LITMIR.BIZ

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I want answers now. And I want them face-to-face.

      Heart thudding, she left the house. She borrowed her father’s Mercedes to drive to Ocean View Drive. He’d never miss it; after all, he kept a spare Jaguar and a BMW in the garage.

      By the time she pulled into Robert’s driveway, she was shaking from both anger and dread. What on earth was she going to say to him?

      What was he going to say to her?

      She climbed the porch steps and rang the doorbell. She didn’t have her house keys. Sam Navarro did. Anyway, this wasn’t her house any longer. It never had been.

      The door swung open and Robert stood looking at her in surprise. He was wearing running shorts and a T-shirt, and his face had the healthy flush of recent exercise. Not exactly the picture of a man pining for his fiancée.

      “Uh, Nina,” he said. “I—I was worried about you.”

      “Somehow I have a hard time believing that.”

      “I even called your father’s house—”

      “What happened, Robert?” Her breath rushed out in a bewildered sigh. “Why did you walk out on me?”

      He looked away. That alone told her how far apart they’d drifted. “It’s not easy to explain.”

      “It wasn’t easy for me, either. Telling everyone to go home. Not knowing why it fell apart. You could have told me. A week before. A day before. Instead you leave me there, holding the damn bouquet! Wondering if it was all my fault. Something I did wrong.”

      “It wasn’t you, Nina.”

      “What was it, then?”

      He didn’t answer. He just kept looking away, unwilling to face her. Maybe afraid to face her.

      “I lived with you for a whole year,” she said with sad wonder. “And I don’t have the faintest idea who you are.” With a stifled sob, she pushed past him, into the house, and headed straight for the bedroom.

      “What are you doing?” he yelled.

      “Packing the rest of my things. And getting the hell out of your life.”

      “Nina, there’s no need to be uncivilized about this. We tried to make it. It just didn’t work out. Why can’t we still be friends?”

      “Is that what we are? Friends?”

      “I like to think so. I don’t see why we can’t be.”

      She shook her head and laughed. A bitter sound. “Friends don’t twist the knife after they stab you.” She stalked into the bedroom and began yanking open drawers. She pulled out clothes and tossed them on the bed. She was beyond caring about neatness; all she wanted was to get out of this house and never see it again. Or him again. Up until a moment ago, she’d thought it still possible to salvage their relationship, to pick up the pieces and work toward some sort of life together. Now she knew there wasn’t a chance of it. She didn’t want him. She couldn’t even recall what it was about Robert Bledsoe that had attracted her. His looks, his medical degree—those were things she’d considered nice but not that important. No, what she’d seen in Robert—or imagined she’d seen—was intelligence and wit and caring. He’d shown her all those things.

      What an act.

      Robert was watching her with a look of wounded nobility. As if this was all her fault. She ignored him and went to the closet, raked out an armful of dresses, and dumped them on the bed. The pile was so high it was starting to topple.

      “Does it all have to be done right now?” he asked.

      “Yes.”

      “There aren’t enough suitcases.”

      “Then I’ll use trash bags. And I need to take my books, too.”

      “Today? But you’ve got tons of them!”

      “This week I’ve got tons of time. Since I skipped the honeymoon.”

      “You’re being unreasonable. Look, I know you’re angry. You have a right to be. But don’t go flying off the damn handle.”

      “I’ll fly off the handle if I want to!” she yelled.

      The sound of a throat being cleared made them both turn in surprise. Sam Navarro stood in the bedroom doorway, looking at them with an expression of quiet bemusement.

      “Don’t you cops ever bother to knock?” snapped Robert.

      “I did knock,” said Sam. “No one answered. And you left the front door wide open.”

      “You’re trespassing,” said Robert. “Again without a warrant.”

      “He doesn’t need a warrant,” said Nina.

      “The law says he does.”

      “Not if I invite him in!”

      “You didn’t invite him in. He walked in.”

      “The door was open,” said Sam. “I was concerned.” He looked at Nina. “That wasn’t smart, Miss Cormier, driving here alone. You should have told me you were leaving your father’s house.”

      “What am I, your prisoner?” she muttered and crossed back to the closet for another armload of clothes. “How did you track me down, anyway?”

      “I called your stepmother right after you left the house. She thought you’d be here.”

      “Well, I am. And I happen to be busy.”

      “Yeah,” muttered Robert. “She’s really good at being busy.”

      Nina spun around to confront her ex-fiancé. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      “I’m not the only one to blame in all this! It takes two people to screw up a relationship.”

      “I didn’t leave you at the church!”

      “No, but you left me. Every night, for months on end.”

      “What? What?”

      “Every damn night, I was here on my own! I would have enjoyed coming home to a nice meal. But you were never here.”

      “They needed me on the evening shift. I couldn’t change that!”

      “You could’ve quit.”

      “Quit my job? To do what? Play happy homemaker to a man who couldn’t even decide if he wanted to marry me?”

      “If you loved me, you would have.”

      “Oh, my God. I can’t believe you’re turning this into my fault. I didn’t love you enough.”

      Sam said, “Nina, I need to talk to you.”

      “Not now!” Nina and Robert both snapped at him.

      Robert said to her, “I just think you should know I had my reasons for not going through with it. A guy has only so much patience. And then it’s natural to start looking elsewhere.”

      “Elsewhere?” She stared at him with new comprehension. Softly she said, “So there was someone else.”

      “What do you think?”

      “Do I know her?”

      “It hardly makes a difference now.”

      “It does to me. When did you meet her?”

      He looked away. “A while ago.”

      “How long?”

      “Look, this is irrelevant—”

      “For six months, we planned that wedding. Both of us. And you never bothered to tell me the minor detail that

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