitement he always felt at the sight of them into his voice. “It’s Daddy.”
Her head turned at the sound, and her face lit up when she saw him on Olivia’s laptop screen. Her plump, grasping fingers reached for the screen as they always did, and Olivia grabbed them before they could do any harm.
“I know, baby,” Greyson said. “Daddy wants to give you a hug too. You and Mummy.”
Olivia didn’t react to the latter; she had made it clear that these calls were mostly for Clara’s sake. They spoke primarily about the baby, although Greyson would often update her as to how her house was coming along. He had replaced the air con and the carpet in the living room. And he had transformed the tiny second bedroom into a nursery for Clara. It was much smaller in size than the one she had set up in the penthouse during her pregnancy, but he had duplicated the colors and motifs as best he could.
It was a labor of love. Something to make up for, even if it was in only the tiniest of ways, his lack of presence during her pregnancy. He hadn’t told her about the nursery—he wanted it to be a surprise—but he had worked his ass off to get it nearly done in the few days she had been gone so far.
Clara quickly realized that he wasn’t really there, as she always did. And she lost interest in the laptop after a couple of minutes, grasping for other things on the table.
“How is everybody?” Greyson ventured, despite the fact that he’d been shot down when asking similar questions in the past.
“Fine. Happy to be spending time with Clara. I went to your parents’ today . . .” She shook her head; the gesture held a measure of disbelief. “They’re so different around her. They practically fought over who would get to hold her.”
Greyson chuckled. “They sent me pictures. Told me you were going to the aquarium with them tomorrow?”
She shuddered. “The aquarium on a Saturday—can you imagine the crowds?” she asked with a wince.
“Quite frankly, I can’t imagine my mother making her way through those crowds. I’m surprised they didn’t suggest taking you out on the yacht or something less . . . ordinary.”
“Less common, you mean,” she corrected him, and he laughed. “They suggested their country club, and I told them Clara would probably be bored. Then they did suggest the yacht, and I told them I wasn’t sure how Clara would react to the unfamiliar sensation of being on water. Your father is the one who proposed the aquarium, and if looks could kill, he’d be dead after the glare your mother gave him.”
“He probably paid for it afterward,” Greyson said with a chuckle, and she grinned.
“Probably.”
They lapsed into a strange, awkward silence.
“Well, I’ve got to—”
“We’re fixing the roof tomorrow,” he interrupted her abruptly in an attempt to keep her on the line longer.
“That’s fantastic. How did you manage to get the roofers to commit to a Saturday?”
“It’s been tough getting anyone out here; every professional in the area has been booked solid for months since the end of winter.”
He knew it was a nonanswer, and he hoped she wouldn’t pick up on that. Because he didn’t want to tell her that he and the guys—he took a moment to appreciate the fact that he had guys now—were planning to do it themselves. Spencer had some construction experience, Brand was handy with a hammer, and Harris, who had moved to Riversend and was looking to buy or build a house with Tina, was happy to lend a hand. A few of the bigger teen boys from the youth-outreach program had offered to help out as well. As had some of his football teammates.
“Okay. Well, thanks for arranging that. I should get Clara changed and ready for bed. Good night.”
“Good night, Olivia.”
She didn’t disconnect the call and appeared to be waiting for something. He smiled and leaned toward the camera before ending the call as he always did: “I love you.”
The feed ended abruptly after that, and his smile widened. It felt like progress.
“When are you going home?” her mother’s quiet voice asked from behind Libby, and she turned away from her computer to stare at the woman. She was in the kitchen, and usually her parents gave her privacy during these calls, but her mother—who had an empty glass clutched in her hand—must have walked in at the tail end of that conversation.
“I’m not sure. Do you want us to leave?”
“Don’t be silly; you know we love having you here. But I’m not sure why you’re here.”
“Can’t a daughter visit her parents?”
Her mother smiled and took Clara from her before sitting down across from Libby and pinning her with that all-seeing mum stare of hers.
