by J. S. Marlo
***
Every Saturday morning, her back propped against two pillows and her laptop on her thighs, Riley waited in bed for Rowan’s video call from Iceland. At 8 a.m., Skype rang, and she eagerly accepted the call.
“Hey, Mom.”
A radiant smile greeted Riley, and for a moment she forgot six time zones and more than 8,000 kilometers separated her from her daughter. “Hello, Ro. You look great. Are you having fun?”
“I’m having the time of my life.” The words exploded from her mouth. “You’ll never guess what happened this week.”
No matter where her daughter turned, she always encountered something new, unique, or thrilling to spice up her life.
“You ventured into a volcanic cave?” It was a wild guess, and Riley secretly hoped to be wrong.
Rowan’s laughter resonated in the bedroom. “No, but I met someone. His name is Bjorn Arnarsson.”
“Bjorn?” Suddenly the volcanic caves didn’t appear as scary as an Icelandic boyfriend.
“Don’t you love his name?” The dreamy intonation in her daughter’s voice and the glee in her eyes attested to her infatuation. “It means bear in Icelandic, and Bjorn is just like a big teddy. All rugged on the outside but all soft and cuddly on the inside.”
Rowan had never had a serious boyfriend, and Riley feared for her heart. The bear had better not brush his paws over her daughter or take advantage of her inexperience, or the next time Riley boarded a plane, she might just make a detour through Iceland. “Where did you meet him?”
“At the university. He gave us a lecture on geysers in English.”
“Is he a professor?” Preferably an old professor with gray hair, missing teeth, and a glass eye.
Rowan’s soft sigh and faraway expression dashed Riley’s hopes.
“He’s a postgraduate student, and in his spare time, he’s a tour guide. We went hiking yesterday then we ate in a charming little pub. I couldn’t read anything written on the menu, and the waitress didn’t speak English. It was so much fun.”
“Will you see him again?” Despite the broken heart that might follow the unforeseen romance, she was glad her daughter was having a great time.
“He’s picking me up in thirty minutes, and I need to get ready. I just called so you wouldn’t worry about me. Say hi to Dad for me. I love you.”
“Love you too, and be care—” Rowan’s face vanished before Riley finished articulating careful.
“Do you need a coffee?” A cup of coffee in his hand, Ollie stood in the doorway of their bedroom. “It’s extra strong,” he teased.
She placed her laptop onto the night table and stretched. “Have you been eavesdropping?”
“Of course.” A bashful smile illuminated his eyes as he approached the side of the bed and handed her the cup. “She’s my little girl.”
Their little girl had grown into a lovely young woman, but she still had her dad wrapped around her little finger. Grateful for the coffee, Riley took a few sips before setting the steamy cup near her laptop. “She’s in love, Ollie.”
“So?” He sat on the bed and pulled her into a tender embrace. “At her age, you were married and had a son.”
“If you’re trying to make me feel better, it’s not working.”
***
Seated on the uncomfortable vinyl chair by Claire’s bed, Blythe rubbed his wife’s hand between his. The soft pink hospital gown she wore blended with the crisp white sheets, accentuating her ashen complexion. How his mother-in-law believed Claire had improved when all the signs pointed to the contrary baffled him.
“I don’t want to fight your mother, darling.” If the roles were reversed, he’d want her to let him go. “How do I make her see what I—”
“Hello, Blythe.”
Without releasing Claire’s hand, he turned sideways.
“Bella?” Her impromptu arrival bemused him. Except for his in-laws and his sister, none of his friends or acquaintances had come in months. “What are you doing here?”
As she walked into the room, her attention lingered on Claire’s bed. “You’re growing increasingly distant.” She stopped by the window, and facing him, she leaned back against the ledge. “I thought you could use a friend before you completely withdraw from reality.”
Friend wasn’t a term that applied to Bella. “I’m fine.” Out of respect for Claire, he didn’t yell. “Go home.”
