One More Chance (Rosemary Beach 8)

My stomach tightened up, and I backed farther into the darkness. I wanted to walk away from their cruel words, because they didn’t know anything. They didn’t know about my heart. They didn’t know Grant was protecting himself.

“He sure was ready to propose to Nan last year. She said he had the ring and everything. It’s why she cheated on him. She wasn’t ready for commitment. I think she regrets that now, but maybe it’s not too late. He got that Manning girl pregnant, but that’s all he did.”

He was going to propose to Nan? He never told me that. He acted as if his time with her hadn’t meant anything. That he had been helping her. Had she really broken his heart? Was that why he had never mentioned marriage? I thought it was because of my heart. I just figured we would talk about it after I survived through the pregnancy.

“I saw Nan and him talking earlier. They were awfully close. Besides, doesn’t the Manning girl have, like, a heart problem? Can you have kids with a heart problem?”

I had heard enough. I wanted to go home now. Going back into a room full of people, knowing they were thinking similar things, was too much. I just wanted to hide away in our house. Or was it his house? I hadn’t bought it. He had. Was I just there until this thing we had was over?

Oh, God. I felt sick to my stomach. I needed to leave. Walking the long way around so the girls who had been talking about me couldn’t see me, I made my way over to the valet. I couldn’t take Grant’s truck. Even though it was a short two-mile ride to the house, I wasn’t comfortable with driving right now.

“Hello, Miss Manning, do you need a car brought around?” Henry asked. He was one of the regular valets.

I would not cry in front of poor Henry. “Could you bring a driver around? I need one of the club limos to take me home.”

He nodded and motioned with his hand to someone else. I had left my wrap at the coat check, but I had my clutch under my arm, so at least I had a key to the house. Facing Grant right now was not a good idea. But then he would worry about me. I pulled out my phone and sent him a quick text.

Not feeling well. I think I’m done for the evening. Stay and enjoy yourself. Having a club driver take me home.

Just as I hit Send, a black Mercedes sedan pulled up, and Henry opened the door for me. “Have a good evening, Miss Manning,” he said.

“Thank you,” I replied, and sank down onto the leather seat.

“I was told you wanted to go home, Miss Manning. Is that correct?” the driver asked.

I nodded. “Yes, please,” I managed to say, then stared quietly out the window as the car drove me home.

Grant

Not feeling well. I think I’m done for the evening. Stay and enjoy yourself. Having a club driver take me home.

What the f**k?

I turned and walked back out of the ballroom, ignoring whoever was calling my name behind me, and started walking to the exit. I dialed Harlow’s number. It rang three times, then went to voice mail. I cringed. I hated voice mail. I hated getting her voice-mail message. It made me remember a time I didn’t want to remember.

“Would you like your truck, Mr. Carter?” the valet asked as I dialed her number again.

“When did Har—Miss Manning leave?” I asked him. “And get my truck. Fast.”

“Yes, sir, and Miss Manning just left five minutes ago. Vern Bower drove her home in one of the club cars, sir.”

“Is Vern back yet?” I asked when I got Harlow’s voice mail again.

“Not yet, sir, but he just left—”

“Five minutes ago, yeah, I heard you,” I snapped. I wasn’t normally rude to the staff, but I was worried. She wouldn’t have just left unless she was upset. Something happened. I had left her in that crowd, and someone had said something to upset her.

“Miss Dreyden and Miss Quinton were out here a short while ago talking about things, sir,” the young valet said out of the blue. Those were two of Nan’s friends. I recognized their last names.

“And?” I asked as he straightened his tie and stood up straighter. He glanced around to make sure we were alone.

“They were discussing Miss Manning’s pregnancy, sir, and her relationship—or lack thereof—with you.”

Lack thereof? What did he mean by lack thereof? There was no f**king lack in our relationship. It was f**king full-blown and all-consuming. “Not sure what you mean,” I told him just as my truck pulled up. I would find out from Harlow what those two nosy bitches had said to send her running. I headed for my truck.

“They may have mentioned the lack of a diamond, sir,” the valet called out.

I paused and glanced back at him. His face was red, as if he hated telling me something like that. But I understood exactly what he was saying. Harlow never would have admitted to me that she had heard something like that.

“Thank you,” I told him.

He nodded. “Yes, sir. Miss Manning is always real nice to me. I didn’t like hearing it any more than she did.”

That kid was getting a raise. I was calling Woods tomorrow. I glanced at his name tag. “Thanks, Henry. I’ll remember that.”

Then I jumped into the truck and hurried home.

The front-porch light was on, and so was the bedroom light upstairs. She had gotten home safely. I could at least catch my breath now. I went inside as quickly as possible, then headed straight for the stairs. I could hear the water running, and I knew she was back in her large Jacuzzi tub. The smell of her lavender bath salts hit me as I stepped into our bedroom. Her phone lay forgotten by her clutch on the bed. She hadn’t been ignoring me; she’d just been too busy getting her bath ready. At least, I hoped so.

“Harlow,” I called out. I didn’t want to frighten her by walking into the bathroom unannounced.

She was lying back in the tub, watching me closely. I couldn’t tell if she was mad at me or hurt. There was no real expression on her face for me to read. It was like she was closing me off to her feelings. After what we had gone through, and after I had persuaded her to let me back inside her heart, I couldn’t go back to being on the outside. I needed to be able to know what she was thinking.

“You left without me,” I said as I took the next few steps in her direction. Her toes peeped up and touched the stream of running water from the faucet.

