by Roya Carmen
“Oh, I know you won’t. I just don’t trust my own hands.”
He laughs his trademark soft chuckle. “It’s not something I can bring to you. You need to come to me.”
“I’m sorry, but that sounds rather risky.”
Gwen eyes me with curious eyes and a big smile. I keep an eye on Claire and Chloe, mulling over Weston’s words.
“I don’t want any more surprises. Do you understand that?”
“One last time,” he pleads. “I need to show you something and tell you something. It’s very important…too important to discuss over the telephone.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “Can Gwen and the girls tag along?”
“Uh…I’d rather they didn’t. The girls shouldn’t quite see yet, before…”
“Before what?”
“Can you get Gwen to look after them?”
I bite my lip, completely intrigued. He knows me well. He knows I can’t resist a good mystery.
Curiosity killed the cat.
I blow out a breath. “Sure,” I say softly. I am a stupid, stupid kitty.
“How about eight this evening? After dinner. I won’t keep you long.”
“How long?”
“And hour of your time…two, tops.”
I glance over at Gwen, whose ears are glued to my every word. “Can you look after the girls tonight at around eight for two hours?”
She sits up straight. “No problem.”
I chew on my lip. “Will you pick me up?”
“I’ll probably send Edward over, if that’s fine with you.”
“Sure,” I say, realizing my nine lives might just be up.
Edward picks me up at a quarter to eight. He smiles at me, his ruddy face still so familiar.
“Hi, Edward. It’s been a while.”
“Yes, Miss Mirella,” he says. “We’ve missed you.”
I smile as he opens the door for me, and I take a seat on the sleek beige leather, remembering the last time I was here. I had cried the whole ride home. It was the night Weston discovered my tattoo — Gabe’s name inked on my flesh. He had flipped, and had told me I’d always be his.
“The ride won’t be long,” Edward tells me, “about ten minutes or so.”
“How are you?” I ask him, an attempt at small talk.
He perks up. “I’m having a baby,” he tells me, “in three months’ time.”
Me too, I almost want to say. But I’m sure he’s not aware of this little tidbit of info.
“Congratulations,” I offer, a little stunned. Edward is no spring chicken.
“Thanks,” he says. “It’s been a while. Second marriage,” he explains. “My older girls are twenty-one and seventeen.”
There’s so much I never knew about him. I am a bad, bad person. “It’s perfect. They can babysit.”
He laughs. “Well, that’s the plan.”
I fiddle with the hem of my yellow summer dress, still nervous. I had no clue what to wear because I have no idea what’s waiting for me.
We dart across town and head toward familiar territory — Gwen’s posh neighborhood. I want to tell Edward I was just here today, but I keep my mouth shut, in complete shock. Is he bringing me to Gwen’s? Makes no sense.
I first became familiar with this area ages ago when Gabe and I drove through it to check out the beautiful houses. As soon as we entered the serene community, we knew we were in rich-people territory; perfectly manicured lawns, luxury cars, three-car garages. The homes in this enclave are so grand and exquisite, but I still love my house just as much.
It may not be as big, but it has charm. I still remember the day we first saw it, I fell in love. It was perfect, with its Tudor inspired design, dark wooden beams and sleek hardwood floors. The cozy country-inspired kitchen and the large trees in the backyard sealed the deal. But there was a hitch — it was way over our budget. Nevertheless, Gabe and I decided to live for the moment. We told ourselves we would work hard and save. This was our home. But that left us house-poor, like many other people. No extra money for trips, fancy clothes, restaurants, or luxuries.
I wrack my brain trying to figure out what is going on.
Edward rounds the bend, just past a pristine park, and drives up a stone driveway. The house is beautiful; traditional, a colonial style covered in light brown brick with soft yellow accents. A small oval window over the red front door catches my eye. The picture is perfect, complete with a white picket fence and gorgeous landscaping.
Where am I?