She pressed her hands over her narrow hips and stared him down. “When I signed the logbook, I saw your name over and over. Coming here every evening and spending the rest of the night alone, like you did when she worked late, won’t change her fate. You need someone to talk to, someone to go out with and share some good times.”
To hear the truth from Bella’s lips was like adding insult to injury. The actress didn’t have his best interest at heart, only her own selfish and self-indulgent needs and desires. He’d rather spend the rest of his life alone than share a minute with her. “Someone like you, I presume?”
“Why not?” A glint lit her eyes, reminiscent of a feline hunting in the dark. “We could go to the studio gala together.”
“I have a date for Wednesday night.” His little sister saved him from attending alone. “And she’s a great confidante.”
“I see.” A sharp edge had crept into her voice. “Do I know her?”
Unwilling to satisfy her curiosity, he gestured toward the door. “Your car is waiting outside. Good night, Bella.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Any trouble booking a different flight?”
Unsure who Andy targeted with his question, Riley looked over her laptop and around the office. Oblivious to her confusion, Paul chewed on the tip of a pen while reading a magazine article.
She leaned back in her chair and studied the man standing near the photocopier with a stack of paper in his hands. “Are you talking to me?”
As he fed another page to the machine, he glanced at her. “I take it you didn’t have any trouble rescheduling your departure for Thursday?”
“Why can’t I leave on Wednesday night?” As much as she racked her brain, she couldn’t think of a reason to stay overnight.
“The gala is on Wednesday night. Didn’t Paul hand you the invite?”
She’d heard of the studio gala, but not about an invitation. “No. He didn’t.”
“I placed it on your desk last week.” Showing no expression, Paul flipped his pen between his fingers. “And if I remember correctly, you discarded it in the top drawer without looking at it.”
“Really?” Disgusted by his machinations, she pulled on the knob. A white envelope with silver letterings stared back at her from the bottom of the drawer. She snatched it. “A magical drawer. How convenient.”
A shrug rippled Paul’s shirt. “If you weren’t so distracted by dinner, you’d have opened it.”
“You—” With tremendous effort, she reeled the insults back before she sank to his level and crumpled the envelope in her right fist.
“You’re welcome.”
Ignoring the obnoxious man, she ripped the seal and pulled two yellow tickets from the envelope. “I’m not expected to attend, am I?”
Suspicion shaded Andy’s face as he eyed Paul and her. “Yes, and bring a guest. Martin has an aversion for odd numbers.”
Her husband worked for a living, and he couldn’t fly in at the producer’s whim, not on two days’ notice. “What if I can’t make it?”
“That, girl, isn’t an option you want to entertain.”
Despite Andy’s advice, she spent the morning mulling over excuses, and as a result, her creativity suffered. She couldn’t wait for lunchtime so she could call Ollie.
***
“Mr. Huxley?”
Busy learning his lines in the privacy of his cubicle, Blythe looked over the page and frowned. A stranger in a fancy suit stood near his desk with a briefcase in hand.
He lowered his script to his lap. “May I help you?”
“Daniel Steeds, at
torney.” Steeds pulled a lone chair from underneath the window and sat with his back to the partition separating his cubicle from Nick’s. “I represent Mr. and Mrs. Randall.”
“Don’t get too comfy, Steeds. You’re not staying long.” The unsolicited lawyer intruded on his rehearsal time. “Why did my in-laws retain your services?”
“I see you’re busy, so I’ll be brief.” He placed his briefcase on his lap and retrieved a document from it. “From what I understand, you entered into a verbal agreement with Mr. and Mrs. Randall regarding your wife’s treatments. Am I correct?”
“I agreed to wait before reaching any decision about Claire’s medical treatment.” In the lawyer’s presence, he carefully chose his words in order to remain as vague as possible. “My in-laws didn’t need to hire you to remind me of our arrangement.”
