Chapter 2
Diana crossed her arms.
“She was an employee.”
“She was a woman I loved.”
“You were grieving.”
“I was thirty-four years old.”
“You were vulnerable.”
“And you used that against me.”
Diana looked away.
Lucas stepped closer.
“Did she ever ask you for money?”
His mother remained silent.
“Answer me.”
“No.”
The word was barely audible.
Lucas felt something inside him break.
“No?”
“She wasn't appropriate for you.”
He stared at her.
“You told me she took fifty thousand dollars.”
“I did what was necessary.”
“You told her I rejected her, didn't you?”
Diana's eyes flashed.
“I protected this family.”
Lucas laughed once.
It was an ugly, hollow sound.
“You protected our name from a woman who baked cinnamon rolls and sat beside Dad when he couldn't sleep?”
“She would never have fit into our world.”
“She was my world.”
The words surprised even him.
Diana blinked.
Lucas picked up the letter.
“She's getting married Saturday.”
His mother's shoulders relaxed.
“Then perhaps this is finally over.”
Lucas looked at her for a long moment.
“No, Mother.”
He walked toward the door.
“It's finally beginning.”
“Lucas, your chairmanship ceremony is Monday.”
He stopped.
“Then you'll have to explain to the board why I'm not there.”
“Are you seriously going to jeopardize your inheritance over a former housekeeper?”
Lucas turned.
“No. I'm going to find out whether there's still time to become the man I should have been five years ago.”
The next morning, Laurel arrived at the Sea Rose Inn to find a black car parked beside the garden entrance.
A man stood near the white rose bushes.
Tall.
Dark-haired.
Wearing a charcoal coat.
She recognized him before he turned around.
Her coffee slipped from her hand.
The paper cup burst against the stone path.
Lucas Prescott looked at her.
For five years, Laurel had imagined this moment.
She had imagined slapping him.
Crying.
Walking past without acknowledging him.
She had never imagined that the first thing she would notice was how tired he looked.
“Laurel.”
Her name sounded different in his voice.
Older.
Almost sacred.
She gripped the strap of her handbag.
“What are you doing here?”
“I found your letter.”
The world seemed to tilt.
“What?”
“The letter you left in my suit. Five years ago.”
Laurel stared at him.
“You read it.”
“Yesterday.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Laurel—”
“No. Your mother told me you read it.”
“I know.”