Rising Stars. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.
…”
“We were up at McGillicuddy’s Hill,” Sami said quickly, “to see the comet away from the lights. There were so many stars.” She looked dreamily at her fiancé. “Brandon knows all the constellations. We just lost track of time …”
“Good luck explaining that to Dad.”
“Dad knows he can trust Brandon,” she protested. She turned to him. “Like I do. With my life.”
Brandon looked back at Sami with love in his eyes. Taking her hand in his own, he kissed it fervently. And Callie suddenly felt like an intruder, standing in the cozy, warm kitchen in her old purple sweatpants and ratty T-shirt. “All right,” she said awkwardly. “You should talk to him, though.”
“Where is he? Out in the fields?”
Callie nodded. “Alfalfa by the main road.”
“Don’t worry.” Brandon clutched Sami’s hand. “You won’t have to face him alone.”
“I know.”
As he pulled his car keys out of his pocket, they turned toward the door. On impulse, Callie blurted out, “Wait.”
They paused, staring at her questioningly. Crossing to the key basket, Callie took the “CC” keychain and held it out to them. “I want you to have this.”
“What?” Sami exclaimed. “Your car?”
Brandon glowered. “Why?”
“It’s—” Callie grasped at straws “—an engagement gift.”
“Are you kidding?” Sami blurted out.
“We don’t need anything from him.” Brandon looked mutinous. It was possible he still nursed a grudge. “My Jeep works just fine.”
Sami turned to him. “Think of it as compensation for him punching you,” she said hopefully.
It didn’t help her case. Brandon scowled.
“Please take it.” Callie shook her head. “I hate looking at it. It makes me remember …” Her voice trailed off, as she felt overwhelmed by sweet memories of the Christmas day Eduardo had dressed in a Santa suit and given it to her. How happy they’d been … She gave them a tremulous smile. “Sell it. Use the money however you like.”
The young couple looked at the dangling gold-and-diamond keychain.
“We could buy land,” Sami said.
“A farm of our own,” Brandon breathed. He blinked then snatched the keychain from her hand. “Very well. We accept.” He paused, tilting his head with a grin. Then he sobered. “Thanks, Callie. Thanks for being the best friend I’ve ever had.” He turned to Sami. “Till now.”
And then they were gone, racing out of the farmhouse to the car parked near the barn. Their conversation floated back to Callie on the June breeze.
“One ride before we sell it?”
“Let’s go the long way, past the Coffee Stop!” Sami giggled. “I want to see Lorene Doncaster’s face when she sees me in this thing….”
“Your father will forgive us for being out all night. I’ll explain. It was the fault of the stars …”
The fault of the stars. Alone in the kitchen, Callie stood in the warm sunlight of her mother’s cheerful kitchen. She looked back at the divorce papers. She saw the black, angular scrawl of Eduardo’s signature. He’d asked for a divorce. It was the only thing to do.
Wasn’t it?
She picked up the pen in her trembling hand. She looked down at the empty line beneath his black signature.
Was their marriage really nothing more than a nine-month mistake?
She exhaled, closing her eyes.
Then, an hour later, she got a call that changed everything.
“Good progress today. So, same time next week?”
Eduardo nodded, pulling on his jacket. He left the therapist’s office and took a deep breath of the morning air. The June sky was bright blue over Manhattan.
“Sir?” Sanchez stood ready at the curb, waiting beside the black Mercedes sedan.
Eduardo shook his head. “Think I’ll walk.”
“Very well, sir.”
Eduardo walked slowly down the street, feeling the sun on his face, hearing the birds sing overhead. A bunch of laughing schoolkids in identical uniforms ran by him on the sidewalk, reminding Eduardo of the Madeline book he’d read to his two-week-old daughter, to the great amusement of his wife.
He stopped, feeling a sudden pain in his chest.
He would see Marisol soon, he reminded himself. His jet was already gassed up and ready at a private airport outside the city. He glanced at his platinum watch. Mrs. McAuliffe was likely headed for the airport now, if she wasn’t there already, preparing to make the long flight across the country and back. She would collect the baby from his soon-to-be ex-wife. From the woman who still haunted his dreams.
Blankly Eduardo stared up at the green trees above the sidewalk. The trees looked exactly like they had in early September, when he’d first shown up in the West Village demanding marriage. On the day when, in the space of a few hours, he’d gained both a wife, and a child.
His stomach clenched. He suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of going back to work. All those hours of work, all those days and years, and for what? He was a billionaire, and yet he envied his chauffeur, who went home every night to a snug little home in Brooklyn with a wife who loved him and their three growing children. Eduardo had a huge penthouse on the Upper West Side filled with art and expensive furniture, but when he was alone, the hallways and rooms echoed with the laughter of his baby. Of his lost wife.
Soon to be ex-wife.
He clenched his hands into fists. Had Callie signed the papers yet? Why hadn’t she signed them?
It had been two weeks since he’d signed the divorce papers, and the waiting was slowly driving him mad. He wanted it done, finished. Every day he was still married to Callie was acid on his heart, making him question if he’d made a mistake, if there was still a chance she might have forgiven him—if he could have earned back her trust.
He clawed his hair back with his hand. No. No way. She was probably engaged to Brandon McLinn by now and planning their wedding. McLinn’s steadfast loyalty had triumphed at last. And unlike Eduardo, McLinn fit into Callie’s world as Eduardo never would. He’d remember to ask her father for permission first. No one could ever deserve Callie, but if anyone had earned her, it was Brandon McLinn.
So why hadn’t she signed the papers? Why?
He didn’t know. He honestly didn’t know. And it was like crossing a high-wire without a net.
Since Callie had left him in Marrakech, he hadn’t checked up on her once. He’d fired Keith Johnson from her case. He’d even given his lawyers strict instructions not to give him news of her. They were to contact Eduardo when her lawyer had filed the signed paperwork for the divorce, and not before.
But he still hadn’t got the call. Did that mean there was hope?
Closing his eyes, Eduardo turned his face toward the sun as he thought about how he’d isolated her during their marriage. No. No hope.
“Hey!”
Looking down, Eduardo saw a little girl of about eight or nine, standing apart from five other schoolgirls. She held up a picture. “You dropped this.”
Reaching out, he took the photo of Callie and Marisol, taken at the Spanish villa at Christmas. Marisol was just three and a half months old then, giggling, flashing her single tooth. Callie was mischievously wearing the Santa hat she’d stolen from