Edward walks me to the door. And I want to ask him a million questions, but I don’t say a word, too stunned to speak. I’m sure all will reveal itself eventually.
“Bye, Miss Mirella,” he says as he swings the old-fashioned door-knocker. “I’ll be back later to drive you home.”
Weston answers the door, all smiles. I step in with caution as I take in the space around me. A sleek console table and funky chrome mirror sit by the entry. A cool orange lamp sits on top of the console. As my gaze travels further, I notice the walls are bare.
“Come in,” he urges, his smile already affecting me.
Be strong. You will not crumble. No matter how cute he looks in his perfectly fitted dark wash jeans and vintage Pepsi t-shirt.
I follow him to the kitchen, a huge gorgeous gourmet kitchen with one of those giant industrial looking gas stoves and ridiculously tall funky faucets.
“Is this your house?” I ask, getting right to business.
He nods and smiles. “A recent purchase. Can I get you something to drink? An iced tea?”
What?
Why would he buy a house out here? To be closer to me? To be closer to the baby perhaps? An investment? I realize his obsession with me has taken on a whole different dimension, and it’s a little unsettling.
“Sure,” I say as I cautiously take a seat on one of the sleek curvy stools at the island.
“My friend Gwen lives just around the corner.”
He cocks a brow in surprise. “Oh, interesting. I didn’t realize that.”
“Nice place.”
“You like it?”
“What’s not to like?”
He smiles at me and fetches a pitcher of iced tea from the gigantic stainless-steel refrigerator.
He fills the glass with ice from the refrigerator door, the sound echoes loudly through the kitchen. “So how is Manny treating you?”
I smile. “He’s great. Really good food. Thank you. I think Gwen has a little crush on him.”
He laughs. “Yes, I bet she does.”
“He made us pork roast tonight,” I tell him, looking out the window at the pretty backyard — a modern day English garden.
“Sounds good.”
“It was.”
I sit up straight, willing myself to get right to it — no sense wasting time. “Why am I here, Weston?”
He doesn’t say a word. As he hands me a glass of iced tea, my hand brushes against his…just. And I’m a little too aware of it. I suck in a breath, telling myself to behave.
Apparently we’re not quite ready for declarations and confessions because he blatantly ignores my question.
The iced tea is cold and refreshing. I swivel on the stool and take in the space. “You haven’t quite moved in yet,” I point out, looking at the bare walls and the open empty space of the living room. The gorgeous marble encased fireplace still awaits company. A lone vase sits atop — orange again. I notice there are a quite a few pieces; vases, a painting on the wall, a cushion on a slipper chair — all orange.
“Decorating with orange accents, I see.”
He smirks. “It’s your favorite color, isn’t it? You told me that once.”
“Yes.”
My stomach feels heavy as a realization finally dawns on me. Why didn’t I see it before?
This is all for me.
I gasp as I do a one-eighty swivel and look around. “Did you buy me a frickin’ house?”
He smiles. “Well, now you see why you had to come
to see it. I couldn’t exactly bring it to you.”
I don’t know whether to be overjoyed or incredibly upset. He can’t do something this huge without consulting me…something this insane.
I decide to not make a scene. I’m pretty sure he meant well. I can’t quite lose my shit yet. “This is crazy, Weston.”
He makes his way round the island, and takes my hands in his. “Is it?” he asks. “It doesn’t seem so crazy to me.”
My mouth is dry, my heart beats so fast. I think I’m still in shock. I look at him, wide-eyed. “But who will live here?”
“You, your girls and our baby. And me,” he says. “I may have to spend a few occasional nights in the city, but I’ll try to be here for you as much as I can.”
“But…”
“I know it’s a lot to take in. You need time.”
I can’t believe what he’s saying. The whole room seems to spin. This doesn’t seem real. I feel like I’m tumbling into a surreal world. I feel like Alice in Wonderland.
“What about your wife and your kids?” I scoff. “Will they live here too?”
