The Virgin's Proposal. Shirley Jump

an embrace.

      He was halfway out of his seat when his father said, “Have you seen Olivia yet?”

      The mention of his ex-wife was like a stab to Matt’s gut and his father knew it. Why had Matt hoped the heart attack and the years apart would make a difference? Nothing inside Edward had changed. Not a single thing. His heart was forged out of the same cold steel that was used to create the buildings he sold.

      Edward folded his hands together and rested them on the table in front of him, a physical gesture Matt knew meant his father was getting down to business. Matt slowly sipped his water, waiting.

      He watched his father rearrange his silverware until it was in a perfect line perpendicular to the table edge, and thought about the two traits he had inherited from Edward—tenacity and drive. Edward Webster had been penniless when he’d left his parents’ home in Toledo at the age of eighteen. It had taken him seven years of selling commercial properties to save enough money to buy a part interest and the position of vice president in the floundering and grateful Corporate Services. Within two years, Edward owned the company and had renamed it Webster Enterprises.

      Nearly three decades later, it was the largest, most profitable firm in the state. Edward had built it up with his own two hands. For that, Matt admired and respected him.

      But Matt despised the underhanded way his father forced people to do his bidding. Edward Webster used every tool at his disposal—guilt, rage and humiliation—to bring others around to his way of thinking. That was a lesson Matt had learned personally. The night his father had turned on his own flesh and blood had wiped out whatever love and admiration Matt felt and had replaced it with simmering resentment.

      “Matthew,” his father said finally, “you should pay Olivia a visit and try to patch things up. She never remarried, you know. She went back to her maiden name, but that doesn’t mean everything is over between you two. People will talk about your return. There are a lot of questions that were never answered. Not for anyone, especially Olivia.”

      Matt had a few questions of his own for his ex-wife, but he didn’t mention that to his father. “There’s nothing to say, Father. Olivia and I haven’t had so much as a conversation in a decade. Much like you and I.”

      Edward tore a fresh-baked roll in half and applied fat-free margarine in precise, economical movements. He said nothing.

      “I have no plans to resurrect anything with Olivia. We won’t be reconciling for the benefit of the country club.”

      “I don’t give a damn about the country club,” Edward exploded, slamming the butter knife down. “That girl is hurting. She needs you. I will not have a son of mine ignore his wife, ex or not, when she’s still suffering from a horrible loss.”

      Matt popped out of his chair and placed both hands on the table. He leaned forward, his gaze leveled on his father’s face. “You think she’s the only one that suffered? Do you? Do you even consider how I might have felt? No, you think about how your son’s actions might affect your social standing.”

      Edward leaned back in his seat. “That’s not true.”

      “When I walked out that door eleven years ago, I was in more pain than you will ever know.” Matt swallowed and willed the shudders of agonizing memories of that night to stop, prayed for the rage to replace the pain. “Do you remember what you said to me? ‘Think about how this will look.”’ Matt shoved his chair under the table and headed for the door. “That told me exactly how much you cared about my feelings, Father.”

      Matt stormed out and headed for the one place he knew would take the edge off his anger—a bar.