“Anytime. Only this doesn’t feel like you’re visiting. It feels like you’re hiding. I know you and Greyson have had problems. Of course I know that. We all do. When you first married him, I wasn’t too sure it would work out. But you’ve always had a soft spot for him and then a crush on him, and when you returned from London a married woman, you were mad about him. I don’t know what he did to break your heart, Libby . . . and I could kill that boy for the pain he put you through. For abandoning his responsibilities for so long. But I’ve overheard bits and pieces of these calls every night, and that man loves his daughter, and—while I never saw it before, it’s clear as day now—he loves you.”
“I’m not sure that his love is enough to save our marriage, Mum,” Libby confessed in a hushed voice. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. He hurt me terribly, and I suppose I don’t know if I trust him not to do it again. He broke that trust once, and he’s been trying so hard to make up for it. But I feel like it will always be there, looming between us. And I have to decide if I’m able—willing—to set it aside and allow myself to be vulnerable with him again.”
Her mother placed her hand palm up on the table, and Libby took it, appreciating the older woman’s love and support.
“Did he cheat on you?” her mother asked, and Libby’s eyes widened in horror at the question.
“No.” The word came out more forcefully than she had intended, but the thought of Greyson cheating was almost ridiculous, and she leaped to his defense without thinking. Once she realized what she had done, she felt an immediate surge of resentment that he hadn’t done the same for her.
Why couldn’t he have had the same faith in her? That felt like the worst betrayal, and that was the demon she found herself battling with.
“He didn’t cheat, but he accused me of cheating. He thought Clara was someone else’s. He thought Harris and I . . .” She shook her head. Still mortified at the thought.
“You and Harris have always been close,” her mother said thoughtfully, and Libby was a little outraged that the woman hadn’t immediately jumped to her defense. “Sometimes to the exclusion of everyone else. Even Tina.”
“That’s no excuse,” Libby said, the outrage dissolving. It always came back to this.
“Greyson should have trusted you; he should have trusted his brother. You were always so warm and approachable and loving. It was hard for me to imagine you with someone like Greyson. Hard for all of us, I think. Even for Greyson. You seemed so much more compatible with Harris, while Greyson was always such a closed-off, distant boy. I remember when you were children, you and Harris would come tumbling into the kitchen and try to charm me out of biscuits or treats. Harris would say ridiculously flattering things; you would smile and plead and flutter those eyelashes at me. While Greyson would stand in the doorway and watch. He never begged or charmed. But he wanted to. I could tell it in the way he would lean in through that door, the way his eyes would follow my hands as I gave you the treats.
“He wasn’t cold; he was . . . I don’t know . . . the only word I can think of is distant. Or reserved. Always was and probably always will be. When he wanted something, he asked for it, no frills, no fuss, and sometimes it would sound like a demand. It can be off putting, but it’s the only way he knows how to be. What Greyson did was awful, and I’m very angry with him for hurting you and not taking care of you the way he should have. And I can’t tell you what to do or how to feel. I just know that I never thought I’d see the day that our cold and controlled Greyson Chapman would spend time making funny animal noises to a baby and telling a woman he loves her.”
Libby groaned and buried her face in her arms on the table. What was she doing here? She wasn’t sure she was achieving anything except confusing herself even further.
The aquarium was a complete nightmare. So many people jostling to see the exhibits, crying babies, squealing toddlers, stampeding children. The Chapmans spent the morning looking both horrified and terrified, and it would have been comical if Libby hadn’t felt the same way.
Clara seemed to love it, though. The noise fascinated her, the gorgeous exhibits held her attention for long moments . . . but thankfully she started to flag after just an hour, and Libby eagerly suggested they leave when Clara started fussing.
Her in-laws jumped at the opportunity to escape, and they were on their way to a restaurant when Libby’s phone rang. It was Tina.
“Hey, Tina, how’re you doing?” she greeted her friend warmly. Tina had been on cloud nine since announcing her engagement to Harris on Tuesday. And every time they spoke, Libby could hear the lightness in the woman’s voice. Harris was the same, and Libby was extremely happy for them.
