“I don’t think so. Leslie and I have been together for over three years, so I wouldn’t consider it rushing into anything.” Gideon said the words with a deep-seated calm that he absolutely did not feel. Inside, his stomach roiled and his head hurt.
“What the hell are you talking about?” bellowed his grandfather, suddenly sitting up abruptly.
“Calm down, dear.” Iva had already begun to soothe the troubled waters. “Can’t you see that Gideon is in shock?”
“In shock? Of course he’s in shock, Iva—for God’s sake, he’s marrying the wrong woman! He’s going to make the same mistake I made—three times!”
“Gideon, I’m sure that you knew your grandfather and I were expecting you’d be announcing your engagement to Fiona—not Leslie. And although it’s none of our business” —these last words were accompanied by a black glare at her husband— “if you’d like to talk a little about what happened, we’d listen.” Her round cheeks seemed deflated, and a paler pink than usual, and the glint usually smiling in her eyes had disappeared. It was definitely pity and concern that he saw there—neither of which he felt like responding to.
“It wasn’t going to work out with Fiona,” he told them simply. “We both realized it before it was too late, thank goodness. We’re just not from the same worlds. Leslie’s more my type, and I just decided it was time to stop messing around with a bit of eye candy. My life’s more serious than Fiona’s. She just doesn’t get it.”
As he spoke those last words, he didn’t need to see the expression on Iva’s face to realize how arrogant they sounded. The taste of something bitter filled his mouth and he looked down and away from the disappointed expression on her face.
“It’s very sudden, Gideon. Just last Friday, I was at the shop with Fiona and you’d—er—been there the night before. And now suddenly you’re announcing your engagement to Leslie. Is there something else going on here?”
He might as well tell them. It was going to be obvious soon enough. “Leslie’s pregnant. I told her we would get married.”
Grandfather opened his mouth to speak, but a warning look from Iva magically silenced him. He closed his mouth, but his cheeks became mottled as he fought to control his reaction.
“The baby is yours?” Iva asked.
“I assume it is. She didn’t tell me otherwise. And she wasn’t interested in getting married at first—I’ve had to insist—so I know it wasn’t some kind of manipulation on her part. I’m not completely oblivious to feminine wiles.” He glanced at Iva. “It was my choice.”
Gideon drew in a deep breath and spewed it out slowly. “She gave me the whole argument that it was better for the child not to get married if the parents weren’t in love, and that she was more than financially capable of raising the baby on her own with a nanny. She said I could be as involved with the child as I wanted to, but that there was no reason for us to get married. I told her that was ridiculous and that I wasn’t about to let my child grow up without a father.” The unspoken words “like I did” hung silently in the air.
“It’s the right thing to do,” Gideon Senior said, nodding sagely. “Your responsibility is your responsibility and you’re right to own up to it, Gideon.”
Iva didn’t speak. She took a sip of tea and looked at him, then at her husband, and then back again.
“I’ll be bringing Leslie to the Children of Philly Fundraiser at the Art Museum. You’ll have a chance to meet her again then.”
“Are you going to tell your father?” his grandfather asked.
Gideon set his water glass down, but kept his fingers wrapped around it. “Yes. I’ll visit him next week.”
~*~
The last time he’d visited his father was Christmas, and Gideon refused to feel guilty about that fact. He signed in and was approved to enter the prison, and then strode down the long, white, empty halls.
In the last two weeks, his life had flipped from one of laughter, freedom, and pure happiness to one of duty and seriousness. He had enough to feel guilty about. Not visiting his father wasn’t going on the damned list too.
Gideon took his seat at the table spliced by a wall made of clear Plexiglas. He watched as Gid, as his father preferred to be called, preceded a guard and sat down on the other side of the wall. Both men picked up the heavy black telephone receivers that would allow them to speak to each other.
“Long time no see.”
Gideon swallowed a sharp retort. “Hello Gid.” He’d long since stopped thinking of him as Dad, or even Father.
“To what do I owe this honor?”
“Thought I’d let you know that I’m getting married.” Gideon focused on keeping his fingers from tapping nervously on the counter in front of him.
“Well, that’s nice of you.” His words sounded sincere, and when Gideon looked up, what he saw in his father’s face matched the tone of his words. “I’m glad you’ve found someone.”
“Thanks.”
Silence yawned.
“You gonna tell me about her? Is she that redhead Dad was telling me about?”
Gideon snapped his eyes up again. “No…no, it’s not her. She was too…flighty. Not serious enough. We didn’t have a lot in common. I’m going to marry a woman more like me—down to earth, professional, focused, aggressive. She’s the CEO of a company that just went public and is doing quite well.”
“Sounds a lot like you…and your grandfather. Tell me about this redhead who’s not serious enough. Dad made it sound like you two were destined for the altar.”
Gideon suppressed annoyance at his grandfather’s interference, as well as his father’s pointed questions. He didn’t want to talk about Fiona. He wanted to forget about her.
