by Mary Campisi
“So, we should all shuck our jewelry for mixers?”
“I’d take one,” Shea said softly, “if it were given with the right intent.” She looked down at her left wrist. “Richard bought me this right after I found out he’d been messing around with Lori Torland. I think about that every time I look at this bracelet. And I saw a receipt from Renaldo Jewelers the other day. A sapphire and diamond necklace. He’s probably going to give it to me for my birthday next month.”
“I’m not going to comment,” Derry said, “you already know what I think about that piece of shit.”
“Thanks for not commenting.” Shea shifted in the seat and gazed out the window. Life had a way of twisting a person’s life around so they really couldn’t tell if they were further ahead or trailing behind. Richard continued his ministrations on her body, but the foot soaks and back rubs annoyed her so much she’d begun to invent reasons to weasel out of them. That wasn’t all that annoyed her either.
He tore sandwiches with his fingers. Why not tackle the damn things head on? And did he have to make those slurping sounds when he ate soup? And why did he tap his fingers against one another constantly? Even the way he rolled the toothpaste aggravated her these days.
“Hey, Shea, you fall asleep?”
“No, just thinking. When you really love someone, you forgive just about anything. And when you don’t, you’ll spend your entire existence looking for something not to forgive.”
“Who are we talking about here?”
Shea ignored her and said instead, “Sam was wrong for what he almost did and for not telling her the truth about the accident, but he loves her. We both know that. We just have to make sure Cyn knows that before it’s too late.”
“You deduced all this because the Maid-for-You was MIA?”
“She left it behind, just like she’s planning to leave her old life behind. But we’re going to stop her.”
Chapter 28
She was gone and she’d taken Janie with her.
Sam rolled over in bed, careful not to touch Cyn’s side. The past six nights he’d slept with his back slicing the center of the bed.
It all happened so quickly. One minute they were cuddled in bed, sharing a post lovemaking embrace, and the next, Cyn was dragging a suitcase down the front steps.
Gone.
She called once to tell him where she was staying. He felt her slipping away. He’d lied to her and she didn’t trust him anymore. Lesser causes split marriages.
But what if you loved a person so much you couldn’t take a full breath when they were gone? Didn’t that count for anything?
The whir of the Maid-for-You mixer pulled him from his miserable thoughts. Kiki was trying to bake again. He wondered what her attempts would bring this time; leaden chocolate chip cookies or burned oatmeal squares? Yesterday, she’d scorched two pot holders and set off the fire alarm and he’d had to scrape the bottoms of the peanut butter cookies to mere crumbs.
But at least one of his family was still with him. Sam threw back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, ran both hands over his stubbled cheeks, and reached for his glasses.
He better shower before she set off the fire alarm. Again.
***
Derry slipped out of bed as the first rays of light slid through the blinds in the master bedroom. She padded across the carpet and softly closed the bathroom door.
She knelt down on the cool tile, eased the bottom drawer of the vanity open, and fingered through tampons, minipads, and foam rollers to find the box she’d buried there yesterday.
Sheila left two days ago, and yet for the past two nights, Derry slept in the master bedroom. With Alec. He’d said it might be better to keep things as they were right now since Charlie was just getting used to it. She hadn’t argued one bit.
The deal they’d struck was over, which technically meant no more sex, but she secretly hoped he’d open up and confess his need for her in his bed and in his life. He hadn’t so far, so she’d slept beside him, close but not touching, the even rhythm of his breathing washing over her. She forced herself to don a silk nightgown, even though naked skin against sheets felt so much better, and was relieved when Alec pulled on a pair of boxers.
He hadn’t mentioned divorce papers since she’d crawled on top of him that first night. But still, there was much to be discussed. Wasn’t there? He couldn’t deny the mind-blowing sex, the deep cravings in the middle of the night, the early morning gropings. It had been about more than sex. Hadn’t it? They’d become awkward around one another, strangers who knew the intimacies of each other’s flesh but were ignorant to even the most basic thoughts of the other.
