'Tis the Season (30 page)

Chapter Thirty

Charles returned home the next afternoon in a daze. He was working on about five hours' sleep, caught on a couch in the private waiting room. His father was stable, had gotten through the surgery, and was expected to make a full recovery. As soon as Charles had heard that, he'd left the hospital. He had a crisis in his own home to manage now.

“Oh, you poor dear.” Eileen started fussing over him as soon as he walked in. “You need a shower, a good meal, and some sleep in your own bed.”

“Kids are still at school?” He followed her into the kitchen.

“Yes, but Tina just left to go pick them up.”

“Okay. You two have been wonderful about picking up Lisette's slack,” he said. “I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. It'll reflect in your Christmas bonuses; you can count on that.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Eileen said, “I know you're upset with Lisette for leaving so suddenly. But she made sure the children would be well cared for before she left. She did. She'd never abandon them.”

But she abandoned me.
He grunted and stalked across the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

“I'll stop now.” Eileen went to the stove. “It's not my place. I'm sorry, sir.”

“No, don't do that,” he said. “You have nothing to apologize for. You care about her, and about me, and about the kids. I know that. I'm grateful for that.” He swallowed some water, welcoming the cold flow down his throat. “I just . . . God, it's all too much. Too many things in too short a time. I can't even think straight. I'm wrung out.”

“You need some decent sleep.”

“I do. But that's not happening right now.”

“Can I make you something to eat?” Eileen asked.

“Yes, please.” He sat at the table in the nook of the kitchen. “I don't have much of an appetite, but I don't need to keel over either.”

“How about some beef stew?” she asked. “Just made a big pot of it not an hour ago. It'll be good for you.”

“Sounds fine. Thank you.” He dropped his head into his hands. Lisette was gone. She loved his kids; she was pregnant with their child; they were supposed to love each other . . . and she'd left. His heart ached so much, it actually squeezed in his chest, a dull pressure. What he wouldn't have given to come home to her today, to be held by her . . . Devastation seeped through him.

He pulled the letter from his inside jacket pocket, adjusted his glasses, and read it for what must have been the tenth time.

Charles folded the letter and put it back in his pocket, then dropped his head into his hands. He'd never meant to make her feel dismissed or that her concerns weren't valid or being heard. He'd just wanted to assure her, make her believe as he did . . . and all he'd done was push her away. His goddamn pride, his ego, and yes, he was used to having things his way. He had his whole life; it wasn't totally his fault . . . Ah hell, yes, it was.

But she didn't have the option of just ending their relationship without hearing him out, dammit. Maybe, after she had some space, he could talk to her, apologize, make her feel his respect and affection by really listening to her and then working things out together . . . He wasn't willing to let her go. He understood her concerns about gossip affecting the kids. Yes, she was selfless, and yes, she always put others' needs ahead of her own. But there'd been a pearl of another, simpler truth in that letter: she didn't want that negativity aimed at her. She didn't want the scrutiny, and she was afraid of getting hurt. He understood that. Did she really think he wouldn't?

And she wouldn't be there for Christmas. That really stung. He'd so been looking forward to spending Christmas with her. He loved her, dammit. This wasn't how things were supposed to be, especially if she still loved him too. Misery surged through him. What a mess. And where the hell had she gone?

The click-clack of feminine heels sounded across the tile floor. He raised his head to see his ex-wife walk into the kitchen. His eyes narrowed on her, and she stopped cold.

“I have no energy for you right now,” he said wearily. “Do me a favor, just once, and leave me alone.”

Eileen set down a steaming ceramic bowl in front of him and handed him a spoon and napkin. “Here you go, sir. Eat up, now.”

“Thank you, Eileen.” Without so much as another glance at Vanessa, he turned his tired eyes to his stew and took a spoonful.

Vanessa pulled out the chair across from him and sat down, folding one manicured hand on top of the other. He groaned and shook his head.

“How's your father?” she asked.

He snorted at her. “What do you care?”

“I don't care about him; you're right.” She swept her long, glossy black hair back. “But he's my kids' grandfather, their only grandfather. I care if they get upset.”

“He's alive,” was all Charles gave her before spooning stew into his mouth.

Eyeing the couple, Eileen wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Tina should be home with the kids in a few minutes.”

“Excellent. Thank you.” Charles took another spoonful of stew. “This is wonderful. I feel a little better already.”

