by Karen Booth
“I did. She was everything. She was sweet and kind and beautiful. She was generous and giving.” There it was. There was the essence of what was eating away at him from the inside. He turned his head and felt brave enough to look Astrid in the eye. “She was so much like you. Or at least she pretended to be. At first.”
Astrid froze for a moment and dropped her head, then pinched the bridge of her nose as if she had the worst headache in the world. He knew he was doing that to her and the realization killed him. “I’m not your ex-wife, Clay. If I seem to have some of the same qualities, I’m not the same person. I could never, ever do the things that she did. Lying to my husband? Stealing his money? Leaving behind my child? Never.”
“So you know the whole story. I don’t even have to tell you.” He sat back in his seat and shook his head. Here he’d thought he would need to come clean and she already knew.
“I didn’t know about your mom. Miranda told me the rest. The night she helped me pick out my dress. It was only because she cares about you so deeply. I didn’t say anything because you don’t like it when I get too personal.”
“And then I went and made things extra personal the other night.” Should he be regretting his decision to sleep with Astrid? He didn’t want to.
“No. We both did that. I wanted that. I needed it.” She took his hand and pulled it into her lap, stroking his palm with her fingers. “I don’t regret it. I won’t. I refuse.” She sucked in a breath so deep it made her shoulders rise up around her ears. “But it did mean something to me. It meant a lot. When I tried to act all nonchalant the next morning, that was a lie. That wasn’t what I was really thinking.” Her wide eyes scanned his face, as if she was looking for some sort of answer.
“If we can’t be honest with each other, I don’t see how we could ever be involved.”
“I was protecting myself. You’re doing the same thing. I don’t see a difference. Would it have made it easier that morning if I had protested? Begged you to want more from me? I won’t do that, Clay. I do have some self-respect.” She got up from the sofa, dropped the second half of her cookie in the bakery bag and threw it in the trash. “Maybe this was all a mistake. Maybe we need to accept that and move on.”
“I hate that word. Mistake.”
“And yet you use it all the time. I’m guessing it’s gone through your head many times as pertains to me.”
“If anyone made a mistake, it was me.”
She shook her head in disbelief. There was also some disdain mixed in with her expression. This was what he deserved—her scorn. “Thanks. That makes me feel even worse.” She reached for the doorknob and he bolted up from the couch.
“Astrid. Wait. Stop.”
She turned her head so fast her hair whipped in the air. “What?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Again, I don’t want apologies.”
“Then what do you want?”
Her eyes softened. “I’ve asked myself that question many times since Friday night. And I’m still not entirely sure of the full answer, but I do know a few things. I want a family. I want a career. And I want love. Real, passionate, unquestioning love. I want the sort of love that lasts. Forever. I know now how hurt you have been. And I appreciate that. But I’ve been hurt, too. And I’m not going to put my heart on the line for someone who simply isn’t capable of returning my feelings. You aren’t the only one with skin in the game.”
Clay held his breath. She was right. So damn right. And he was a fool. “I know that. I do.”
She let out another exasperated sigh. “I care about you, Clay. But I think this is another illustration of how infrequently you and I are on the same page. So perhaps we should focus on work, since that’s the part of our relationship that impacts other people. Let’s try to get along and get through the Seaport project. As near as I can see, that’s our best case scenario.”
It didn’t sound like much of a best case to him, but he didn’t have a retort. He’d stirred up the confusion, and he was the person always arguing for a sensible course of action. Astrid’s idea was practical. Logical. Nobody would get hurt. “I agree. You’re right.”
“Bye, Clay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Astrid opened the door and marched out of his office.
He leaned against the jamb and watched as she walked away. He’d hoped he might feel better after opening up. Instead, he felt as though he was right back where he was before he and Astrid ever went to Los Angeles.
