When he saw her, his face lit up in pleasure. “Hey, what are you doing here?” He leaned forward to kiss her, and she swiftly gave him her cheek. He thumped awkwardly backward, allowing her to enter the house.
The place looked as neat and tidy as ever, and his laptop sat open on the coffee table. “Have you been working?”
“Oh, yeah. Quarterly taxes.”
Monica gripped her purse strap. “Where’s your nurse?”
“I sent her home after the first day.”
“Then how have you been getting along?” Now she felt terrible. She should have called more often, made sure he had everything he needed.
“Hey, don’t worry.” His gaze scanned her face. “I’ve been fine. I can manage getting around, and I’ve had my groceries delivered. I’m good.” He grinned, all handsome and perfect and blond.
Hobbling over to the couch, Ryan dropped onto it with a wince. Monica grabbed a pillow and shoved it under his leg. “When was the last time you took a pain pill?”
“I don’t need one.” He grabbed her hand. “I’m fine. Sit down and talk to me.”
“Ryan.”
His grin slowly faded. “You’re not here to check up on me, are you?”
Monica forced herself to meet his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“So, it’s really over. You and Cal, you’re together?”
Monica’s hand lifted to the top button on her blouse. “It’s… Who knows?”
“I thought if I gave you enough time, you’d miss what we had. That you wouldn’t feel so panicked and get that look in your eyes.”
“What look?” Monica frowned and dropped her hand.
He patted the sofa next to him. “Sit down for a minute.”
Monica hesitated, then sat, perching next to him. “What look?”
“When I’d talk about the future, your eyes would start racing around the room, like you were looking for the nearest exit. I thought you were just wary, but that’s not it, is it?”
Oh God, he’d nailed it. Every time Ryan had talked about moving in together or getting married, Monica wanted to change the subject. Was her reaction specific to Ryan, or did she feel that way about commitment in general? What if Cal started talking about the future?
Stupid question. Cal didn’t make plans. He was a live-in-the-moment kind of guy.
“Did you ever love me?” Ryan asked. He didn’t wait for her to answer before he spoke again. “I thought you just didn’t like to say the words, the same way you never talk about your mother. The same way you never talk about the frustrations with your job or the fact that you’re so hard on yourself.”
All of it was true. Yet Monica talked about those things with Cal. She opened up to him in ways she never had with anyone. Not even Evan. She felt safe with Cal. She could show him all of herself, and he didn’t judge her for it. Except this morning. He’d judged the hell out of her then.
“You’re really good at hiding what’s going on inside of you, Monnie.”
Monica’s pulse beat against her throat. “I don’t hide,” she snapped.
He reached out and rubbed her knee. There was nothing sexual in his touch. “I’m not accusing you of anything. It’s just the way you are. Remember the philharmonic?”
She’d bought Ryan tickets to a performance of Mozart’s most famous symphonies. Agony. Sheer boredom for three endless hours. “It was fun.” Liar. Cal’s accent rang in her ears.
“You hated it. I knew that, but you wanted to make me happy. I thought that was a sign that you loved me.”
Monica began picking the clear polish from her thumbnail. It occurred to her that what she’d done with Ryan was what she’d done with every man in her life. She warped herself into their version of the ideal woman. From her first boyfriend and his love of monster trucks to Ryan’s passion for Mozart. Defective. No, not just defective—seriously, seriously messed up.
“I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you, Ryan. I wanted you to be the one.”
“I know.” His smile was tinged with sadness. “You tried really hard. I should have gotten a clue when you bought that house.”
“What do you mean?”
“Monica, four months ago I asked you to marry me. You said you had to think about it, and the next week, you bought a house. Your own house, without even discussing it with me.”
She stood and walked around the room, wrapping her arms around her torso. “My lease was up. I bought it as an investment.”
“Sweetheart, if you can’t be honest with me, at least be honest with yourself.”
She whirled around and flung her arms down. “I’m not lying to myself,” she yelled. “I wish everyone would stop saying that.” She clapped her mouth shut. Oh God. Monica took a gulp of air. “Sorry.”
Ryan gazed at her with a puzzled frown. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you raise your voice.”
“Really?” She paced to the door. “Because I yell at Allie all the time.” And Cal. She wasn’t afraid to yell at Cal. She stopped moving and glanced back at him. “I wanted to say yes.”
“It would have been perfect. I’m here. I love you, Mon. We could make this work. Can you say the same about Cal?”
Monica shook her head. “No, I can’t. But I’ve decided I don’t want perfect. It’s too much pressure.” Her entire world turned on its axis. She didn’t want this tidy life with a man who wouldn’t pull her hair during sex or talk to her in a rough, posh voice. That’s not who she was. Never had been.
He leaned his head against the cushions, looking more tired and pale than when she arrived. “If you change your mind—”
“I won’t. I never meant to hurt you.” Monica stumbled out of the house. She felt numb, yet her mind spun in circles.
Sitting in her car, she dialed Evan. Her call went straight to voice mail, and she left him a rambling message that didn’t make much sense.
As she started the car, a terrible dread filled the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, Monica didn’t know who the hell she really was. She wasn’t the girl she used to be—flighty and irresponsible—nor was she the mousy woman she portrayed herself as, the one who worked day and night in order to avoid having a real life. So where did that leave her? Who was she now?
Would the real Monica Campbell please stand up?
Chapter 19
Monica drove back to the office and continued her efforts to find a place for the gala. But her mind kept wandering back to the argument with Cal and her conversation with Ryan.
At four fifteen, she turned off her computer. Allie was right, it was over. Time to start crunching numbers for next year. All her plans, everything she’d worked for had been shot to hell because of a broken pipe.
She’d almost called Cal three times this afternoon, but each time she’d talked herself out of it. Now that she’d given up for the day, she grabbed her phone and dialed his number.
“I’m sorry,” he answered.
“I know. Me too. Thanks for the phone.”
“What’s wrong, love? Is this about the gala thing? Trevor mentioned it.”
“Partly.”
“Meet me at the villa.”
“I’m heading there now.” She didn’t even hesitate. When Monica ended the call, her hands were shaking. She didn’t know why she felt so nervous. This was Cal, the man who made her laugh, made her come until her knees trembled, the person she confided in. When they were together, a weight lifted off her shoulders, and she could relax. He may not be around tomorrow, but she needed him today, right now.
She shoved everything in her bag and left the office, waving to Stella and Carmen on her way out.
When she arrived at the villa, she handed her keys to the valet and walked to the front door. Cal stood there, waiting.
His hair was damp, and he wore his usual T-shirt and faded jeans. Walking toward him, she didn’t say a word, but he must have recognized something in her expression, because as soon as she cleared the doorway, he scooped her up in a one-armed hug.