The Ground Rules: Undone (23 page)

“No, Weston. You can’t do this to her. To your kids,” I plead. “Not because of me. You’re running away. You think I can make everything better, but I can’t. I can’t fix you, Weston. This baby boy can’t replace—”

He jerks away. “Don’t say it. I’m not trying to replace Jonathan. Don’t ever say that.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

He turns to me and grabs my face in his hands, the gesture sudden, hard. “Because I love you, Mirella. Because I can’t live without you.”

I tear myself away, my heart beating so fast, I fear I might have a full-blown heart-attack.

I retreat to the safety of the stool. I’m safer there than I am in his arms. “I’m still waiting for Gabe,” I tell him, my words carefully measured.

He rakes a hand through his hair. “Why? Why him and not me?”

Because I love him. Because he’s been my rock forever. Because he’s my children’s father… my best friend. I want to tell him these things, but can’t quite bring myself to.

“Didn’t he leave you?” he points out rather cattily.

“I know we’re not together at the moment,” I say carefully. “But I’m hoping—”

“Hoping for what? Hoping he’ll come back to you and your lover’s child?”

His words cut. “Weston…”

He buries his face in his hands and scratches at his hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just…”

“I know you’re upset,” I say, staring out into the half-empty living room. “You went through all this trouble, and imagined this whole life for us.”

He closes the distance between us and takes my hands in his again. “Can you not see it, Mirella?” he asks, his eyes full of emotion. “I’ve done my research. I know this is near the school where you teach. And I know your girls go to that school. A lot of their friends probably live in the neighborhood. They’ll finally be with their peers.”

I roll my eyes a little, admitting to myself he’s right.

“And although I didn’t realize your friend Gwen lived nearby,” he says. “That’s just a delightful little surprise,” he adds with a dash of sarcasm.

I smile. This place
is
perfect. I can’t deny it. I’ve always fantasized about living here. It would be so cool to be steps away from Gwen and to be able to walk to school. The girls could play with their friends after school…

What am I thinking?

I push him away and hop off the stool. “You can’t buy me, Weston,” I hiss. “You’re always trying to buy me.”

“I’m not,” he argues. “I’m just trying to give you the life you deserve. A beautiful house in a great neighborhood, a cleaning lady, a nanny, whatever you want.”

What I want is to literally tear my hair out at this point. I’m just so tired of arguing with him. I turn on my heel, toward the front door.

He darts after me, catching a hold of my wrist. “Please, Mirella. Let me show you the rest.”

“I need to go,” I tell him as I try to free my arm from his grasp.

“I swear I’ll be a perfect gentleman,” he promises. “Just a quick tour. And then, you’re free to leave.”

I gaze up at the fancy coffered ceilings.

Just a quick tour.

I let out a heavy sigh. “Sure. A
quick
tour. And then I’m gone.”

His face lights up and he grabs my hand, his long fingers soft around mine.

God, give me strength.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I promised I’d be a gentleman.

W
e’ll start with the main floor, which you’ve kind of already seen,” he tells me as I trail behind him, my hand still in his. He brings me to the den at the side of the house and tells me we can set up a double office; a little space for him and a space for me to grade my papers. He tells me he doesn’t work from home very often.

He then shows me the powder room; a gorgeous marble, vintage-inspired sink and silver-framed mirror. We make our way around the cardboard boxes scattered on the floor to the large mud room. I revel at the gorgeous black wrought-iron hooks. So many hooks, so much space. A single jacket hangs on a hook, looking lonesome. My own mud room is a cramped mess with a serious lack of storage space.

As we walk quickly through the living room, he tells me he hasn’t picked out the furniture yet, wanting to leave that to me.

I nod patiently. I don’t say a word and try not to be swayed by the beautiful space and all the luxury surrounding me. I will not relent. I will not falter.

We bound down the stairs to the lower level, where there’s a walk-out basement, a wide bright open space, complete with bar. He tells me he’s getting a pool table in soon.

“I thought maybe a little craft and play corner here,” he says. “The girls can decide how they want to set it up.”

My heart sinks. He’s been thinking about this for a while. He has everything worked out. It’s kind of sweet but also reeks of desperation, not to mention delusion.

