Imperfect Penelope (Wild Crush) (17 page)

“I know it’s scary,” Emily said, as though reading her mind. “Because from what I hear, Greg is a grownup. And if you love him too, as I’m guessing you do, that means you’ll have to be a grownup too. You’ll have to let go of this image you have of yourself that you’re the family screwup, the one who can’t quite get it together. It’s not true, Penny. I’ve never thought that about you.”

Emily covered Penny’s hand on the tabletop, and to her surprise, Hope reached for her other one. “She’s right. If anyone’s the family screwup, it’s the girl with the sleeve tattoos and still no full-time job.”

“Are you kidding?” Emily challenged. “I’m bringing two boyfriends home for Christmas this year. Let’s see how Dad handles that before we make final judgment on who’s the screwup here.”

“Oh shut up, Em. You’re too deliriously happy to give a shit what anyone thinks, even Dad.”

“Will both of you quit it?”

Penny’s brusque demand made both her sisters clamp their mouths shut. She might have enjoyed that a moment, if her heart wasn’t racing a mile a minute. She’d messed up. She’d told Greg he was rushing things, and then she’d asked him if he’d be prepared to marry her. He must think she was a crazy person. No wonder he wasn’t contacting her. He was probably rethinking the whole thing, questioning why on earth he’d said he loved her in the first place. Questioning their entire affair.

Wondering if he’d made a mistake letting Rochelle go so easily.

Penny’s stomach roiled. God, she was stupid. She reached for her phone but thought better of it. Greg’s office was only a couple of blocks away. She had to do this face to face. She tapped Emily on the arm impatiently. “Get out of my way.”

“You’re going to go see him?” Emily asked as she shuffled out of the booth.

“I’m going to go see him.”

“Go, Pen,” Hope said, grinning.

“Thank you, all of you.” Penny looked around at the group of women. “I think.”

She bolted out of the café and hurried up the street to the dental surgery, above which the law office of
Gregory Danvers, Solicitor
was situated. She ran up the stairs and broke into the small reception area with a wild swinging of the glass door. The girl Penny had met at the movies, Charlotte, looked up from the desk. “Oh, hi, whistle girl.”

You’re the reason he’s been whistling.
Penny’s heart lifted. He did love her. He’d told her he was happy when he was with her. He’d said he’d needed her during that last raw encounter, and he hadn’t merely meant he needed her sexually. Because it had never been just sex for him. For her either. She could admit that because she was
growing a vagina
and admitting how she really felt.

“I need to see Greg,” she burst out, suddenly dying to see him. To apologize for being a ninny and ask for a do-over. This time when he said he loved her she’d say
I love you too. I don’t know how it’s all going to work out yet, but I love you too.

Charlotte’s words burst Penny’s bubble. “He’s not here.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders drooped. “Do you know how long he’ll be gone?”

“I’m not sure, he didn’t come in yesterday either. Canceled all his appointments.”

A cold wave washed over Penny. “That’s not like him.”

“No,” Charlotte agreed.

“Is he sick?” She would have taken him hot soup in a heartbeat if he’d said something.

Charlotte hesitated. “No…”

“Please tell me where he is,” Penny implored. “It’s important that I speak to him.”

“That’s going to have to wait, I think.” Charlotte let out a sigh and seemed to decide she wasn’t betraying her boss’s confidence by revealing what he’d told her. Or Penny looked pathetic and she felt sorry for her. “He called me early yesterday morning from his mobile. He’s gone to Sydney on urgent personal business. That’s all he told me.”

That cold wave turned to ice. Rochelle lived in Sydney. Penny had told him to go see the woman, but she honestly had never even dreamed…

No. Greg’s mother lived in Sydney too. And his father. Perhaps one of them was sick. Penny hoped not. But she also felt violently ill at the possibility he’d gone to see Rochelle. What if he took one look at the woman and remembered all they’d shared together, and wondered why in hell he’d ever thought he could love Penny?
Why would you pick now to do what I tell you, lawyer man?

“Thank you. I…I’ll go. If he does check in, do you think you could let him know that I…that I…”

“I’m happy to pass on a message.” Charlotte smiled slightly. “But you could try him on his mobile.”

“Of course. I might do. Thanks.”

Penny bolted out of the office as quickly as she’d stormed in. After fishing her mobile phone out of her bag, she searched the contacts and found his number as she walked on wobbly legs into the street. She hit the call button before she even prepared what she was going to say.
What on earth are you going to say, Penny?

