Page 68 of The Best of Friends

She walked out of the room, her head high, her shoulders stiff. David thought longingly of escaping somewhere less complicated, like the Australian Outback. Right now blinding winds and burning temperatures seemed like a reprieve.

As that wasn’t an option, he returned to the party, determined to get another drink. But as he walked into the living room, he realized that dealing with his mother might be the lesser of two evils. Rebecca stood by the patio, Jonathan reaching for her.

“Stop,” she said, stepping back. “Just stop. Stop following me, stop talking to me, and stop touching me.” She grabbed his hand and pushed it away.

“Rebecca,” Jonathan pleaded. “Don’t do this. You’re important to me.”

“Too bad, because you’re not important to me. I told you this was nothing but a fling. Why can’t you listen?”

Jonathan glanced around at the interested guests. “Please. Not here.”

“This is as good a place as any.” Rebecca tossed her head. “It’s over, Jonathan. I don’t want to see you again. Ever. Don’t call. Don’t stop by. This was a mistake from the beginning. You’re too old and too boring for someone like me. Now do us all a favor and go away.”

Twelve

THE SILENCE THAT FOLLOWED seemed to fill the large living room and press down, as if everything had suddenly gotten too heavy.

Jonathan turned white. “You’ll regret that,” he said with an anger Rebecca had never heard before. His eyes flashed with a fury that made her take another step back.

She became aware of the people around them. Watching. Listening. For the first time in a very long time, an uncomfortable sensation poured through her, making her feel small and foolish. She read judgment in the gazes of the guests and finally identified the emotion as shame.

Dumping Jonathan was one thing, she admitted. Doing it in public might have been a mistake. Not that she would let anyone know she had regrets. Instead of cowering or disappearing, she tossed her hair over her shoulder, smiled, and took a glass of wine from a passing server. She toasted those still watching her, then took a sip.

Conversation slowly resumed. Rebecca glanced around, looking for someone to approach, a safe conversation to be had. Then the skin on the back of her neck prickled in a way that had her instantly on edge. There was only one man on the planet who could get her attention simply by walking into a room.

It wasn’t possible. He couldn’t be here.

She turned slowly, bracing herself for the inevitable. Then she saw him. Tall, tanned, and ruggedly handsome. Like an actor out of a commercial featuring cowboys and cigarettes. Nigel moved toward her, his walk more swagger than stride.

His dark hair was too long, his eyes burned with desire and appreciation, his mouth turned up with the hint of a smile.

“Becca Blue,” he said as he got closer, as always his Australian accent making her weak at the knees. “You do have style.”

She told herself that he was married and that she had to be strong. That whatever brought him here and whatever he wanted, it couldn’t be good. Not for her. But when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, she felt like she’d found her way back home… for the first time in months.

For Elizabeth, rage was hot and white and burned in her chest and her stomach. If she had a gun, she would have cheerfully shot Rebecca—consequences be damned.

It wasn’t just that her daughter had once again ruined David’s party, it washowshe’d done it. Publicly, and to Jonathan.

Good manners demanded that she go to him and apologize for Rebecca’s behavior and somehow try to smooth things over. But her own affair made her hesitate. Twelve years ago, she’d been the one to end things. Was he thinking, Like mother, like daughter? She didn’t want to anger him more and risk his telling Blaine out of revenge. She’d always trusted Jonathan to act like a gentleman, but Rebecca was capable of pushing anyone past the breaking point.

Not knowing what to do was nearly as horrifying as the scene itself. Someone needed to teach that little bitch a lesson. To think Rebecca was her child. If only she had been adopted—Elizabeth could blame someone else. As it was, she could only assume there was some mental weakness, some flaw inside of Rebecca. If she were younger, she could be locked away. Something Elizabeth should have thought of years ago.

But it was too late, and she had a party to salvage.

She forced herself to smile, as if Rebecca’s outburst had been in her plan all along, and mingled with her guests. As she spoke and waved over servers to refill drinks, she searched for Blaine. Finally she spotted him talking to that drab Marjorie Danes. Why someone with that much money dressed so plainly, she would never know.

She crossed to him. “Hello, Marjorie. Blaine, I need you to circulate among our guests. Provide a distraction.”

“All right,” he said absently. “A distraction from what?”

Marjorie patted his arm. “He was in the restroom and missed Rebecca’s… conversation. I wasn’t going to say anything.”

Blaine frowned. “What happened with Rebecca?”

“She broke up with Jonathan in front of everyone,” Elizabeth said, annoyed that Marjorie hadn’t told him and that he hadn’t stopped it in the first place. Rebecca took after him—this was his fault for indulging her while she was growing up. “He was humiliated, and now everyone is talking.”

“He was too old for her,” Blaine said. “What was she thinking?”

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