“They are concerned you may eventually act without their consent.” The lawyer placed the document on his desk near his empty cup of coffee. “They want your written promise you will consult with them before any procedure is performed or ceased.”
“This is a private matter, Steeds.” He loved his wife, and he didn’t want to go to war with her parents, but fear and grief clouded their judgment. “I’m not signing anything. Goodbye.”
The lawyer snapped the clasps of his briefcase shut. “They were hoping to avoid a confrontation. I’m afraid you’ve given them no choice but to seek an injunction.”
“An injunction?” What kind of inane counsel did Steeds offer the Randalls? “Claire is my wife, and I do have power of attorney.”
“Be that as it may, Mr. Huxley, a judge may take other factors into consideration and revoke the authorization.” He stood. “Have a good day.”
The overconfidence Steeds exuded didn’t alarm Blythe, but it irritated him. He tossed the script on top of the legal papers and ran his fingers through his hair. After dinner, he’d stop by his in-laws and try to talk some sense into them.
He stood and walked to the window. Down below, carefree men and women enjoyed peaceful strolls or strenuous runs through the park. To unwind, he was tempted to don a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and go jogging for an hour.
“Hux?” Nick’s head popped over the partition. “If you need a good lawyer, I can give you a few names.”
Terrific. If Nick had overheard the discussion, so had everyone else in the room. By the end of the day, the entire studio would know of his legal difficulties.
***
A weight lifted from Riley’s shoulders. “It’ll be my pleasure to pick you up at the airport. Love you.” As she hung up the phone, she heaved a sigh of relief.
After trying all day to reach Ollie and forsaking her midday run, she’d finally caught him during downtime at the fire station. Ollie would request time off and fly in on Wednesday afternoon. A faux pas had been averted, and as a bonus, she’d get to spend a wonderful evening with her husband.
“Hubby is coming to the gala? How touching.” Paul’s chair scraped over the floor. “Day’s over. I’m out of here before dinner boy shows up. Have fun playing the game you’re playing.”
The tone of his voice, as much as the innuendoes, conveyed his derision.
“How many more times do I need to tell you we’re just friends?”
“Friends?” He exhaled loudly through his nostrils. “His wife is a veggie, and your husband is playing with fire without you. Call the fling with Huxley what you want, but don’t take me for an idiot. Good night.”
How dare he insult my husband and Blythe’s wife. She was done trying to convince him. Anything she told him went in one ear and out the other without stopping in his brain for processing. If at the gala she was forced to sit at the same table as him, the evening might turn into a murder-mystery party.
With murderous intent in mind, she opened her laptop and searched the Internet for women’s clothing stores that stayed open in the evenings. She needed a dress, and she’d prefer not to shop during work hours tomorrow.
“Would you join me for an early dinner? Something came up that needs my attention tonight.”
At the sound of Blythe’s voice, she drew back in her chair. Like a thief in the night, he’d entered the office without her knowledge and managed to sneak within three feet of her desk.
“I’m sorry, Blythe, but I’m going shopping.”
“On a Monday night?” A hint of incredulity wrapped the question. “Why?”
“It’s that gala on Wednesday.” She closed her laptop and stowed it in her bag. “I didn’t get the invitation until this morning.”
“But they were issued two weeks ago. What happened? Did Martin add you at the last minute?”
“It got lost in the mail.” If she told Blythe about Paul’s sleazy scheme to make her look bad, it’d only add to the animosity between the two men. “It’s no big deal, but I still need a dress, and I have two nights to find one.”
As she retrieved her purse from her drawer, he sat on the corner of her desk. “Why don’t you call Oliver, ask him to attend, and pack a dress for you?”
“He’s coming, but unfortunately, there’s nothing in my closet that meets gala criteria.”
“You mean I’ll finally get to meet him?”
Over the phone, Ollie had showed the same enthusiasm at the prospect of meeting Blythe. The two would get along fine. “Yes. Who are you bringing?”
