“Here with me,” he said, thinking it should be obvious.
Rosalie gave a rueful laugh. “Yes, but after the baby is born...”
“Here with me,” he repeated firmly.
“For a while, yes,” she agreed, then said in a small voice, “Then I want to find my place in the world. My permanent home.”
Permanent home.
Alex wanted to tell her that her permanent home should be with him. Then he’d never need to grudgingly allow some other man into his child’s life. Into Rosalie’s bed.
But how could he even consider saying that, when he knew she wanted more than he could give?
How could he say it, with the memory of three miserable years of marriage still ringing in his brain?
“Was it hard to quit your job and tell your roommates goodbye?” he asked.
“No. I never felt really at home in San Francisco, either.”
“Where is your home, then?”
She gave a low laugh. “Emmetsville, I guess.” Her expression grew sad. “But our farm is gone. Burned. I saw it, when I went to my parents’ funeral...” She shuddered. “I can never go back.”
“Why not?”
She turned away, her face half-hidden by shadow. For a moment he thought she wouldn’t answer. Then she said, in a voice almost too quiet to hear, “Because it’s my fault. My fault my parents died.”
“How can that be true? It was a wildfire, caused by lightning. Do you control the skies?”
Turning away, she started up the stairs. “I’m tired. I’m going to rest. I’ll see you for dinner later.”
Alex thought of pressing her, of persuading her to see that her parents’ deaths obviously weren’t her fault. But how could he? He himself had many things he never, ever wanted to discuss with anyone. And unlike Rosalie, the things he felt guilty about were actually his fault, and if he let himself remember, anguish would snap its bloodthirsty jaws right through his heart—
“I will be gone tonight,” he said.
She stopped on the stair. “The charity ball.”
He gave a single nod. “You’ll be on your own. Maria can prepare any dish you like. She is a very good cook. Collins will serve it wherever you prefer, in the dining room or more casually in the breakfast room.”
She shuddered a little. “And you’ll have to face that awful woman, and her
friends...” Biting her lip, she looked at him. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
Alex gave a rueful laugh. “Cara, the night is unlikely to be an enjoyable one. The last thing I’d wish to do is inflict it on you. No. Stay here, and have a peaceful evening. That will give me some solace, at least. I will see you in the morning.”
“All right.” She looked uncertain. “Will you come to my room to say goodbye before you leave?”
“Of course.”
“Are you worried?”
He gave a small smile. “Not at all.”
The truth was that Alex thought of the upcoming event with utter dread. There was sure to be a scene. But he’d be damned if he’d stay home, and let them have the satisfaction of thinking he was afraid.
After an afternoon spent on the phone with lawyers, then the manager of his vineyard, Alex reluctantly went upstairs to get ready for the ball. He paused at Rosalie’s closed bedroom door, but hearing nothing, he went into his own room and took a shower.
Once dressed in his tuxedo, he again paused at her door, and this time thought he heard some movement. He lifted his hand to knock, then lowered it again. He paced back and forth in the hallway, then finally, hands clenched at his sides, he went downstairs.