“You were the only person who never wanted Harrison Blackwell,” he whispered. “You only wanted Harrison.”
I pressed his hand to my cheek.
“Please don’t talk like you’re leaving.”
“Claire.”
“No.”
“Listen to me.”
Tears slipped down my face.
“You have spent your whole life believing love must be earned. It doesn’t.”
His breathing became shallow.
“I need more time,” I said.
“I know.”
“I’m not ready.”
“You will be.”
Those were the last words he spoke to me.
Harrison died the next afternoon.
At the funeral, his children stood together in the first row.
I sat at the opposite end.
Business associates embraced Vivian. Hotel employees shook Grant’s hand. Old friends told Lucas stories about his father.
People looked at me with curiosity rather than sympathy.
I heard whispers.
She knew him less than a year.
He was vulnerable.
The marriage happened so quickly.
