To Have and to Hold (The Wedding Belles #1)(83)

“Not everything.” Seth was swift to correct, reaching toward her and dropping his hand when she stepped back. “I won’t have everything I want if you walk out that door, Brooke.”

He held her eyes, begging her to understand, and for a second he saw something flicker, and he felt hope swell hot and potent through his veins.

“You don’t get it, Seth,” she said, her voice rising. “You really don’t get it. You understand, right, that what you did is no different from what Clay did? More legal, maybe, but you hid the truth from me just like he did. You let me believe you were something you’re not. You hurt me, Seth. Just like he did. Maybe worse.”

His heart felt like it was being ripped in two. “Brooke, no, it wasn’t like that. I just wanted . . . needed to know that you were okay.”

“It’s not always about what you need!” she shouted. “You tell yourself that you’re acting for the sake of those you care about, but you’re only out to protect yourself. This is about you and your selfish compulsion to control everything around you, so don’t for one minute expect me to believe you actually care.”

“I do care,” he said, his voice cracking a little. “You’ve made me believe that the happy endings do exist, and I wanted—”

“Stop,” she interrupted. “Stop right there. Happily ever after does exist. I won’t let you take that belief away from me. But Seth, my happily ever after is not with you. Let’s be very clear on that.”

She turned away, and his eyes closed in silent misery.

She was halfway to the door before he could find any more words. “Would it help if I told you why I did it?” he asked desperately to her retreating back. “If I told you why I asked the detective to look into Clay?”

Brooke paused but didn’t turn around. Waiting.

It was because I love you.

But by the time he finally uttered the words out loud to his cavernous office, Brooke was long gone.





Chapter Thirty-One





BROOKE? YOU’RE STILL HERE?”

“Yep,” Brooke called out in response, not glancing up from her computer screen as she perused Pinterest for ideas on her latest client’s vision for a wine-and-cheese-tasting-themed bridal shower party.

Sounded right up her alley.

Especially the wine part. Especially these days.

Heather came into Brooke’s office, plopping in her chair and helping herself to some of Brooke’s Hershey’s Kisses. Not that there were many left—she’d been going through them at twice the normal rate lately. Between the chocolate, the cabernet, and Seth Tyler, Brooke was well on her way to an early death.

“Looks like I’m not the only one being super lame tonight,” Heather observed.

“I don’t think working late is lame. I love my job.”

“Honey, it’s eight thirty. On a Friday,” Heather said pointedly.

Brooke sighed. Okay. So it was kind of lame. But for the past two weeks, work had been the only thing holding the fragile parts of her heart together.

It turned out that Seth’s spy had been dead-on about Clay being engaged. To a woman he’d met in prison, of all things.

Not only that. They’d eloped. Or whatever you called it when two people who barely knew each other went down to a courthouse and made it legal. The story had broken online in the hours after Brooke had stormed out of Seth’s office, prompting a barrage of well-meaning but painful texts and calls from her parents and friends out in California.

Not that Brooke had issues with courthouse weddings. She respected that for some couples they were the right thing. She just hated that one half of one of those couples was the man she had been a stone’s throw from marrying.

And yet, Clay’s shotgun wedding wasn’t what was bothering her. Her pride, yes, but not her heart.

Her heartache was courtesy of a man she’d known for a small fraction of the time she’d known Clay, and yet somehow had fallen for twice as hard.

And to give Seth credit, he had called. Several times. In the first days after she’d walked out, she’d missed calls and texts and flowers.

But after those few dogged days of silence on her part, there’d been . . . nothing.

He’d given up.

Brooke wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that. And yes, she knew that made her seem like a game player. As though she wasn’t sure she wanted him but also wasn’t okay with him not wanting her.

It was all just damn confusing.

“Do you want to go out?” Heather asked. “Grab a drink?”

Brooke gave her an apologetic look. “I kind of . . . don’t.”

“Excellent,” Heather chirped, tucking a blond curl behind her ear only to have it pop right back out again. “Me neither.”

With that, Heather bent down to the oversized tote between her feet and came up with a half-full bottle of wine and two plastic cups.

Brooke watched as Heather poured them two glasses and then acting on impulse, reached out and gave the other woman a hug.

Heather hugged her back, smoothing her hair. “I’m sorry, babe.”

“Me too,” Brooke whispered. “He was supposed to be one of the good ones. Crotchety, but good.”

“Maybe he still is,” Heather said as they pulled back. “I mean, it was lame what he did. So lame. But I think we can give him at least a little teeny tiny point for his heart being in the right place, you know? He didn’t want his sister to marry a shithead. He didn’t want you to be dragged down by your shithead.”