He shakes his head and turns away from me.
I stand, reaching for him, I press my hand on his back and force him to look at me. “What about them?”
He stares down at the floor. “Bridget and I are done,” he tells me, his voice soft.
My breath catches. “What?”
“I left her,” he tells me, his voice still quiet. And I can tell he’s genuinely upset. “Things with us haven’t been right in ages. Ever since…you’re the one for me, Mirella.”
“No, Weston. You can’t do this to her. To your kids,” I plead. “Not because of me. You’re running away. You think I can make everything better, but I can’t. I can’t fix you, Weston. This baby boy can’t replace—”
He jerks away. “Don’t say it. I’m not trying to replace Jonathan. Don’t ever say that.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
He turns to me and grabs my face in his hands, the gesture sudden, hard. “Because I love you, Mirella. Because I can’t live without you.”
I tear myself away, my heart beating so fast, I fear I might have a full-blown heart-attack.
I retreat to the safety of the stool. I’m safer there than I am in his arms. “I’m still waiting for Gabe,” I tell him, my words carefully measured.
He rakes a hand through his hair. “Why? Why him and not me?”
Because I love him. Because he’s been my rock forever. Because he’s my children’s father… my best friend. I want to tell him these things, but can’t quite bring myself to.
“Didn’t he leave you?” he points out rather cattily.
“I know we’re not together at the moment,” I say carefully. “But I’m hoping—”
“Hoping for what? Hoping he’ll come back to you and your lover’s child?”
His words cut. “Weston…”
He buries his face in his hands and scratches at his hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just…”
“I know you’re upset,” I say, staring out into the half-empty living room. “You went through all this trouble, and imagined this whole life for us.”
He closes the distance between us and takes my hands in his again. “Can you not see it, Mirella?” he asks, his eyes full of emotion. “I’ve done my research. I know this is near the school where you teach. And I know your girls go to that school. A lot of their friends probably live in the neighborhood. They’ll finally be with their peers.”
I roll my eyes a little, admitting to myself he’s right.
“And although I didn’t realize your friend Gwen lived nearby,” he says. “That’s just a delightful little surprise,” he adds with a dash of sarcasm.
I smile. This place is perfect. I can’t deny it. I’ve always fantasized about living here. It would be so cool to be steps away from Gwen and to be able to walk to school. The girls could play with their friends after school…
What am I thinking?
I push him away and hop off the stool. “You can’t buy me, Weston,” I hiss. “You’re always trying to buy me.”
“I’m not,” he argues. “I’m just trying to give you the life you deserve. A beautiful house in a great neighborhood, a cleaning lady, a nanny, whatever you want.”
What I want is to literally tear my hair out at this point. I’m just so tired of arguing with him. I turn on my heel, toward the front door.
He darts after me, catching a hold of my wrist. “Please, Mirella. Let me show you the rest.”
“I need to go,” I tell him as I try to free my arm from his grasp.
“I swear I’ll be a perfect gentleman,” he promises. “Just a quick tour. And then, you’re free to leave.”
I gaze up at the fancy coffered ceilings.
Just a quick tour.
I let out a heavy sigh. “Sure. A quick tour. And then I’m gone.”
His face lights up and he grabs my hand, his long fingers soft around mine.
God, give me strength.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I promised I’d be a gentleman.
We’ll start with the main floor, which you’ve kind of already seen,” he tells me as I trail behind him, my hand still in his. He brings me to the den at the side of the house and tells me we can set up a double office; a little space for him and a space for me to grade my papers. He tells me he doesn’t work from home very often.
He then shows me the powder room; a gorgeous marble, vintage-inspired sink and silver-framed mirror. We make our way around the cardboard boxes scattered on the floor to the large mud room. I revel at the gorgeous black wrought-iron hooks. So many hooks, so much space. A single jacket hangs on a hook, looking lonesome. My own mud room is a cramped mess with a serious lack of storage space.