“Libby.” There was no lightness in Tina’s voice this time, and Libby sat upright, alarmed by the urgency in her friend’s voice.
“What’s wrong?”
“The guys were fixing the roof, and . . . I don’t know what happened, but Greyson fell. They rushed him to the hospital. I’m on my way there now. Harris called me; he said he’s been trying to reach you.”
“What do you mean, he fell?” Libby asked, feeling hysteria rising in her voice. “Fell from where?”
“The roof, Libby.”
Libby swayed as dizziness overtook her. “That idiot. That stupid, stupid man! Why was he on the roof?”
“They were fixing it. There were a few of them. He couldn’t get the roofers out until next month, and he wanted the house to be in perfect condition when you returned. He’s been working so hard on it.” Libby could hear the swell of emotion in Tina’s voice; the other woman sounded like she was on the verge of tears. Libby couldn’t react with anything other than shock, anger, and panic.
“How is he?” she asked, her voice sounding faint even to her own ears.
“I’m not sure. Harris said he took quite a tumble. He sounded concerned, but I think he was trying to hide it from me.”
“Oh God.” Libby took a huge gulp of breath, her dizziness increasing. She was aware of her in-laws staring at her in concern. They were in a huge luxury SUV with their new driver at the wheel. “Oh my God. I’ll be there soon. I have to make arrangements.”
She dropped the call before Tina could respond.
“Greyson is hurt. I have to get back to Riversend immediately. Can you arrange the helicopter, please?”
Truman Chapman nodded and immediately got on the phone, while Constance leaned toward Libby. The older woman’s face was ashen with shock.
“Hurt?” she asked, her voice urgent. “How? What happened?”
“I’m not sure. Tina says he fell . . .” She paused and swallowed, feeling a surge of nausea at the thought of the height he must have fallen from. “From the roof.”
“The roof?” Constance looked a little sick and very confused. “Why was he on a roof? How high is it?”
“I don’t know.” Libby’s voice was rising in pitch, the way it always did when she was fighting back tears. “About four meters?”
She clutched a hand to her chest as she fought back her dread and struggled to breathe. She was rocking slightly, trying to calm herself but not succeeding. Had he been conscious? Oh God, if he had lost consciousness, that meant he had hit his head. Her rocking increased as she continued to gulp for breath.
She wasn’t sure, but she thought she might be having a panic attack. Her chest felt tight, and her breath was coming in shallow gasps. Her dizziness increased as her intake of air decreased.
She felt Constance’s hand on the back of her head and was confused by that until the woman exerted pressure and forced her head down.
“Put your head between your knees,” the older woman instructed her matter of factly, remarkably calm under pressure. “Breathe in and out slowly. Truman, call Harrison and find out what on earth is going on.”
Everything passed in a blur after that. They didn’t return to Libby’s parents’ place; instead they went straight to the Foreshore, where the Chapman Global Property Group’s headquarters were located, and rode the elevator up to the roof, where the executive helicopter was waiting. Truman and Constance boarded the chopper with her, and they were airborne in a matter of minutes.
“My parents,” Libby said dazedly, unable to fully formulate her thoughts, every part of her desperate to get to Riversend and to Greyson. She shouldn’t have left. Why had she left? She loved the fool man, and he loved her. He loved her so much he kept trying to prove himself to her by doing stupid things like attempting to fix plumbing and doors and climbing onto roofs when she had expressly told him not to.
“Truman called your father. They know what’s going on.”
“What did Harris say?” Libby asked blankly. She hadn’t heard the older man’s conversation with Harris. She had been too preoccupied with not passing out.
“He said Greyson is having some tests done. He passed out after falling—”
“Oh God, did he hit his head?” Libby interrupted.
“Harris doesn’t believe so. He thinks Greyson passed out from shock and pain.”
That seemed worse. How much pain had he been in to pass out from it? Libby fidgeted agitatedly with the buckle of her seat belt, and Constance reached over to grasp her hand reassuringly.
