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“What’s changed?” He clung to her tears. Anything to stop the slow shattering of his heart. If she cried, that meant she cared.
Something had happened. Somethinghadto have happened that she hadn’t told him about. Surely, she wouldn’t give up on them so easily?
He’d plead,hell,he’d get down on his knees and beg if it would help. They’d work through this…whatever this was. He’d do anything to keep her.
“Nathalie—” He could barely get her name past the sudden swelling in his throat.
She cut him off with an abrupt slice of her hand. No more tears fell. If anything, her face looked as remote as the aged beige and gray stone wall behind the Herbaceous Border.
“Look, Ryder, it was nice while it lasted, but we don’t belong together. I’m sorry.” Her chin lifted. “Goodbye.”
The need to probe further died in his chest at her flat, determined stare.
He said nothing as she turned and hurried down the path to the right and disappeared from view. Maybe if her head was bowed, her shoulders hunched, if a sob had torn free from her throat, he would have run after her, pleaded his case.
Instead, her straight posture and steady, determined gait were daggers to his heart, bending him in half from the pain. His breath sawed in and out in a frantic rhythm. Drops of salty anguish peppered his shoes.
The best thing that had ever happened to him just walked out of his life.
As if he’d been nothing more than a placeholder for family while she was in England.
A family that didn’t include him.
Slowly, he noticed the covert stares and quiet whispers from the people who’d witnessed his undoing.
Straightening, he slow-walked toward the entrance to the Garden, leaving behind the hamper and rug. The sun had taken refuge behind a cloud, adding a gray patina to the bright green grass and colorful flowers.
Or maybe his vision had dulled.
His mobile rang. He fumbled for it inside the interior pocket of his navy blazer. Had Nathalie changed her mind?
A glance at the screen dashed his momentary spurt of hope. “Hello, Mum.”
“Darling, what’s the matter? Do you have a cold? You sound terrible.” Elizabeth Montague’s soft-pitched, feminine voice bathed his ear.
He pictured her at Arborleigh, their family estate, in a flowery dress that fell to mid-calf, her blonde hair grazing her shoulders in gentle waves, her electric blue eyes—eyes he’d inherited—dancing in merriment as she shared a laugh with their groundskeeper about their diabolical plans for the voles tunneling through the beds of tulips and crocus.
For a brief second, he contemplated telling her. But confessing his grief wasn’t seemly in the world he inhabited, and while his mother would offer consolation, in truth, she’d be relieved. The one time she’d met Nathalie, she’d been a proper, gracious hostess. However, Ryder knew her well enough to read the dismay in her eyes.
“It’s nothing.” He cleared his throat. “What do you need?”
“I’m going over the final guest list for your graduation celebration. Your father is inviting some of Arborleigh Holdings’ senior clients to introduce you in your new position at the firm.”
“You mean the position Father’s taking from Becca?” he sniped.
The surrounding air thickened, making it harder to breathe. His older sister, with her MBA from Wharton, was being set aside for the son and heir. The VP of Acquisitions was the steppingstone to filling their father’s shoes as CEO.
A position Ryder didn’t want. He didn’t know what he wanted.
Other than Nathalie.
Only she didn’t want him.
His mother ignored his comment. “The Winfields will be there. I’m sure Grace will be happy to see you. She’s planning to join her father’s company after her graduation from St. Andrew’s, you know. You two have a lot in common.”
Ryder’s lungs compressed tighter and tighter until spots danced in his vision. His entire life had been pre-ordained from birth, an unending road of duty and custom. Now that he was about to graduate and join the family firm, his parents could move on to their next order of business.
Securing him a suitable wife.