Nine
It had been a hell of a week and it was only Thursday. Astrid couldn’t stop thinking about her conversation with Clay and everything he had been through. She liked him—a lot—but did she really want that much trouble in her life? Her existence with Johnathon had been hard. Years of vying for his attention and affection, month after month of infertility treatments, and ultimately, the realization that the love between them turned into something far less warm and caring than she ever would have wanted. What if that happened again?
At work, she and Clay had returned to their old dynamic, but there was a layer of unease in the air that hadn’t been there before. That was saying a lot—their interactions before LA had been plenty uncomfortable at times. Perhaps it was all in her head and Clay wasn’t thinking about her at all, or about the things she’d lobbed back in his court. She hoped that wasn’t the case and that he’d taken at least some of it to heart. Yes, he had been hurt, badly. But he wasn’t the only one carrying around battle scars. At some point, he was going to have to admit that he might not be protecting his heart. He might be slowly smothering it to death.
For tonight, Astrid would have a distraction from her turmoil over Clay. Tara and Miranda were coming over for dinner. That was fraught with its own complications. Miranda had figured out what happened between Astrid and Clay. Astrid was legitimately surprised she hadn’t received a phone call about it during the week, but she was certain that meant it was going to come up in conversation. With Tara there, Astrid wasn’t sure how it would all shake out.
Tonight would mark the first time the wives had ever met at Astrid’s penthouse apartment in downtown San Diego. All previous gatherings of the three wives had happened at Tara’s or Miranda’s, aside from the times they’d convened at places like Ruby’s to shop for Astrid’s dress, or on much sadder occasions like Johnathon’s funeral or the lawyer’s office for the reading of his will.
That day seemed as though it had happened a decade ago, but it had only been a few months. Astrid had never bargained on becoming business partners with either of them, let alone both, but that had been exactly what happened when Johnathon split his shares of Sterling Enterprises between them. For the most part, she liked Tara and Miranda very much, and she was grateful that he had managed to bring them together after his death. Was that what he had always wanted? For the three of them to be friends? She could see his ego trying to engineer that—three women he’d once loved, united because of him. In her mind, it was an awfully prideful pursuit, but that was Johnathon—he bent the world to suit his needs. Astrid needed to take a page out of Johnathon’s book and start doing the same for herself.
Astrid’s personal chef had come over yesterday to prepare tonight’s meal, which she merely had to heat and serve. On the menu was honey-glazed salmon with roasted vegetables. For dessert, they had chocolate mousse. Astrid didn’t believe in not satisfying her sweet tooth every chance she got. Life was too short.
Tara and Miranda arrived together, Tara with a bottle of wine. She was dressed in all black—silk blouse and tailored trousers, an elegant ensemble that made her look every bit the powerful and in-control woman. “I wasn’t sure what you were serving, but I figured we couldn’t go wrong with a nice chablis.”
Astrid accepted the gift, instantly recognizing the label. “Oh, I love this wine. Johnny took me to the winery every time we went to France. He loved it there.”
“It’s so cute
when you call him Johnny.” Miranda looked radiant in a plum-colored dress that showed off her raven hair and her growing baby bump.
Astrid was embarrassed. “It’s an old habit I need to get rid of. No one else called him that.”
Miranda smiled and patted Astrid’s shoulder. “I understand. We all have our special memories of Johnathon. For me, one was that winery in France.” She gestured to the wine bottle. “Because he took me there, too.”
“Same,” Tara said. “And for the record, he found out about the winery from me. I was the wine aficionado in our marriage.”
The three wives exchanged knowing glances. It did feel as though they were learning new things about Johnathon all the time, simply from spending so much time together.
