Page 68 of Her Fantasy Husband

“Except he doesn’t want to be fixed.” She sniffed again, and someone passed her a tissue. “I’ve got to let him go, and I don’t want to. He’s right. I want to fix him so bad that it hurts.”

“Aw, sweetheart, you’ll get over it.”

Maybe. Maybe not.

“He’ll still be around, because we need to stay married for another six months, but how am I supposed to be around him and not…”

Touch him. Hold him. Love him.

“Keep busy,” Tom said.

She sighed, wiped away her tears, cried some more, and let Jean pull her into a huge hug. She wasn’t much used to hugging—her family really hadn’t done much of that—and the warmth and the scent of Chanel—her mother had worn the same perfume—tipped her over the edge, and she was bawling.

Someone cleared their throat from the doorway.

Great. More people to witness my breakdown.

She peered over Jean’s shoulder. “Uncle Jamie.”

“I knocked on the door, but no one came.”

She pulled free and hurled herself out of her chair and into his arms. They tightened around her for a moment, and then he held her away from him, studying her, no doubt taking in her red eyes and tear-blotched cheeks.

“Hey, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing really. Just a tough day.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Your grandmother still in town?”

She nodded and took a deep breath. “So what are you doing here?”

They made a point of seeing each other at least twice a year, but usually by arrangement. She wasn’t sure exactly what Jamie did, but it took him out of the county for long stretches of time.

“Can’t I just want to see my favorite honorary niece?”

“Yes, but I bet that’s not the case.”

“A bit of both actually. There is something I wanted to talk to you about.”

She looked around at the people listening avidly. “Let’s go through into the sitting room, and we can talk.”

She led the way out into the hall and then into the small sitting room at the back of the house. It was all chintz and ornaments and hadn’t been touched since she moved in. She waited until Jamie sat down and then perched on the sofa opposite.

“Are you really okay?” he asked. “I’ve never known you to cry before.”

“I’ve been better. But I’ll be okay.”

He studied her for a minute. “You’ve dealt with your grandmother for years, and she doesn’t reduce you to tears.”

“No, she makes me angry.”

“So is it Slater?” When she didn’t answer, because she wasn’t sure what to say—she didn’t want to get Josh into trouble; Jamie could probably send a black ops team to assassinate him or something—he continued, “I know he moved in here with you.”

“You do?”

“Slater called me to let me know and to ask something.”

Why had he done that?