Page 78 of Accidental Groom

I don’t flinch. But I don’t respond either.

“Christ,” he mutters, casting his line finally, but there’s too much force. It flies, but it snags on a branch the second he tries to start reeling it in. He doesn’t bother fixing it, just stares at it in irritation. “You think this is some kind of fairytale? You think she actually loves you?”

I clench my jaw. “I think there’s a chance she could.”

“You don’t know her,” he mutters.

“I know her better than you ever tried to,” I say, trying to keep my head instead of getting angry.

“She’s twenty years younger than you.”

“Eighteen, actually. But I’m aware.”

“She’s not your wife. She’s your son’s leftovers,” he spits.

“Stop,” I hiss, shoving the rod into the holder and turning to face him. “I want to talk to you, not sit and listen to you attack her.”

George scoffs. “Whatisit about her? Does she make you feel alive again? Does she let you forget?”

My jaw ticks. “Forget what?”

“Mom.”

I stare him directly in the eye, holding his attention. “Nothing, and I meannothing, could ever let me forget your mother.”

“You’re not playing your fucked up part very well anymore, Dad. You had me believing you for a while?—”

“You always blame me,” I mutter, grabbing his pole, giving his line a harsh tug to get it free. “Always fucking look at me like I was the reason she took those pills. Have you ever genuinely stopped to think that I’m not to blame?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he stares off at the water, adjusts the bandage on his nose, and lets the silence hang uncomfortably long. “You trust Elena?”

I blink, trying to catch up with the change in topic. “Yes.”

He tilts his head back and forth. “Even though she works away from you?”

“Obviously. Do you think I’m insecure?”

“Even though she takes phone calls that you’re not in on?”

My brows furrow. “What the fuck are you trying to say?”

George smiles like a wolf, wide and unapologetic and wicked. “Ask her who Ross is.”

My stomach drops immediately. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Chapter 27

Elena

The clinic smells like lemon antiseptic and worn leather chairs. I try to breathe through it, slow and even, but my entire body feels too rigid, too tight. I smooth my hand over the curve of my belly, just slightly bigger now, rounder — a full four and a half months. Halfway. The baby kicks sometimes, tiny flutters that feel like secrets, and I cherish every single one.

Harry left two nights ago. No kiss goodbye, no phone call, just a vague message passed through Matthew about an emergency in Switzerland regarding the construction delays, and he was gone. It felt sudden. Too sudden.

Like maybe he was running.

Like maybe George said something to him on that fucking fishing trip I’d tried to talk him out of.