The confining dress she wore made it hard enough to breathe, but the sight of Simon walking down the hall made the simple act impossible. His beautiful face, usually graced with a grin and smiling eyes, was currently an unreadable mask, devoid of emotion.

Mary couldn't turn away as he entered the kitchen, her gaze locked on his, brilliant blue aimed at her. The warm summer day cobalt colour from this morning replaced by a crisp winter morning cerulean sent shards of ice into her heart. She had done this to Simon. Turned the sweet man who selflessly offered her everything she wanted into this statue. Her eyes flickered to Finn, standing behind his brother and saw for the first time a similarity of character between the two men. Detachment.

She thought back to the day she walked in on Finn and Emily in her Aunt's hospital room. How his body had stiffened, his face like granite. Cold blue eyes glaring at her, the only hint at the turmoil stirring inside. Simon wore that mask now. And she had put it there.

Her body swayed in his direction as if drawn to him and she might have followed her instinct had Hunter not placed his hand on hers and asking her, "You never told me this Mary?"

Tearing her gaze from Simon, Mary found her father staring at her before she turned to Hunter. "Sorry?"

"That you know Leif Stewart." Hunter squeezed her hand. "The Senator and I have been following his political career. His affordable housing initiative is impressive."

"Emily knows him better than I do." Mary looked at her sister. "Didn't you help him out of a jam last year?"

"Hardly. I offered a little legal advice, that's all." Emily kissed her husband as he strode by and disappeared out the sliding patio door.

"That's my daughter. Ever the modest one." Phillip stepped up to the kitchen counter, placing his glass half full of lemonade onto the marble surface. "Both my daughters underestimate their talents."

Mary studied the pink polish on her free hand where a small chip had formed on the nail of her ring finger and tried to ignore the undertones of her father's words. But his message was obvious; she had her future in her hands and shouldn't squander her opportunity with Hunter. She could practically hear him whispering in her ear, "Focus on Hunter, not the local bartender."

"Mary is very talented. Least of which is her ability to draw."

She blinked and found Simon watching her, the features of his face smooth but not as crisp as before. A wave of warmth washed over her. They'd only talked a little about her love of the art, but of course Simon remembered. Defended the thing that made her happy.

"I didn't know you liked to draw?" Hunter demanded her attention.

Mary offered him a weak smile, the metal piping in her dress digging into her side at the movement. "Only a little. It's more of a hobby."

"Silly childhood stuff." Phillip brushed fading blond hair off his forehead. "Now, if you want a party organized, Mary is your woman. Wonderful hostess."

Hunter ignored her father. "I'd like to see some of these drawings. Will you show me?"

Mary felt heat blossom on her cheeks. "If you want."

Emily opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of black-and-white checkered oven mitts. "I'm sure we'd all like to see them."

"I'll do it." Finn, having come back inside, took the gloves from his wife. "You sit. Simon and I can finish dinner."

Emily placed a hand on her husbands' arm and smiled at him. Thankful to Finn for distracting the group from the conversation about her useless hobby, Mary popped off her stool and took her sister's arm. "Yes, Emily, let's leave the cooking to the professionals."

As she guided Emily away from the kitchen, Mary caught Finn's eye and thought she may have seen a note of approval in his look. Her gaze drifted to Simon, hoping for a similar expression, but her stomach clenched at the return of the hardened mask on his face. What had she said wrong?

Humid air caressed Mary's bare skin as they stepped onto the stone patio. She knew better than to draw a deep breath; the dress resisting such a movement. The crystal glasses on the iron cast table shone in the early evening light, fighting against the oncoming shadows hinting at the end of summer. She didn't know if it was the time of day, time of year or something else, but Mary felt as if she was on a precipice, everything set to change. Pull back onto the solid safety of the rock or fall forward into an unknown void.

Ever since the day her mother died, Mary's motto revolved around security, striving for the sanctuary of the calm surety her mother had provided. Her younger sister Beth took all the risks, reaped the rewards. A husband everyone approved of, two beautiful children, mother of the year. Now Emily joined their baby sister, risking her life for the man she loved, to have a family. Mary was alone in the struggle to return the Montgomery name to its former glory.

"Don't listen to Dad." Emily patted her sister's arm. "Your art is not silly."

Mary let out a mirthless laugh. "It's worthless. I'd never be able to make money from it."

Emily stopped, turned, and took Mary's hand. "It's not all about money, Mary. Sometimes what makes you happy is more important."

Easy for Emily to say. Her husband bought the house they were standing behind as an engagement gift. During his years in the military, Finn saved his pay, invested with an advisor who managed to turn the simple salary into quite the nest egg. Emily didn't have to worry about making her rent at the end of the month, didn't have to scour secondhand clothing shops for designer hand-me-downs appropriate for the club or at the gallery, didn't have to accept Sophie's catering job leftovers as a staple in her diet.

"Of course." Mary slid a chair out for Emily at the head of the table, where their mother would have sat were she still alive. "But I'm happy helping those who can sell their art."

