Say You Will(62)
Join the club.
She studied him as she ended the call. “You’re Summer’s brother.”
“Stepbrother,” he corrected, not feeling generous. “Is she in?”
“I’ll call her.” The woman punched a couple buttons, murmured into the receiver, and then nodded at him. “She’s waiting for you in her office. You know where that is?”
“I’ll follow the smell of sulfur.” Saluting the receptionist, he went to find Satan’s spawn.
She sat at her desk, writing on a pad of paper. She wore her traditional black dress, but over it she had on the colorful gypsy scarf Rosalind had given her.
He felt both sad for her and angry at her, but his anger took over. “Rosalind knows,” he said without preamble, closing her office door behind him.
Summer frowned. “Knows what?”
“All of it.”
“How did she find out?” She blinked, touching the scarf. “You told her?”
He sat in a chair and rubbed a hand over his neck. “Is how she found out more important than the fact that she knows we lied to her?”
“Was she angry?”
“What do you think, Summer?”
At least she had the grace to wince. “Did she say anything about me? Or the will?”
“Tell me you aren’t more concerned about the will than you are about your relationship with Rosalind.”
She lowered her gaze. “The will is important, Nick.”
“The will isn’t important. Your place with the Summerhills is, though, and you’ve compromised that.” He reached across the desk and took her hand. “Rosalind didn’t deserve being deceived. She cared for you. You should have seen the pain in her eyes.”
Summer looked stricken.
“I just thought you should know so you can grovel, too. Maybe she’ll be willing to talk to you.”
“She’s not talking to you?” Summer asked, eyes widening. “But she loves you.”
“What?” His attention sharpened on his sister.
She nodded. “Rosalind told me she loves you. It was a few days ago when we had tea.”
Something in his chest twisted. “That may have changed since she found out I betrayed her.”
“You didn’t betray her. I did,” she said, remorse heavy in her voice.
“I went along with your mad scheme. I knew better, and now I’m paying for it.”
Summer stood up with him. “It wouldn’t have worked anyway, because you’ll eventually go back to racing and she’ll go back to the States.”
He shook his head as he stood. “I’ve been thinking of staying in London and managing endorsements with Jon.”
“You didn’t think that Rosalind would stay here with you, did you?”
“Why not?” he asked. “She has family here.”
“She didn’t care before.”
“No, but maybe she’s realized how important family is, too.” He crossed his arms. “That aside, Rosalind gave you friendship, and what have you given her in return?”
Summer slumped onto her chair, playing with the edge of her scarf. “I made a mess of things, didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry, Nick.”
When he looked at her he saw the little girl she used to be and his anger softened. He went to her, slung an arm around her shoulders, and tugged her to him. “I’m sorry, too.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Em’s feet hurt already. That’s what she got for wearing cute shoes for their date.
No, that’s what she got for wearing cute shoes when she had to take the tube. If Ben had picked her up instead of having her meet him at the café, she’d have been fine.
Joe would have insisted on picking her up. He’d have opened the door for her, and told her she looked amazing, and he’d have copped a feel—all within the first two minutes of seeing her.
But she didn’t want to go out with Joe.
Sigh.
She needed to stop complaining. She was finally going out with the man she’d set her sights on months ago. She should be ecstatic.
She pouted and limped the last block to the café.
She’d never been there this late on a weeknight. It was surprising how busy it was. A few people were eating, a few played board games. There was a band setting up in the corner.
No sign of Ben.
She craned her neck, looking around. She was going to ask one of the baristas, but they didn’t look like they wanted to engage in conversation, so she went out back to the greenhouse.
Limping up and down the aisles, she finally found him, kneeling on the floor with one of the other full-time gardeners, inspecting a sack of fertilizer. His jeans were streaked with dirt, and his hair was standing on end. He hadn’t shaved, and his T-shirt had a hole in the back.