“He’ll be fine, Olivia. He’s tough.” The comforting gesture, coming from a woman who was usually as reserved as her son, sent Libby over the edge. Her tears welled up and overflowed. Like their son, her in-laws had trouble being demonstrative. Yet when the chips were down, they were there to offer support and comfort in their own way.
Harris and Tina were in the hospital waiting room when Libby rushed in, followed at a more sedate pace by Constance and Truman. The latter was carrying a droopy Clara. Harris got up to hug Libby tightly and then his parents, taking Clara from his father. Tina stood back shyly, giving Libby a hug before practically hiding behind her. Libby was confused at first until she realized that this was the first time Tina was seeing the older couple after so unceremoniously announcing her engagement to their son on Facebook a few days ago.
“How’s Greyson?” Libby asked urgently, ignoring Tina’s caginess in favor of more immediate concerns.
“They’re taking X-rays of his arm and leg as we speak,” Harris said. “He seems to be fine, Bug. He regained consciousness, and he was more embarrassed than anything else.”
Libby refused to be reassured until she had seen him for herself. She glanced around the waiting room and for the first time noticed that the room was filled with quite a few recognizable faces. Were they all here for Greyson?
Spencer Carlisle, Lia, Brand, a few familiar teens from the community center. A few more from the restaurant.
“Why are all these people here?” she asked Harris in a hushed tone, her eyes wide.
“We were all helping Greyson out with the roof.”
“All these people?”
“I know, right?” Harris said with a grin. “My brother is Mr. Popular in this town. I mean, I knew this place was good for Tina, but it’s been bloody great for Grey as well.”
“I want to see him,” Libby said. She wouldn’t be assured that he was okay until she had seen him for herself.
“He’ll be back from radiology soon.”
He had no sooner said the words than they heard a commotion coming from down the hall. A loud, irate voice that sounded remarkably like Greyson’s. But Greyson never shouted. Especially not in public. Libby’s eyes widened, and she dashed through the swinging doors for the wards, Harris and Tina in tow.
“No. I refuse to let you do it. You lay one finger on it, and I’ll sue this fucking hospital and everyone in it for malpractice.”
“Mr. Chapman, it has to come off, I’m afraid,” a tall older man in a white coat was saying in a calm, no-nonsense voice. “Cutting it off is our best option. I’m sure you can have it repaired.”
“What’s going on here?” Libby demanded to know in her most authoritative voice. She surged forward, going straight to Greyson’s side. He was on a gurney, and it looked like they had been in the process of wheeling him somewhere when this heated exchange had begun in the middle of a crowded hallway.
“Olivia.” Greyson sounded both relieved and alarmed to see her there. He looked awful, pale and bruised. He was wearing nothing but a hospital gown, and she could see the multitude of contusions on his arms and legs. His left arm looked horribly swollen and discolored, and Libby swayed when she saw it.
“Oh my God, your arm.”
“It’s just a little broken. Nothing too terrible,” Greyson said, in a voice that was noticeably taut with pain.
“A little broken?” Libby repeated, outraged by the understatement. “There’s no such thing as a little break, Greyson. Why are you screaming the halls down? Are they hurting you?”
She turned her fiercely protective glare on the staff, who were all watching her with slightly bemused looks on their faces.
“Uh . . . Mrs. Chapman?” the doctor asked hesitantly, correctly guessing her identity.
“Yes. What’s wrong with my husband?”
“We need to remove his wedding band; his fingers are swollen, and the band is cutting off the blood supply to his finger.”
“Don’t you dare touch my ring,” Greyson seethed, and Libby’s eyes welled with tears at how very much that ring meant to him. He had never removed it, not when he had believed the absolute worst of her and at no point after that. Even after he’d signed the divorce papers, the ring had remained firmly fixed on his finger, and he was now prepared to do battle with his doctors to keep it there.
“Greyson,” Libby said, stepping toward him and cupping his jaw with her hands. “Let them do what they have to do.”
“Olivia . . . I can’t. It means too much to me. I can’t let them take it.” He sounded so incredibly heartsick at the prospect of losing that ring that her tears overflowed, and she leaned down to kiss him.
