He would come up with that reason. He would.
But first, he had to ask. “That email … are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her eyes were earnest on his. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. Ron used to say stuff like that all the time when we were kids.”
He closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath.
Upon seeing his expression, she quickly added, “Which doesn’t excuse his rudeness, of course, but it’s fine. I just wish you hadn’t seen that message, because I know it upset you more than it upset me. Obviously.”
And that killed him. Absolutely gutted him.
He didn’t want her upset, but he did want her angry. Or maybe not even angry, but at least cognizant of the wrong done to her. He wanted her absolutely unwilling to accept that kind of cruelty as a normal or acceptable part of her life.
But it wasn’t up to him.
“And I know you don’t want one, but I do owe you another apology.” When he opened his mouth to protest, she raised a hand. “Let me finish, Alex. Please.”
Goddammit. When she said please, he couldn’t do anything but what she wanted.
Glaring at her all the while, he braced himself to listen.
“If you say I shouldn’t be sorry for getting you in trouble, I’ll try not to be, and I won’t apologize for it again.” Her mouth turned down at the corners, which he hated. Hated. “But I can and will apologize for not being by your side as you dealt with the fallout. You asked me to come to your suite, and I should have done it. I should have supported you.”
Her absence had hurt. He couldn’t deny that, even as he’d understood her reasons for leaving. Or, at least, he’d thought he understood. But if she hadn’t been angry at him—
“I just …” She twisted her neck and stared into her lamplit bedroom for a few moments before turning back to him, her eyes glassy, and he hated that even more. “I knew it was the end of our time together, and I was”—when she blinked, the tears slipped down her cheeks—“I was really sad, Alex. I didn’t want to distract you with my own feelings, though, because you had more important things to deal with.”
Again. Gutted. Because again, she’d placed herself below everything else, everyone else, in his life, and she didn’t even seem to notice. Didn’t acknowledge how wrong that was.
She tried to smile, and it was wavery and heart-wrenching. “I’ll miss you.”
Then she was stumbling forward, and her arms wrapped around his waist, and she was leaning into him, just as soft and warm and precious as he’d imagined.
That worn nightie didn’t disguise the electric feel of her body against his, or her obvious lack of a bra, and he tried to keep his telltale reaction angled away from her. He didn’t want to ruin the moment or cut it short.
Because she was hugging him. Nanny Clegg. Wren. His Wren.
Ducking his head uncomfortably low, he rested his cheek against her hair. It smelled like coconut. He’d had no idea, until just now.
When her arms began to loosen, he bent down and framed her sweet, sharp-featured, tear-stained face in his hands. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Her cheeks were wet and cool, and they fit perfectly in his palms.
He gazed into her eyes, and the moment felt as solemn as a ceremony.
Wait.
There it was. At long last, his excuse.
On the plane, he’d checked his email and read a message from his virtual PA. After canceling all his upcoming publicity-related travel arrangements and agreeing to work directly for him, she’d asked for a vacation of at least two weeks before resuming her normal schedule. He’d said yes, of course.
After all, he had nothing to do. Nowhere to be. With one exception, as his PA had reminded him.
One glorious, fortuitous exception.
“You don’t have to miss me.” The plan spooled out before him, perfect in every possible way. He pressed a fierce kiss to the wispy hair at her temple, triumphant with joy. “I have another brilliant idea, Wren, and I’ll take care of everything. All you have to do is say yes.”
She blinked up at him. “Oh, Jesus.”
Lauren’s Email
From: [email protected]
Subject: Checking on you
Hey, honey—
After your cousin called Aunt Kathleen this afternoon, she told your father and me what happened at the convention earlier today. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Are you doing okay?
It all sounds terrible, and it’s not fair that you lost your job because Alexander Woodroe couldn’t manage to behave himself. I have no idea what Ron wanted you to do, honestly. How could you possibly have guessed what would happen? And even if you’d known, did he expect you to physically tackle Woodroe onstage and muzzle him until he calmed down?