told himself the fact that he’d had no sexual interest in anyone since his divorce was normal. He’d never been through a divorce before to know for sure, but it seemed logical. Of course not wanting to risk his heart in another relationship seemed logical.
Until he’d realised he’d never risked his heart in any of his relationships before Summer. He’d had a distinct sexual interest in the women he’d dated before her though.
Then he’d seen Summer again and his body had responded to her as if she were the prince in a fairy tale; he, the princess put under a spell that only she could break.
He was immediately disgusted with himself for the fanciful notion. The anger he’d been struggling to keep a grip on was suddenly firm in his hands, too. She was making him feel this way. Even though she’d left him as everyone else in his life had, he was allowing her to make him feel this way. Which made him just as angry at himself as he was at her.
He was angry that she made his body betray him. That for the second time that day, she’d called him by his surname. He was angry that he missed that. And that even though he’d missed it, he still didn’t want her to use it.
It was something intimate. Something people who were close to one another did. He and Summer weren’t close any more; they no longer shared intimacies. She had no right to use it in the same way she had when they’d still been married.
His anger had nothing to do with the fact that no one else in his life called him that now. It had nothing to do with the hurt he felt at that fact; or the longing; or the inevitable resentment. He still had Trevor. So what if their relationship wasn’t a surname-calling one? Relationships didn’t only look one way. Being close to someone didn’t only look one way.
This was the worst part about seeing Summer again, he thought. Contemplations on things he’d gleefully ignored most of his life. She did this to him. She made him think about his feelings. Sure, feelings were natural—but they were feelings, and he had no patience for them. Not when he knew he shouldn’t entertain them.
Not entertaining them had got him through a father who’d left when he was ten. It had helped him survive a mother who’d almost died from alcohol poisoning when he was fourteen. It had kept him sane when he’d been bounced between his mother’s house and foster care until he was eighteen. It had kept him from hitting rock bottom when he’d returned from his first term at university to find out his mother was selling the family house and was nowhere to be found.
‘I can hear you stewing,’ she commented into the silence that had grown tense as he’d been thinking.
‘I’m not stewing.’
‘You don’t have to stay here, you know,’ she replied, ignoring his denial. ‘I do, because my mother asked me to, and, obligation.’
‘You don’t think your father was asking the same of me when he told me to cut you some slack?’
‘No,’ she said simply. ‘Though if he was, you’ve fulfilled that obligation. You’ve been perfectly cordial to me.’ There was a brief pause. ‘I’ll be sure to tell him that if you like.’
‘Why does this sound like a bribe?’ he asked, feeling more sullen than angry. ‘I leave, you get to spend time alone and you tell your father I’ve been nice.’
She snorted. ‘No one said anything about nice.’ She tilted her head towards him, though her eyes were still on the view ahead of them. ‘Cordial. Or polite, though they mean the same thing. That’s my final offer.’
He didn’t reply, but he didn’t move either. He supposed that gave her an answer.
She sighed. ‘So, you’re going to be stubborn.’
‘I’m not going to leave the first event at your parents’ anniversary celebration because you asked me to.’
‘Especially not if you think my father would disapprove.’
‘What does that have to do with anything?’
Her eyes slid over to his, and there was a sadness there he’d seen come and go during their short relationship. His last memory of it had been outside the lawyer’s office after they’d signed the divorce papers.
‘Everything,’ she answered softly. ‘It has everything to do with it.’ There was a pause. ‘But if you feel like you have to stay for his sake, I won’t stop you.’
‘Thanks,’ he answered dryly, though he was still thinking about what her answer meant.
‘We don’t have to talk though.’ She looked out into the distance again. ‘In fact, I’d prefer it if we don’t. We can just pretend that we did.’
‘You were the one who heard my stewing,’ he muttered.
‘Pretend I didn’t interrupt you.’
And he did. For all of a minute.
‘What did you mean by that?’ he asked. ‘“It has everything to do with it”,’ he repeated, when he saw she didn’t understand.
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Then tell me.’
‘That would cause unnecessary drama.’
‘So it does matter.’
‘Let me rephrase this,’ she said, turning towards him now. He didn’t think she realised it, but in that movement, she’d cut off the world around them. ‘It’s too late to matter.’
He frowned. ‘This cryptic thing doesn’t work for you, Summer.’
‘I don’t particularly enjoy it either.’
She shifted again, her body seemingly relaxed as she set one hand on the ground behind her. The other still held her half-full lemonade. He’d forgotten about his. He took a sip, barely tasting it.
‘We’re being watched,’ she said, a pleasant expression on her face. ‘So I’m going to drink the rest of my lemonade, order another, and check the picnic basket so it doesn’t look like we’re arguing.’
‘We aren’t,’ he said, for his benefit and hers. She gave him a look, but proceeded to finish her drink.
It made sense that they were being watched. And it explained why Summer had taken on a relaxed stance when he knew she felt anything but relaxed. He followed her lead, not wanting to give anyone something to talk about. Though he knew that their presence there together would already be cause for discussion.
Summer had stopped attending Bishop events after their divorce. It had been gossiped about endlessly for months after. There was a period when Wyatt couldn’t join a group of people without them falling silent; the universal sign that he’d been the topic of conversation.
It had bothered him. He knew she struggled with maintaining her Summer Bishop persona. Cool, infallible heiress. It had been the first thing that had bonded them. He’d found her crying on the steps of her parents’ Christmas party; when she’d joined the party though, there’d been no sign of it.
He
