The Perfect Divorce!

by Leigh Michaels

  Perfect, Synnamon thought. The ball was well underway, just as she’d planned. The ballroom was a sea of red and pink and white dresses. Her soft pink gown, flattering as it was, wouldn’t be noticed from a distance. She could lose herself in the crowd, and no one would know how long she’d been there.

  The moment her part was played, she could vanish just as easily. Since she was staying in the hotel, she didn’t have to retrieve a wrap. All she had to do was slip up the stairs from the mezzanine to the next floor as if she was seeking out a ladies’ room, then vanish into the closest elevator and to her room. No one would miss her, and she could be on a plane to Phoenix first thing tomorrow morning.

  It was ironic, though, she thought, to find herself staying even for a single night in the hotel that had been Conner’s headquarters during their separation. She wondered which room had been his in those long weeks. Had he been comfortable here?

  And was he comfortable now? She wondered if he was with Nicole tonight, celebrating this day for lovers. Perhaps he was remembering, as Synnamon was, that if everything had gone according to plan, their divorce would have been final today. They’d be finished with it now, instead of having to start all over.

  Stop thinking about that, she told herself, and start looking for Morea.

  A voice came from behind her. “Happy anniversary.”

  She turned too fast, and the slender heel of her shoe skidded on the hardwood floor. Conner’s hand closed on her elbow, steadying her till she could regain her balance. Then he took half a step back, as if to better inspect her.

  What was she supposed to say? Thanks for the good wishes? It would be an idiotic response, but then his greeting had been, too. He didn’t sound happy, and he certainly didn’t look happy. His jaw was tight, and his eyes were turbulent.

  But he still looked marvelous, she thought. His tuxedo fitted like a dream, and the snowy white of his pleated shirt made him look as if he’d just returned from a few days in the sun. For all she knew, of course, he might have. The thought of him lounging on a beach somewhere with Nicole sent a stab of envy through her heart.

  Conner’s voice was crisp. “I thought you said you didn’t intend to come to this affair.”

  Synnamon shrugged. “Morea put the pressure on. You know how she can be. I didn’t realize you were coming, either.”

  “Or you’d have warned me to stay away? It’s just as well, anyway. You’ve saved me a trip to Phoenix.”

  She blinked in surprise.

  “You look puzzled. Have you forgotten about that talk we didn’t finish?”

  Synnamon let her gaze drift across the crowded ballroom. “Well, we can hardly do it here and now, can we?”

  “Why not?”

  “Oh, come on, Conner. You’ve known all this time where I was, so why didn’t you just pick up the phone if you had something to say?”

  “Because by the time Morea told me you’d moved to start the divorce all over again, you were already on your way here.”

  She sighed. “I’m not going to talk about it right now, Conner.”

  “Nobody’s paying any attention.”

  That was true enough, she reflected. They were probably as alone in this corner of the ballroom, even though they were surrounded by five hundred people, as it was possible to be. The dancers’ attention was focused on the music. The spectators were watching the dancers. No one was paying attention to the isolated corners.

  “All right,” she said. “Let’s get it over with. Surely you can’t mean you’re surprised that I’ve filed for divorce again. Why did you think I left, anyway?”

  “Because you needed some time to think—even though you did tell me that we’d talk the next day. Or was that just an out-and-out lie? An excuse so you could get away?”

  The accusation was close enough to the truth that she couldn’t stop the embarrassed flush that rose in her cheeks.

  “At any rate,” Conner went on, “that’s why I didn’t hop on the next plane after you. I thought, once you’d had some distance, a chance to consider… And as long as we’re asking why, I’ve got one, too. If you were planning to leave, why did you practically beg to go to bed with me that night? Was it just a nice little farewell gesture? A goodbye gift?”

  The accusing note in his voice made Synnamon’s heart twist.

  “Were you trying to soothe your conscience by giving me something to remember?”

  “No!” she snapped.

  “Well, that’s some comfort, at least. Unless you mean you did it because you finally decided I wasn’t so bad in bed after all, and you wanted one last thrill to remember.”

  Tears of pain came to her eyes. He was making her precious memory sound unbearably stupid and cheap.

  “Please, Conner. Going over it all won’t do any good.” She braced herself. “Did you take my advice?”

  “Which bit of it?”

  “About talking to Nicole.”

  “Otherwise known as the spanner in the works? What about her?”

  His tone was curt. It was unlike him, Synnamon thought, to be so callous. Upset, certainly. Angry, perhaps. But not uncaring. Not Conner…

  “You don’t need to be cruel,” she said. “What are you going to do about her?”

  “I don’t have much choice, do I? I’ll look for someone else to handle the research and development job.”

  Synnamon was stunned, and the question was out before she could stop herself. “Then she still hasn’t told you about the baby?” She caught her breath, but it was too late.

  “Of course she did.” He sounded impatient. “That’s why she’s going back to her other job, because it’s less complex. It’s also less money, which is why she dithered around so long before making up her mind. But she’ll have more freedom for the baby.”

