Page 17 of His Best Mistake

“No. But then you didn’t really have time, did you, seeing as how you left Scotland in such a hurry.”

A moment’s silence followed that and his brows snapped together in a frown, and even though perhaps it was slightly petty of her, she felt a stab of satisfaction that she’d unsettled him. Perhaps she minded about the way he’d skedaddled a fraction more than she’d thought.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“So why did you?”

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his jaw. “It’s complicated.”

Stella inwardly grimaced. If he thought that was complicated then she couldn’t wait to hear what he thought of her news. “Tell me about it,” she said, because despite trying not to, she had given it some consideration and maybe she did have some sympathy for his predicament. She might well be giving him the benefit of the doubt, but if he’d had an attack of guilt because of Stella’s relationship with his sister she could sort of understand that. Briefly, she’d felt a stab or two of the same.

“You have every right to be angry.”

“Oh, I’m not angry.”

“You’re not?”

“No. It’s fine. Seriously. I was glad you didn’t come back.”

“You were?” he said, sounding even more taken aback.

Stella nodded firmly. “Absolutely. There wasn’t anything left to say was there?”

“No,” he said with a frown. “I suppose not.”

Plenty now though…

“So I’ve been wondering,” she began, thinking that the question she was about to ask wasn’t a stalling tactic at all. She really did want to know the answer, and who knew if she’d get the chance once she’d dropped her bombshell. “Did you tell your sister about our – er – conversation?”

Jack nodded. “I did.”

“How did she take it?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, although he frowned again and his jaw tightened a fraction. “She’ll get there,” he said, and Stella felt her heart sink because, damn, she’d been hoping for better. “She’s having trouble coming to terms with the fact that Brad isn’t the blameless knight in shining armour she’s always believed him to be.”

“Does she know about – ah – us?”

“No.”

“Are you planning on telling her?”

“No. Are you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

Stella clasped her hands in her lap and bit her lip, her nerves twisting into knots, and for the briefest of seconds she considered just getting up and walking out, but she couldn’t. He was the lentil’s father. She had to tell him.

“So was that it?” said Jack, after a moment, tilting his head and looking at her quizzically.

“Not exactly.” Stella shifted on the sofa, as if that might ease the feeling that she was sitting on knives, and swallowed hard. “You might need a drink for this bit,” she said, her heart beginning to pound as the nerves wound tighter.

His eyebrows rose. “That bad?”

“Depends on your point of view.”

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