Take This Regret (Take This Regret #1)(41)
Author: A.L. Jackson

“Goodnight, Elizabeth,” he whispered, his eyes warm as he stood up. He reached out in a smal wave before he turned and got into his car parked next to mine.

I couldn’t move as I watched him go.

“That’s the reason you won’t say yes?” I jumped when the harsh, hurt voice hit my ears. I twisted to look over my shoulder to find Scott standing near the wal of the building, shaking his head in injured disappointment. “You’re taking that ass**le back, aren’t you, Elizabeth? After everything he’s done to you?”

I gaped at Scott, his beautiful face flushed with anger and disbelief. I swall owed down my urge to defend Christian, remembering how many times I’d maligned Christian as I’d cried on Scott’s shoulder. Did I real y expect him to think wel of Christian?

“No.” I shook my head, quick to counter Scott’s assertion. I knew what it must have looked like to him—what it had felt like to me.

“No,” I said again to convince both Scott and myself. I wasn’t taking Christian back. I couldn’t. He’d caused me too much hurt, and I’d never survive another broken heart like that.

“No?” Scott asked, his tone skeptical, chal enging,

“Then have dinner with me.” He pushed away from the wal and stepped forward. His voice lost its bite as he implored,

“Just once, Elizabeth. If you don’t enjoy yourself, then I promise I’l never ask again.”

I wanted to tel him to go to hel , to ask him how he thought he had the right to manipulate me this way.

Instead, I gave in. I persuaded myself that it was only dinner, that it wasn’t that big of a deal, that there could never be anything between Christian and me again—and I told Scott yes.

The ful -length mirror in the corner of my bedroom mocked my stupidity as I stood before it smoothing out the white blouse and black skirt that fel just above my knees. I was anxious, agitated. My thick, blond waves had been transformed into a mound of curls, my eyes lined, lashes coated, and a thick sheen of clear gloss across my lips.

“You look pretty, Mommy,” Lizzie said. She sat with her legs crisscrossed on my bed and grinned while she watched me get ready.

I smiled halfheartedly back at her through the mirror and slipped my feet into a pair of black pumps, fighting off another wave of guilt.

As the last three days had passed, realization had slowly seeped in, acceptance of the real reason I’d agreed to this date. For two years, I’d been successful at dodging Scott’s affections, at putting him off, and in one weak moment at Christian’s feet, I’d panicked. I’d felt the need to prove to myself that I was stronger than the surging emotions I felt for Christian, stronger than the need for him that was threatening to boil over.

Now I readied myself for a date I didn’t want to go on—prepared myself to lead on a man who’d only ever cared for me and been my friend.

The doorbel rang. Lizzie jumped from my bed and flew downstairs in anticipation of her father.

I grabbed a light jacket and my purse, my hands shaking as I shrugged the coat onto my shoulders. Il at ease, I sighed and glanced one last time in the mirror before forcing myself to leave my room.

Hovering at the top of the stairs, I watched Christian kneeling in the foyer with our daughter in his arms, his face buried in her hair. For the first time on a Friday evening, he was not wearing a suit but rather jeans and T-shirt, a stark reminder of his choice to leave his father’s firm just days before.

Taking a shuddering breath, I descended the stairs, tentative and slow, as if my subconscious believed if I were quiet enough, I’d go unnoticed, my compulsive, irrational actions overlooked and unseen.

Of course, Christian looked my direction. His face spread into a timid smile, his eyes appraising as he took in my appearance. “Hey, Elizabeth.”

“Hi.” I held onto the bannister, reticent to take another step. I felt so exposed, as if he could see right through me, could decipher my intentions.

“You look real y nice.” His face flushed with the compliment, self-conscious, but he pressed on. “Are you going out?”

Maybe he could.

Swal owing, I nodded and took the last step into the tiled foyer, my mind working for a way to explain myself, a way to justify what I was getting ready to do. Another part of me insisted I didn’t need to give him an account of myself, but somehow tonight that line of reasoning felt wrong.

Before I could answer him, there was a light tapping on the front door that sat only partial y closed. Scott peeked through the crack, pushing the door the rest of the way open with a smal bouquet of handpicked flowers in his hand.

“Hey,” Scott said almost breathless when he realized what he’d just walked in on.

While I felt Scott surveying the room, wary of its occupants and the distinct tension that had just set in the air, I couldn’t even look at him.

My attention was on Christian. His face paled when recognition dawned, and his eyes flashed to mine, grieved, and then fel to the floor. His hands shook as he stooped in front of Lizzie and helped her into her thin coat.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he murmured to her as he used both hands to free her long hair that was trapped inside her jacket, his tenderness for his daughter unaltered in his distress.

It was clear Lizzie was not immune to the intensity of the room, of the sadness in the quiet of her father’s voice, or my discomfort for causing the whole situation. Her focus darted between her father and me, her worry salient.

I took a step forward and placed a hand on her shoulder as I leaned down to her. “You have a great time with your daddy tonight, Lizzie. I’l be home before you are.” My words were meant as a reassurance for them both, an attempt to pacify my daughter’s concern and a promise to Christian that I would be back.

“Okay, Momma.” Lizzie took her father’s waiting hand, and he led her out without a parting word. Christian paused for a passing second when he encountered the smug demeanor Scott wore. Every slanderous word I’d said against Christian played across Scott’s face, a gauntlet thrown. It was as if Christian watched it fal to the ground, an unreciprocated provocation, unarmed for battle, his feet treading my sidewalk in surrender.

The heavy breath I released was not in relief the way Scott interpreted it.

“You’re not kidding,” Scott said as he stepped through the threshold. His expression was sympathetic as if he felt bad for me. “That was real y . . . uncomfortable. You’re a saint for putting up with all of that.” He waved toward the sidewalk in the direction Christian and Lizzie had just departed, as if he understood everything, how I felt, how hard it was to watch my daughter leave with the man I loved every Friday night and act as if it didn’t affect me.