"We've been over this before, Laura." And he considered himself infinitely patient for listening to it all again. "You wanted the divorce. Now it's done, settled, there's been adequate time for her to adjust. I have my own life to think about."
"And do you ever think of the children?"
He sighed, checked his Rolex. He could spare ten minutes more, and no longer. "You always expected more than I found manageable in that area."
"They're not an area, they're children."
She whirled around, stopped herself from spewing out all the resentment, the bitterness. And simply looked at his face. So handsome, she thought. So cool, so composed. So perfect.
"You don't love them, do you, Peter? You never did."
"Simply because I refuse to dote on them, to spoil them as you've chosen to do doesn't mean I don't understand my responsibilities."
"That's not what I asked." Surprised at herself, she laid a hand on his arm. "Peter, it's just the two of us here. We've neither of us anything to lose at this point, so let's be honest. Let's put this in its place so that we can stop going over the same ground again and again and accomplishing nothing."
"It's you who insists on going over the same ground," he reminded her.
"All right, I keep going over it." Arguments were useless and, she admitted, just too tiring. "I want to understand. I need to. It's no longer a matter of what you did or didn't feel for me, or I for you. They're children. Our children. Help me understand why you don't want them."
For a moment, he stared down at the hand on his arm. Delicate. He'd always found that delicacy appealing. The fact that there was steel under it had been both disconcerting and disappointing.
And perhaps if they cleared up this matter, she would stop her constant requests that he flex his schedule to meet her expectations.
"I'm not father material, Laura. I don't consider that a flaw, simply a fact."
"All right." Though her heart ached, she nodded. "I'll accept that. But, Peter, you are a father."
"Your definition of that term and mine are essentially different. My responsibilities are met," he said stiffly. "You receive the child support payments every month."
And they were banked, she thought, into the college funds that he had emptied before the divorce. "Is that it? A financial burden, an obligation. That's all there is for you?"
"I'm not a doting parent, and never have been. I thought once that I would do better with sons. That I wanted them." He spread his elegant hands. "The simple truth is that it doesn't matter now. We didn't have sons, and I don't want more children. Candy's are well tended, polite, and don't require my attention. I don't believe Allison and Kayla require it either. They're being raised well and comfortably in a good home."
Like poodles, she thought, as pity stirred. "The answer is, you don't love them."
"I don't feel the connection you'd like me to." He angled his head to look down at her. "Let's both be honest, Laura. They're more Templeton than Ridgeway. More yours than mine. That's always been true."
"It didn't have to be," she murmured. "They're so beautiful. Miracles. I'm so sorry you can't take what they would give you."
"And I would say that all of us are better off the way things stand. I was angry initially when you insisted on divorce. Angry that it cost me the position I had earned at Templeton. But over the past few months I've come to see that it was inevitable. I enjoy the challenge of running my own hotel, and frankly, Candace is more the kind of woman who suits my needs and my nature."
"Then I hope you're happy. Really." She shuddered out a breath. "Do you really want the girls at the wedding, Peter, or is it for form?"
"If they choose not to attend, it's a simple matter to make the proper excuses."
"All right. I'll talk to them, leave it up to them."
"I'll expect to hear from you by the end of the week. If we're done, I have an appointment shortly." He glanced back across the street. With the air somewhat cleared between them, he chose to be magnanimous. "Your shop is very impressive, Laura. I hope it's successful for you."
"Thank you. Peter," she said when he turned to leave her. People milled around them, but they didn't matter. She remembered a magical night, with moonglow drifting through the gazebo and the scent of flowers and the promise of a dream. "Did you ever love me? I have to know. I also have my life to think about."
He looked at her, standin
g with the sea at her back, the sun glinting off her hair, her skin pale and fragile. Until the words were out of his mouth he'd had no plans to tell her the truth.
"No. No, I didn't love you. But I wanted you."
A heart could break again, she realized as she nodded and turned back to the sea. It could break again, and again, and again.