would be a phone call to you, and we’d have everything that we need? But I’m not going to. Because I love him. And I love our family. Do I wish I could have both? Do I wish I could have them and have what you have? Of course, I do. But I can’t. And so I choose this. I choose them.”
Lacey held her ground, even as her mind scrambled for a foothold. “B—”
Betsy held her hand up. “I’m not trapped, little sis. So if you’ve pushed Victor away because you’re scared of losing control, because you’re afraid of giving up a piece of yourself that you’ll never get back, then I have nothing to say to you except that’s what love is. And I’m telling you, I don’t think you’re ever going to get any better than that man I saw propping you up.”
Lacey opened her mouth, but Betsy was still talking in a don’t even try to stop me until I’ve said my piece kind of way. “Now if what you’re after is a half-in, half-out kind of relationship, one where you don’t let anyone get too close so there’s less collateral damage if someone wants to leave then that’s up to you. If you don’t want to be with the person who holds you up, and sees all of you, and meets your sweary angry sister and doesn’t take so much as a step back? Then I feel sorry for you. Because I will take our rundown town, my unemployed husband, and cutting coupons over your empty New York life any day.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Victor hadn’t been this nervous ever. He wiped his hands on his trousers as he sat on one of the seats bordering the Kensington Gardens playground, the wooden planks pressing into the back of his legs.
He checked his phone again. Diana Memorial Playground. Yes, that was definitely what it said, and it was definitely where he was. He’d been here an hour early. Forced himself to take a walk through the enormous grounds, so he didn’t look like some creepy single guy watching a children’s playground.
Sabine was now officially six minutes late. Not late at all by London standards. The fact she was coming at all when she and Peyton were flying out with the GB rowing squad the next morning was borderline miraculous.
Around him, kids and caregivers made the most of the warm July day swarming the pirate ship structure and splashing in the nearby water feature. It was an excellent opportunity to observe supervision techniques. Some parents let small toddlers roam freely, keeping an eye out from a distance, while others hovered over much older kids.
Not that he’d ever given it any thought, but he’d always assumed he’d be a free-range parent. But as he observed a red-headed toddler coming to near-calamity with a swing, he wasn’t sure he had the nerves for it.
“Sorry we’re late. Bus took forever.” Sabine had somehow snuck up on him. He turned around, his attention skimming right over her petite frame to the small blonde person at the end of her hand. Blonde hair stuck out the side of her head in two bunches, and her fingers were curled around a bucket and spade. She had zero interest in him. Her hand tugged at Sabine’s, seeking release.
“I wanna dig.”
“Hat first.” Sabine let go of Peyton’s hand and reached into the bag hanging from her arm, fishing out a floral sun hat and plonking it on top of a head that now sported a petulant brow.
“Not have it.” Chubby fingers reached up as if to yank it off.
“You know the rules, Peyton. No hat, no playing.”
The little girl thought for a second, then her hand dropped. “I go play now.” She was already running off.
“Do you want to follow her?”
Sabine shaded her eyes with her hand as she watched Peyton traverse across the grass and onto the sand by the pirate ship. “No, she won’t go far. Once she’s found a spot of sand, she’ll entertain herself for a while. We’re good as long as I have her in my line of sight.”
“Okay.”
Silence took up residence between them. Sabine seemed to be in no hurry to move it on.
“Thanks for agreeing to come.” After the family meeting, it had taken him a few days to work up the courage to call Sabine. A call that had gone directly to voice mail and resulted in a long rambling message. Followed by some of the most torturous days of his