“We’ll have it repaired. Or replaced.”
He stared at her uncertainly. “Replaced?”
“Yes,” she said, her gaze unwavering. “With a new wedding ring. Maybe an engraved one this time.”
He swallowed, his eyes still unsure and his face shockingly vulnerable. “Olivia . . .”
“Let the doctors fix you up . . . and then we’ll talk about what the hell you were doing on that roof.”
“Love you,” he said with a grimace that was trying very hard to be a smile.
She moved her mouth to his ear, kissing his cheek along the way.
“I love you too, Greyson. Now please focus on getting better.”
“A broken arm, two sprained ribs, and a twisted ankle,” Libby itemized as she glared down at her repentant-looking husband a few hours later. She hadn’t been allowed to see him while they’d strapped what needed to be strapped and plastered what had to be plastered.
He was under observation for a few more hours, but the doctor was confident they could send him home soon. He was sitting up in the hospital bed, cradling his plastered arm to his chest. Harris had gone back to the flat he had once shared with Greyson to get him some fresh clothes.
“You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck. What were you thinking?”
“The roof needed to be fixed.”
“By professionals. Instead you got your cronies together and . . . why are you grinning?”
“I have cronies.”
He sounded so ridiculously pleased that all the wind went out of Libby’s sails.
“You’re an idiot.” The words carried no heat at all.
“I wanted the house to be perfect for you. There’s more rain forecast for next week, and I didn’t want you and Clara to be in a house with a leaking roof anymore. Spencer has repaired roofs before, we all watched instructional videos ahead of time, I consulted an expert—we were doing a damned good job before I stupidly lost my footing and fell.”
“Oh God, the thought of you falling off the roof is so—”
“Wait, I didn’t fall off the roof,” Greyson interrupted. “I fell off the ladder. Although . . . falling off the roof does sound cooler.”
“It’s lame, but I kind of lost my balance halfway down the ladder. My arm and leg got twisted in the rungs on the way down, and I hit the ground hard. The ladder added insult to injury by landing on me.”
“I was worried sick,” she admitted, and he lifted his uninjured hand toward her. She entwined her fingers with his.
“I didn’t mean to worry you,” he said, his voice gruff. He tried to touch her face and winced with the movement. She grimaced in sympathy.
“Try not to move around so much,” she told him.
“How’s Clara? Can I see her?”
“She’s asleep, and you need to rest.”
“About that wedding ring replacement . . . I was thinking.” He hesitated, and she waited patiently for him to continue.
“Thinking what?” she prompted him when he didn’t continue.
“I was wondering . . . I mean, this isn’t ideal, and I should probably wait until I’m a bit more mobile and bit less drugged . . . but I figured I’d ask before you changed your mind about loving me.”
“I’m not going to do that,” she said.
“You sure about that? You’re not just caught up in the emotion of the moment? I mean, a man gets injured fixing your roof, you’re going to harbor some tender feelings for him.”
“Possibly, but I doubt I would have told Brand or Spencer I loved them if they had been the ones to fall.”
“Good to know. So you meant it?”
“Greyson,” she said with a soft sigh. “I left because I wanted to be sure about my feelings for you. I didn’t want my judgment clouded by your proximity, or great sex, or what a wonderful father you are to Clara. But I missed you all the time while I was gone. I think that kind of sealed it for me. I didn’t miss you after I moved out of the penthouse seven months ago. I was too angry with you. Every time I thought of you, I was just filled with so much anger and sadness.”
“Not this time?” he asked softly.
“Not at all. I kept wondering how you were and what you were doing. I looked forward to our FaceTime sessions. I know I said they were for Clara, but they were mostly for me. Because I missed the sound of your voice, the sight of your face . . . I missed your laugh and your smell and your touch. I missed the way you are with Clara. The way you cared about us and our safekeeping. But most of all, I missed your companionship.”
“I missed you too,” he admitted. “That’s why I was so damned determined to fix the house for you. It kept me sane.”
