Maybe she was right.
Damien had barely put any effort into the chase—one dinner and an invitation to stay at the plantation—and she'd already let him touch her.
But worse than any of that was her realization that Lizzie didn't really care about Marley's feelings. Nor did Lizzie care about her son, and a piece of Marley's love for her sister shriveled up and died.
"I was spending a lot of money on the hotel, and Damien was nice enough to offer me a place to stay," she said, crossing her arm over her stomach. She suddenly felt cold, despite the balmy evening warmth.
"Whatever." Lizzie snorted. "If you believe that, you are so dumb."
Dumb was exactly how she felt. And numb. "Call Rachel, okay? Give her a number where she can reach you."
"Fine." There was a rustling, than Lizzie said, "Gotta go, sweetie. See you Saturday. Love you!"
"I…" Marley wasn't sure what she was going to say, but Lizzie didn't wait for her answer anyway. She had already hung up.
There was a row of tables inside a bakery across the street, the gallery windows and doors thrown open to the fresh air. Marley walked over, ordered a cup of coffee, sat down, and fought the lump in her throat. The sounds of the cars, the people, all rushed around her, but she felt disconnected, goose bumps on her arms, a hard icicle of pain stabbing into her chest.
She sat there for an hour, noiseless tears creeping down her cheeks, until the coffee she hadn't touched was cold and the counter staff started giving her curious looks. They didn't know what she was doing. Marley didn't either.
The sobs came in the car during the hour-long drive back, ugly loud tears that shook her shoulders, blinded her, took over so violently that she parked at the gates of Rosa de Montana and let them have their way with her. Ten minutes later, when she pulled around by the house, Damien came out of the pigeonnier and opened her car door.
"Marley. I didn't expect you to be gone so long, I was getting worried about you."
She stepped out, knowing she looked like hell, knowing she'd never be able to hide the puffy eyes, splotchy cheeks, and sniffling nose. She didn't care.
"What happened? What's the matter?" He took in her appearance, put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her into his chest. "Marley… did the police find Lizzie?"
Did they find Lizzie's body? She could hear the unspoken words as clearly as if he'd yelled them. In some ways, she'd been better prepared to hear that horrible conclusion than what she'd actually heard.
The strong arms around her were comforting, and his chest was hard, solid, smelling like cigar. "Do you smoke?" she asked him, surprised by that. She'd never seen him smoking, but the rich tobacco scent seemed right on him, and she wanted to bury her nose in the cotton of his shirt, absorb him into her.
"On occasion. When I'm worried or thinking hard." He squeezed her waist. "What the hell's going on, Marley?"
She pulled back and looked up at him. "Lizzie called me. She's fine and can't imagine why I was worried about her."
"Oh, shit. I'm sorry… I mean, I'm glad she's alright, but I'm so sorry that…"
"That's she's a selfish bitch? Yeah, me too." Marley felt tears pooling in her eyes again. "She didn't even ask about Sebastian. How can she not wonder about him? Miss him? I don't give a shit what she does to me, but when she neglects him, she hurts that little boy. He's just a baby, for God's sake. I'm so…" She shook her head, pulling away from him.
"Disgusted? Angry? You have every right to be."
"You said it would be like this, that Lizzie was just off screwing around, and you were right. Lizzie said I'm dumb, and she's right too. I am. I'm dumb enough to keep thinking that she'll start caring about something other than herself." When he reached for her again, Marley backed up, tears gushing again, blinding her. She twisted her hair into a bun and looked away, out toward the green hill that hid the river. "I hate feeling like this, so stupid, so ashamed."
"Why the hell should you feel bad?" Damien asked, his voice rising. "You haven't done anything wrong here. Lizzie should feel ashamed, not you. But you know she never will, and you can't blame yourself for her flaws. You said yourself you think she's bipolar. She probably needs medication. That is not your fault, Marley, and you can't fix what's wrong with her."
Marley let go of her hair, all the rage inside her scaring her. She had never felt this intense, red, wet anger, this consuming, head-splitting furiousness, and she was ashamed, no matter what Damien said. Everything felt out of control, wild, insane. "I'm jealous of her," she said, amazed she had the courage to say the words out loud.
"Why? You are a thousand times better a person."
"But…" Marley swiped at her tears and clenched her fists. It was getting dark on the driveway, the night dropping down on them, gravel and shells under her sandals making noise as she paced back and forth, back and forth.
"Just say it."
"I am jealous of Lizzie. Because she is a mother and I'm not. If I'm such a good person, why does that little boy belong to her and not to me?" Marley had never admitted that secret thought out loud. Maybe hadn't even admitted it to herself. It felt horrible and wonderful all at the same time to purge its smallness out of herself. She wanted a child and she was angry that her sister, her flawed and selfish sister, had one she took for granted, casually, treated like a pair of jeans that fell in and out of favor depending on her mood. It wasn't fair, and it made Marley angry.
"Because you follow the rules and Lizzie doesn't. Because she doesn't think about anyone else but herself and you do. Any woman can be a mother by accident, but you'll be a mother by choice, and your child will be very fortunate."
He was trying really hard to be sweet and patient, even as he looked like he'd rather smack some sense into her, and Marley suddenly felt like laughing, an embarrassed giggle actually erupting from her mouth. She must sound like a complete and total lunatic stating the absolute obvious.
"God, thank you, Damien. I'm sorry all of this has been dumped in your lap. You're probably regretting the day I showed up. I've got a whole department store full of baggage and I'm spilling it all over your driveway. I'm jealous of my sister. I admit it. Jealous because I want to have a baby and yet I have no clue how to go about finding a husband."
"First of all, I don't regret you showing up here. In fact, I'm very glad you did. I was feeling sorry for myself, you know, and you showed me I was being an ass. But if you want a baby, have a baby. Who the hell says you need a husband?"