I feel the urge to apologize. Not because I screwed up, but because I wasn’t a husband to Amber. “I never told you I would be that man. But I am sorry I wasn’t a good husband.”
She looks toward the ballroom, toward the center of the room where Jason and Faith are now circling each other under the chandeliers, faces turned toward cameras and curated joy.
“I made all of it up in my head,” she continues quietly. “The leisure. The doting. The idea that the Baylock name meant something automatic and effortless. That’s on me. I’ll own that. It’s not your fault you didn’t live up to my imagination.”
The admission surprises me more than anything else she has said tonight.
“For what it’s worth,” she adds, glancing back at me, “I don’t hate you. I never did. Not really.”
“I don’t hate you either. Not really. I think we were two people who wanted different things and took too long to admit it.”
She studies me for a second as if deciding whether to believe that. “Maybe.” Then she inhales and shifts the subject with deliberate clarity. “You need to understand what the Baylock name means in this town before you go dating anyone else.”
The warning is not petty. It’s pragmatic.
“I am aware.”
She nods once. “And speaking of being a good partner, you need to fix things with Perry.”
“She lied to me.”
“She panicked,” Amber counters. “She’s likely been panicking since she figured out she was pregnant. I don’t envy her position in the slightest.”
“She decided I couldn’t handle my own children.”
“She thought she might lose you.”
“That wasn’t her decision to make.”
“No, it wasn’t,” she agrees. “But fear rarely produces rational thinking.”
I exhale slowly. “I’m angry with her, Amber. And I don’t know how to get past it.”
She tilts her head slightly, as though assessing whether I’m being dramatic or honest. “Oh, get over yourself.”
The bluntness catches me off guard. “What did you say?”
“There are two babies involved and a woman who has been put through the wringer by me, by your son, by her sister, by everyone in this room. She loves you, you idiot.” The insult carries no venom. “And you love her, or you wouldn’t be standing here talking to me of all people. You hate me.”
I almost smile. “I just told you that I don’t hate you. Aren’t you listening?”
She arches a brow. “When do I ever listen to you?”
I snort a laugh at that. “Fair point.” I glance toward Meron, who’s standing near the bar pretending not to watch us. “Speaking of which, why Meron? He works the same hours I did. He’s in the same profession. The same chaos. How is he an upgrade?—”
She holds up a hand before I can finish. “At first, it was because he was your best friend, and I knew it would irritate you.”
I snort again despite myself. “That tracks.”
“But then,” she continues, and something softer enters her expression as she watches him, “I fell in love with his stupid ass.”
Meron laughs at something a guest says, shoulders relaxed now that the public tension has passed.
“He’s a dolt.”
“God, yes. But he’s my dolt. He’d do anything for me.” She pauses. Her tone turns dry. “It’s a pity that doesn’t come with a ton of money.”
I laugh properly this time. “I can’t believe your priorities got overwritten by love, Amber. You of all people.”