As we walk quickly through the living room, he tells me he hasn’t picked out the furniture yet, wanting to leave that to me.
I nod patiently. I don’t say a word and try not to be swayed by the beautiful space and all the luxury surrounding me. I will not relent. I will not falter.
We bound down the stairs to the lower level, where there’s a walk-out basement, a wide bright open space, complete with bar. He tells me he’s getting a pool table in soon.
“I thought maybe a little craft and play corner here,” he says. “The girls can decide how they want to set it up.”
My heart sinks. He’s been thinking about this for a while. He has everything worked out. It’s kind of sweet but also reeks of desperation, not to mention delusion.
“What’s over there?” I ask, gesturing to a bedroom.
“There are two rooms down here,” he says as we wander in the purple room. It’s a nice open space with built-in fireplace, closet and private washroom.
“This is Lizzie’s room. And the other room is Ashton’s. They won’t be living here full-time,” he explains. “But I’m hoping they’ll spend a lot of weekends here.”
My heart sinks. “Is this really what you want, Weston? Living in suburbia, away from your kids?”
He inches closer. “Yes,” he says with conviction. “I want to be with you. It’s all I want.”
I can’t be the one responsible for this. I am many things: a tramp, a tease, a woman who takes her family for granted, perhaps even a spoiled princess. But I am not a home-wrecker. I turn away from him. “Let’s go see the top floor.”
My feet drag as I make my way up the gorgeous spiral staircase, wondering how he could be doing this.
The floors on the top level are dark and glossy, recently refinished. Everything about this house is impeccable — not a scratch, not a scuff or stain in sight. A perfect house waiting for a perfect family.
“Here, come with me,” he says as he takes my hand in his again. He opens the door to a sky blue room. “This is one of the girls’ rooms. I haven’t done any decorating. I thought I’d leave that to you.”
The room is pretty, with one of those bay window benches and a pret
ty glittery chandelier. I wander in, taking in the empty space. I open the closet doors and make my way to the en suite washroom — rustic shabby-chic vanities and an old-styled claw foot tub. It’s gorgeous.
“The girls’ rooms share a bathroom. As you can see, there’s another door at the other end. The other room is pink,” he goes on. “But we can change the colors easily if they’d prefer something else.”
He really wants to do this — live in domestic bliss with my daughters — girls he barely knows. Short of an overnighter in New York, he’s barely spent a minute with them. And now he’s ready to share his everyday life with them. And leave his own children.
It is crazy.
He’s not thinking straight.
“I should go,” I tell him, not wanting to see the master. One thing I’m sure of…I do not want to be alone in a master bedroom with this man.
He closes the distance between us. I find myself motionless as his eyes bore into mine. “Please stay,” he pleads, “just five more minutes.”
Still, I can’t seem to peel my gaze away from his. I wish he didn’t have those powerful eyes. “Five minutes, and I am not looking at the master.”
He smiles as he pulls me by the hand and brings me to a small room painted in shades of blue and green. My heart feels heavy as I take in the space. A beautiful mahogany crib sits under the window, dressed in light green crib bedding. An adorable mobile hangs overhead — cute green turtles. The sea theme is reflected throughout the room — a stuffed orange octopus on the rocking chair, a bright green eel wrapped around a basket of tiny diapers and a large stuffed grey shark hanging from the ceiling. Colorful fish line the wall and a photo sits up on the wooden shelf, framed by a three dimensional coral reef frame. I inch closer and look at the photo — a copy of my black and white ultrasound. I look over at the dresser and there are six wooden block letters in a myriad of colors — orange, green, blue, yellow, spelling out O-L-I-V-E-R. My eyes prick and I swallow hard, willing the tears away.
He smiles, his hands buried in his jean pockets. He bites his lip waiting for me to say something. I’m just not sure what to say.
“It looks like someone went a little crazy at the Sea World gift shop,” I try to tease but my voice is broken at the edges.