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Chapter 046
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2026-03-31 23:55:33
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Too Late To Beg EPILOGUE
TAMSIN Six months after my own wedding, I stood at the back of an exquisite garden terrace and watched my sister marry the man who had loved her quietly for most of his adult life, and I cried so hard that Leo had to produce three consecutive handkerchiefs from his jacket pocket. He had come prepared. He had, in fact, spent the morning preparing. I had watched him fold four handkerchiefs and distribute them across the inside pockets of his suit with the methodical foresight of a man who had been married to me for six months and had learned certain things about my relationship with significant occasions. I had told him four was excessive. He had said nothing, only raised an eyebrow, and tucked the fourth one in anyway. He had been right. I was enormous. There was no other word for it. I was more than eight months pregnant with a boy who seemed to have decided, somewhere around the sixth month, that he required significantly more space than the average human infant. My st
Too Late To Beg Chapter 114
LEO I had been standing at the altar for eleven minutes. Colby had informed me of this fact with the quiet, precise satisfaction of a man who had decided that his primary duty as best man was to provide a running commentary on everything I was doing wrong. "Eleven minutes," he said, from just behind my right shoulder. "You keep shifting your weight. The guests can see you shifting your weight." "I am not shifting my weight." "You have shifted your weight four times in the past two minutes. I counted." "Colby." "I am simply saying that for a man who has been waiting eleven years for this day, you are remarkably bad at standing still." I turned my head and looked at him. He was immaculate in his charcoal suit, his pocket square precisely folded, his expression carrying the mild, amused composure of a man who was thoroughly enjoying himself at my expense. He had been doing this for approximately three hours, beginning from the moment I had appeared in the hotel suite where we ha
Too Late To Beg Chapter 113
TAMSIN I had been pacing the hospital corridor for forty minutes. Poppy had told me, twice, to sit down. I had sat down both times, held it for approximately ninety seconds, and then risen and resumed pacing. The corridor was long enough that I could cover a decent distance before I had to turn around, and the turning around gave me something to do with my body while my mind refused to settle. Whitney was sitting in one of the corridor chairs with her legs crossed and her hands folded neatly in her lap, watching me with the expression of a woman who had decided that intervention was futile and observation was more interesting. "You are going to wear a groove in the floor," she said. "Let her," Poppy said, from the chair beside her. "It is keeping her from doing something worse." "What could be worse than this?" "The last time she got news in a hospital, she nearly had a surgical procedure she was going to regret for the rest of her life." Whitney conceded this with a small no
Too Late To Beg Chapter 112
JAMES Mary's voice on the phone was careful and quiet, the way her voice always was when she was trying not to cause trouble. "Mr. Whitmore. I am sorry to bother you. I only wanted to let you know because I did not want you to hear it from someone else. Your wife came to my house today. She came to warn me to stay away from you." I stopped what I was doing. "My wife." "Yes, sir." "Mary. I am not married." A pause. "But, sir. She said she was Tamsin. She said she was Mrs. Whitmore." I was already reaching for my coat. "I am coming to you now." I left the office without explanation and drove to her house. I drove with my jaw tight and my mind working through the possibilities, and the more I worked through them, the more certain I became. Tamsin would never do this. The Tamsin I knew, the Tamsin I had loved for years, the woman who had stood in a courtroom and dismantled our marriage with her chin lifted and her voice steady, would never lower herself to driving
Too Late To Beg Chapter 111
BRIDGET Two weeks. Two weeks without a single word from James Whitmore. I had made myself at home in his villa. I had slept in his bed. I had used his kitchen and his staff and his swimming pool. I had sat at the head of his dining table every evening and eaten meals that his cook had prepared, and I had told myself that this was only the beginning. That when he came back, he would come back to me. That the anger he had expressed the morning after the divorce would soften, the way men's anger always softened. But two weeks was a very long time to wait. On the fourteenth day, I paid someone to find out where he was. The photograph that came back to me two days later stopped me cold. A girl. A young girl in what appeared to be a private hospital room. James was sitting on the edge of her bed. His hand was over hers. He was looking at her face with an expression I had seen on him exactly once before. He had looked at Tamsin that way. I sat at James's dining table with the photo
Too Late To Beg Chapter 110
WHITNEY Colby was avoiding me. It had begun the moment the words had left his mouth in that hotel room. The moment he had told me he was head over heels in love with me and then walked out of the door without waiting for a response. Ever since then, he had behaved like a man who deeply regretted having spoken at all. He would not meet my eyes. He would not stay in a room with me longer than necessary. On the flight home, he had buried himself in his phone and answered every attempt I made at conversation with single words. That night, back in my own bed in my parents' house, I could not sleep. I lay awake and stared at the ceiling and thought about what he had said. The funny thing, the thing I had not told a single living soul, was that when I had been a teenager, I had nursed an enormous, hopeless crush on Colby. He had been everything. Clever. Handsome. Steady. Kind in the particular way that made you feel safe rather than smothered. He had fit, point for point, the des
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