Upon a Mystic Tide by Vicki Hinze

his parents weighed heavily on his soul. If not for knowing what the truth would do to Selena, he could risk telling Bess. But he couldn’t afford the risk because Selena could have to pay the price.
    “Gladly.” She visibly grabbed control and slid back behind her sleek mask of porcelain-skinned indifference. “You can lie to me, but you can’t lie to yourself. This is about ego—yours. And about money.”
    “Listen to you.” He shook his head and stood up. “You’re an intelligent woman, but do you realize how stupid you sound right now?”
    “Jonathan, do not insult me.” Her chin quivered.
    Whether near tears or near committing murder, he couldn’t decide. “Okay. Yeah. Yeah, you’re right, Bess. You’re exactly right. I’ve busted my buns to turn a modest inheritance into a fortune and, thanks to Elise’s investment advice, I succeeded. Now, I just can’t stand the thought of not giving half of it to you to spend on that sorry Spaniard.” He shrugged. “Makes perfect sense to me.” Silk yapped. “Makes sense to her, too.”
    “You leave Miguel out of this.” Bess narrowed her eyes. “And knock off the sarcasm. It’s counterproductive.”
    “And not telling me why you’re ending our marriage isn’t?”
    “Would you stop already? What’s the difference anymore?”
    Their relationship really was over. There wasn’t a shred of hope. A sick feeling settled in his stomach. Anger, denial, rose to fight it. He’d promised Elise. “No difference at all. In fact, you should check with Francine. Maybe there’s some obscure legal precedent set where a man wanting his wife to be financially secure qualified as abuse. You could sue the socks off me. Humiliate me some more—though with you being seen all over town hanging onto Santos, you’d have to work hard at it. What are the odds of pulling it off, do you think?”
    She rolled her gaze ceilingward. “I do not hang all over anyone, and I refuse to listen to this. Miguel is my friend and he has nothing to do with this. You’re making a mockery of—of this entire situation.”
    John stepped closer. Her back to the wall, they stood chest to breasts, and he dropped his voice. “This situation is our marriage, darling. And if anyone is making a mockery of it, it’s you.”
    She shoved against his shoulder, passed him, then entered her room—the Great White. Just inside the door, she spun around to face him. “You are making a mockery of this, John. You’ve told me I’m going to jail.” Hopping on one foot, she tugged at her sandal strap, then slung the shoe to the floor.
    It hit the planks with a firm thunk that sent Silk scurrying under the bed, diving for cover. John half-considered joining her.
    Bess reached for her other shoe. “You’ve had your fun. Now would you please just  . . . go away?”
    “Fun?” Taking five to cool down, he glanced around the large room decorated in blues and soft greens. The adjoining turret room windows were open. The shades were up and the sheer curtains billowed in a sea-scented breeze. “Right. I always thought the idea of you behind bars was a real hoot, Bess. Hey, if Francine pulls off the abuse bit, maybe we can get adjoining cells.”
    “That’s one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth and there have been some real winners.”
    He stepped closer and looked down his nose at her. “Another thing we have in common.”
    She glared up at him. The fire died in her eyes. They went soft, vulnerable, and she was trying so hard not to let him see either. The anger drained right out of him and the urge to kiss some sense into her, to kiss her until she understood he only wanted reassurance she’d be independent and cared for, slammed into him with the force of a sledge. “God, why do we still have the ability to hurt each other so much? Why?” He didn’t want to hurt Bess. He’d never wanted to hurt her.
    “Jonathan, don’t,” she whispered breathlessly, her