The call picked up after several rings, during which Penny had plenty of time to speculate that Greg was screening her. When the ringing stopped, Penny’s heart leapt to her throat. It got clogged there when it wasn’t Greg’s voice on the other end, but a woman’s.

“Greg Danvers’ phone. Can I help you?”

The voice was cultured, coolly polite. Penny was stunned for several seconds, standing still as a statue in the street while people walked around her. “I…I’d like to speak to Greg.”

“He’s in the bathroom.”

In the bathroom. Doing what? Throwing up because he ate a bad clam? Or having a shower after he’d just screwed coolly polite’s brains out?

Penny prayed Greg had food poisoning.

When Penny didn’t say anything more, the woman enquired smoothly, “Who is this?”

“Who is
this
?” Penny enquired back far less smoothly.

“I’m Rochelle.”

Penny’s fingers went numb, and she promptly dropped her smart phone on the footpath, where it landed with a thud, followed by a shattering of glass.

Chapter Sixteen

Greg made his way from the men’s room back to the table in an upmarket Sydney café he used to frequent. He saw all the tables filled with smartly dressed professionals talking in hushed tones and missed the more casual, friendly atmosphere of the Beach Break Café in Leyton’s. He used to fit in here at Fellini’s, but he no longer felt like he did.

Instead of making him melancholy, the realization brought a smile to his face. He knew where he belonged and he was going back there. Tomorrow.

Yesterday had been filled with the business of settling Bryan into Serenity Lakes, the topnotch rehabilitation facility an hour north of Sydney that would be his home for the next three months. Then he’d had to drive to Cremorne to explain it all to his mother, who had moved quickly from denial that Bryan was in any serious trouble to tearful remonstrations over how it was going to look if people found out. It had been an emotionally draining day, and Greg had thankfully slept for nine hours straight after it, something he couldn’t remember ever doing. He’d woken feeling resolved to tie up every loose end in Sydney so he could head back to Leyton’s as soon as possible.

Which brought him to today’s business.

He made it back to his table and sat down opposite the woman he’d once hoped to marry. Rochelle looked as chic as ever in a soft shell-pink cardigan and a slim gray skirt, her long dark hair held back at her nape with a clip. A few tendrils had escaped the clasp and surrounded her classically beautiful face like a frame. For the first time Greg realized that look was affected. The curled strands were too perfectly arranged to draw attention to Rochelle’s high cheekbones and dark emerald eyes.

He thought of Penny’s shaggy chin-length bob and missed her with a sharp pang that stole his breath for a moment.
Soon. You’ll get back to her soon.
In the meantime he was doing what she’d asked of him. He was putting the ghost of Rochelle to rest once and for all.

“So,” he began. “Where were we?”

“You were about to tell me why you asked me to meet you here.”

Rochelle smiled, a coy curve of her lips that once upon a time would have made Greg’s heart do flip-flops. Today it elicited no reaction whatsoever.

“I asked you here because I’d like an explanation,” he said. “I think I deserve to know why you ran out on our wedding once and for all.”

Rochelle blanched a little at his blunt question. Her eyes lowered, focusing on the silver cutlery on the white tablecloth. “That’s fair, I suppose.”

She supposed?
Greg kept his sarcasm in check and simply waited while Rochelle moved a teaspoon around the tablecloth for no apparent reason, then lifted her espresso cup and took a delicate sip before replacing it in its saucer.

Eventually she raised her eyes to Greg’s. There was a helplessness in them that would have tugged at his heartstrings when they were together. It had no effect today. Was that helplessness as affected as her hairstyle? Had he ever really known this woman?

Rochelle must have concluded he wasn’t going to help her out, because she sighed in resignation. “It’s difficult to explain. I don’t have words prepared… To be honest I thought you had no interest in how I felt about anything, given how abruptly you left after the wedding.”

This time Greg couldn’t hold his incredulity back. “How abruptly
I
left?”

Beneath her makeup, her skin paled even more. She held up a manicured hand. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I was the one who ruined everything, embarrassed you in front of everyone…”

“Rochelle, I don’t care about that anymore.” He honestly didn’t. He no longer lived in Sydney. He didn’t give two hoots what the gossips in the circles he used to travel in had to say about anything. “I’d like to know
why
. Was it something I did, or didn’t do?”

“No. Not really. I had trouble talking to you about what I was going through when I started having doubts, of course. You were focused on the end goal. You had it all planned out—where we’d live, how many children we’d have, how many hours a week I’d be able to work while still looking after little Jason and Tamara. You even had names picked out, Greg. Goodness! I couldn’t even decide between lilacs and roses for my bouquet.”

