Now that her mad was over, and she was left alone, everything connected to her life that involved Jonathan seemed hollow. All the years she’d dedicated to his family’s businesses, to him, to being the perfect employee, companion, hostess felt flat and false. Felt horrible.

Not only had she given the Wickhams and Jonathan her best, but in the end, her best fell short. Worse, so much worse, they’d used her. There was no question his parents had known. They’d entertained her in their home, as their son’s . . . companion. They’d met her family.

They’d betrayed her. They’d made her a fool.

No. She pushed herself to her feet, put the glasses back on the tray. She’d done that to herself. She was responsible for her own actions, her own decisions, just as she was for her own happiness.

She carried the tray inside to the kitchen, calmly poured the remaining tea down the sink. Yes, her mad had fizzled, she thought as she loaded the glasses in the dishwasher. Now she felt sad, sad and shamed.

Tears burned her eyes, so she let them come. Why not? She was alone, wasn’t she? Dutifully she went into the basement, carried up bottles of water, cans of soft drinks.

She restocked the refrigerator, then just rested her forehead on the door.

And smelled the fresh, warm scent of honeysuckle, felt a hand stroke her hair.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Not alone after all.

“I’ll be all right. I’ll be fine. I just have to get through this little pity party.”

Don’t cry over him.

Hope wasn’t sure if she heard the words, or if they played in her mind.

“I’m not. Not over him, not for him. For me. For the three years I gave myself to him thinking it mattered. It’s hard to know it never did. Hard to realize, to really understand he thought of me as an accessory he could buy, use, set aside, and, worse, pick up again whenever he wanted.”

She took a breath. “That’s done. I’m done.”

She turned, slowly, saw only the empty kitchen. “I guess you’re not ready to let me see you. Maybe I’m not ready either. But it helps, having another woman around.”

Better, she went into her office for the cosmetic bag she kept there. Once she’d freshened her makeup, she made a shopping list.

She had a pie to bake.

As she wrote, she heard The Lobby door open. Even as she rose, assuming her guests had returned, she heard Avery call out.

“Right here.”

She stepped out.

“What’s going on?” Avery demanded. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Ryder said Jonathan was here, and you were upset.”

“He said that?”

“Well, he said your ex-asshole came by and stirred you up. I figured it out. What the hell was that dickhead doing here?”