“I thought he looked better today,” she said. “Is he still being an ass to the nurse?”

“As ever.” He sat and tossed the file on the coffee table. He sighed heavily and glanced at the roses in varying shades of pink and white in a small glass vase.

“God, I’m tired of hearing that,” Jules said.

Cal glanced up at her. “What?”

“You, sighing constantly. Like a leaky tire. Have you called her?”

Not wanting to talk about Monica, he stood, retrieved the folder, and headed to Father’s study. Jules padded after him.

“Have you?”

“It’s none of your fucking business, Jules. Leave it.” Cal had never spoken so harshly to his sister. He turned, and another sigh escaped him. Damn, she was right. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“No shit. But it might help, you know. Instead of moping around here all day, like some brooding, wet bloke. You’ve lost weight. You can’t sit still. You’re bloody miserable. You’re in love with her.”

Cal stopped at Jules’s words. “No, I’m not. What nonsense. Two grown people can share admiration and mutual respect. That’s all it was.”

“Uh-huh.” Jules crossed her arms. “So you don’t miss her?”

Of course he missed her. She was vital, like sunshine or fresh air. “It’s complicated, Jules. At your age, I don’t expect you to understand it.”

She laughed then. “My age? Monica’s only five years older than I am. I’m not a child, and I can see how you’re pining away for her.”

“You’ve been watching too many romantic movies,” he accused. He turned around and continued walking. Pining. What a word. Yes, he craved Monica. Longed to feel her touch again. Catch a glimpse of her lovely face. He needed her. Desperately.

Oh God, he’d been pining.

When he stopped again, Jules ran into his back. “Ow. Why can’t you just admit the truth? You’re in love with Monica Campbell.”

Just hearing her name caused his chest to swell, his pulse to race. Could it be? What else would explain this ennui, this feeling of utter, dismal hopelessness?

Bloody fucking hell. Yes. That’s what this horrible, gut-churning feeling he carried around day and night was about—love. He’d never felt this way before, tied up in knots and unable to think about anything except her. He’d been too foolish to recognize it.

The poets and songwriters had their heads firmly up their asses. There was nothing glorious or transformative about this feeling. It was anguish, pure and simple. “I’m in love.”

“I know.” Jules walked around him and parked in his path. “You get this dopey expression every time I mention her, and the rest of the time, you’re quite stroppy.”

Of course he was stroppy. He hadn’t been with Monica in almost two weeks. And it wasn’t just the sex, it was the companionship and hearing details about her day. Holding her in his arms at night. “I’m in love. God, this is wretched.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“It does, actually. She wants nothing to do with me.” He moved around her and walked into the formally appointed office. He threw the folder on the mahogany desk. When he pivoted, Jules stood right in front of him, gazing up at him with eyes coated in purple eye shadow. “Leave me alone, brat. I can’t take it today.”

“Why did she break it off with you? Were you mean to her?”

“No, I wasn’t mean.” He’d begged her to stay. Memories of their last conversation haunted him. Cal had insisted he couldn’t promise forever. He rubbed his forehead. Forever with Monica Campbell. That sounded like nirvana, but it was impossible.

She had a job—she couldn’t just pack up and leave whenever she wanted. She hates that job. Even so, he couldn’t expect her to traipse after him. And Cal had been a complete fool to think a long-distance relationship between them could work. How could he hie off to Caracas and leave her behind? The very idea was ridiculous.

Pocketing his hands, he gazed down at Jules. “I don’t have anything to offer her. I don’t have a regular job or a proper home or anything resembling stability.”

“So get all those things. What else have you got going on? A very busy surfing schedule?”

“If Monica cared about me, she’d have called. She’s the one who broke it off.”

Jules laughed so hard she snorted. “You’re such a twat. She’s waiting for you to make the grand gesture.”

Cal kicked out at a chair leg as he stalked to the bookcases. First editions, lined up neatly. “She said not to contact her. Not to send gifts. She clearly doesn’t care about me.”

“Oh, Brother. You and your lame gifts.”

Now that was just insulting. He jerked his hands from his pockets and shook a finger at her. “I put a lot of thought into every gift I sent you, Juliette. Besides, I travel, and Monica doesn’t want a long-distance situation. She was very clear about it.”

“Take her with you.”

Cal paced to the door, thrusting his hands in his hair. Monica wanted to travel more than anything. Still, that job represented commitment to her family, to her mother’s memory. She wouldn’t walk away from it, not even for Paris.

“You’re scared,” she said.

Terrified, more like. Afraid Monica would throw his offer right back in his face. But even if she never agreed to take him back, Jules was right—he had to try. “A grand gesture, eh?” What kind of grand gesture would impress Monica Campbell?

George’s health was relatively stable—he had the best nurses and doctors at his disposal. Jules’s court date had been rescheduled. Cal had time to fly to Vegas, but how was he supposed to win her over? Monica wasn’t impressed with money or status. What could he possibly give her that she didn’t already have?

Chapter 23

Monica looked out over the party. Enormous tents lit by hidden spotlights and swathed in fabric dotted the garden like mushrooms. Every tree branch and bush had been wrapped in lights. Classical music played softly in the background. Portable heaters were scattered throughout, in case it got chilly.

People seemed to be enjoying themselves as they wandered around the garden, noting the trellises and fountains, the grotto and the waterfall swimming pool. Low chatter filled the air. The evening was warm, inviting…magical. The only thing missing was Cal.

But Monica had come to a decision yesterday. As soon as the party was over, she would head to L.A. She’d already booked her flight. She had an overnight bag packed and waiting in the guest room. Someone had to make the first move, right?

Maybe having it all wasn’t a realistic expectation, not with someone like Cal. But Monica loved him enough that she’d take whatever time she could get with him.

“We did it,” Allie whispered in her ear.

Monica turned to find her sister standing next to her, holding two glasses of champagne. Trevor stood behind Allie, tall and foreboding as his cool gaze took in the sight.

“Good God, what happened to my garden?”

Allie slapped the back of her hand against his chest. “We’ll put it back the way we found it.” She wore an off-the-shoulder light blue dress with lots of sparkles. When she handed Monica one of the glasses, Allie’s eyes widened. “You broke down and got a new dress? You look beautiful.”

Monica glanced down at her cleavage. “Is it too much?” She’d gone shopping last night, dragging Evan along for a second opinion. The fire-engine-red dress immediately made her think of Cal. Amazingly, it fit her without any alterations. Tight and strapless, it flared out at her knees, mermaid style. The price tag nearly made her pass out, but she had to have it. Besides, Monica couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn anything this formfitting. At least that’s how she justified the expense.

Allie pursed her lips as her eyes scanned Monica. “I’d say it’s just enough. But you’re not going to be able to hide in a corner tonight.”