“So it was me,” Greg deduced, a mixture of remorse and irritation churning hotly in his gut. Thinking back on how he’d been—focused on the end goal as Rochelle put it—he admitted he might have gotten carried away. But if he’d been overbearing, she should have said something, no matter how difficult it was.

Penny would never have let him get away with bossing her around like that.

“I said it wasn’t your fault,” Rochelle countered. “I never objected to any of it. There was nothing to object to. It all sounded perfect. A big wedding, a lovely home and a terrific husband. Every girl’s dream. And you were nothing but decent to me. So charming that you swept me off my feet. How could I have a problem with any of that?”

“But you did.”

Greg took a sip of his own drink—black English Breakfast tea with sugar. He’d requested it when Rochelle had tried to order a double espresso for him and a spark of rebellion had ignited at her presumptuousness. It seemed they’d both been prone to making assumptions about each other. Like when he’d assumed her lack of objections meant “yes” and Rochelle had assumed he wouldn’t want to hear the truth.

Perhaps he hadn’t at the time. But that wasn’t him anymore. He wanted the whole, unvarnished truth. All of it, no matter how harsh.

“Rochelle, how many men had you been with before me?”

Her eyes widened at the question. “Excuse me?”

“I’m asking how many other relationships you had, how many affairs, one-night stands, etcetera.”

“One-night… Oh my. How can you ask me that?”

Greg cocked a brow. “We were engaged to be married once. Surely I can ask about your sexual history. You could have asked me about mine.”

“I didn’t want to know!” Rochelle’s gaze darted round the café, as though she thought someone might overhear their conversation. “That’s private.”

“Too private for the woman who would have been my wife? No. It’s obvious to me that we kept more things from each other than either of us realized. We should have been more forthcoming.”

“You mean about our
sexual habits
?”

“Among other things. Did you know I thought you were a virgin until the first time we made love and I realized you weren’t?”

None of Rochelle’s perfectly applied makeup could hide the raging blush in her cheeks. “I was twenty-six. Of course I wasn’t a virgin.”

“But you acted like one. Shy and unsure of yourself. I thought you were afraid to sleep with me.”

When she had, Greg had gone out of his way to be gentle. Six weeks of dining and dancing and long good-night kisses after which he’d gone to bed alone, and he’d still managed to take it slow, to whisper constant reassurances to her while he made sure she was ready, to ensure he didn’t hurt her. He’d fallen deeper in love with her that night because he’d thought her trust in him was precious.

Compare that to how his first time had been with Penny, and there couldn’t be two more different experiences. She’d been demanding, honest and earthy in her responses. She’d hidden nothing. He thought of Penny sitting on his bathroom counter telling him with bravado that she’d slept with ten men and she knew a thing or two. Rochelle couldn’t even admit to him back then she wasn’t a virgin.

Neither had he ever used dirty words in bed with Rochelle. She would have been scandalized. Not that he’d cared at the time. He hadn’t even known he had that kind of raw passion in him. Not until Penny had he ever said anything like
I’m going to fuck you so hard
or
I want your cunt.
Jesus. In bed with her he was an animal, and she loved it as much as he did.

Penny sure did know how to push every one of his buttons. It made the sex great, but it also led to arguments. Healthy, air-clearing arguments. Had he once thought the fact he didn’t fight with Rochelle meant they were well suited? All it meant was that they’d never really spoken to each other. Not honestly. Not with any real feeling. Greg had been in love with an illusion, an act, the idea of marrying someone who seemed right for him.

Which meant he’d never been in love at all.

“Of course I’d had other relationships,” Rochelle said in a near whisper. Greg started when he worked out she was answering his question about her past lovers. “But I know how women are supposed to behave. Men don’t marry sluts.”

An idea Rochelle had probably gotten from her sour, uptight mother. Greg actually felt sorry for her for a moment. “Rochelle, I wouldn’t have cared one whit how many men you’d been with.”

She stared at him, mystified. “But you asked…”

“It wasn’t the number. I’m just sorry you felt like you had to put on an act for me.”

“I didn’t know you wanted anything different.”

No, she’d never known what he wanted at all. But how could she have? He hadn’t known it himself. Now he did. He wanted Leyton’s Headland. He wanted something real and messy and imperfect. And he wanted that with Penny.

