Take This Regret (Take This Regret #1)(27)
Author: A.L. Jackson

Christian kissed her on the head once more before releasing his hold on her and nudging her toward the door.

“Goodnight, my princess.”

“Night, Daddy.”

I closed my eyes, wishing I didn’t have to witness this.

“Lizzie, go on upstairs. I’l be there in a minute to get your bath started.”

“Okay, Momma.” Lizzie mounted the stairs as Christian and I watched her go, and then I slowly turned back to him. This part always felt so awkward, especial y in light of the declaration he’d made on Lizzie’s birthday. I’d known what he meant, his intention.

He wanted me back.

I had spent a fleeting moment fantasizing about being in his arms again before my rational side had screamed at me for being a fool, and I had demanded that he leave my house. He’d never stepped inside since.

“Goodnight, Christian.” In his case, I’d given myself over to feigned pleasantries.

He stared at his feet before looking back at me as he ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit of his I hadn’t forgotten. “Listen, Elizabeth . . .”

I braced myself. This was it. My mind raced with what I would tel my daughter, how I would comfort her.

He scratched the back of his head, shuffling his feet before he grimaced and said in a rushed voice, “I need a favor.”

I scowled, sitting back on my heels and crossing my arms. He wasn’t leaving. He was asking for more. Damn him.

“What?”

He released a heavy breath from his nose, his expression hopeful. “My mother is coming into town next weekend, and I was hoping we could take Lizzie to Sea weekend, and I was hoping we could take Lizzie to Sea World on Saturday?”

I shook my head. “You know Saturday is my day with Lizzie, Christian. Why can’t you take her during the week?” As if I would make concessions for his mother, that shal ow, pretentious woman who’d done no more than look down her nose at me. And God knew Christian could afford to take the day off.

“Because my mom isn’t getting in until late Friday night, and she has to leave Sunday to get back to work. It’s the only day we can go,” he explained as if it made complete sense where it made none.

That woman had never worked a day in her life. I didn’t realize I was frowning in confusion until Christian spoke.

“Yes, Elizabeth, my mother works,” he said sounding mildly irritated. “She and my father divorced five years ago.”

“Real y?” I asked, surprised. The question had escaped me before I could reel it in. I don’t care about him or what his family does, I reminded myself. But real y, I was a little curious. Claire Davison working? The woman who put on airs, who walked around as if her social life were the most important thing in the world. The thought was comical.

Christian chuckled, his eyes glinting amusement.

“Shocking, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Why I answered, I didn’t know.

His voice softened. “She’s not who you think she is, Elizabeth.”

I shook my head wishing to divert the line of conversation that drew me into his personal life, getting back to what mattered—the precious time I had to spend with my daughter. “Saturdays are mine, Christian.” The words were soft, but firm.

He sighed and for a moment looked away before his eyes darted back at me, determined. “Come with us.” What? I couldn’t imagine anything as tortuous as spending an entire day with him and his mother.

He took a step forward, dipping his head to capture my gaze. “Please, Elizabeth.” My heart sped with his nearness, the warmth of his presence washing over my face and through my chest to where it settled somewhere in the pit of my stomach.

Dangerous.

“Um . . . I . . .” I fumbled over the words, searching for an excuse.

“Please, Elizabeth. Just one day.” His voice dropped lower as he begged, “Please . . . come.” The intensity of his eyes shattered my resolve. “Fine.” Gratitude fil ed his face, his mouth quirking into a smal , satisfied smile. “Thank-you.” His face was so beautiful and appeared so sincere. I wished I could believe it.

In an attempt to resurrect the wal between us, I stepped back and away from the claws that I felt him slowly, steadily sinking into my skin. I whispered, “Just this once.” His smile didn’t falter. “Okay then, I’l pick you two up at nine next Saturday.”

Pursing my lips, I nodded once before I shut the door and shut him out.

I turned to find Lizzie’s face pressed through two bars of railing at the top of the stairs, her smile unending.

Closing my eyes, I shook my head, wondering what I had just done.

Lizzie sat on her knees in a pink T-shirt and denim shorts, her feet in white sandals, watching out the front window. Her smal backpack was secured over her shoulders, her dol secured in the crook of her arm. She had been there for almost a half an hour, and it wasn’t even eight thirty yet.

She’d woken me before dawn by jumping on my bed, yel ing in excitement for me to get up. I’d buried my face deeper in my pil ow, loath to face the day.

Christian had picked her up yesterday evening at six just the same as always, only this time Lizzie accompanied him to the airport so she could meet her Grammy. That’s what Lizzie had call ed her. She went on about the woman for more than an hour after Christian had dropped her off at my door wel after nine thirty last night.

Grammy.

The woman who had never shown any interest in Lizzie, had never call ed, had never once tried to contact us.

Grammy.

It was enough to make me see red.

Dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, I stepped into a pair of flip-flops and pulled my hair into a messy ponytail, then stuffed a towel, sunscreen, and sweatshirts into my backpack. Lizzie loved Sea World, and we’d been enough times to know she’d get wet and cold.

“Al ready, Mommy?” Lizzie looked back at me from where she was perched on the floor, her smal body buzzing with anticipation.

I forced myself to smile back. “Yes, baby. I’m all ready.” As much as I dreaded this day, I would never let Lizzie know it.

I flitted around the house, straightening up in an attempt to thwart the panic setting in. How will I get through a day with Christian . . . and his mother? She’d always disliked me. The few times we’d met she’d never said much, offering no more than a cool hel o, though her calculating eyes had watched. I could only assume the horrible things she thought about me, things Christian’s father had never hesitated to say aloud. Gold Digger, Richard had call ed me, and she’d never disagreed. It had hurt. The only thing I’d ever wanted from Christian was his love, his commitment, but never his money.