“London?”
“It will get handled.” He was far more worried about her. Lines of strain fanned out from her eyes and pain pinched her mouth. No doubt her head was pounding as much as his was. Because he couldn’t resist, he wrapped his arms around her, pressing a gentle kiss to her brow. “Everything will work out. Without having to search out the nearest means of filing for divorce.” He’d make her see that this could be a good thing. A great thing, if only she’d give it a chance.
She sucked in a breath and stepped back, putting more than physical distance between them. “Trey, our lives are incompatible. I’m tied to Wishful. You’re due in London tomorrow. A marriage with us could never work.”
“London is temporary.” He could straighten things out within the week, then be back in time for the wedding.
“And after that, it will be something, somewhere else. Your life isn’t in Mississippi.”
Okay, point to her, but he hadn’t even had coffee yet. He’d hardly had time to make any life changes. Other than acquiring a new wife. “I realize we haven’t figured everything out yet, but I l—”
“What is there to figure out? Do we have feelings for each other? Yes. But they aren’t enough to overcome the practicalities.”
I love you.
The words froze on the tip of his tongue. Because she was saying love wasn’t enough. Not that she had let him get that part out. “You seem to be in an awfully big hurry to say goodbye.”
She shook her head, a few tears escaping to slide down her cheek. “I’ve already used up my lifetime quota of mistakes, Trey. I can’t afford another.”
“We aren’t a mistake,” he growled. “And I’m sure as fuck not Waylan.”
“Of course not. But I won’t settle for a part-time relationship. Not even for you. I’ve had that, and I’m worth more. And I certainly won’t ask you to change your whole life because of one drunken decision.”
He wanted her to ask. He wanted her to want him enough to ask for everything. But he didn’t say that because he felt too raw and exposed and he was too afraid she’d crush him.
This was way too much to cope with on top of a hangover from hell.
“Let me call my pilot and make arrangements to get us home.”
And maybe by the time they landed, he’d have figured out how to convince her that marrying him hadn’t been a mistake.
~*~
“Let it never be said that I don’t love you,” Adele announced as she let herself into the kitchen.
Sandy just breathed, “Bless you.” How was it possible she felt worse today than she had when she woke up in Vegas yesterday? The fact that she’d barely slept last night probably had something to do with it. At least there hadn’t been a tribe of Campbells on her doorstep when she’d returned, for which she was pitifully grateful. She never expected to do the walk of shame at forty-nine years old.
She’d been a virgin when she’d married Waylan at eighteen. And in the years since her divorce, she’d gotten used to going without the intimacies of having a man in her bed. She didn’t have casual sex. It simply wasn’t how she was wired. Besides, living in a town as tiny as Wishful, the pool of options was small. As a woman, she’d missed the thrill, the comfort of sex. More, she’d missed the companionship—or maybe just the idea of it, as her ex-husband had hardly been a prize in that department. But she’d built a life she loved—one she found fulfilling on its own terms. As mayor, she couldn’t afford to have her authority undermined by stepping a toe out of line or giving her constituency anything to speculate about. Public officials were held to a higher standard. Women even more so. Because of that, she’d avoided intimate entanglements rather than have everyone in town discussing who she was sleeping with. As all good Southern women should be, she was a model of propriety and grace. Except, apparently, with Trey.
Her husband.
Opening a cabinet, Adele grabbed a glass and brought the thermos she carried to the table, where Sandy had a death grip on her coffee cup.
“I’m sorry for getting you up so early, but I didn’t know what else to do. I can barely function, and I’ve got meetings this afternoon.”
“Never fear. This will cure any hangover.” She poured some gray sludge into the glass and nudged it toward Sandy. “Drink up. Just don’t ask what’s in it.”
“Desperate times.” Sandy downed it, managing not to choke too much on the vile concoction, before slapping the glass on the table like a shot and gasping.
“Breathe,” Adele advised. “It helps. Have you eaten?”
“God no.” Her stomach turned over at the thought.
“Then I’m making you some scrambled eggs, while you sit there and tell me exactly what happened after you left Friday night. Spare no details, because I know you didn’t come home until Sunday.”
“Please tell me that’s not common knowledge.”
“I haven’t heard anybody talking about it. Your car was here. So, spill. Where did Trey take you on your date?”