“I know I’ve been hard on you,” she whispered, her fingers tightening around his. “I was just so terrified of allowing you to creep back through my defenses. Because I knew once you broached those walls, I’d have no option but to give you a second chance. After our night together . . . I confess I was running scared. The walls were coming down, and I was so afraid—I still am—of us just making the same mistakes again. Of failing again. After everything that has happened between us, everything that was said, all the ways we’ve intentionally and unintentionally hurt each other, how can we possibly succeed the second time round? When we first got married, I had this vision of us being the perfect husband and wife, building a perfect life together. But nothing was perfect; instead everything fell apart so quickly. I wouldn’t be able to cope if it happened again.”
His eyes were boring into hers with an intensity that should have made her uneasy, but instead she found herself comforted by his extreme concentration as he listened to her words.
“Refresh my memory,” he said after a long pause. His voice was thoughtful, as if he was earnestly pondering some conundrum. “Did I tell you I love you the first time round? Did you tell me you love me? Did we have the most beautiful, intelligent, adorable baby on the face of the earth back then? Did you have the perfect job? Did I have buddies? A friendly relationship with my brother? And were we having the best fucking sex in the history of ever?”
Libby felt her lips stretch into a grin after the first few questions, and by the time he had reached the last one, she was snort laughing in relief at the very valid points he had made in the best possible way.
“No. To all of that,” she replied, her heart soaring exultantly.
“Do you love me because you think I’m perfect husband material?” he asked, humor fleeing from his voice and expression. Libby sucked her lips between her teeth as she considered his question for all of two seconds before blurting out her answer.
“God, no!”
He winced exaggeratedly at that response. “You could have at least pretended to give it a bit more consideration,” he mock protested.
“You’re far from perfect,” she said, her fingers squeezing around his once more. “And so am I. And I think I kind of love that about us.”
“Liberating, isn’t it?”
She laughed and was surprised at how wild and carefree she sounded.
“It truly is,” she admitted. “You’ve done so much for me, Greyson. I know that. And I know I haven’t always seemed grateful. But I was trying so desperately hard to maintain those barriers. Everything you did for us was so wonderful. I wanted you to know that I appreciate it all.”
“You don’t have to be grateful, Olivia. I didn’t do any of this for your gratitude . . . I did it because I had to. Because I love you. I love Clara. And you both deserve the best I have to offer. Even if my best isn’t always that great.” The last was uttered on a wry note, and she shared a grin with him before going serious again.
“I’m just angry with myself. I didn’t show you how much what you were doing meant to me, how much I appreciated it, and I feel like this is my fault. If I’d said something sooner, maybe you wouldn’t have felt compelled to damned near kill yourself trying to prove yourself to me.”
“Hey, now,” he said soothingly. “This isn’t your fault. I was careless.”
“I don’t know what I would have done if you’d been hurt even worse than this.” Her voice was thick with tears, and he made a soft, reassuring sound.
“I’m not, though. I’m fine. Let’s not dwell on things that didn’t happen and focus on the here and now.”
She nodded and used her free hand to brush away a few stray tears.
“I want you to know . . . ,” she murmured, once she had herself under control again. “The things you said about Harris and me . . . I’ve come to understand why you may have felt the way you felt. Our behavior wasn’t fair. You and I were married, and you should have been my best friend, the one I trusted with my innermost thoughts. But it was so easy to fall back into old habits with Harris.”
“I don’t want my dumb suspicions to deprive you of one of your most important friendships, Olivia,” he said. “I don’t want things to be awkward between the two of you. I would hate that. I was unreasonable.”
“And we were unfair.”
He smiled, a gentle tilt of his lips. “Well, now that we’ve established all of that, let’s not make the same stupid mistakes in the future. Which kind of brings me back to what I was trying to say earlier. Well, it’s more a question than a statement. I was wondering if perhaps you’d consider . . . uh.” He cleared his throat, and his hand reached for hers again, grasping her fingers so tightly it almost hurt. “I wanted to know if you would do me the honor of being my wife. Again. If you’d marry me. For real this time.”
