Page 33 of Conquer
Chapter Ten
We return to my parents’ house in the morning to find Magda once again in the garden, but this time sampling frozen treats—sugar-free I see at a glance—on a picnic blanket spread out beneath one of the orange trees. Mother and Daddy sit on either side of her, each cajoling her into trying a new delicacy, their laughter carefree.
My heart swells in my chest. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them so relaxed—let alone my mother willingly sit so close to the actual earth. Her eyes sparkle as she runs her fingers through Magda’s loose curls as Daddy shapes orange peels with his tongue to make her giggle.
“Your kid is a master manipulator,” I tell Vadim in awe as we watch her work from the obscurity of the sunroom. “I think someone will wind up with a very good haul at Christmas.”
His jaw clenches at that, his gaze constricted with an emotion I can’t read just yet. Something every bit as tender and delicate as the freshly blooming flowers spreading their petals throughout the garden. If I stumble too close to it now, I might wind up crushing it.
So instead, I coax him out where we join the makeshift picnic much to Magda’s delight. Soon enough, rather than just two peons to fawn over her, her court grows to four, and every bit the little princess, she plays her role to the fullest extent.
“Can we go to the beach?” she asks, once we’ve eaten lunch and my parents have gone off in search of more things to placate her with—my father with the promise of showing her his power tools once he’s cleaned the shed, and my mother in the process of fetching every dress I’d ever worn from storage.
“The beach…” Vadim locks eyes with me, conceding the decision to my discretion, I suspect. Something tells me he’s well aware of the sensitive ground venturing into town treads upon for me.
But my past wounds aren’t Magda’s problem.
“I can show you my old haunts,” I tell her, tugging at a curl. “I loved hanging out on Faraday beach.”
Just like that, we bundle into the car and enter the town I haven’t stepped foot in since my divorce was finalized over six months ago. It’s one of those small, overly beautiful, secretly judgmental, and cloistered coastal towns with none of the allure of say, Orange County, but twice the charm.
I’m pleased to find most of my old favorite cafes and boutiques are still in business, gearing up for the peak tourist season.
“You lived here,” Magda says, this time with utter confidence, her eyes on a gaggle of giggling blond teens decked out in matching designer fashions.
“Hey!” I elbow her in the shoulder as we leave the car parked beyond the boardwalk. “I would never walk in an identical cluster. I was the trendsetter, not the follower.”
Her sly grin tells me she doubts that assessment.
Still, we trailblaze our own path through the beach bum clones, lazily patrolling the boardwalk before skimming past the water as Magda skips through the waves, her sandals in hand, her smile infectious.
“Something tells me you’re considering investing in a beach house,” I taunt Vadim once I spy the way he’s watching her. Avidly, like a man who thought he’d never see the sun experiencing a full-on supernova up close and personal.
“Already in the process of closing on one,” he admits, running his finger along the collar of his casual button-down. “Seeing your family’s home sold me on vacationing in wine country.”
I have to wonder if this purchase came before or after our makeup session last night. Judging from his smirk, he won’t tell.
I lean against him rather than prod, slipping my hand in his as his other arm goes around me. I crave this nearness now more than ever—because as much as I hate to admit it, there is a reason I preferred to stay on the East coast, shacking up with a sexy, handsome billionaire rather than come back home.
Being here still stings.
We’ve passed the seaside diner Jim took me to early on in our relationship. And the spot on the beach where he proposed—but with a stand-in ring because his father’s credit line at the jewelry store hadn’t gone through at the time. Now, we’re nearing the overlook where he liked to stroll, showing me off like arm candy before he tired of me.
I’m doing my best to ignore the poisonous nostalgia, but my mood must plummet to the point that even Vadim senses it.
“Let’s take a break,” he suggests, stopping short before a row of white picnic tables positioned with a view of where the boardwalk intersects the beach. “How about some ice cream?”
“Okay!” Magda takes his hand without a second thought, and they head off toward a frozen treat stand a few paces away. I find myself scanning the stream of traffic combing through the boardwalk as I wait, letting my brain run rampant with vicious scenarios.
I wonder if Jim is enjoying life with his new baby and harlot. If he takes her here, to these places, and she’s dumb enough to assume they belong to her alone. If they both expect that I’m somewhere in hiding, living off his alimony payments and seething with jealousy.
I think that’s the part that alarms me the most. I’mnotseething. I’m pissed—so very pissed with myself and the fact that I suffered for so long. Lied to myself for so long.
And all for what?
To discover that the world beyond my marriage could be ten times more beautiful, and sexier and fulfilling. And I never had to change the person I was—not really. Dumb, lazy Tiffy could thrive when given the chance, with or without a relationship to assign her value.
Fuck Jim, may he rot in marital bliss.
