But maybe she’s not upset about the physical intimacy; she’s upset at the lack of emotional connection. Maybe I haven’t done enough to make her feel cherished and loved. God knows I haven’t told her I love her, even though I can feel the words at the tip of my tongue. There were so many times that I wanted to say something, but then I couldn’t get the words out. A child would interrupt our conversation, or she’d laugh gently and give me a kiss. It would have been so easy, and yet I didn’t do it.
I curse at myself. Fuck this! How could I have been so stupid? Something’s happened to Regina, and now I may never get the chance. I drive like a madman back to my mansion, only to remember that Regina’s not here. Where the fuck is she?
“Ursula!” I call. “Ursula!”
The older woman comes gliding out from the kitchen, patting her gray hair.
“Mr. Blythe? Is that you?”
“Ursula, get Regina Frank’s home address. Her parents’ address. Whatever the nanny agency has.”
My housekeeper looks shocked, but she merely inclines her head.
“Of course, sir.”
She disappears and I wait impatiently. I don’t even move from the foyer. Instead, I stand in the lavish entryway, tapping my foot in the silence.
Finally, Ursula reappears.
“Here you go, sir,” she says, handing a piece of paper to me. “I believe this is her home address. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
I glance at the words on the paper. Good. This location isn’t more than twenty minutes away.
“No, I got it,” I say, bounding down the front steps and back to the car. “Thanks!” I call before slamming the door shut. Then like a daredevil, the SUV squeals out of the circular driveway and down the lane. I look like a deranged criminal, but I don’t care. I need to find my beautiful girl and figure out what went wrong.
13
Ryan
As I drive, my mind whirls. Could I have misread everything? Why is Regina avoiding me now? Does she hate me, and I never even realized it?
Maybe it was a mistake not to take her to my parents’ place with us. Maybe she thinks I’m ashamed of her and don’t want my parents to know about her. Immediately, I dismiss that thought for its absurdity. Regina is gorgeous and amazing, and my family would adore her. They already love her just from what the kids say, and they’ve never even met her. How could she possibly worry about that?
But why didn’t I take her with us? Because she needed a break? She never mentioned that to me. I just assumed it was true because she spent an entire month cooped up in the house with five rambunctious children and an excessively horny boss. Any woman might appreciate some time to rest.
My brain goes crazy as my hands grip the steering wheel. Fuck this. I’ll get to the bottom of the mystery soon enough. Yet, my anger swells again. What the fuck is up with her silence? One moment, she was wrapping her body around me, cooing into my ear. Then, the next, this. What is it called again? Ghosting? Fuck this! It’s just like my fucking ex-wife, who disappeared and left the kids without a trace.
“Stop it, Ryan,” I warn myself. That comparison is unfair, and now I’m just letting my thoughts run away. Regina is nothing like Sandy. My foot eases off the pedal and I try to regain my calm. Fifteen minutes later I’m outside her parents’ home.
Her car is in the driveway, and I realize that most likely, she’s home. She’s probably totally fine, and has been ignoring me because she wants to. My anger returns in spite of myself. How dare she not return my calls? How can she treat me like this? Am I not even worthy of a polite break-up conversation? My fists tighten again, and suddenly, I slam the steering wheel in a blind rage. Ouch, that hurt. This can’t go on.
Slowly, I get out of the car. I feel like a man who’s strangely awake and asleep at once. I make myself walk calmly towards the front door, even though I seem to be floating more than walking. But before I can knock, the door opens, and Regina’s there.
She’s a vision. She’s pale, and her mahogany locks are tied back, but otherwise, she’s so gorgeous that my heart seizes. A huge oversize sweatshirt covers her shape, and she’s got leggings on with Mickey Mouse socks, but I don’t care. This is my woman, and I need her.
God, she’s beautiful.
“Hi Ryan,” she says, as if she’s not surprised to see me. “How are you?”
Her gentle voice demolishes my control.
“Why the hell aren’t you answering my calls?” I demand. “What the hell is going on? Are we in high school, for Christ’s sake? Are we little kids who play fucking games now?”