Second Chance With Her Billionaire. Therese BeharrieЧитать онлайн книгу.
she’d avoid him. Avoidance was the perfect solution to any problem, she found.
Up until the moment when she was forced to face what she was avoiding.
Like how steady her parents were even though her father had had an affair; and how unsteady she still felt because of it. She was still an outsider to her family. To their unit: her mother, her father, Autumn. She’d been outside that unit for years. But she hadn’t put herself there.
She couldn’t tell her mother or Autumn that. Not when they’d moved on and their family had recovered from her father’s affair. She couldn’t tell Wyatt either. He looked at their family with the kind of awe that came from not having a supportive one as a child. He looked to her father as the gold standard. Of being a businessman, a husband, a father. Unfortunately, he didn’t know that Trevor had put the first before the last two.
Or that he had done the same, and she’d ended up feeling like an outsider to their marriage, too.
She took a breath. Thought happy thoughts. Strangely, those thoughts were still of the times when she didn’t have to pretend to be a part of her family. They’d spent summers travelling the world; had almost daily family dinners. Her father’s phone had been glued to his hand the entire time, but at least he’d been there.
He’d been more involved when she’d expressed interest in the company though. She’d spent weeks following her father around the Bishop Enterprises building when she was younger. She’d looked at how Trevor had turned the business her grandfather had started into an empire, and she’d been proud. So proud she’d wanted to be a part of it.
Until she’d found out he’d cheated on her mother and it had all felt like a lie.
She shifted gears, but what was left in her bank of happy memories was of her and Wyatt. Of the dates where she’d fallen in love with his kindness, his wit. Where he’d listened to her, really listened, and she’d felt understood for the first time since…since her father had told her she couldn’t speak honestly to the two people she loved most.
As she thought it, it felt as if tar had been smeared all over her happy memories. They felt icky now. Messy. Shameful. No one could blame her for avoiding things when thinking about them turned out like this.
Not that she’d care if they did. Her plan was to stay on the outskirts of her parents’ celebrations as far as she could anyway. She’d wait until Autumn arrived and use her sister as a shield. Against Wyatt, too, she thought, reminding herself to stay away from him.
She turned then, putting her weight on the balls of her feet as instructed, and walked towards the patio. As soon as she got there, her parents’ guests started walking through the doors. She quickly stepped aside, keeping out of the way as she took in the scene.
The guests had blankets and picnic baskets, and were walking onto the grass in groups. Some of them nodded a head at her in greeting; she offered them one back. They spread out their blankets and began to relax on the grass, clearly preparing to watch the sun set.
She couldn’t fault the actual activity. Watching the sunset on a cliff overlooking an ocean was pretty great. Romantic, too, which she supposed her parents had intended. The weather was warm in that careless way summer had. The waiters were moving around taking drink orders so the warmth would soon be combatted by icy cocktails and cold beers.
‘The blankets and baskets are inside,’ Lynette Bishop told her, stopping in front of Summer.
‘Okay,’ Summer replied slowly, looking past her mother to where her father stood in the doorway with Wyatt. Both their stances were casual; they were obviously comfortable with each other. Resentment pushed up in her throat, and she told herself to shake it off. Deliberately, she looked back at her mother.
‘I think I’m going to go back to the cabin, Mom,’ she said with forced calm. ‘It’s been a difficult week and—’
‘I’m sure it has been,’ Lynette interrupted. ‘Running your own business must be so exhausting,’ she continued, as if she hadn’t spent her entire life running the Bishop social empire, which was pretty much its own business, ‘which means you have to find time to relax.’
‘I know.’ She smiled. ‘Like going to bed early so I can get some sleep.’
‘Or taking a blanket and watching the sun set with your parents, whom you love.’
Lynette’s smile was equal parts sweet, equal parts threatening. As if she were not only daring Summer to go back to the cabin, but daring Summer to contradict her statement, too.
But Summer had no desire to give in to her mother’s dares. The first had been her taking a chance anyway; the second wouldn’t be true. She did love her parents, which was why all of what they’d gone through—and what she, alone, was still going through—was so hard. Besides, she was there, after all.
She sighed. ‘If I stay, I’m not sitting with you and Dad. I’d prefer not to embarrass myself like that.’
Lynette gave a light laugh. ‘You will stay, but that’s perfectly acceptable.’ Her face changed slightly. ‘Would you prefer sitting with Wyatt?’
‘Mother.’
‘You’re not looking forward to the reconciliation?’
‘I didn’t look forward to it, no. Since we already had it, I can say that I was right not to.’
Her mother didn’t say anything for a moment. Summer wondered whether it was because Lynette wanted to encourage her to sit with Wyatt. Her parents had always liked him. Which made sense, considering Wyatt so badly wanted them to like him.
It wasn’t that Wyatt pretended around them, but rather that he wasn’t entirely the man she’d fallen for when they were all together. She’d tried to avoid spending time with her parents during her marriage because of it. It hadn’t helped. Wyatt had turned into that man anyway.
‘Fine, dear,’ her mother told her with a pat on the shoulder. ‘You can sit by yourself. I just want you here with us.’
Summer nodded, swallowing her sigh. This added to her problem. Her mother was the same person she’d been before the affair. It hadn’t changed her, finding out. Not for the first time, Summer wondered if that would stay the same if her mother found out Summer had known before Lynette had.
Not wanting to think about it, Summer walked past Lynette to get a blanket and basket, hesitating when she reached her father and Wyatt.
What was the protocol with this? Did she ignore them, or did she join in the conversation?
Because neither appealed to her, she offered them both a smile—small, polite, like the one she would have given to two strangers—and passed them. A hand closed around her arm before she could let out the breath she was holding.
‘Are you looking for a blanket?’ Wyatt asked her.
Her head lifted, though she wanted to stare at the hand that was sending uncomfortable shots of electricity through her body. Staring might make him stop touching her. She resisted, looking from her father, who was watching them with interest, back to Wyatt instead.
‘Yes. I was told they’re in here.’
‘They were.’ He lifted a hand, which held a blanket. ‘This is the last one.’
There was a beat when she wondered what he expected her to say. Okay? Thank you for telling me? Can we share?
When all of them rang true, Summer let out a little breath.
‘Okay. Thank you for telling me. Can we share?’
There was another beat, but this time it was long and awkward, making her stomach turn.
‘Of course we can share, Summer,’ Wyatt said slowly, politely, and she gave him a bland stare.
When she looked at her father now, he seemed almost amused. Which annoyed her, though she