Page 14 of One Weekend in London

“I’m sorry I left so quickly.” The apology, one I’ve already spoken, spills out of me quietly, my fingers now fidgeting with the hem of my dress. “It wasn’t part of my plan. Like, at all. But the gossip and noise... it all just became too much.” I fall silent, slightly hesitating before adding, “Please don’t be mad. I can handle a lot of things, but you being disappointed in me—”

His eyes widen.

“I ain’t mad at you, much less disappointed, Sadie Lou.” The tear-inducing tizzy I was working myself into abates, relief working to take its place when he finally speaks. “It’s the rest of these folks ’round here that’ve got me all worked up and hotter than a billy goat in a pepper patch.”

With a grunt, he unfolds his arms and removes his worn straw hat, one he’s owned since I was a little girl, before slapping it down on his thigh.

“Garrison is your home, dagnabit. Me and your mamaw, may God rest her angelic soul, made sure of that. And the last thing you should have to do is flee on account of some no-good Beaumont, who wasn’t ever worthy of you in the first place, doin’ you wrong and breakin’ your beautiful heart.”

My chin wobbles. “It wasn’t just him. It was—”

“I already know,” he interrupts, showcasing his ability to read me like a book. “And as far as the Garrison gossip mill goes, folks need to learn to mind their own biscuits ’fore they get burnt.”

Laughter bubbles up from my throat, warming me from the inside out. Leave it to Papaw to put things in perspective with his colorful Southern wisdom.

Her face alight with humor and understanding, Lillian adjusts the messy bun her hair’s pulled in and clears her throat, spearing a soft but concerned look my way. Following in Eli’s footsteps, she’s always fussing and worrying over me.

She’s going to be such a good mama.

“Sadie, honey...” Her voice is quiet, barely louder than a whisper. “I know you’re hurt, and understandably so. But you can’t let what Maxwell and Vanessa did define you. You have to keep moving forward. Keep living your life. If not for yourself, then as selfish as it sounds, for all of us who love you and want to see you truly and genuinely happy.”

Tears prick the backs of my eyelids, but I blink them away, refusing to let them fall. Lillian’s right. I know she is. It’s just hard to imagine fully getting past all this and one day opening myself up again, risking that kind of soul-crushing pain.

But the alternative—shutting myself away, letting betrayal and hurt win—is even worse. I want to let all the bad go and move on, finding happiness. And maybe someday, a true happily ever after.

One that doesn’t include backstabbing scumbags.

Of the male and female variety.

I pull in a deep, shuddering—cleansing—breath. “You’re right. About everything.” Rhys’s face flashes in the forefront of my mind, and a secretive, almost devious smile spreads across my face. “Hey, maybe I should start moving forward by finding a hot Brit to have a drink with.” I pause for dramatic effect. “Preferably one named Rhys.”

Tasha’s eyes widen, and she leans forward, practically vibrating with excitement.

I feel my cheeks heat, but I can’t stop the grin tugging at my lips. Trust her to tap into her teenage drama queen skills and zero in on the juiciest tidbit of information like a heat-seeking missile.

Just as Papaw’s did a minute ago, her eyes narrow. Silently assessing. Knowing a barrage of questions is about to be fired my way, my finger finds my computer’s trackpad, and I hover the mouse’s cursor over the disconnect icon.

“Now wait a minute, I know that look!” she hollers, jumping up. “You’re not telling us something, and I demand to know all the juicy deets, or else—”

Papaw and Lillian are both about to speak, interrupting whatever Tasha is set to finish saying, but I don’t give any of them the chance.

“Love you guys. I’ll check in tomorrow. But not from my phone because, well, I sort of lost it at a high-class, fancy bar after this insanely hot and obviously filthy rich hotel owner swooped in, saving me from this pervert I was two seconds from castrating.”

If Papaw hadn’t had high blood pressure before, he surely would now. Following Tasha’s lead, he stands from his chair with a start, sending it skidding backward, his cheeks and ears tinged fire engine red.

“What in tarnation? Sadie Lou, I swear—”

I’m about to blow them a kiss and end the call, leaving them on one heck of a cliffhanger when Lillian’s voice cuts through the chaos, her tone urgent and tinged with reluctance.

“Sadie, wait! There’s something you need to know.” Call it instinct, a sixth sense, whatever, but I know whatever she needs to tell me will knock me for a loop. “It’s about Vanessa.”

Sympathy contorts her features.

“She’s pregnant… with Maxwell’s baby.”

CHAPTER 6

Sadie

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