A tender smile swept across his lips. “You’ll meet her on Wednesday night.”
The identity of his date intrigued her. He was a dear friend, but not once had he mentioned the existence of a mysterious woman. After all their dinners together, she should be hurt, and maybe she was a little bruised, but curiosity overshadowed any other feelings. She hugged her purse to her chest and looked into his eyes. “Do I know her? Could you at least tell me her name?”
His head tilted back in laughter. “Her name is Beth, and if you like, I could take you where she bought her dress. It’s open till eight on weekdays.”
Blythe was attentive, charming, and wonderful. The woman was lucky.
“If you give me the name of the store, I’ll take a cab.” Ready to leave, she stood and swung her purse and laptop bag over her shoulder. “That way I won’t interfere with your plans for tonight.”
“Meeting with my in-laws can wait. I don’t know what to tell them that I haven’t already told them anyway.”
That didn’t sound too pleasant. “Would you like to talk about it?”
“Maybe later, but first let’s get you a dress.”
***
Until his sister mentioned the boutique over dinner a few weeks back, Blythe had never heard of Exquisite Creations and Designs in Roverside. The boutique was small, but it offered a wide choice of gowns.
Inside the boutique, racks of dresses were dispersed on the floor, and mirrors lined the walls.
As Riley browsed the racks for a dress, he moved along with her. At the middle of the boutique, behind the sales counter, a high school-aged boy studied their every move.
In the back corner near the dressing rooms, Riley picked an emerald gown from an overflowing rack and held it up to her body. The vibrant shade of green highlighted the glow in her eyes.
“You should try it on.”
One look at the tag, and she put it back. “Too expensive.”
But the dress was gorgeous. He slipped the gown from the hanger, and against her wishes, placed it in her arms. “Please try it on while I check if it’s on sale.”
“This is a waste of time, Blythe. I can’t afford half that price.”
“Please? If you don’t like it, you don’t have to buy it.”
She rolled her eyes and mumbled something about obstinate men before disappearing into the dressing room.
A smile tugged on the corner of his mouth. The woman was as spirited as the wind in the middle of a blizzard.
The high school boy posing as a salesman approached him near the rack. “We received that dress last week. It’s one of a kind, sir.”
“Glad to know. Listen, I need a favor.” Keeping watch on the door of the dressing room, Blythe lowered his voice. “The lady has limited funds. Whichever dress she likes, I want you to tell her it’s been discounted or discontinued or something to that effect.”
“But, sir, I can’t give any discount without authorization from the owner, and she isn’t here.”
Blythe handed the boy his credit card. “I’ll pay the difference.” The gala was a classy event, and Riley deserved a beautiful gown. If Oliver were here, he’d agree with him.
“And how much should I charge the lady?”
“How much is the dress she’s trying on?”
“$389.99.”
“Start at…” He didn’t want to arouse her suspicion by dropping the price too low. “Start at fifty percent off. If she hesitates, add another discount until she accepts. And please, be discreet.”
The lock inside the dressing room rattled. She emerged with a smile. His breath caught in his throat as he stared in absolute wonder at the ethereal creature in front of him. With its single strap over her left shoulder, the gown accentuated the fullness of her breasts, hugged her waist like a lover’s arms, skimmed over her hips, and ended with the hem caressing her ankles.
“Blythe? Are you all right?”
No, he wasn’t. She was stunning, dazzling, beautiful. To attend the gala with her would be an honor…an honor reserved for another man, a man she loved. She belonged with her husband, like he belonged with his wife, his dying wife. “You look amazing, Riley. If your husband were here, he’d buy the dress for you.”
A glimmer flickered in her eyes. “You really think so?”
“Yes, I do.” If she were his wife, he wouldn’t hesitate.
The salesman stepped between them. “You look absolutely fabulous, ma’am. And just so you know, that dress was part of our winter fashion line and is currently fifty percent off.”