“Ashton Beaumont,” he mumbled.
“Yes. Perhaps you’ve heard of his father. Rolland Beaumont owns a few dozen television and radio stations around the country. Ashton is being primed to take over after his father’s retirement in a few years.”
“I’ve heard of the Beaumonts.” And, while Ethan had always considered himself any man’s equal, he knew a paralyzing moment of self-doubt and insecurity. Later, as much as for her lies, he’d resented Claire for that. “So, when were they supposed to marry?”
“Well, that’s the problem. Ashton wants to wait till she graduates from college in a couple of years. Sensible man.” Sumner nodded thoughtfully. “You know, she needs to grow up a little more and enjoy some independence before settling down.”
“She seems ready enough,” he countered. But the statement had been made with more bravado than confidence.
“Yes, she thinks so,” Sumner agreed. He sighed wearily. “Her heart’s been set on being a June bride. This June. It looks like she got her wish.”
“That’s right. She’s my wife now.” Ethan crossed his arms, braced his legs. The last stand of a doomed man.
“I know.” Sumner nodded. “But for how long, son? Do you really think she plans to stay married to you? Your backgrounds, your lifestyles, they’re simply incompatible.”
Ethan’s arms dropped to his sides, although his hands remained fisted.
“Claire can be surprisingly impulsive,” Sumner continued. “She’s regretting this hasty marriage already, believe me. She wanted to make Ashton see reason. She never intended for things to get this far.”
Ethan said nothing. Instead, he fingered the simple and inexpensive band of gold on his left hand. Claire was wearing its twin.
“I know my daughter.” Sumner’s tone and his expression were appallingly sympathetic as he stepped for-ward to rest one hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “That’s why I’m here.”
While Ethan stood there—stupefied and numb—Sumner wrote out a check.
“For your trouble,” he said, tucking it into Ethan’s hand.
When he turned, Claire was standing in the bedroom doorway. Her hair was loose, partially obscuring her face. Still, he saw the truth clearly enough in the flush of color that stained her cheeks.
Words were exchanged, although exactly what had been said, he could no longer remember. Only that he had ached after he’d watched her follow her father out the door.
They hadn’t spoken again, although when he’d returned to Chicago he’d had a visit from her family’s attorney. Ethan’s employment with the company that provided security for Mayfield was terminated—dereliction of duty cited as the reason. He could have protested it, but why bother? Just as he could have objected when he’d been asked to sign divorce papers. He hadn’t. In short order Claire Seaver had become Claire Mayfield once again. Ethan had moved to Detroit, where he’d worked like a dog to start his own business.
He’d been trying his damnedest to forget the woman ever since, and he’d been doing a fair job of it…until today.
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