And then it had ended in a dozen cold words typed onto a screen.
But now?Now he knew something else.
She never got his calls.She never sent that email.
And he sure as hell hadn’t sent the one she accused him of.
They’d been played.
But by whom?
He knew.
His parents.Her parents, possibly?
The beach house came into view, a modern architectural gem perched on the dunes, all glass and angles and cold perfection.He hated it.Always had.
He pulled into the circular drive, turned off the engine, and sat for a moment, trying to calm the surge of emotions storming through him.
It didn’t work.
He walked up the stone steps and opened the front door without knocking.
“Dustin!”his mother called from the formal sitting room.“You’re home early!How lovely.”
Not Tripp.Just the name she insisted on using when society was around.
Tripp stepped inside, the scent of white lilies and lemon polish assaulting his senses.Everything was pristine, curated, artificial.
Just like her.
“We’re having guests tonight,” she continued, breezing toward him in a silk blouse and pearls.“You remember the Pembrokes?Their niece is visiting from Houston.She just passed the bar.Quite accomplished.”
Tripp gave a dry laugh.“Let me guess.Blonde, thin, politically conservative, and not a single thought of her own?”
That was the kind of woman his mother liked to introduce him to, and he was tired of thinking she knew what was best for him.Today, he’d had a reminder of what he wanted in a woman.She’d been fighting him in court, and doing a damn good job of being a lawyer.
“Dustin,” his mother warned, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her sleeve.“You’re thirty-eight.You’ve wasted years.It’s time to start thinking about your future.About settling down.About the Masterson name.Your father would expect this of you.”
His father was dead, and yet she liked to remind him of what his father expected from him, of how he would run the law firm.All Tripp wanted was to be his own man.
He stared at her.“I did think about my future once.Remember?”
Her expression didn’t change.“If you’re referring to Nicole Reyes, I hope you’ve outgrown that foolishness.”
No, today proved that whatever time and distance had taken from them, the spark remained—still humming low and steady, like the perfectly tuned engine of a classic car waiting for him to turn the key.
Tripp smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.“Guess who I saw today.In court.”
Her fingers paused on a crystal decanter.“One of your father’s old clients?”
“No.Nicole.Reyes.You know.My wife.”
Her face went completely still.The ice behind her eyes cracked for just a second.
“I’d hardly call her your wife,” she said, too smoothly.“That marriage was annulled.It lasted less than twenty-four hours, because that little witch’s family disapproved.”
Oh, really?That was more than his mother had ever said before.How did she know that Nicole’s family didn’t approve?