Emily settled in as Mary sat beside her. "Really? Because you don't look it. You appeared miserable in my kitchen."

"That's because you were doing the cooking." Mary tried to joke. "Now Simon and Finn have taken over, I feel better."

"But—" Emily stopped as Hunter and her father exited the house, the latter with a platter in his hands.

Hunter snapped a pair of tongs, making a click, click, click sound. "Finn asked us to start grilling the steaks."

"Have at it, son. Grilling has never been my thing." Phillip deposited the steaks by the barbeque and headed for his daughters. "Did I mention I'm thinking of going to Florida next month?"

Mary barely listened as her father pontificated about his upcoming golf trip, instead worrying about how she'd get through a dinner with Hunter and Simon at the same table. Her stomach turned at the thought of Simon's stoney face, the pain she caused by not being upfront about her relationship with Hunter.

She bit the inside of her cheek. Why was she feeling guilty? It's not like she and Simon were exclusive. They weren't even dating. They both knew what they were doing. Understood the expectations. He was a simple good time she took advantage of when she came to Bridgetown. Like eating at your favourite restaurant.

The lie sat like a stone in her gut. Simon was more than a one-night stand now. After last night, she could no longer deny her affections. The way she'd felt in his arms. The way his mind synced with hers. The way his movements which had always satisfied her, melted the ice in her heart, had moved beyond physical gratification, had stirred a part of her she tried to renounce. Mary Montgomery had feelings for Simon Wainwright. Big feelings. Uncontrollable feelings. Emotions that excited and scared her.

Mary glanced at Hunter tending to the barbeque and tried to drum up the same sensations. There was no doubt Hunter was a catch. He filled out his dark blue jeans and salmon coloured button down as nicely as he did the suits she normally saw him in. He was kind, intelligent, had a good head and heart. She'd be a fool to not fall in love with him.

Yet she didn't love him. She loved someone else.

Her gaze found the reflective glass of the patio door, the reverse of Hunter's image in it, like the universe nudged her to look again at what was being offered to her. Hunter flipped the steaks and the aroma of cooking meat wafted her way. Maybe with enough time, she could love him.

"Why don't you and Hunter come for the weekend.?" Her father interrupted her thoughts. "There's a summit on climate change happening in September and I know a lot of politicians will be there. Might be a splendid opportunity for him."

Mary smiled at her father. "I'm sure he'd like that."

Phillip beamed and her chest hurt. His smile seemed rarer and rarer these days, more and more frown lines etching his tanned face. A trip to Florida was a small price to pay to make her father happy.

"Good, its settled. You and Hunter will join me."

"Join you where?" Finn blocked out the sun as he and his brother set plates of food on the table.

"Florida. Perhaps you and Emily would come down as well." As her father answered, Mary avoided Simon even though she could feel his stare on her.

"Em won't be going anywhere." Finn barked, took a breath and in a quieter tone added, "We're staying close to home."

"Right." Phillip looked contrite. "Of course."

Emily leaned forward in her seat. "Maybe next time Dad."

"Yes, yes. Plenty of time for family trips." Her father tugged at his hair again. "No need to worry."

Mary wasn't convinced. Her father looked anything but not worried. Over the years, when one of his children got so much as a cold, he would fly into a panic, insisting a doctor's visit necessary. His joy at learning Emily was pregnant had been swiftly overshadowed by the news of her illness. Having gone through the same situation with his own wife, their father was a fountain of knowledge on the horrors of the infliction but of no help in the solution. Mary had been part of a conversation where Finn wanted to ban the man from their house. She'd argued he was only concerned, much like Finn himself.

"Steaks are done." Hunter announced. Out of the corner of her eye, Mary watched Simon join him at the barbeque, holding the fresh platter as Hunter piled on the meat. They were of similar height, but Simon's muscular build edged out Hunter's leaner frame. Hunter's tanned skin and dark hair gleamed in the fading light. Simon's tousled chocolate locks and his silly 'I love NY' T-shirt contrasted against the other man's prim and proper attire.

Both men walked toward the table, and Mary looked away, afraid they had caught her staring. She held her breath as they both moved toward the empty chair beside her. Hunter beat Simon, scraping the wrought iron against the stone and sitting. Walking around to the other side of the table, Simon rubbed at his temple as he took the seat opposite Mary, his eyes down.

Hunter jabbed a fork into the nearest steak, plopped it on his plate, and turned to Mary. "How do you like your steak, darling?"

She concentrated on Hunter's question, avoiding any other movement at the table. Keeping her voice steady, she said, "Medium Rare please." Hunter fished around on the plate, found what he was looking for, and added it to her plate.

As he reached for the potato casserole, Simon spoke up. "Wine Mary?"

She looked up at his hand wrapped around a bottle of red, offering to pour some in her glass. She bit the inside of her cheek. What was she going to do? Hunter had told her he wasn't against her drinking. But she'd never done so in his presence, had modelled her behaviour after his preference for abstinence. Simon, on the other hand, knew she loved her wine. She looked at the label and recognized it as her favourite, the one they'd talked about last night over dinner.

Who would she disappoint?