“Interesting. He always framed himself as the expert.” Astrid led them into the heart of her apartment, with its open floor plan, high ceilings, and admittedly unpractical color scheme of nothing but white and cream. She had everything she could ever want here, a spacious living space, a formal dining room, and state-of-the-art gourmet kitchen. There was only one bedroom, but it was a generous size and so comfortably appointed with high thread-count bedding in shades of cream and pale gray that Astrid sometimes referred to as her cocoon. It had a spa-like bathroom with a separate shower and a two-person soaking tub, plus a walk-in closet even she had a difficult time filling. Still, as perfect as her home was, it was a solitary existence living alone perched atop a skyscraper. She sometimes felt like a princess shut away in a tower.
“Your place is stunning.” Miranda was drawn to the windows at the far side of the apartment. On the twentieth floor, it had incredible views of the city and the bay, especially at night, when lights twinkled like diamonds against the backdrop of an night sky.
“Thank you. Johnathon bought it for me soon after we started dating. He wanted me in San Diego more often, but I wasn’t about to move in with him when we’d only known each other for a month. Now that I look back on it, it seems a little crazy.”
Miranda nodded and turned back to Astrid. “He did like to push things along quickly, didn’t he? I felt like our courtship was so fast. We were dating, then we were engaged and married, all within six months.”
Astrid’s stomach soured, just thinking about that particular sequence of events. Somewhere in the midst of that, Johnathon flew to Norway and seduced Astrid, without saying a peep about his new love.
“I think he took things faster as he got older,” Tara offered. “We dated for over a year before he popped the question. Now I know that some of that had to do with Grant.”
“Really?” Miranda asked, taking a seat on the white linen sofa in Astrid’s living room.
“I’ll get the wineglasses while Tara tells us this story. I want to hear every last thing. Miranda, what can I get you to drink?”
“Sparkling water, if you have it.”
“Coming right up.” Astrid ventured to the wet bar on the opposite side of the room, first serving Miranda’s drink before opening the wine and pouring herself and Tara each a glass. She joined Miranda on the couch while Tara sat in one of two high-backed upholstered chairs.
“You know, I met Grant and Johnathon the same night,” Tara said.
“I guess I didn’t know that,” Miranda said.
“Grant and I had serious sparks, but Johnathon was the one who pursued me, so I figured that my connection with Grant was all in my imagination. I didn’t know this until recently, but he and Johnathon butted heads about it several times. We’re talking very heated arguments. That’s part of why I got forced out of Sterling Enterprises at the beginning. Grant told Johnathon that he couldn’t work with both of us, and of course, Johnathon wasn’t about to get rid of his best friend. I was already his wife. I wasn’t going anywhere.”
“So guilt was the reason he gave you a third of his shares in the company?” Miranda said coolly. She’d made it clear from the beginning that she felt Johnathon had shortchanged her.
“I take it that still bothers you?” Tara asked.
“Well, of course it does, but my beef is with Johnathon, not with you two. I really appreciate that we’ve found a way to come together.” She took a sip of her sparkling water and set the glass back down on the coffee table. “I don’t have any family other than Clay and Delia. I don’t have more than a handful of close friends. The interior design business is incredibly competitive. People will be nice to your face and then they’ll stab you in the back. It might be counterintuitive, but I trust you two. I guess it’s because Johnathon trusted you, too.”
The guilt was bearing down on Astrid with unrelenting force. If Miranda trusted her now, it would be destroyed if Astrid’s secret was ever revealed. Perhaps it would be better if she simply came out with it. But then again, it would cause so much pain. Miranda would feel betrayed by the man whose baby she was carrying and that could never be resolved. She’d never be able to speak to him and work it out, find out why he’d done what he’d done. It would forever change her image of the man she had loved so greatly. Astrid took a deep breath and a healthy gulp of her wine. No, she would live with the secret and keep it from hurting anyone else.
Her secret aside, Astrid had a different unpleasant topic she had to bring up. “Since we’re discussing Johnathon, I’m afraid I have to let you both know that we can’t name the Seaport park after him if we get the project. The city is retaining naming rights.”
“That’s not terribly surprising,” Tara said.
“It’s still disappointing.” Miranda placed her hand on her belly. “I had visions of taking the baby to that park, and being able to tell them that it was named after their father.”
