“Claire?”
She studied him. Logan looked tense as he awaited her decision. He cared more than he liked to admit or demonstrate. His reaction to her refusal this morning seemed ample proof of that. And that errant, traitorous part of her that had led to her sleeping with him in the first place longed to find the real man behind all his trappings. He’d been a rejected foster child, and that part of him, while long buried, still remained. It was probably stupid and definitely self-destructive, but she wanted to heal him.
“Fine.” She yielded. He broke out in a smug grin. “As long as you agree to throw away your stupid contract,” she warned.
Logan reached for the contract and tossed it immediately into his stainless steel trashcan. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
Claire got out of bed with a groan, feeling as if she were ten pounds heavier than she’d been the day before. Her first stop was, naturally, to empty her painfully full bladder. As she washed her hands, she caught a glimpse of her bleary-eyed reflection in the mirror.
“Ick.” She issued another groan, combing a hand through her atrocious bedhead. “I look like hell warmed over.”
Even so, she couldn’t quite muster the desire to shower, brush her teeth, comb her hair. Heck, even changing out of her pajamas was asking too much at this point. Thinking herself fortunate that it was Saturday, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen.
Sophie was seated at the table munching on toast, her pregnancy crave food, and reading the paper. She looked up with a bright smile as Claire shuffled into the room.
“Good morning.” Sophie’s voice was cheerful, borderline chirpy.
How could the damn woman be so apparently immune to jet lag? She’d been home for only a few days, and never seemed tired. Every day Claire expected her sister to look exhausted, the jet lag and the hours spent redecorating and refurbishing her new home catching up to her at last. And she was always disappointed.
Claire grumbled a response to Sophie’s greeting as she rummaged through the fridge in search of her staple raspberry yogurt.
“You seem tired.”
Understatement, Claire thought as she scowled at her sister, pulling a mug from the cabinet above her head in the process. “You don’t.”
“You’re grouchy,” Sophie pointed out in that common-sense-laden, sisterly way she had.
“You’re superhuman,” Claire countered. She’d seen very little of both Sophie and Trevor since their return, since they seemed to spend morning, night, and day at the house they were set to move into in two weeks. The sprawling farmhouse, circa 1789, had been a true diamond in the rough.
Claire went to the sink and filled her mug with water before plopping a teabag in it. “Look at you, all smiling and wide awake when you just got back from Paris and you’ve been working your tail off at your house all week. How do you do it? I feel like I have a hangover every time I get out of bed.”
Sophie laughed lightly. “Pregnancy is different for every woman.”
Claire grumbled again as she popped her mug into the microwave and punched in the time before pressing the start button. “Where’s Trevor, anyway?” At least he wasn’t so damn radiant all the time.
“He went out for a jog.” Sophie crunched on her toast, eyeing Claire speculatively. “I think you and I need to have a talk anyway.”
“It’s too early for talking,” Claire argued. The last thing she felt like explaining this early in the morning was the convoluted logic and pure stupidity that had led to her agreeing to both stay on at LM and go away with Logan tomorrow.
She grabbed a spoon, peeled off the yogurt lid and plopped on the chair at Sophie’s side. “Why don’t we save that for later?” Or even better, never.
“Nice try.” Sophie finished off her toast and sipped her orange juice. “I can’t wait any longer. Tell me what’s been going on. I’ve really been dying to know, but you’re always in bed by the time we get back home, and you leave for work before I can get a chance to corner you.”
The microwave beeped loudly, sending Claire to retrieve her tea. She took her time draining the teabag and adding sugar—four heaping spoonfuls this morning—before heading back to the table again. She looked at Sophie and tried to hedge. “It’s a long story, actually.”
Sophie raised a dark brow. “I’ve got plenty of time. So start spilling.”
Claire sipped her tea, knowing truth was inevitable, but uncertain of where to begin. “Well, Garrett agreed to sign the divorce papers last week.”
“That’s great.” Sophie searched Claire’s face. “Isn’t it?”
“Absolutely.” She made a face. “Of course, Mom will hate it, but I can’t stay in a loveless marriage to please her, now can I?”
“No.” Sophie reached out and patted Claire’s hand consolingly. “I’m sorry. I know how hard this whole thing must be for you, and I just wish I could have been there for you sooner. If I hadn’t been so self-absorbed—”
“Don’t,” Claire stopped her. “You had your own things to work through, and you’ve always been there for me when I needed you most.” Sophie’s depression following the deaths of her husband and daughter had left her broken, a shell of her old self until she had finally come to terms with the loss and moved forward with Trevor. It really was amazing to see her sister so happy, so vibrant with life once again.
“Garrett and I just weren’t right for each other,” she continued. “We convinced ourselves it was right, but in the end, it just didn’t work anymore. I’m happy it’s over, that we can’t hurt each other again.”