“See that you eat all of it,” she said.

“You know your brogue gets stronger when you tell me what to do?” he said, grinning.

“Oh, now!” She laughed and left the kitchen.

He and Vanessa looked at each other across the table.

“You got your wish,” he said. “Lisette left. She's gone.” He spooned more stew into his mouth.

“I didn't want her to leave,” Vanessa said.

He chortled at that. “Riiiight. Pull this leg while you're at it. It plays ‘Jingle Bells.'”

“I'm serious,” she insisted. “I mean . . . Okay, fine, I admit it. She's great with the kids. Better with them than I am. That's one of the reasons why I resent her so much. I'm . . . jealous.”

Charles almost dropped his spoon. “Wow.”

“Shut up.” Vanessa gestured at the bowl. “Eat more. I'll talk; you listen.”

He stared at her for a long beat, then took another bite.

“I'm jealous of her,” she admitted. “She's nicer than me, younger than me, and everyone likes her. Everyone hates me.”

His eyebrows shot up in shock at her candor.

“She also has you, and my children, wrapped around her finger. You all adore her. It's so obvious.” Vanessa examined her nails. “I didn't expect to find what I walked into here . . .”

“And what's that, exactly?” he asked.

“A family.” She met his eyes. “You're all a family, and you don't even know it.”

Something in his chest tightened. He put down the spoon.

“She's good to you, Charles. Better than I ever was. She's kind and sweet, and she loves the kids, and she's amazing with them. Everything I never was.” Vanessa shifted and crossed her legs beneath the table. “I always knew I was too selfish to be a good mother. I tried to tell you that, but you didn't listen. I'm impulsive, quick tempered, self-absorbed. I knew I'd probably be a shitty mom, because mine was to me, and my mom was all those things.”

“I remember,” he murmured. He couldn't believe how real, how
human
Vanessa was being. A flicker of the woman he'd once known shone through. There was still some decency in there after all.

“I honestly thought I'd see the kids a few times a year, but that in general . . . the truth is . . .” Vanessa drew a deep breath, then exhaled it slowly. “I knew, as a mother, I'd likely do more harm than good. That they were better off without me on a day-to-day basis. That's why I've stayed away.”

“That's not the only reason,” he said, picking up the spoon again. “You enjoy your life, the travel, the freedom of not being tied down.”

“That's all true. I'm not going to deny it.” Vanessa met his gaze dead on. “But what I just admitted is my main reason for not being around.”

He stared and said, “And now?”

“I told you, I'm not good with babies, but I'm better with bigger kids. They're people; they talk; I have more patience for that. So, yes, I'd like to see them more. I
should
see them more. But the thing is, they don't need me. They have Lisette.”

“She's not their mother,” he asserted. “You are.”

“Not in the way that counts. That's the truth, and we both know it.” Vanessa gnawed on her pouty bottom lip. “When you found her. You found a diamond. She's perfect for them. She's the mother those kids deserve to have.”

A strange chill prickled over his skin. He swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump that suddenly clogged his throat.

“And she's also perfect for you,” Vanessa added. “I knew as soon as I got here that you were crushing on each other. It was so obvious! I just had no idea you were having a real relationship.
That
surprised me.”

He only nodded. “We've been keeping it a secret for the kids' sake. We didn't want to confuse them.”

“Ah. Okay, now I get it.” Vanessa reached for his water bottle and helped herself to a few sips. “That you're in love with her doesn't surprise me. She's gorgeous, yes. She's bright. She loves your kids. She's extremely capable, not a spoiled diva like me.”

He had to laugh at that. “I've never heard you cop to that.”

“Oh, please. I know what I am.” She shrugged. “The thing is, I don't really care. I have a great life. I do what I want, when I want. But I can because someone like Lisette is here, taking good care of my kids.”

“That, and the millions you wrangled out of me,” he said.

“Yeah, that too.” She grinned. “You and I . . . Charles, the sex was fantastic. And I loved some of the perks. But we were never right for each other. Lisette is everything you need. She's warm and sweet and loving and kind and all those good, good things you never got.”

Hearing it stated so flatly made his heart wrench. “I have to agree with you.”

“You agree with me on something? Oh my God!” Vanessa cried. She gripped the edge of the table in white-knuckled mock horror. “The world might end!!”

He laughed, full and free. “Too late. I think today, my world came close to ending. But I'm still here.”