Free Man of My Dreams by Faith Andrews Page B

without me. But, obviously that’s not the case, or he wouldn’t have done what he did. I’m sure he wasn’t thinking about how much he loves me, or his two little girls, when he was screwing that whore.
    “I’m not ready to talk to him yet, Grace. I can’t look at him without feeling like the walls are caving in.” I hear the girls rustling through the baby monitor. I can’t cry again now. I don’t need them asking more questions. Forcing back the tears, I brush her off with, “The girls are getting up. I have to go.”
    “Get them dressed and tell them they’re spending the day with cousin Brandon, Nana and Papa. You need this. It’s okay if you’re not ready to talk to him, but you can’t shun me away too. Let me be here for you, please! It’s all I can do!”
    Great! Now she’s crying. “Okay, okay. Should I come get you on my way from my parents?”
    She’s sniffling now, finishing up her effective demonstration of tears. “No! You think I’m dumb enough to leave matters in your hands? I’ll be there in half hour to get the girls. You take a shower, put on some make-up, and I’ll be back to get you.”
    “Yes, boss. And Grace?”
    “What now?”
    “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
     

     
    An hour later, the doorbell rings and instead of feeling dread for the plans that have been forced upon me, I’m looking forward to escaping these halls that are overdue to be undecked. My newly loose fitting jeans swish as I rush to answer the door, smoothing down an overlooked wrinkle in my cashmere sweater.
    When I turn the doorknob and swing open the heavy mahogany door, I contemplate slamming it shut as my jaw drops to my chest. Freaking Grace! I’m going to kill her.
    “Don’t be mad at her, Mia. This was the only way.”
    I can’t believe Grace and Declan were in cahoots...against me! He looks breathtaking, standing at the threshold, our threshold, wearing slim-fit, tan corduroys, and a spruce green pullover that exaggerates the gorgeous hue of his eyes. Damn it, damn it, damn it. Why does he have to look so good? He should look as distraught and unkempt as I’ve been; sick with worry, suffering from our time apart and the outcome of our marriage.
    He offers me a steaming cup of something from Starbucks, and by the sugary aroma alone, I know it’s my favorite; a caramel macchiato, extra caramel sauce.
    I snatch the steaming cup from his hand, not to accept his peace offering, but because I need something to pick me up if I’m going to be face to face with him. “Did you really think Starbucks was going to win me back?”
    “Of course not, babe.” He starts to walk into the house, a motion that’s so normal and habitual, but today watching him do it seems wrong...foreign...like he doesn’t belong here. And hearing him call me ‘babe’ makes me cringe. It’s too familiar, too soon. I can’t help but wonder if he called his whore that—or baby —during a heated moment of passion.
    Tears start to push their way to the surface like a rolling wave ready to break violently. I can’t do this in front of him again. I’ve been weak enough already. Without further thought, I thrust the coffee back into his hand and start to push him out the door. “No. This isn’t happening today. I’m still not ready. I need more time. Just go.”
    He looks at me astounded, completely stunned by my abhorrence to his presence. Is he kidding? What did he expect? A blink of his gorgeous eyes and a cup of Starbucks and I’d be forgiving him for his royal fuck-up? Nope, I’m not as weak as I seem.
    “Mia, please. We need to talk. If you kick me out again...I’ll...I’ll just keep coming back until you hear me out. Please! Don’t make me stand out here begging in front of all the neighbors. I mean, if that’s what it takes to get you to listen to me, fine, but I thought we could do this like adults.”
    Oh, so now he’s insinuating that I’m acting like something other than an