Yet…the conversations he had with his father—meaningful ones, anyway—were so few and far between that he felt compelled to continue. Perhaps it was a desire for Gid to understand how he’d molded Gideon’s life through his own sense of irresponsibility—how, because of his unrealistic pipe dreams and desire to live only for the moment, he had been not only a terrible father, but had created a son who was compelled to be so completely opposite of him.
“She’s fun and beautiful and carefree. I enjoyed being with her, but in the end we decided that we didn’t have enough in common to be together. Our relationship was too distracting, and she wasn’t serious enough. She just didn’t have enough focus in her life…enough goals.” He glanced at his father—still handsome even with graying hair and sagging cheeks.
Gid frowned and looked down. “You know, Gideon, I know that you think I’m the biggest prick that ever tried to be a father—and you’re somewhat justified in thinking so—but you’re still my son, and I still have an interest in your life.
“I’m 58 years old and’ll be in here for another ten years, and then maybe I’ll get out on parole. I’m here because I allowed myself to get too caught up in instant gratification, short-term pleasure, and my own addictive weaknesses. And I know it, and I’m paying for it. But I don’t want to see you do the same thing.”
Gideon gaped at his father. “That’s absurd! I never live for the instant pleasure—I plan and work and focus, I have goals, and I’m damned if I’ll ever get caught up in fanciful dreams in order to be a fashionable starving artist like you. I’m nothing like you.”
“That’s my point, Gideon. You’re so sure you’re going to end up like me that you’re swinging hard in the opposite direction—and your life’s nothing but structure and work and duty. Just like your grandfather’s. I was just as determined as you are to be the exact opposite of my father that I did the same thing.”
His father’s voice was earnest and he leaned toward the glass, his deep-set eyes serious. “Gideon, I only talk to you once every month or two months…and only see you a couple times a year—but I can see that you need balance in your life. You need a little fun and a little free spirit and a little creativity. A little art. Letting that in isn’t going to end you up in prison like me. Not letting yourself loos
en up will turn you into my father—or at least the way he was before Iva.
“Do you want to spend sixty years of your life like that before you realize you made a mistake?”
Chapter Nineteen
Why oh why had she agreed to this?
Fiona glowered at herself in the tall oval mirror and adjusted her sparkling, bronze-colored gown. It brushed the floor and hugged each one of her curves from throat to hip in a shimmering display.
Her shoulders and back were bare, but the gown was high-necked with a choker-like collar that made her look even taller than she was. With her hair piled high on the top of her head, she looked like she imagined a Greek goddess would look, especially if she were a statue cast in new copper.
She leaned forward to brush on shiny cinnamon lipstick, then glanced at the clock. Barnaby would be here at any moment.
Why oh why had she agreed to go with him?
He’d been so insistent, and Fiona had felt so…confined since breaking things off with Gideon. She hadn’t felt like going anywhere or doing anything.
This was not only a chance to get out of the house, but to enjoy one of her favorite places in an unusual and special way: the annual Children of Philly Fundraiser was being held at the Art Museum. It was after hours, and the patrons would have the opportunity to see the new van Gogh/Gauguin display before it opened to the public.
Barnaby, of course, wouldn’t miss such a public relations opportunity, and he’d asked Fiona to be his companion.
She heard the knocking on her front door and snatched her black beaded shawl and matching handbag from the table.
“Good evening Barnaby,” she said, opening the door wide enough for him to come in. He looked very debonair in his tuxedo, but, like Dylan, he just didn’t do a thing for her hormones.
This was a bad idea. Maybe she could still get out of it.
“You look gorgeous!” he said, literally gawking as he stood on the threshold. “Fiona, you will be the belle of the ball. I will be the envy of every man there.”
Hmm. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have her ego stroked like this all evening. She could probably suffer through some excellent food and wine on the elbow of the next State Senator if he was going to talk to her like that. After all, a woman needed her confidence shored up every once in awhile.
“I have my car below. Are you ready?” He offered his arm, crooking his elbow, and Fiona reluctantly slipped her hand through it.
Now that she was closer to him, she realized how overpowering his cologne was. His campaign manager should let him know to ease off on it, or he’d be making the babies he was kissing sneeze.
That quirky thought made her smile, and lightened her thoughts as she settled into the sleek Jaguar. It purred like its namesake and the ride from Manayunk to the Art Museum was smooth but filled with Barnaby’s chatter about his latest public appearances.
He dropped the car with a valet at the entrance to the museum, and they climbed the steps that Rocky made famous, up and into the looming, columned building.
~*~
Gideon froze when he caught sight of the elegant couple entering the marbled lobby of the Museum. He stared from across the room as his fingers tightened around a rock glass.
It was Fiona.
With Barnaby Forth.
Leslie shifted beside him, bumping into his arm, and he barely noticed when she turned to look up at him. “Gideon? Whatever is the matter?”
