“It’s not a bad idea . . . for the future,” Jonathan had told her absently, playing with her long hair.
That hadn’t been what nineteen-year-old-and-pregnant Violet had wanted to hear. She’d turned to him in bed. “What are you going to do after we leave this dig? What happens to us?”
“What do you mean?” he’d asked.
She hadn’t been happy that she had to spell it out. “When we leave here, what are your plans?”
He’d shrugged. “Go back to classes. Start the next semester. Wait for Dr. DeWitt’s next invite.”
That . . . hadn’t been what she’d wanted to hear. “And what about me?”
He’d given her that heartbreaking smile. “In a few years, maybe we’ll both be working at the same university.”
In a few years? A few years? At nineteen, a few years seemed like a lifetime. “But . . . I want us to be together.”
“I want that, too.” He’d looked sad.
No, he wasn’t getting it. She’d clutched at his arm. “I want us to be together when we leave here. I want us to start a family. Together.” She’d emphasized the last two words, hoping he’d realize what she was asking for and jump in with enthusiasm.
Start a family with you, Violet? God, I want nothing more. Let’s do it!
I’d love to have babies with you, Violet.
I never want to leave your side, Violet.
Instead, he’d just furrowed his brow at her as if she were saying ridiculous things. “Start a family? Now?”
“Yes, now.”
He’d laughed. Laughed! And rattled off a million things he had going on. He needed to return to Dartmouth. He’d told Dr. DeWitt he wanted to go on his next dig, no questions asked. Then he had family members waiting for him to take an apprenticeship with his brother, the heir. It would be years before Jonathan could settle down and even think about family, and he was too young to consider it.
Every word had broken Violet’s heart a bit more. Betrayed, she’d slapped his face and ran. She’d stormed out of their room and left him in Fira and returned to the dig. Then, she’d cried herself to sleep that night because she’d wanted the white picket fence and Prince Charming had other plans.
He’d tried calling her the next day, over and over again. Tried seeing her, but she avoided him. Instead, she poured all of her heartache into a letter. She hadn’t wanted to tell him about the baby and use it as a tool to force him to her side, but she had no choice. She still remembered the last paragraph of the letter, down to the way it’d looked on paper.
If you love me, Jonathan, please come home with me. I want us to raise our baby together. If you care at all about being a father, please come with me. Please, please. I love you so much.
She’d more or less begged him to pick her, and he hadn’t even bothered to respond. A sour taste filled Violet’s mouth as she stared at the picture, and she slammed the photo album shut and tossed it across the room.
Fairy tales were bullshit. Prince Charming had ignored her letter. She’d gone home, cried for two weeks, and lost the baby a month later. Which made her cry harder.
And then she’d picked herself up, returned to college, and vowed that her happiness would never be contingent on anyone else’s plans ever again.
In her mind’s eye, she kept picturing Jonathan’s look of pleasure earlier that day. You called off the wedding? You’re not married?
Violet thumped her fist into her pillow angrily, then flopped down on the bed, determined to sleep at some point that night. Jonathan had been shocked to hear that she wasn’t married. So the saintly Dr. DeWitt had lied to his favorite protégé? Gee, there was a shock. Her father would have sold the shirt off his dead mother’s back if it meant getting funding for a project. Violet had known that all her life. How could Jonathan not have realized that?
Briefly, she wondered if he’d ever gotten her letter.
It didn’t matter in the end. Playing the baby card had been the only chip she’d had, and she’d lost that bargaining chip a month later. Jonathan wouldn’t have stayed at her side regardless. Not when he had other plans.
She supposed things worked out for the best, after all. If Jonathan hadn’t turned her down, she might have ended up in a miserable marriage to the bastard, and he would have been trapped in a marriage because of a baby he didn’t want. She’d seen his true selfishness.
Yep, life always worked out the way it was supposed to, she told herself as she settled down into bed again.
But she still had trouble sleeping that night.
TWO
The next morning, Violet woke up five minutes before her alarm was scheduled to go off, bleary-eyed and miserable. She stared at her phone, buzzing on her bedside with a text, and picked it up.
Staff mtg @ 7 am in cafeteria. MANDATORY. Be there!
Groaning, Violet fell back in the pillows. Who the hell scheduled an impromptu staff meeting at seven in the morning? It was going to be an especially miserable day considering she’d only gotten about two hours of sleep. Ugh. Hauling herself out of bed, Violet took a quick shower and began to get ready for work.
Forty minutes later, she pulled into the school parking lot with an extra-large coffee in hand and a throbbing headache. The parking lot was already full, which meant all of the staff was in for this early meeting. Oh, goody. Hurrying inside the school, she noticed there was a Lyons convertible parked in the fire lane in the front.
Surely that was coincidence, wasn’t it? Lots of rich guys drove Lyons. Owning one of the flashy roadsters had turned into a status symbol a few years ago when they’d been featured in one of those high-octane car movies. After that, Lyons Motors had turned from joke to success. Not that she followed how his company was doing. At any rate, there were Lyons cars all over the roads. It didn’t mean that ass**le was still here, did it?
Eyes narrowed, Violet clenched her coffee in hand and headed to the cafeteria for the staff meeting.
Despite the early hour, the tables had been unfolded and teachers filled the seats. Esparza’s portable little podium was at the front of the room, and behind her, a row of seats was filled.
Jonathan sat in one of the seats.
Violet’s hand clenched violently, and her coffee spewed out of the paper cup, slopping all over her hand, her white sleeve, and the floor.
With a hiss, she dropped the cup and shook her hand to expel the stinging hot coffee, even as her friend Kirsten raced up with a stack of paper towels. “You okay?”