Suddenly, Greg was seized by the knowledge of how God damn
lucky
he and Rochelle were. They’d dodged a bullet when they didn’t get married. He remembered how he’d felt, how confused and devastated he’d been, as he’d watched her bolt down the aisle of that church away from him.

The remnants of that devastation melted away, to be replaced by a bone-deep relief. Rochelle had done him a favor when she’d jilted him. If she hadn’t they’d be married. He would never have moved to Leyton’s Headland, would never have met Penny.
He would never have met Penny.
What a horrible reality that would have been.

In an impulsive move that stunned the hell out of her, Greg stood, leaned over the table and gave Rochelle a hard, resounding kiss on the forehead. “Thank you.”

She stared at him agog. “For what?”

“For not marrying me.”

“For not… You’re glad we didn’t get married?”

“Hell yes,” Greg said emphatically as he sat back in his chair. “Aren’t you?”

Her pink glossed lips flapped open and closed a couple of times. “I don’t know.”

“Rochelle, you’re the one who ran out on me.”

“I’m aware of that but…the men I’ve met since. I can’t tell you how horrible they are. They’re not decent and kind like you.”

Greg remembered what his mother had told him on the phone a while back. “Max Rogers?”

Rochelle scowled. Greg didn’t think he’d ever seen her scowl before. “He’s a scoundrel.”

“I could have told you that. You can do better than him.”

Her expression eased into a resigned half smile. “Better than him…but not you.”

Greg shook his head. “We well and truly missed our moment. I’ve moved on, and you should too. To someone other than Max.”

“You’ve moved on.” Rochelle grimaced. “To someone called ‘yoga girl’?”

Greg’s cup of tea stilled halfway to his mouth. “What did you say?”

“Your phone rang while you were in the bathroom,” Rochelle explained. “I know I shouldn’t have, but I picked it up. I saw the caller ID.
Yoga girl.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I figured I ought to know who she was if there was a chance we’d get back together—”

“There’s not.”

“Yes. Thank you for reiterating.” She took one look at his face and conceded with a sigh. “I know, I deserve worse than that.”

Greg wasn’t interested in discussing what Rochelle did or did not deserve any longer. His heart was seizing in his chest, wondering why Penny was ringing him. Imagining what conclusions she might have come to when Rochelle had picked up his phone. “What did she say?”

“She asked for you. I said you were in the bathroom. Then she asked who I was.”

“And you told her.” The teacup clattered as Greg replaced it in the saucer and rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Fuck.”

Rochelle gasped. “Greg!”

“Oh for Pete’s sake. I’m a grown man and I’ll say fuck if I want to. Fuck, fuck, tits, bum, cock, bugger, cunt.”

Greg had never seen anyone’s mouth and eyes grow so wide. Her expression was so comical, he laughed. Jesus. He was going to have an interesting time explaining this to Penny. Rochelle had said he was
in the bathroom
,
which made it sound like they were nice and cozy. Like they’d spent all night fucking and he had to wash the sex sweat off his body.

Hell. If Penny thought he’d done that he was going to tan her cute hide for her.

Eventually, Rochelle spoke. “I knew there was something different about you when you walked in here wearing jeans, but the new vocabulary is a surprise.”

“Not looking like such a decent guy now, am I?”

She smiled softly. “No, I think you’re still the most decent man I’ve ever met. I hope yoga girl is worthy of you. I know I wasn’t.”

“Her name is Penny, and she’s so worthy I’m going to marry her one day. In a big, obnoxious church wedding if she wants one. Because it’s not the wedding that matters, it’s the person you’re marrying. I’ve worked that much out.”

“Married, huh? You have been busy this year.”

“Not really. I’ve only been dating her two weeks.”

To his surprise, Rochelle laughed. “I should have known. You’re the impetuous sort.”

“I am not.”

“When it comes to love you are. Go on. Call her and fix it. I can see you’re busting to.”

Greg showed her a lopsided smile. “You’re going to be okay, Rochelle. You’ll find someone who’s right for you as well. I promise.”

Rochelle waved a hand, and there was a telltale glistening in her eye. “Perhaps I ought to work out what is right for me first, eh?”

“You will.” Greg squeezed her hand on the tabletop. “Good luck.”

She gave him a watery, but genuine, smile. “You too.”

Soon Greg was out of the café, striding down the street. He hit Penny’s number as he moved, heading to the parking structure that housed his car. The call wouldn’t connect.
This device is out of service or switched off,
said the robotic voice.

What the hell did that mean?