Page 28 of Substitute Bride

She looked like she meant it, and James felt another clench in his chest.

Julie had released her grandmother and had heard the end of their conversation. “Rosie can play Marco Polo with us tomorrow afternoon too?” she asked, staring up at them with big hazel eyes.

“Sure,” Rose said. “As long as the weather is good.”

This seemed to cheer both of the girls up, and they happily dried themselves off, chatting with Marta about the fun they’d had today and how they were looking forward to the movie.

“You don’t have to come back over on your day off,” James murmured to Rose, who was pulling a towel around her shoulders, which thankfully hid most of her luscious body.

“I said I don’t mind,” she said, looking surprised. “I don’t have any plans for tomorrow afternoon, and I enjoy hanging out with you.” She gave a little twitch and amended, “The girls, I mean.”

She was self-conscious, James realized. More self-conscious than she used to be with him. It was almost certainly his fault. He hadn’t been acting normally or appropriately with her. He really needed to get it together.

It was harder than it should be though. Every day Rose looked more delectable. Every day he wanted to kiss her even more. Every day, he wanted to pour out his problems to her and be comforted by her. Every day, he wanted to find out more deeply what was going on in her mind.

All of that was well beyond the slot she was supposed to fill in his life, so he had to work harder to contain it.

When Rose took the girls into the house to change out of their suits, James stayed outside with Marta. Her hair was smooth and her blouse was neatly tucked into her jeans, and he felt wet and sloppy in his swimsuit and the now-damp T-shirt he’d pulled on so he wouldn’t have to greet her with a bare chest.

Melissa had always been put together in the same way—the same way Genevieve was too. She’d liked her clothes and the house and the suits he wore to always be exactly right.

Sometimes it had irritated him. Sometimes he’d just wanted to be sloppy and relaxed, and she’d never been able to accept that.

He suddenly realized what he was thinking and experienced a wave of guilt. He shouldn’t be thinking like that. He’d loved Melissa, and she was dead. It was wrong to dwell on quibbles that might have irritated him in the past.

He’d never done so before, not since she’d died, so he had no idea why he was thinking about it now.

“Is something wrong?” Marta asked in a slightly brittle tone.

James shook his head. “Of course not.”

“I’ve been thinking about the wedding plans,” Marta began, evidently deciding that whatever he’d been brooding about wasn’t really that important. “William and I, of course, will watch the girls during your honeymoon. And we were thinking that if you want some private time afterward, we can keep them an additional week.”

Several thoughts flashed through James’s mind at the same time. The first was that Marta was trying to be generous. It must be hard for her to see him remarry—even someone they’d basically picked out for him—so she was making a real gesture here. The second thing was that there was no way in hell he would go that long without seeing his girls. The third thing was that Marta clearly had no idea that he and Genevieve had split up.

Obviously that last thing was the most important. He’d suspected that Marta and William would hear about the broken engagement through the grapevine, even before he’d had a chance to tell them himself. He’d meant to do it today, but he’d been thrown out of whack by her early appearance.

Now he felt guilty since he obviously should have told them earlier.

“Oh,” he said, his voice gruff. “Oh, about that.”

“About what?”

“The wedding. Genevieve and I have decided to call it off.”

Marta arched her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean we’re calling it off. The relationship wasn’t working, so we’re no longer engaged.”

“But you were perfect for each other.”

“We really weren’t. We’re really different, and it just wasn’t working out. I’m sorry if it disappoints you⁠—”

“Disappoints me!” Marta repeated, her tone slightly shrill. “Disappoints me! The girls need a mother. You can’t possibly think⁠—”

“I can take care of what the girls need,” he interrupted, feeling another wave of frustration. “And what they definitely don’t need is for me to be stuck in a marriage that I don’t want. That would be the worst possible thing for them.”

“But we’d discussed it. You’d agreed that⁠—”