In the corridor, Holly dropped the towel, squeezed herself into her dress, and zipped it up as best she could. Too late she realized that she’d left her panties behind. But she wouldn’t go back now. Barefoot, she hurried downstairs and ran out of the house.

Only when she reached the beach and was out of sight of the house did she allow her tears to come. She collapsed into the sand and buried her face in her hands. The morning breeze blew through her still-wet hair and made her shiver.

“Why?” she whispered.

She’d never felt lower in her life. The disgust in Paul’s eyes when he realized that he’d pleasured a prostitute had hurt the most. Did he really believe that a woman like her didn’t deserve a little bit of happiness?

Was this what her future looked like?

She was an outcast, a woman no decent man wanted, despite the fact that she was trying to turn her life around and walk the straight and narrow. Her dreams of a husband and kids were unattainable. She realized that now. She’d gambled her future and lost.

Holly cast a last look back in the direction of the house where she’d spent the most amazing night of her life. “Oh, Paul,” she whispered.

Then she rose and turned in the other direction. She would forget about everything that had happened in the last twelve hours and get on with her life. Paul would be a distant memory in a few months. Once she left the Hamptons, nothing would remind her of him. Nothing at all.

7

New York City, two months later

Paul put aside the menu and rose when he saw his parents enter the restaurant. He didn’t need to wave at them, since the maitre d’ of the Palm Court in the Plaza Hotel on Fifth Avenue and Central Park South was already guiding them to his table.

He hadn’t seen his parents in two months, having left the Hamptons right after Sabrina and Daniel’s wedding. He hadn’t been back since. That his parents were now making a special visit to Manhattan to see him struck him as curious, to say the least.

His mother was dressed to the nines. But when was she not? Even for a casual family dinner, she was always impeccably dressed. She would have looked just as beautiful in a simple cotton dress and didn’t really need all the jewelry that dangled from her neck and wrists, or the rings that graced her dainty hands. Whenever Paul let his eyes wander over his mother, he wondered what she was compensating for. Why did everything in her life have to be perfect at all times? As though in her world, the slightest imperfection was a major catastrophe.

Paul kissed his mother on both cheeks to greet her. “You look fabulous, Mother,” he said, knowing she loved compliments almost as much as jewelry. She’d never liked him calling her Mom, Mommy, or Mama.

When he released her, he nodded to his father, who in his casual linen suit looked like an older edition of himself. “Dad! So you managed to tear yourself away from the golf course for a day?”

His father chuckled. “Your mother has her ways.” His father winked and slapped him on the shoulder, squeezing it for a brief moment. “Good to see you, Paul. Your sister says hi.”

Paul pointed to the chairs and helped his mother sit down. He readjusted her chair before taking his seat again. “How are Olivia and her little brat?”

His mother tossed him a scolding glance. “The boy has a name, and he’s not a brat. He just needs a lot of attention.”

Paul rolled his eyes and caught his father’s suppressed smirk. “Well, I guess little Jonathan isn’t going to get any more attention than he has so far, considering my dear sister is breeding yet again.”

If he’d calculated correctly, Olivia was about seven months pregnant now. And with a new baby arriving, Paul was sure his neglected little nephew would only become more difficult. Couldn’t Olivia see that the boy needed more of her time? Paul remembered well how sweet Jonathan had been as a baby, when his parents had fussed over him every minute of the day. But now it appeared that the novelty had worn off, and the more the child craved his parents’ attention, the more unruly he became. And while Paul loved the little rascal, he saw him so rarely that the few moments he got to spend with him every few months didn’t result in any change in Jonathan’s behavior.

His mother threw furtive glances around the room. “Don’t talk like that. People can hear you. At least Olivia and her husband are growing their family. That’s more than I can say for you.”

Ah, yes, it had taken his mother less than thirty seconds to get to her favorite subject: his marital status and the fact that he had made no attempt to change said status and join the ranks of married men who made sure their wives bore them an heir—or a little brat like Jonathan, who despite being only three, could manage to wreak havoc without even trying anywhere he showed up. Another reason to avoid his parents’ house during the time his sister visited with her family in tow.