“I wanted you to enjoy yourself,” she said softly.

“Not possible if you’re not with me,” I said, then sat down on the edge of the tub so I was closer to her eye level.

“You’ll get your tux wet,” she said with a concerned frown.

“Not worried about the tux. I’m worried about you.”

She lifted her gaze to meet my eyes. “I’m fine. I was just tired, and all those people just became too much.”

Just like I had known. She would never tell me what she had heard. She was either embarrassed or worried that I would think she was pushing me into marriage, into something I didn’t want. I wasn’t sure which, but I knew her well enough to know that it was one or the other.

Forcing her to tell me wouldn’t help her. I just had to prove to her that what those catty girls had said wasn’t true. I had already been thinking about a ring and how to ask her. I was scared to push her too far too fast. She didn’t need any extra stress. But it wasn’t like I wasn’t thinking about it. I hadn’t bought this house for her to be a live-in girlfriend—I had bought it for us. Harlow, Lila Kate, and me. This was our home.

I thought she understood all that. But then, I also knew how vicious those girls could be, and if they were at all convinced of what they were saying, then it would sound pretty damn convincing to Harlow. I’d thought that shoving Bailey off me and telling Nan that my relationship with Harlow wasn’t her business would be the worst parts of my night. I’d been wrong. Harlow being upset was by far the worst.

“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine. I just needed to get away and rest.”

I brushed the hair that had fallen from her topknot out of her face. “I love you,” I told her.

“I love you, too.”

But I knew that wasn’t enough. I had to prove to her just how much.

My sweet Lila Kate,

I’ve bought you more clothes than you’ll ever wear. I’ve folded them and refolded them a million times. I keep making sure your little dresses are hanging properly in your closet and that you have shoes to match every outfit. Silly things that a baby wouldn’t care about. But it gives me something to do while I wait for you.

I’m also making you a scrapbook with pictures of your daddy and me. There are even some with the three of us. I love the one where your daddy has his hand resting on my stomach. It’s like he’s holding you, too. Your daddy hired a photographer to come to the house and take photos of us yesterday—a surprise for me. We now have the most wonderful family photos in all my favorite parts of the house.

Actually, the swing under the tree is my favorite part of the house, and I can say I got to swing you on it first. I have photographic proof of that, too. It’s the picture on the cover of your scrapbook. You’ll recognize it right away.

One day, I imagine sitting outside with you on our porch and looking through this book. I expect it to be well worn with love over the years. You’ll get to see just how much love you were brought into this world with.

But if I’m not there with you and you’re looking through this scrapbook with your daddy or alone, know that I created each page with love. I was happier than I had ever been, and my life was complete.

Love you always,

Mommy

Harlow

I sealed the latest envelope and wrapped the thick stack of letters in a pink satin ribbon. I still had eight weeks of pregnancy left and would add more letters, but so far, I had written one to Lila Kate for each birthday and Christmas until she turned twenty-one, for her first day of kindergarten, her high school graduation, her wedding day, the birth of her first child, and her thirtieth birthday. Just in case I wasn’t there, I wanted to leave a part of me with her. If I’d only had a part of my own mother growing up . . . I would have traded anything for it. At least Lila Kate would have that if she didn’t have me.

I picked up the other stack of letters I had written. They were all to Grant: one for the day after my funeral, one for his first day alone with Lila Kate after everyone resumed normal life, one for her first day of kindergarten, and one in case he met a woman he could fall in love with. I wrapped those letters up with a red satin ribbon.

If I wasn’t here to be his partner and help raise our little girl, I at least wanted my words to be there for him. I wanted him to know I was watching from above, that I was proud of him, and that I thought he was doing a wonderful job. I also wanted him to feel free to move on when the time came. He was my one and only love. He was my fairy tale. But it was possible I wouldn’t be his. He had a long life ahead of him, and I didn’t want him to spend it without someone by his side.

I placed both stacks of letters in the bottom drawer of Lila Kate’s dresser. On top of both piles, I left one letter loose: the first one he would read. I would tell him that they were there when I felt it was time.

I left the scrapbook lying on the top of the dresser because Grant knew about it. He didn’t know the real reason I wanted all those photos; he just knew I was making a scrapbook of memories for Lila Kate. I had framed my favorite photo of us sitting on the steps of the front porch. My head rested on Grant’s shoulder, and his arm was wrapped around me, his hand splayed out over my stomach. It now hung over Lila Kate’s changing table; you could see it the moment you walked into her room.

“You refolding baby clothes again?” Grant asked as he stepped into the room.

I laughed. He had caught me more than once reorganizing her closet and drawers. He didn’t understand it, but he never teased me. He always smiled and told me Lila Kate was going to have the best mother in the world. I really hoped that was true.

Grant never spoke about what could happen. With each doctor’s visit that went well—we continued to get good reports—he seemed less worried. He didn’t stare at my stomach as if he was unsure about it anymore. As if it was the enemy. He touched it often, and he had even started talking to her.

“I want everything perfect for her,” I told him, closing the drawer with the letters.

“It will be, because you’ll be there,” he replied.

Before I could say anything, he took a step toward me. “The photographer is coming back this afternoon. I have a few more pictures I’d like him to take.”

He did? I had started to ask him about it when he stepped in front of me and took both of my hands. Then, as if in slow motion, he got down on one knee. All ability to speak or breathe left me. I wasn’t expecting this. I had come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t ready for marriage after the ball. Grant had already taken a huge chance on me. He didn’t like taking chances. He was cautious.