She frowns. ‘Love at first sight, maybe. But love? I don’t think that’s in the same category.’
Her eyes show defiance and hope. I hate crushing her spirit in a way. ‘Give it time, Grace; you’ll earn your cynicism. A few more Gareths and you’ll get there.’
She shakes her head. ‘I doubt it. Even in the midst of that, I understood. He just didn’t love me. But he loves Alicia. Love is real, it’s out there, just not for us, not for him and me.’
‘You loved him, though.’
She considers that for a moment. ‘I guess there’s lots of different types of love,’ she says after a while. ‘I did love him. It was a slow-building love—the opposite to love at first sight. I trusted him and I liked him, way before I loved him. I honestly thought he was the safest person I could invest my time with.’
‘Sounds...clinical rather than romantic.’
‘That suits me,’ she says with a nod. ‘I’ve always been someone who’d rather think than feel. I thought I’d found my way to someone who was a safe bet. We were on the same page with business, life, philosophy, politics. We made complete sense.’ She shrugs, her shoulders slender. My eyes drop a little lower, to the swell of her breasts revealed by the white cotton T-shirt she’s wearing.
‘Growing up—’ I put our clubs back in the bag and wait for her to climb into the buggy before swinging in beside her ‘—I had proof, again and again, that believing in love and “happily ever after” is just about the stupidest thing you could do.’
‘Your parents?’
‘My parents, and the litany of step-parents I briefly knew. I could fill a library with the arguments I heard. My dad wasn’t an easy guy to live with. Bombastic, a heavy drinker, a womaniser—rapier sharp, quick-witted, untrusting and untrustworthy. He made an art form out of icing people out, pushing them away. And he had a team of fantastic lawyers who drew up ironclad prenuptial agreements so he never paid out more than a million to each wife.’
‘But he loved you?’
Strangely, given how accepting I am of the facts, I feel emotions I haven’t grappled with in a long time. Hurt and pain. I shake my head, pushing them away. ‘Not really. Adrian Hart didn’t truly love anyone.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she says softly. ‘That must have been hard to live with.’
‘You get used to what you know. I didn’t realise until I was a teenager that other people didn’t have a revolving door of parents and new siblings to contend with.’ Her face is in profile as she concentrates on driving us towards the green. ‘I swore my life would be different, that my marriage would be different.’
She shifts her gaze to me briefly, slowing the cart to a stop. ‘Do you regret divorcing her?’
‘I regret marrying her.’
Perhaps the degree of ice in my words cuts through her because she frowns and I understand why—I remind myself of my father in that moment and the thought turns my stomach.
I’m nothing like him.
‘What happened?’
The year of marriage to Lorena flashes through my mind and I shake my head with rueful frustration. ‘It was a shitshow from just about day one.’ I clench my jaw, not wanting to think about it, let alone to go back. ‘My brothers hated her—Holden especially. That should have been my heads-up. I just never saw what they did.’
‘And what was that?’
‘A money-grabbing, lying bitch.’
The vehemence of my proclamation makes her reel a little.
‘You probably think I’m being a bastard.’
She shakes her head. ‘You’re not like that. I’m just wondering what anyone could do to make you so angry.’ She lifts a hand to my chest and it’s not a professional touch; it’s something else. It’s comforting and kind. Sympathetic. My heart closes over. My marriage was my mistake. I don’t need anyone pitying me. I should have been more careful.
‘We had a prenup,’ I say guardedly. ‘At my father’s suggestion.’
‘Naturally.’
‘She got a million-dollar bonus per kid.’
‘Seriously?’ Grace’s disapproval shows.
‘It’s standard, apparently. I didn’t take any interest in the terms—I only found out months later that Lorena did. She was at my lawyer’s every day, her lawyers in tow, demanding all sorts of provisions and bonuses.’