“What’s over there?” I ask, gesturing to a bedroom.

“There are two rooms down here,” he says as we wander in the purple room. It’s a nice open space with built-in fireplace, closet and private washroom.

“This is Lizzie’s room. And the other room is Ashton’s. They won’t be living here full-time,” he explains. “But I’m hoping they’ll spend a lot of weekends here.”

My heart sinks. “Is this really what you want, Weston? Living in suburbia, away from your kids?”

He inches closer. “Yes,” he says with conviction. “I want to be with you. It’s all I want.”

I can’t be the one responsible for this. I am many things: a tramp, a tease, a woman who takes her family for granted, perhaps even a spoiled princess. But I am
not
a home-wrecker. I turn away from him. “Let’s go see the top floor.”

My feet drag as I make my way up the gorgeous spiral staircase, wondering how he could be doing this.

The floors on the top level are dark and glossy, recently refinished. Everything about this house is impeccable — not a scratch, not a scuff or stain in sight. A perfect house waiting for a perfect family.

“Here, come with me,” he says as he takes my hand in his again. He opens the door to a sky blue room. “This is one of the girls’ rooms. I haven’t done any decorating. I thought I’d leave that to you.”

The room is pretty, with one of those bay window benches and a pretty glittery chandelier. I wander in, taking in the empty space. I open the closet doors and make my way to the en suite washroom — rustic shabby-chic vanities and an old-styled claw foot tub. It’s gorgeous.

“The girls’ rooms share a bathroom. As you can see, there’s another door at the other end. The other room is pink,” he goes on. “But we can change the colors easily if they’d prefer something else.”

He really wants to do this — live in domestic bliss with my daughters — girls he barely knows. Short of an overnighter in New York, he’s barely spent a minute with them. And now he’s ready to share his everyday life with them. And leave his own children.

It
is
crazy.

He’s not thinking straight.

“I should go,” I tell him, not wanting to see the master. One thing I’m sure of…I
do not
want to be alone in a master bedroom with this man.

He closes the distance between us. I find myself motionless as his eyes bore into mine. “Please stay,” he pleads, “just five more minutes.”

Still, I can’t seem to peel my gaze away from his. I wish he didn’t have those powerful eyes. “Five minutes, and I am
not
looking at the master.”

He smiles as he pulls me by the hand and brings me to a small room painted in shades of blue and green. My heart feels heavy as I take in the space. A beautiful mahogany crib sits under the window, dressed in light green crib bedding. An adorable mobile hangs overhead — cute green turtles. The sea theme is reflected throughout the room — a stuffed orange octopus on the rocking chair, a bright green eel wrapped around a basket of tiny diapers and a large stuffed grey shark hanging from the ceiling. Colorful fish line the wall and a photo sits up on the wooden shelf, framed by a three dimensional coral reef frame. I inch closer and look at the photo — a copy of my black and white ultrasound. I look over at the dresser and there are six wooden block letters in a myriad of colors — orange, green, blue, yellow, spelling out O-L-I-V-E-R. My eyes prick and I swallow hard, willing the tears away.

He smiles, his hands buried in his jean pockets. He bites his lip waiting for me to say something. I’m just not sure what to say.

“It looks like someone went a little crazy at the Sea World gift shop,” I try to tease but my voice is broken at the edges.

He eyes me with a sheepish smile.

“It’s beautiful. Did you have help?”

He shakes his head, his hands still in his pockets. “No,” he says. “All me.”

There’s something very sweet about the space, and it’s not only because it’s a nursery. I can see Weston’s essence in this space; from the clean lines, to the small wooden turtle sculpture on the dresser, to the glass starfish hanging in the window. I take the sculpture in my hand. “Is this yours?”

He nods. “It belongs to Oliver now.”

God, the man is
killing
me.

He wants this so much. I can see it. I wish I could give this to him. I wish I could give him so much more.

I inch closer to him, my steps slow. He eyes me, his expression hopeful, but he doesn’t move. I wrap my arms around him. I hadn’t planned to get close to him, but…

Damn him.

