Page 64 of Don't Call Me Sweetheart

Not that I was thinking about marrying Max. I had only known him two months. It didn’t matter that I felt closer to him, more connected to him, more myself with him, than with some people I had known my entire life. Two months was nothing. I knew from personal experience how much a man could regret marrying me, even when he had known me longer.

And that was the thing. Max wanted marriage.

Not to me.

But to someone.

Who wasn’t me.

I didn’t know why that bothered me so much. It shouldn’t. This was exactly what I had signed up for. But still, the thought of him taking another woman to bed made me want to shred my skin off.

“Here they come now,” Mom said, lifting her hand in a beauty pageant wave. “Right on time.”

I turned to look, even though I knew the they my mother referred to were Maria and Juan. George’s parents were meeting us here to finalize the commemoration details. They had approved of Mom’s plan to hold the ceremony at the country club, which ought to have resolved my nagging doubts, but even now, I couldn’t shake them. The grounds were beautiful, but they just didn’t feel like George.

I wasn’t going to say that, though. His parents knew him best. More importantly, if he had died even one year later, this wouldn’t have been my decision to make at all, because the divorce papers would have been signed. His parents didn’t know that, and my parents didn’t know that, but I knew that. And it was enough to make me keep my doubts to myself.

“Juan, Maria, it’s good to see you again.” I hugged them both.

Maria kissed my cheek. “We only have until three o’clock, but fortunately Piedmont isn’t far from here.”

I nodded. It was the fourth Friday in October, which meant that Maria and Juan would pick Jessica up from school for their monthly overnight visit. I had always enjoyed the reprieve from single parenting—and it was short enough that I never felt deprived of time with my daughter—but today, I was looking forward to it more than ever.

Because tonight, Max would spend the night with me—the whole night—for the first time.

Just the thought of having the entire night for only us sent shivers of excitement down my spine. Between work and school, we had never had that much time together in one chunk, and it felt like a luxury that we would be able to kiss and talk and make love without constantly looking at the clock. My plan was to get him naked as quickly as possible and then keep him that way all night long.

“You look good, Kate,” Maria said approvingly. “Your cheeks are so pink. You look happy.”

I felt my flush deepen, knowing what thoughts had colored my skin. “It’s the cold air coming down from the mountains. Better than makeup.”

“Well, it suits you.” Maria looked around. She pointed in the direction of a brown bush, its branches nearly bare. “Is that a rhododendron? The club agreed that we could place the bench by the rhododendron just off the patio. I think that must be the spot.”

“What bench?” I asked.

“A memorial bench,” Juan explained. “There will be a plaque with George’s name, his years of employment, and the dates of his birth and death, along with a message that he is loved and missed.” He smiled fondly at his wife. “It was Maria’s idea, and the club loved it. They offered to pay for it.”

“Oh, what a lovely thing!” Mom clasped her hands, looking pleased. “Something permanent to honor George.”

A bench, to honor a man who had spent as little time as possible sitting still, in the place he had mocked relentlessly. I squinted, trying to imagine it.

Maria’s dark eyes looked slightly damp as she gazed at the bush. “It will be a beautiful place to sit and remember him in spring, with the rhododendron in bloom. I used to tell him that he may have started as a dishwasher, but one day, he could run the whole thing. Or maybe he would have stayed in the military and risen through the ranks until he could afford a membership here. Wouldn’t that have been something?” She sighed, shaking her head. “We had such hopes for him. He was such a good boy. So smart and hardworking.”

I swallowed hard. “Yes, he was.”

Juan smiled at me. “You were a good wife to him, Kate. He loved you so much.”

I blinked away the sudden flood of tears in my eyes. I wished, more than almost anything, that Juan was right. That I had been a good wife. The kind of wife a man wanted to come home to.

But I knew the truth.

Chapter 22

Max

It wasn’t until the eighth hole that I recognized the round of golf pitched as a networking opportunity for what it really was.

A trap.

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