A Husband's Regret (The Unwanted Series)(38)

  

"You're both so beautiful," he whispered, sounding awed and humbled. He  looked so possessively proud that Bronwyn squirmed uncomfortably.

"Bryce."

He didn't see her lips form his name. Instead he reached for a small  towel and draped it over Kayla's hair, knotting it turban-style around  her head. He reached for another, bigger towel and opened it up,  patiently waiting for Bronwyn to finish soaping and rinsing their  daughter before kneeling beside the tub to reach for the squirming  toddler. His white T-shirt immediately got drenched when he wrapped the  small child in the towel. He picked her up before nodding down at  Bronwyn, who immediately sank down beneath the rapidly dissipating  bubbles.

"I'll take it from here; you enjoy the rest of your bath," he urged, and  she smiled gratefully, watching his tall, well-built form as he  retreated from the bathroom.

"Oh God," she moaned, burying her face in her wet hands. This was going  to be so difficult. She straightened her narrow shoulders resolutely  before finishing her bath and heading off to find her husband. He was in  Kayla's room, reading the sleepy little girl a bedtime story. Bronwyn  watched silently from the doorway, unseen by both father and daughter  until eventually Kayla fell asleep. Bryce stopped reading and leaned  down to drop a kiss on Kayla's baby-soft cheek.

"Good night, angel," he murmured, so quietly Bronwyn nearly missed it.  When he got up and turned around, he seemed unsurprised to find her  standing in the doorway. She came forward and dropped her own good-night  kiss on Kayla's cheek before straightening to meet his gaze  unflinchingly.

"We need to talk," she said, and he nodded. She led the way out of the  room and downstairs to the living room. She couldn't do this in the  conservatory, not where they had shared so many experiences, both good  and bad. He headed straight to the drinks cabinet and poured two glasses  of neat scotch, seeming to realize that they would need it. He handed  her one of the heavy, crystal glasses and gestured toward two  comfortable chairs.

"Shall we?"

She nodded, sitting down opposite him and taking a nervous sip of the  fiery liquid that swirled so prettily in the glass. She coughed and he  grinned.

"Still can't hold your liquor, I see," he teased.

"Bryce, I filed for a divorce today," she said very quickly. His grin  faded, and he went as white as a sheet. His eyes dropped to his glass  and he lifted it to his lips with a somewhat shaky hand before downing  the contents in one gulp.

"I see."

"I want nothing from you," she continued hastily when his eyes lifted to  meet hers again. "Just what we discussed before: child support and  joint custody." He got up and headed back to the drinks cabinet. He  refilled his glass, doubling the amount this time. When he sat back  down, he said nothing, merely drank down half of the liquor with a  slight shudder.

"Say something," she urged.

"Nothing more to say." He shrugged. "Nothing more to do really, except sit here and get very, very drunk."

"Bryce," she admonished, but he didn't see her lips form his name  because he was up once again, refilling his glass. When he returned to  his seat this time, he brought the decanter with him and held it up to  her with a questioning tilt of his head.

"You want some?" He invited, indicating toward her barely touched alcohol.

"Bryce we need to talk."

He laughed rudely, sounding anything but amused.

"About what, goddamn it?" His voice rose and she jumped in fright. "You  always want to talk but nothing much ever gets said! You want a divorce,  you want child support, and you want joint custody? Fine, they're  yours. I'll throw in the house in Knysna and a few million too! How does  that sound?"

"I don't want those things."

"Of course you don't," he sneered. "You're too good for my money, for my apologies, and for my love, aren't you?"

That did it! Bronwyn jumped up and, before she really had time to think  about her actions, tossed the rest of her drink into his sneering face.  She waited for him to blink the stinging alcohol from his eyes before  she laid into him.

"What apologies? What love?" She both signed and screamed at him. "So  far I haven't heard a word of apology from you. Not for tossing me out  or for misjudging me. And you haven't once, not once since our wedding,  since before our wedding for that matter, told me that you love me! In  fact you did the polar opposite of that; you told me that you married me  out of duty, that you'd never loved me. Are you telling me different  now, Bryce? Make up your damned mind because I'm getting sick of your  multiple personality disorder."





  

"Bronwyn . . ."

"No! You have the utter gall to tell me that nothing much ever gets  said." She was still using hands and mouth to make it absolutely clear  how she felt. She didn't want him to miss a single word. "Well whose  fault is that, Bryce? You've never really opened up to me. Trying to  learn anything at all about you is like extracting blood from a stone. I  was happy with our marriage before I left, but after being on my own  for two years and really thinking about it, I recognized how completely  screwed up our relationship was. It was all give from me and nothing but  take from you. You hide yourself so completely from me that I wonder if  the man I fell in love with ever really existed. So, you're right, the  time for talking is over. I'll stay in this house as per our agreement  but this divorce will happen."

"Why are you suddenly so desperate for a divorce?" he asked suspiciously. "Is it that professor? Are you leaving me for him?"

"How can I leave you when we're not even together?" she asked in  exasperation. She was frustrated that none of her words seemed to be  sinking in "And no, I don't want a divorce because of Raymond. I doubt  I'll see him again outside of school. And just because you've played  away during this marriage doesn't mean that I will." He looked  completely confounded by her words and signaled for her to repeat them,  evidently thinking he'd misread her words. When she repeated what she'd  said, his jaw dropped to his chest as he stared at her in obvious shock.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked. He was still sitting  down, insouciantly sipping at his scotch, even though the alcohol she  had tossed on him had drenched his head and shoulders. Bronwyn was still  standing and glowering down at him. "I haven't ‘played away' as you so  eloquently put it."

"You're the one who told me that your sex life was ‘just fine,'  remember? What else was I supposed to gather from that statement?" He  choked on a sip of scotch and coughed for a few minutes before  eventually blinking rapidly to clear his eyes and stare at her stupidly  again.

"Bronwyn . . . I was in an accident. I spent six months convalescing, a  year in therapy, and the rest of the time actively avoiding crowds. I  went out only once, and that was to a surprise party for Theresa De  Lucci just a couple of weeks before we found you again. When do you  think I had time to shag other women?"

"You said . . ." Okay, so maybe he'd lied.

"I was trying to save face. You were asking me about sex and all I could  think about was getting you naked and beneath me again. Hardly  something I wanted to advertise when I was still so angry with you."

"But the condoms?"

"What?"

"In the pedestal drawer," she elaborated, and his lips twitched.

"Rick and Lisa have used that room in the past and while they did the  responsible thing in purchasing condoms, they never really got around to  using them, and she got pregnant faster than you could blink." He  stared levelly up at her for a beat before grinning wickedly. "Were you  jealous, Bron?"

Damn him!

"Not at all." She kept her face expressionless but couldn't quite hide  the betraying flush from him. "I just thought you were a hypocrite for  getting weird about Raymond when you'd all but admitted to sleeping with  other women. It doesn't matter anymore anyway. The divorce still  stands." Her words brought the reality of their situation back to him  and he sobered immediately. "I want to pick up the pieces of my life and  move on. I just can't be happy living like this."

He stood up, towering above her, and his eyes bored desperately into hers.

"We can be a family, Bronwyn," he urged, holding out an imploring hand. "This weekend proved that."

"No, all this weekend proved is that you still have secrets that you  refuse to share with me. And it will always be that way, won't it,  Bryce? You will always close off some part of yourself from me. I've  never really known you and I doubt that I ever will."

"Sweetheart, please," he groaned.

"Don't call me that," she said. She just felt tired and defeated. He  stood there, hand still outstretched and looking miserable, with alcohol  dripping from his hair and into his eyes. For a very brief moment she  felt herself softening.