  The music shifted to a soft and sensual love song, and the ballroom seemed to hush as the dancers slowed to the new rhythm. Synnamon could hear the rustle of air in the balloons above her head. But where Conner’s voice was concerned, her hearing seemed abruptly scrambled. He couldn’t possibly be saying what she thought she had heard.

  “That’s all it means to you?” she whispered.

  “Why should it…” His gaze sharpened on her face. “Oh, no. You don’t think—you can’t think Nick’s baby has anything to do with me.”

  “Doesn’t it?” she asked crisply.

  “No, it doesn’t. Nick has a perfectly inadequate jerk of a lover who isn’t worth the dust on her shoes. He can’t even hold a job, which is why she was so torn between coming to Sherwood and staying where she was.”

  “And Fargo? You were there together.”

  “What about it? I needed help. She came up and gave it. She also cried on my shoulder a lot about how sick she was of the boyfriend’s behavior. And I—” He stopped.

  Synnamon said softly, “You told her how sick you were of me, I suppose?”

  “I did my share of crying on shoulders—in a manner of speaking. But that’s all the farther it went, I swear. My God, Synnamon, what kind of Lothario do you think I am?”

  She shook her head. “It’s all right, Conner. Don’t think I don’t understand, because I do. Our marriage was over, all but the paperwork. Why shouldn’t you be seeing someone else? And Nicole told me herself…”

  But Nicole hadn’t actually said that Conner was the father of her baby, Synnamon realized.

  I assumed that because I loved him so much, she must too. I assumed that no woman could overlook him, that no woman could prefer another man if Conner was around. And if she loved him, then of course her baby would be his, as well.

  Her stomach was churning. She’d had evidence of Nicole’s love, she told herself frantically. She’d never forget the look in Nicole’s face that day she’d stopped by the apartment with flowers and told Synnamon what a lucky woman she was. Nicole had meant every word of it. There had been no mistaking the love in her eyes.

  And maybe she did love Conner, Synnamon thought. The boyfriend might be
no more than a poor substitute for the man she couldn’t have. Or maybe the love Nicole felt was a different kind than Synnamon knew but, blinded by her own experiences and prejudices, Synnamon had been unable to distinguish the difference.

  “I assumed she must love you,” she said, almost to herself, “because I did.”

  Conner might as well have turned to bronze. Not an eyelash twitched.

  The music shifted once again, but Synnamon didn’t hear it. The realization of what she had said and the implications of that admission crept over her like a cold mist, soaking slowly into her bones. “Not that it changes anything, of course.”

  Conner moved then, shifting his feet like a boxer about to leave his corner. He put his hands on his hips. “Did?” he asked quietly.

  She had to go back over what she’d said before she quite understood the question, and then she was forced to admit a grudging respect for the way he’d gone, with a single word, straight to the heart of the matter.

  She was already aching from the strain. Surely it couldn’t get any worse—unless he were to pry. So why not admit the truth, and at least not add the pain of cross-examination? “No,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean past tense. I meant present.”

  She listened to his long, slow intake of breath and the even longer release. Was he counting to ten, she wondered, or did he have to go even higher? “Is that why you ran away? Because you—” the calmness in his voice gave way for an instant “—love me?”

  Synnamon didn’t look at him. “Too much to keep you miserable. If Nicole was your happiness…” She stopped, then said, very softly, “Then I wanted you to be happy.”

  “She’s not. We’ve been friends—no more.”

  “At any rate, that’s sort of beside the point now, isn’t it?” Synnamon turned restlessly from him, staring unseeing through the trellis to the ballroom floor.

  She couldn’t face him. The mere act of looking at him would make it far more difficult to say what she needed to—and it was desperately important that he understand.

  “Beside the point,” she said huskily, “because I don’t think I can do what you want, Conner. I can’t live with you, and love you, and know the only value I have for you is the baby. What if it’s not the son you want? I couldn’t stand to see my little girl rejected as I was—” He hadn’t moved, but she could feel his anger pounding over her as strongly as the sudden hard-rock beat of the band.

  His voice was low and rough. “Dammit, Synnamon, I am not your father—and if Silas was still alive, I could cheerfully kill him for what he’s done to you.”

  The cold fury in his voice sent ice chips up her spine. “I’m sorry,” she managed. “But it’s always been so clear that you were only interested in Sherwood…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Sherwood,” he said finally, “was an attraction.”

  “Tell me something I didn’t know.” Her tone was bitter.

  “So were you, in a very distant kind of way. You’re eye-catching, Synnamon. Beautiful, yes—but it’s more than that. The way you carry yourself and the air of mystery that hangs around you…” He sighed. “But you were so chilly I didn’t seriously consider even trying to get to know you until your father suggested I take you to that party.”

  “Please, Conner,” she begged. “Don’t give me the details. I really don’t want to know how you fixed it up between you.”

  He didn’t seem to hear. “But there was something different about you that night, when I watched you with the employees—not the management team you worked with all the time, but the line workers, the packers, the kids in the shipping department. And I wanted to find out if there was a real woman under that frosty shell.” She turned slowly to face him, eyes wide.