Without waiting for him to respond, she looked over. “Is that who I think it is?”
“Who’s that?” he asked with nonchalance. Lord, he was getting good at faking that.
“It is her. She’s striking—especially in that unusual gown with those long legs and all that hair.”
Those long legs and all that hair had been wrapped around him many times. Gideon swallowed a drink of club soda and suddenly wished for something stronger.
“I can see why you were attracted to her.”
The amazing thing was that Leslie didn’t sound jealous or concerned or put out by the fact that he couldn’t turn his attention away from Fiona. Maybe she was just as good at faking nonchalance as he was.
He looked down at her. “Yes, she’s very beautiful. But it’s over between us—you don’t have anything to worry about.” As he spoke, he realized he was saying it for his own benefit more than for hers.
“I’m not worried whatsoever, Gideon. This was—”
Whatever she was about to say was interrupted by the arrival of Gideon Senior and Iva, accompanied by some of his grandfather’s cronies from law school.
They exchanged pleasantries with Ben Laslow and Gordon Yonke and their wives, and Gideon trained his attention on the conversation at hand and away from the distraction across the room.
His reprieve was short-lived, however, when Gordon Yonke suddenly said, “Don’t I know that woman?”
The group’s attention turned as one, fixating on the cinnamon and bronze column of woman standing next to Barnaby Forth, only yards away. Gideon’s heart surged, choking him, and he suddenly recalled how Yonke knew Fiona. He should be glad she wasn’t with him—these conservative folk would remember her as the odd, gypsy-like woman who told their futures.
“Yes, Gordon, she was doing those palm-readings at that fundraiser a few months ago,” his wife told him. “You talked about her for weeks after.” She turned and called, “Yoo hoo! Over here!” and waved to get Fiona’s attention.
Gideon’s feet were nailed to the floor. If he could have, he’d have bolted out of the room. All he could do, however, was stand there with a fixed half-smile on his face as his pieces of his world merged and distorted like the insides of a kaleidoscope.
Fiona saw the group, and allowed herself and Barnaby to be called over. “They must recognize you,” she started to say to her escort as they approached…and then her voice trailed off when she saw Gideon with his grandparents and the still-slender Leslie.
“Great,” Barnaby murmured. “Let’s charm some votes out of these blue bloods.” Then as they walked up, he extended his hand with a hearty greeting and shook hands all around the little group. “Nath. Pleasure to see you again. Always seem to be running into you at these things, eh?”
“I remember you, dear,” said one of the ladies whom Fiona faintly remembered. “You were reading our palms at the Bryn Mawr Country Club.”
“Oh, yes,” Fiona replied, darting a glance at Gideon. He stood just outside of the little group, his mouth anchored to one side in some sort of expression that could have been a smile. Despite the frozen look on his face, he looked so good it made her stomach flutter and her mouth water. He’d recently had his hair cut, and although that stern look still graced his face, she could see the warmth and emotion he hid so well.
She remembered how carefree he was when he smiled, and how heated his expression could be when he was trying to argue a point—nothing like that molded, clay face with no emotion.
“Good evening,” she said, turning to greet Gideon Senior. She shook his hand, remembering with a pang how much she’d enjoyed the blustery man and his wife, who was looking at her as though trying to see into the depths of her mind. “Hello Iva. I haven’t seen you around the shop since we found those letters of Valente’s.”
Now why had she said that? The last thing she wanted to do was make Iva feel uncomfortable for not visiting her. Of course she couldn’t visit her any more. Fiona had dumped her grandson—who was going to marry someone else.
“And it’s Leslie, isn’t it?” Fiona put sincere warmth in her voice and made sure she made good, solid eye contact with the elegant brunette who was standing hip to shoulder with the man she loved. “Congratulations to both of you.”
With the last phrase, Fiona finally looked at Gideon, head-on, and when their eyes met she was stunned at the blankness—bleakness—there. His eyes contained emptiness, only emptiness, and she couldn’t suppress her own wave of grief.
She shook Leslie’s hand, but Fiona couldn’
t make herself touch Gideon, especially on his hands. Before he even had the chance to offer, she turned to the other couples, who she barely knew and who would be a wonderful camouflage, and reintroduced herself to them.
The ladies babbled about her palm-reading and even the men—for all the stiff-necked properness of their old money and power—acted fascinated by her talent.
“You’ve never read my palm, Fiona,” Barnaby said with an inflection of intimacy that made her cringe. She’d never even allowed him to kiss her, let alone given him cause to use that tone. “I’d like to know if I’m going to win the election. Can you tell me that?”
Fiona laughed brightly, studious in keeping her gaze from checking Gideon’s reaction to Barnaby’s comment. “I can’t tell you if you’ll win this election in particular…but I should be able to tell you whether you’ll find success.” Glad for the distraction, despite how it had come about, she took Barnaby’s hand and turned it palm-up.
The Shop of Shades and Secrets (Modern Gothic Romance 1) Page 24