Page 5 of Bad Teacher

“Thank you, but I’m really asking for your blessing. Given you’re Amanda and Trevor’s mom, and—”

And you’re with my husband. Violet cleared her throat. Ex-husband. She had to come to terms with the fact that for the past several months she had created a hole in the boat of her marriage and watched it sink. A part of her had hoped Damian would take her back, even if she didn’t love him the way he had deserved. But after her treatment, she’d wondered if she had been a different person, more open and warm, he’d love her too, the way she deserved. Silly her, for a moment she thought they’d be able to find out together. A second chance.

She looked deep into Brit’s soulful brown eyes. “You have my blessing. You two are great for each other.” It wasn’t a lie. Brit had managed to make Damian happy, to make him a better person. She’d done what Violet herself hadn’t been able to, and perhaps that added a dash of salt to the wound. But letting her friend see it was out of question.

Brit was kind, straightforward, smart. She deserved happiness and, most importantly, was ready to embrace it. “Thank you. We haven’t told the kids or anyone. I wanted to check with you first.”

“When do I get to see the big rock?”

“I’ll start wearing it after we talk to the children. Didn’t think it was fair otherwise.”

Violet leaned in. “The fact you’re so worried about your daughter and my children’s reaction says everything I need to know about this union. Everything will be great, Brit.” Gosh, Amanda and Trevor loved Brit. I love Brit.

Bitter thoughts swirled around her, but she willed them away before they found a place to take root in her soul. She’d told Brit she was okay with her relationship with Damian from the beginning, and now she had to continue and move forward. Even if doing the right thing was a little bit tougher than she’d imagined.

“I’m going to invite Nikki and Lara to be my bridesmaids. You’re my best friend too, but I’m trying to navigate the weirdness of you being in your ex’s wedding versus me giving you the awesome praise you deserve for being a fabulous person,” Brit said.

Violet drew in a breath. She knew exactly what her friend meant. Expectation gleamed in Brit’s eyes, and she bobbed her head forward, probably hoping Violet would say yes. Brit had never been married, and Violet knew this was a big deal for her. An acidy sensation spread in her stomach, rising up her throat. She could continue the farce and say yes—but agreeing to being involved in every single detail about Brit’s big deal was a bit much. Her mother had raised a good enough actress, but she was no Meryl Streep.

“I’ll be happy to attend the wedding,” she said, her voice even. Hell, Amanda would question her if she didn’t. “But I’m in way over my head with this new job and everything, so I can’t give you my one hundred percent as a bridesmaid. Wouldn’t be fair to you. Is that okay?”

Brit smiled. “That’s totally fine. I just wanted to throw it out there, but I completely understand. It’s very generous of you to attend.”

“It’s my pleasure,” she lied.

* * *

“Marcelle, get off your iPad,”he said to his ten-year-old daughter. “Now.”

“Five more minutes, Dad? Please?” Marcelle asked, working her big hazel eyes like a champion. When she looked at him like that, she reminded him of her mother, and he found it hard to object.

But this time, he had to—if he wanted to do things differently.

He shook his head. “The teacher will be here at any moment,” he said. Was it Miss Manning or Mrs. Manning? Damn it, he didn’t remember her last name, or if she was single or married. A shiver zapped down his spine. The idea of that beautiful woman being committed or involved with another man brought a bad taste to his mouth. “Miss Violet.”

He had enough problems in his mind to obsess over a person who obviously only thought about herself. She hadn’t cared about his problems or his daughter’s delicate situation when he’d shared them with her. Yet when he’d proposed to call the cops or the principal, she agreed to help. What did that say about Violet?

Who cares? As long as she helps Marcelle, I don’t care about her. Not one tiny bit. He had to continue to salvage the chain of restaurants he and his wife had started together—and which had faced terrible neglect from both of them after she’d been diagnosed and throughout her treatments as they fought for a cure. Between that and being a decent father to his daughter, he’d barely had time to come up for air. Let alone date. And forget about having sex.

“Done,” his daughter said and put her iPad away. “But don’t expect me to be all friendly. Studying on a sunny Sunday isn’t really my speed.”

“Making sure you aren’t kicked out of another school is mine,” he said. “Give it a try, Marcelle.”

She crossed her arms on her chest and rolled her eyes. “Why are you so insistent on me staying in this school, Dad?”

“You didn’t last much at the others, either. I know losing your mother is painful and you’re still hurting like crazy, but you have to try harder,” he said, softening his voice. She would have loved to see you speak French. The argument burned at the tip of his tongue, but he held it back.

“You want me to study and grow up and get out of your hair,” she said.

Had he done such a bad job as a father she thought he saw her as a burden? He raked his fingers through his hair. “I want you to learn, to accept your mother is not here anymore. And to be happy.”

The doorbell ring interrupted the awkward exchange. Shit, he’d prefer solving any work-related problem than navigating emotions with his daughter. He’d loved Celine, and they had shared a wonderful marriage. A part of him felt guilty for even thinking of forgetting how great it had been so he’d be able to move on too. Maybe he didn’t deserve to move on.

Maybe his daughter subconsciously blamed him for Celine’s death. After all, breast cancer was very treatable these days. If he hadn’t been so obsessive about the restaurants and taken Celine down the same path, maybe she’d have gone for checkups more often. Maybe she would have discovered it early enough to beat it.

He strode to the foyer, for once grateful for the sight of one more tutor coming into his house. Granted, none of them ever looked as good as Violet. Also, none of them had ever been as motivated to help as Violet. This will work out. It has to.

He opened the door to let her in. She wore denim jeans and a dark blue, collared shirt. Casual and appropriate, without being too informal. He gave her a once over, appreciating the way the jeans hugged her delicate frame, then lifting his gaze to her face. The shirt brought out her clear blue eyes.

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