  “That was when I really started watching you and falling for you—but I didn’t want to face up to that. It was too painful to admit that I’d tumbled headlong into love with a woman who didn’t care if I existed.” Tumbled into love? She couldn’t breathe.

  “Who only married me to get away from her father—”

  “I didn’t, really.” She could barely whisper.

  “You did a good job of faking it, then. You didn’t care if it was me in your bed or a stuffed teddy bear— except that the teddy bear would be less demanding and a whole lot more fun to sleep with.”

  She felt embarrassed color rise in her cheeks. “That’s not true. I never rejected you—”

  “No, you didn’t,” he said dryly. “You acted as though you had no say in the matter. You were such a lady in bed that I felt like a criminal every time I thought of making love to you.” Conner cleared his throat. “The first time I ever felt you wanted me—really wanted me— was the night the Contessa died.”

  “I was so lonely that night,” she admitted.

  “But the next morning, you were right back to being the perfect lady. Thanking me—my God, Synnamon, you don’t know how that hurt. And giving my rings back—”

  “I hated the idea that you might be sorry for me. Maybe even feel bound to me because we’d made love.”

  She put one hand to her temple. Her head was spinning. “Is that why you moved to the guest suite? When we were still together, I mean.”

  “You call that being together?” he asked dryly. “Of course that’s why. I wanted you so much, and it was a little easier that way.”

  “I thought you’d gotten tired of me.” Her body was trembling. “That I hadn’t pleased you.”

  With two steps, Conner was beside her, taking her weight against him. “And I thought you were relieved when I didn’t bother you any more.”

  She shook her head violently and clung to him. “My father taught one lesson well,” she said bitterly. “You’re only loved for what you can give.”

  “And since you couldn’t be the son he wanted, he found you worthless.” He held her a few inches from him and looked intently at her. “What is it going to take to convince you that I am not Silas? I don’t care if this baby is a boy or a girl. I don’t care if there’s a baby at all.” He paused. “Yes, I do care. If you’d aborted our child—”

  “I could never do that.”

  “I know that now. Anyway, it isn’t the baby that matters most. It’s you I love, Synnamon. So much that having to face the fact that I couldn’t reach you, that my love wasn’t enough to break through that wall around you, almost drove me crazy.”

  She put her head on his shoulder. “Don’t, Conner.”

  “Maybe it’s better if I tell you all of it, sweetheart.” She considered, and nodded. He pulled her closer and laid his cheek against the top of her head. His voice, soft and level, stirred her hair.

  “To protect myself, I became distant and cold and uncaring. The day you asked for the divorce, it was almost a relief. At least it was over, and I could finally admit that I was a failure at the most important thing I’d ever tried to do.”

  She held him tight, wanting to tell him that he wasn’t the one who had failed. But her voice was incoherent. It was the closeness of their bodies, the warmth of their embrace that eventually soothed them both. She sensed his muscles relaxing and felt her tension easing away.

  A long while later, he raised his cheek from her hair and said, “Will you wear my rings again, Synnamon?” She nodded, and was startled when he shifted slightly and reached into the breast pocket of his tux to pull them out.

  “I never bothered to put them back in the safe,” he admitted. “Sometimes they’ve been a reminder of unbearable pain, sometimes of a moment when I really believed we had a chance. But always a reminder of you.”

  “I know,” she said. “You said the diamond was perfect—hard and cold, and just like me.”

  “But always with the flash of fire,” he said softly, “and the promise of warmth that could keep a man content forever—if I could only reach you and free it.”

  “I wouldn’t have blamed you for writing me off altogether.” The knowledge of how close she had come to disaster, through her misguided efforts at
selfprotection, made her feel sick. “If it hadn’t been for the baby…”

  “I don’t know what I’d have done,” he admitted. “I expect I’d have tried again anyway—because even with my pride in shreds, I couldn’t put you out of my mind. And what did I have left to lose?”

  He cuddled her closer, and Synnamon let her body melt into his. She’d never known what a comfort it was simply to be held. There was one nice thing about the shadowed corners of a formal ballroom, she thought hazily. The casual observer wouldn’t even notice whether a couple was dancing or just embracing.

  It was a long while before she remembered that while they’d solved the most important problem, others still awaited attention. “What are you going to do about research and development?” she asked. “Look for someone else?”

  “I don’t want to,” he said slowly. “The department has already been without a head for too long. If Nick had procrastinated any longer there wouldn’t be anything left.”

  “No wonder you were grouchy all the time.”

  “That, along with not knowing where I stood with you from minute to minute.” He smiled at her. “I suppose I might have been a little testy.”

  “A little?” She leaned more comfortably against him.

  “Actually,” Conner said, “I was thinking I might hire myself. I like research and development, and I miss my lab.”

  Synnamon frowned. “But can you do it all? Now that I have you back, I’d sort of like to see you once in a while. It’s not my decision, of course, but—”

  “But you’re always sensitive to what’s best for Sherwood.”

  “Well, of course I’m interested.”

  He smiled. “Don’t be touchy, darling—that was a compliment. I was wondering if you might consider a change, too. If you were to come back to work as the head of the whole place…”