"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.