Astrid could hear the heartbreak in Miranda’s voice. They were all still grieving, but Miranda was the closest to the loss. “I’m sorry. I really am. If there was anything I could do about it, I would have.”
Miranda sniffled, but nodded. “I know you would have. I don’t blame you.”
The timer went off in the kitchen. “That’s dinner,” Astrid said. “If you two want to take your seats at the dining table, I’ll bring it out.”
“I’m going to run to the ladies’ room first,” Miranda said.
“Down the hall on the left.” Astrid got up from her seat and headed into the kitchen.
Tara trailed behind Astrid. “Let me help.”
Astrid was putting on a pair of oven mitts. “The plates are right there.” With a nod she gestured to the kitchen island. She pulled out a large sheet pan and set it on a trivet. “Tara, can we talk about something?”
“Of course.” Tara watched as Astrid removed foil from their meal, steam billowing in the air. “That looks and smells amazing.”
“Thanks. My chef made it for us.”
“What did you want to talk to me about?” Tara leaned back against the counter.
“Remember the day you introduced me to Clay and I saw the picture from Miranda and Johnathon’s wedding?”
Tara’s eyes went wide. “And everything you told me afterward?”
Thank God Astrid didn’t have to explain it further. “Yes. That.”
“What about it?”
“I just want to be sure we will always keep it between us.”
“Oh, of course.” Tara stole a roasted carrot from the pan. “That needs to be forgotten. Someone will just get hurt.”
“Who’s getting hurt?” Miranda appeared in the kitchen doorway.
“Nobody,” Tara and Astrid said, nearly in unison.
“Then what were you talking about?”
“There’s a paper shredder in the office that has a mind of its own,” Tara blurted, somewhat unconvincingly.
“Then throw it out.” Miranda narrowed her sights on Tara.
“Smart. We’ll do that.”
Astrid could finally exhale. “Everyone hungry? I think this is going to be good.�
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“I’m starving,” Miranda said.
“Good. Because we have tons of food.” Astrid dished up each plate and they took them to the dining table. Astrid appreciated that she could keep things informal with Tara and Miranda.
Tara raised her wineglass for a toast. “To Johnathon Sterling’s three wives. May we always get along.”
Miranda laughed and shook her head. “That’s not particularly optimistic.”
Tara shrugged. “You never know what’s going to happen.”
Astrid knocked back the last of her first glass of wine and poured herself a refill. Tonight might be a big test of her nerves.
“So, Astrid. Any highlights from your trip to Los Angeles you care to share?” Miranda asked the question with a tone that said Astrid had better spill it.
Okay, then. That had happened lightning fast. “You’re talking about me and Clay?”
“Yes.” Miranda nodded then took a bite of her salmon. “Delicious.”
“Did I miss something?” Tara asked.
“You could say that.” Miranda jumped in with response before Astrid had a chance.
“You two weren’t arguing on that trip, were you? I honestly don’t understand it.”
Astrid was desperate to take control of the conversation. This game was grating on her nerves. “Clay and I slept together.” She shot a pointed look at Miranda, then Tara, before stabbing a sweet potato with her fork. Astrid kept herself composed, hoping to hell that neither of them would ask for details.
“What happened?” Tara asked.
Well, that didn’t last for very long. “Part of it was because we ended up in the same hotel room. You said you were going to put us in separate rooms, but that’s not what the hotel had for us when we arrived.”
“That’s your excuse?” Tara set down her napkin. “You’re a shareholder in the company and you slept with one of your coworkers?”
Astrid shot her a pointed stare, doing her best to convey just how ridiculous Tara was being right now. “Are you kidding me? What about you and Grant? One could argue that was far worse. You two were both in positions of power, and you didn’t do a very good job of hiding it, either. At least I didn’t kiss someone on the Kiss Cam at a Major League baseball game.”