Academy Award caliber performance for years.”
“Why?” he persisted.
She thought back on the decision she had wrestled with time and again, always coming down on the side of trying to save her marriage. There had been more to it, though. She could admit that now.
“Because I didn’t want to acknowledge, even to myself, what a terrible mistake I had made,” she said quietly. “It would have meant I’d hurt you for nothing.”
She slanted a look at Tucker across the car’s dark interior. The only light came from the dashboard, but she could tel that he was biting back a curse. She plunged on. Now that she’d started, she wanted him to know it al . “In many ways, Larry was a lot like my father, charming and immature and total y irresponsible in his personal life, but you only figured that out on close inspection. The casual observer seldom saw past the fact that he was handsome and witty and a bril iant politician. When I realized I’d made the same mistake my mother had, I did exactly what she did. I accepted it as my due. I’d made my own bed, so to speak, and just as she had, I was determined to lie in it. A Swan would do nothing less.”
“Family tradition?” Tucker asked mockingly. “Or penance?”
“Penance, probably.”
“A miserable life is a high price to pay for one mistake,” he pointed out.
“My life wasn’t miserable,” she insisted, determined to make him see that it wasn’t as black and white as he was trying to make it. “I had everything money could buy. I had the time—in fact, I was encouraged—to get involved with a lot of high-profile, worthwhile causes, to make a real difference in people’s lives. That can be incredibly rewarding.” She sighed. “Al that was missing was love.”
“Some would say that’s the most important thing of al ,” Tucker pointed out.
“They’d be right,” Liz agreed. “I final y realized that. That’s why Larry and I started leading total y separate lives, why I left on that trip and ultimately why I told him I wanted a divorce. I wanted more than a big house, a fancy car and a lot of acquaintances.”
“What about kids? You always talked about wanting a large family.”
She sighed at the reminder. “Before the wedding we had talked about having kids and I desperately wanted them, but after I discovered Larry was cheating, I thought it would be wrong to bring a child into the mess we’d made of our marriage. Besides, despite his promises before the ceremony, Larry flatly refused to even consider starting a family because he thought it would interfere with my devotion to his needs.”
“So, he got everything he wanted and you got what?” Tucker asked.
When the question was phrased like that, Liz couldn’t come up with an answer that made any sense.
“What you deserved?” Tucker prodded.
“Yes,” she said, realizing now that her acceptance of that had been no one’s fault but her own. “I wil never al ow that to happen again. When —if— I ever marry again, it wil be because someone genuinely wants to be with me, to share my life.”
She felt his gaze burning into her.
She felt his gaze burning into her.
“I can’t be that someone, Mary Elizabeth.”
She shivered at the certainty in his voice. “I know that,” she acknowledged, though she couldn’t help the twinge of regret it made her feel. King was right about one thing. A part of her did want Tucker in her life for more than his help in solving Larry’s murder. She just didn’t know if she deserved him.
“Do you?” Tucker asked, slowing the car to look directly into her eyes. “Because if my father was right, if you came to me because you wanted more than my help, then taking you back to my place is a lousy idea. Things between us can never go back to the way they were.”
“Can you at least be my friend?” she asked, unable to hide the wistful note in her voice.
He hesitated so long, she was sure he was going to say no to that, too.
“I
“Why?” he persisted.
She thought back on the decision she had wrestled with time and again, always coming down on the side of trying to save her marriage. There had been more to it, though. She could admit that now.
“Because I didn’t want to acknowledge, even to myself, what a terrible mistake I had made,” she said quietly. “It would have meant I’d hurt you for nothing.”
She slanted a look at Tucker across the car’s dark interior. The only light came from the dashboard, but she could tel that he was biting back a curse. She plunged on. Now that she’d started, she wanted him to know it al . “In many ways, Larry was a lot like my father, charming and immature and total y irresponsible in his personal life, but you only figured that out on close inspection. The casual observer seldom saw past the fact that he was handsome and witty and a bril iant politician. When I realized I’d made the same mistake my mother had, I did exactly what she did. I accepted it as my due. I’d made my own bed, so to speak, and just as she had, I was determined to lie in it. A Swan would do nothing less.”
“Family tradition?” Tucker asked mockingly. “Or penance?”
“Penance, probably.”
“A miserable life is a high price to pay for one mistake,” he pointed out.
“My life wasn’t miserable,” she insisted, determined to make him see that it wasn’t as black and white as he was trying to make it. “I had everything money could buy. I had the time—in fact, I was encouraged—to get involved with a lot of high-profile, worthwhile causes, to make a real difference in people’s lives. That can be incredibly rewarding.” She sighed. “Al that was missing was love.”
“Some would say that’s the most important thing of al ,” Tucker pointed out.
“They’d be right,” Liz agreed. “I final y realized that. That’s why Larry and I started leading total y separate lives, why I left on that trip and ultimately why I told him I wanted a divorce. I wanted more than a big house, a fancy car and a lot of acquaintances.”
“What about kids? You always talked about wanting a large family.”
She sighed at the reminder. “Before the wedding we had talked about having kids and I desperately wanted them, but after I discovered Larry was cheating, I thought it would be wrong to bring a child into the mess we’d made of our marriage. Besides, despite his promises before the ceremony, Larry flatly refused to even consider starting a family because he thought it would interfere with my devotion to his needs.”
“So, he got everything he wanted and you got what?” Tucker asked.
When the question was phrased like that, Liz couldn’t come up with an answer that made any sense.
“What you deserved?” Tucker prodded.
“Yes,” she said, realizing now that her acceptance of that had been no one’s fault but her own. “I wil never al ow that to happen again. When —if— I ever marry again, it wil be because someone genuinely wants to be with me, to share my life.”
She felt his gaze burning into her.
She felt his gaze burning into her.
“I can’t be that someone, Mary Elizabeth.”
She shivered at the certainty in his voice. “I know that,” she acknowledged, though she couldn’t help the twinge of regret it made her feel. King was right about one thing. A part of her did want Tucker in her life for more than his help in solving Larry’s murder. She just didn’t know if she deserved him.
“Do you?” Tucker asked, slowing the car to look directly into her eyes. “Because if my father was right, if you came to me because you wanted more than my help, then taking you back to my place is a lousy idea. Things between us can never go back to the way they were.”
“Can you at least be my friend?” she asked, unable to hide the wistful note in her voice.
He hesitated so long, she was sure he was going to say no to that, too.
“I
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