He stills for a few seconds, and his arms slowly make their way around my waist. As he holds me tighter, my whole body warms. I hold him closer and bury my head in the crook of his neck and breathe in the familiar wonderful earthy scent. I press my lips to his skin. I can feel the beating of his heart there. It beats so fast.

He’s gotten to me again. He grabs a hold of my heart and renders me senseless. I don’t know what to think anymore. Gabe encouraged me to explore my options, to really think about what I want, who I want to be with. He gave me permission to be with Weston again. I hadn’t planned on being with him again, but every cell in my body wants him. And he and Bridget are also separated.

“Mirella,” he breathes.

I kiss his neck softly and I hear his ragged breaths as he leans down to me and trails his mouth along the curve of my cheek. I want him to kiss me. But he doesn’t. He lingers there, his lips soft and warm against my skin.

I trail my mouth along his jaw, willing him to lose his composure and kiss me. If I don’t make the first move, maybe I can ease some of my guilt for what we’re about to do. I can tell myself I wasn’t the one who started it. I can tell myself he seduced me.

I told myself I would wait for Gabe, but he said he was giving me time.

“Mirella,” Weston breathes. “I promised I’d be a gentleman.” The words are hoarse. He’s trying to do the right thing, but I know he doesn’t want to do the right thing. I can feel it in every inch of him, in every ragged breath he takes, in the feel of his touch.

I swallow hard. “I don’t want you to be a gentleman.” As I say the words, I know they are wrong. I feel myself tumbling, like I have so many times before with him.

I feel the curve of his lips against my cheek, his hot breath on my skin. “Are you sure?” he asks. He’s giving me the chance to say no because he too, knows this is wrong. But I’m not strong enough to say no.

“Yes, take me to the master,” I whisper. “Please.”

He trails a finger softly along the side of my face. “Are you sure?” he asks again. His eyes are dark, his mouth delicious looking. “I swear this was not my intent.”

“I know.”

He finally presses his mouth against mine. His hands grab a tight hold of my face. And the kiss I had been longing for, the kiss I didn’t want to admit I wanted, drives me over the edge. I grab a fistful of his shirt. He slides his free hand down my body and pulls me up tight against him, the grasp of his hand hard against my rear. I wrap my legs tightly around him, not wanting to ever let go. He hoists me up tighter against him.

He carries me to the master — a large dark empty room. The blinds are drawn and the room is completely empty with the exception of a lone king mattress on the floor, wrapped in white linens. He lets me go gently at the end of the mattress. I slide off him, reluctant.

I know I should go. I know I’m sending the wrong message. He might think I’ve accepted this new life he has planned for us. I want to tell him I haven’t, but I also don’t want to talk anymore. I just want to have him…one last time. Every cell of my being wants him…needs him.

“One last time,” I whisper.

His eyes pool with desire and something else I don’t quite recognize. He doesn’t say a word as he trails soft kisses along my collarbone. His hand makes its way under the skirt of my yellow summer dress. “I’ve been dreaming about this,” he whispers.

I trail my hand along the band of his low-riding jeans, trace a finger down the dark line under his navel, and travel to the ridge of his hip bone. I explore slowly… I don’t want to rush. “What did you see?”

I feel the vibration if his lips against my neck as he laughs. “You mostly, naked. I have memorized every detail down to the last freckle,” he says softly. “It’s almost real when I think about you.”

I close my eyes. “I think about you too.” I pull off his t-shirt slowly. “I never felt right about our last time together,” I confess.

He pulls off my cotton panties slowly — they’re nothing fancy, just plain white cotton briefs. They fall slowly in a heap around my ankles. “Yes,” he breathes. “I think we can do better than a quick dry hump against a door.”

I sigh as he trails a finger along my ass. “I can’t remember the last time we made love on a bed.”

“New York,” he whispers as he slides his hand softly across my belly, “when we made this little guy.”

My insides feel heavy as I pull him hard against me. “I want you.”

I don’t want a fast-slam against the mattress. I want a slow dance. I want to drink in every moment, every touch and every kiss.

This is our last time. I wonder if he knows this too. I don’t think he does. I haven’t been very clear. I know I should really be honest.