Every Little Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 2)

“Yes.”

“I never thought about it before. Or maybe I didn’t want to think about it. Yet, you’re right. I was only five when my mother died, and my memories of her are very vague, like they happened in another life. But I remember my father in the years after she died. I remember the couple of times after he’d read me a bedtime story how I’d crept out of bed and wandered down the hall to the living room only to find him weeping into a glass of scotch.

“It was crippling.” His words were hoarse, and they tugged at my heart. “To see a man like my father, who was this big powerful giant to a little kid, crying tears into a glass of whiskey. And even then I knew it was about her. As hard as he tried, the grief clung to that apartment. I was glad when we moved a few years later. I was glad as I got older I heard the rumors of my dad’s womanizing ways. To me it meant he was living again, in some small way.

“However, I started to think he had the right idea—don’t get serious with a woman. Keep it free and easy. I inherited the ambition bug from my father, and career has always been important to me. I concentrated on college and starting my own business. It wasn’t until I was about twenty-four years old that I even went on a third date. Around the same time my dad started dating Diane monogamously.” He threw me a crooked, boyish smile. “I didn’t even put that together. Not so smart for a smart guy.”

“You saw your dad finally taking a step toward something serious and you emulated him.”

“Yes. But the girl got too serious on me too fast. After her I went back to what I was used to, and that was okay. I’m not going to lie to you, Bailey, it was who I was. I had no interest in marriage or kids . . . Until about six years ago.” He exhaled, his features drawing tight as if he was remembering something unpleasant. “When I turned

thirty I started to really think about those things. I had a great relationship with my dad, he had a good relationship with Diane that benefited them both professionally and personally. Marriage started to have an appeal. Especially because I wanted children. I wanted to have the same relationship with my own kids that I had with my father. And I wanted to give my dad a grandchild because I knew that was something that he wanted. I thought marriage would be convenient.”

I guffawed at the idea. “Convenient.”

He grinned at me. “Not so smart for a smart guy.”

“Yeah.”

His smile fell. “Diane introduced me to Camille Dunaway. She was very beautiful, poised, classy.”

Huh. I didn’t like the sound of her one bit. “She sounds lovely.”

Jealousy must have seeped into my words because Vaughn threw me a smug, pleased look. “She was. But we weren’t right for one another. I thought we were. Camille is . . . she’s very reserved. People called her an ice princess but I never saw her like that at first. I just saw a woman who had been raised to play the society game and play it very well. I liked that about her. I liked that she never complained about my obsession with work, or the long hours I put in. She was there to support me, and to hold my arm at an event. Camille wanted what I wanted: marriage, a family, and the perfect society life as the perfect society wife and husband. I didn’t love her, but I believed I’d grow to love her over the years, and I promised myself that I would be faithful to her and take care of her.”

“So what happened?”

“We got engaged.”

Surprise shot through me. Vaughn was once engaged. To be married? “Really?”

“So incredulous.” He tutted. “Yes, really. Camille was happy. I thought I was happy. My father . . . he wasn’t happy.”

“Why not?”

“He saw what I didn’t until it was too late: that we weren’t right for each other. Camille was happy because she was engaged to the successful bachelor that all her friends had tried and failed to bring up to scratch.”

“Such modesty.”

He shot me that wicked grin. “I’m just telling you what these women thought.”

“Oh, I believe you. You’re a beautiful man.” I shrugged. “I’ve never denied that. Okay. I’ve maybe denied that.”

“You’ve definitely denied that.”

“Wasn’t it awful being wanted just for your looks?”

“Not just for my looks. My wealth, too. And was it any fairer than me wanting Camille because of her position in society and her old-fashioned view of marriage?”

“I guess not.”

“We were a year into our engagement, the wedding was around the corner, and I was starting to have major doubts. Her composure in all things was starting to irritate me. She never got annoyed with me, even when she had a right; she never demanded more time of me, and I was starting to think if she cared, then she should. There was no passion between us, no fire, and it troubled me. I started to understand the moniker society had given her. Yet I continued to convince myself that the distance between us was a good thing; that no matter what, I got what I wanted out of it without getting hurt. Without either of us getting hurt.

“A month before the wedding Camille’s younger sister Caroline came home from a year in Europe. We’d met briefly before she’d left, and we’d seen each other again at Christmas. But I knew nothing of her, and I had no interest in her. However, she started to show an interest in me.”

“Oh boy.”

“Yes. As soon as Camille’s back was turned Caroline would flirt with me, and aggressively. One time she cornered me at a party and tried to stick her hand down my pants.”