Libby gaped at him, her jaw dropping as she tried to make sense of his words.
“We are married. For real,” she said. Her heart hammered in her chest as the magnitude of his words hit her. She hadn’t known how much a proposal would mean to her. It shouldn’t mean this much to her, it was ridiculous . . . and yet, it felt so perfect.
“I mean, we’re divorced, aren’t we? And since we didn’t do anything right the last time around, I thought we could try again. And do it right. You know? An engagement party, all the announcements, a wedding, a big dress. Clara can be our ring bearer. But all of that is just icing. The actual cake would be us, loving each other, respecting each other . . . talking, laughing . . . being partners. Parents. Lovers.”
“Greyson . . .”
“Please.” Desperation seeped into his voice, as if he was anticipating rejection. His grip tightened even more, and Libby tugged her hand from his with difficulty. He looked absolutely gutted when she pulled away from him. But she very quickly reestablished contact by brushing his hair back from his forehead.
“I’m trying to tell you we’re not divorced,” she said, and this time he was the one who gaped at her.
“What?”
“I never got around to signing the papers.”
She never got around to signing the papers?
If Greyson hadn’t been in so much pain and therefore extremely conscious of his surroundings, he would have wondered if he was hallucinating. What did she mean, she’d never gotten around to signing the papers? He’d thought they’d been divorced for weeks, and all along she’d still been his wife?
That was . . . it was . . .
A little disappointing, actually.
“But the wedding,” he said, feeling like an idiot. “The dress and the cake. And . . . would you have said yes?”
“In a heartbeat,” she assured him, kissing him, and his lips spread into a smile beneath hers. Okay, maybe it wasn’t so bad. Weddings were hard work. Or so he’d been told. But he had hoped to start things off on the right note the second time around.
“In fact,” she said, lifting her mouth from his, “I am saying yes. To the wedding and the dress and the party. We could do a vow renewal. In a church. I think that would be appropriate.”
“God, I love you so damned much,” he said vehemently, and her smile widened, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “My life is absolute shit without you and Clara, Olivia. Look what happens when you leave me. I fell off a roof—”
“Ladder.”
“We’ve established that roof sounds cooler. Anyway, I’m useless without you.”
“Let’s make sure you’re never without me again.”
“Yes. Let’s do that.”
“Hey, I brought you some clothes, and . . .” Harris’s voice faded as he stepped behind the privacy curtain around Greyson’s bed. His eyes bounced from Olivia to Greyson and back again before his lips stretched into a huge grin. “Soooo, what’s going on here?”
“Olivia’s agreed to marry me,” Greyson bragged, and Harris’s eyes lit up.
“That’s fucking brilliant! That’s—” He shoved back the curtain and raised his voice. “Guys, Libby’s going to marry Grey. Again.”
Olivia laughed incredulously when they heard the shouts of approval and squeals from the crowd gathered just a few meters down the hall. Hurried footsteps rushed toward them, and Tina pushed her way behind the curtain as well.
“There’s my girl,” Greyson said when he spotted Clara in the woman’s arms. “Did you miss me, sweetheart?”
“You’re getting married?” Tina was enthusing as she handed Clara over to Olivia, who lowered her so that Greyson could give her a kiss. “That’s wonderful.”
“We’re already married,” Olivia said with another laugh. She looked so damned happy, and Greyson couldn’t stop staring at her. Unable to believe that this was really his life. His wife. His child.
But it was. This beautiful woman and this lovely child were his, and he felt so damned fortunate to have them. He had come so perilously close to destroying everything and everyone he cared about the most, but somehow—someway—they had found it in their hearts to forgive him. To love him.
Olivia caught him staring, and her smile changed, became warmer, more intimate. In that moment, no one and nothing else existed. Nothing but Greyson, Olivia, and Clara. Nothing but the love they shared and the life they would build together.
It was all he had ever needed and all he would ever want. And this time, he was going to treasure all the gifts he had been blessed with.