Page 2 of The Guest Cottage
Yes, Dylan and his father had been close. Toasting each other at parties, golfing together. Dylan was supposed to inherit the family dynasty.
For the longest time Marlow had wanted children, but Dylan had refused, insisting that he wasn’t yet ready. Now, she was grateful she didn’t have a child that would tie her to these people. A decade of marriage had brought about familiar, if not openly affectionate, feelings, but she’d already decided that it was past time she cared for herself.
A while later, on the drive from the grave site, Marlow worked up her courage to set the wheels in motion. “I’ll see you both home, but I’m not coming in.”
Sandra had been weeping into her hands, but now her head jerked up and her tears miraculously dried. “What are you talking about? You’re Dylan’s wife. Of course, you’re coming in.”
In another few weeks, despite the way Dylan had fought her on everything, she would have been his ex-wife. Then he’d gotten himself killed in a car crash. Now she couldn’t even make her grand exodus from the family. A divorce would have been the perfect exclamation point to her anger.
Instead, because she was a nice person, she was being forced to tiptoe away.
Nerves strung to the breaking point, Marlow shook her head. “It’s better that I don’t. I have my own plans to finalize now.”
In an expression reminiscent of his son’s, Aston scowled darkly. “Whatplans?”
He practically growled the word, but she’d expected this. Anything that didn’t comfortably coincide with his itinerary was an annoyance. “I’m moving away.” To a different house, in a different community, in another state.
A fresh start, away from grief and heartache.
Somehow during the ten years of her marriage, she’d completely lost herself. Gone was the happy, relaxed young woman she’d once been, replaced by a staid, conservative-dressing, matronly businesswoman whom, honestly, Marlow didn’t even like.
If she couldn’t like herself, how had she expected Dylan to love her?
Because he’d made her the person she’d become. He’d made their major decisions as a couple. Where they’d live, how they’d live, and which social functions were advantageous. She’dallowedhim to take the lead, to guide their marriage and their future. And in doing so, she’d morphed into someone different—an uptight, rigid woman who always followed the rules of etiquette and never caused a scene.
That nonsense was over.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aston said. “You’ll reclaim your old job.”
“No,” she replied, softly but firmly. “I won’t.”
Sandra gave a shuddering sigh. “I understand why Dylan wanted you gone once you’d filed for divorce.” Her look of censure showed through her sorrow. “I still don’t understand how you could humiliate him like that.”
Pride kept her voice even. “I will never settle for less than what I give.”
Sandra waved her response away. “It was just a silly mistake.”
“The woman meant nothing,” Aston seconded with heat. “Less than nothing.”
Their attitude no longer surprised Marlow. She’d had years of hearing his parents staunchly defend Dylan’s every bad decision.
“She mattered to me. To our marriage.”
Aston scoffed. “You were willing to throw away your life together because of one indiscretion? After Dylan gave you everything? After allwe’vegiven you?”
So many angry words danced through her thoughts. Things she wanted to say. Things she should have cleared up long ago. For her own sake, she held them back. “I wish you both nothing but the best.”
They didn’t return the sentiment.
Outrage overshadowing her heartache, Sandra narrowed her eyes. “You would actually abandon us now? When we need you most? When we’re hurting so badly?”
Pointing out that she hurt, too, that she’d been hurting for months, wouldn’t accomplish anything. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing more I can do for you.”
Thank God, the limo driver had traversed the long curving drive to their sprawling home and stopped before the entry. Others had already arrived, and more cars pulled in behind them. Marlow scooted across the seat, not waiting for the door to be opened.
Sandra grabbed her arm, her small hand almost desperately tight. “When you filed for divorce, Dylan wanted you cut out of his inheritance.”
“I know.” Like a threat, he’d shouted his intentions at her. The sad part was that the need to avoid scandal and humiliation was what inspired him. Not love. He’d found it inconceivable that she, a plain businesswoman from an upper middle class background, would dare to walk away from the incredible Dylan Heddings.
