Page 36 of The Guest Cottage
When she spoke, she kept her tone soft and her words quiet. “I can’t know what it’s like to lose a child. Dylan never wanted children, and whether you realized it or not, I always tried to defer to his wishes. I’m sorry for what you’re going through now, but I can’t help. You have resources, more than most people could ever imagine. You’ll be fine without me—I’m sure of it.”
Sandra seemed to expand with umbrage. “That womancontacted us for a job.” Again, she’d spoken loudly.
Prickles of unease drifted over Marlow’s body, making her first hot with embarrassment, then icy cold with anger. She didn’t need to ask whom Sandra meant. From the day Marlow had discovered that Dylan was cheating on her, her mother-in-law had used the same awful words, with the same nasty inflection.That woman. As if Pixie Nolan had nothing else to identify her—no name, no personality, nothing.
Justthat woman. The one who had slept with Marlow’s husband.
The woman he’d chosen. The woman who ultimately led to the destruction of their marriage.
A now familiar ache tightened her chest, making it difficult for Marlow to feign disinterest. There wasn’t enough air in the room to fight off the swell of choking unhappiness. Calm detachment was her usual defense mechanism, a way to protect herself whenever the subject was brought up.
By now, it should have been easier. Except that it was brought up in front of everyone—customers, new friends. Herman.Cort.
With a quietly indrawn breath, Marlow reminded herself that she’d abandoned a job she loved, filed for divorce from a man she’d dedicated a decade to, helped her in-laws with the cremation and memorial service, put her house up for sale, and now she was embracing a wonderful new life.
She would not succumb to the damage Dylan had wrought. She had no reason for shame.
With feigned equanimity, Marlow stated, “It doesn’t concern me.”
“Of course it does! We need you back here. We have to present a united front against the gossip magazines and reporters.”
Did Sandra honestly think she wanted to face the paparazzi? That she’d want to continue inhabiting the role of the dutiful wife? No, thank you. People would see her as the scorned woman, and they’d pity her. She’d rather be reviled by her in-laws.
“No,” Marlow said, aware that her breathing had deepened. “We’ve been over this, Sandra. I’ve moved on.” From everyone and everything associated with her old life. This washertime, damn it. Her chance to find happiness. To live for herself, without other obligations pulling at her.
“We can’t replace you, Marlow. This is a family-owned business, and you’re family.”
“Thank you, but you’ll need to find someone else.”
“Do you know that little tramp was almost hired before my assistant got wind of it?”
The injustice of that slur irritated Marlow on a basic human level. How was Dylan a saint while Pixie was a tramp?
Full of righteous indignation, Sandra continued. “You can believe I put a stop to that nonsense immediately. I’ll be happy if she’s never hired for an honest job again. Let the little home-wrecker sell herself if she gets desperate enough. I’m fairly certain that’s what she was doing with Dylan anyway. Sleeping with him for his money.”
Never mind that the entire tavern was listening in. Fury burned through her blood, stiffening Marlow from head to toe. “Is that what you thought of me?” For years, she’d known Dylan’s parents didn’t approve of her. For years, she’d taught herself not to care. Hearing the harsh insults brought it all back, all her determination, all her drive to succeed . . . All her desire to be accepted.
Only to have Dylan insult her in the worst possible way: by seeking out someone else and taunting her about it.
“Of course not,” Sandra said. “Dylan married you. He loved you. We know that.”
He’d had a funny way of showing it, not only spurning her attention but turninghisattention elsewhere.
Disgusted that she’d even asked, Marlow wondered if this would forever be her life. Reliving the past even when she didn’t want to. Forever dealing with the grief and anger that surged forth without warning. Suffering the type of hurt that constantly lurked at the edges of her mind.Why wasn’t I enough?
No. Her life was here now, and she was reclaiming her internal peace in her own way, her own time. She didn’t want to be cruel, but neither could she coddle her in-laws. She deserved her own happiness, damn it.
As if she hadn’t just leveled Marlow, Sandra went on with her complaints. “I put the word out on that little gold digger. No one in the company, and none of our associates, will ever give her a position of any kind. Let her work on the street. That’s where she belongs.”
The vile words had an odd effect on Marlow, one she didn’t want to accept, and yet it rejuvenated her spirit.
She had the surprising desire to defend the proverbial “other woman.”
“I understand why you wouldn’t want to rehire her at the family business,” Marlow said carefully, unwilling to say or do anything that would extend the painful conversation. “But everyone needs a job, and it’s not as if she kidnapped Dylan.” Muscles tightening in her jaw and shoulders, she spoke the truth, a truth Sandra didn’t want to face. “Dylan wasn’t a victim in this.”
“Dylan is dead,” Aston stated coldly.
“Pixie Nolan didn’t kill him. He did that to himself by driving drunk.”