“Derry?” Alec’s groggy voice reached her through the door. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’ll be out in a few minutes.” She glanced at the First Response kit in her hand. In three minutes she’d know the truth.
***
Alec yawned and rolled over, throwing an arm across Derry’s side of the bed. It was still warm and rumpled from her softness. He inhaled the faint whisper of Chanel. Sleep came to him easily these days, and he knew it wasn’t just the crisp autumn wind pushing through the opened windows. Sleep came because of Derry.
His dick hardened just thinking of her next to him, the silk of her nightgown brushing against his leg. He didn’t know how much longer he could take sharing a bed with her and not touching her. All he’d wanted to do this morning was spread her legs wide and ram into her so deep the need in him would burst. He still loved her. He would always love her. But how in the hell was he going to tell her?
The toilet flushed and then he heard more water. He’d been a new man since Sam Cintar told him Derry hadn’t slept with that asshole. There was still hope for them, if she’d only give it a chance. He never should’ve forced her into his bed. Sex for silence sounded tawdry and sick, which it was.
Derry padded into the bedroom and slipped into the king-size bed, staying close to the edge with her back to him.
“Hey, you sure you’re okay?”
“Hmmm.”
He lifted a hand to touch her but stopped. “Can we talk?”
“Hmmm.”
When she didn’t turn toward him Alec shifted his weight, propped an arm under his head, and planted his gaze on the small of her back. “I wouldn’t have told Sheila about us, I mean, about the problems we’re having.” He did not want to say divorce.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Her voice sounded strange, tight. “I’m sorry for forcing you into that agreement. It was a horrible thing to do and I feel like a real bastard.” But I’m still burning from your touch and God help me, I’d do it all again.
“You didn’t force me.”
“Of course I did. You never would’ve come to this bed if I hadn’t threatened to tell Sheila the truth about us.” When she said nothing, he asked, “Would you?”
She shook her head.
“That’s what I figured.” He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think of a way to broach the divorce. “So, where do we go from here?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Can you turn around and look at me, please?” If he were going to spread his heart out for her to crush, at least he wanted to see her face.
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
Anger sparked low in his belly. “Christ, Derry, can’t you work with me, just this once?” When she didn’t respond, he said, “Do you want this divorce, or not?”
Her shoulders shook, small shudders covering her body. She buried her head and let out a muffled sound.
“Derry?” Alec leaned over her, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Are you crying?”
“No.”
Tears streamed down her face, over her cheeks, along her chin. “Hey, baby, what’s wrong? Don’t cry.” He swiped at the tears that drenched her skin. “It’s okay.” He pulled her to him and murmured, “Don’t cry.”
She clasped her arms around his waist and sob
bed even harder. Alec held her, stroking her hair, her back, cursing himself for forcing her to be with him. “I just want what’s best for you, Derry. I won’t force you to do anything else, I give you my word.” He kissed her hair and said, “You can still see Charlie. He needs you. I’ll call Carl on Monday and tell him to finish the paperwork, okay? Then we can meet with him. You and Charlie should stay here—”
“I’m pregnant.”
He kept right on talking, “Once I find a place, Charlie can—” he stopped. “What did you say?”
Her eyes filled with fresh tears. “I’m pregnant.”
“How? When?” And then, “Jesus.”
“It must’ve been the last night before I left. There’s a pregnancy test in the bathroom with two pink strips if you want to go see for yourself.”
“All these years…”
“Some kind of divine intervention, huh?” This sounded more like the old Derry.
Alec cupped her face between his hands and said fiercely, “You can’t divorce me, Derry, not now.”
“A child is no reason to stay together.”
“I love you. I love you so much I ache at the thought of you walking out of my life.”
“But you filed for divorce.” The tears had stopped and there was a faint glimmer in her eyes.
“I thought you’d slept with that bastard Miller.” He ran his fingers along her neck. “I hired a detective to keep an eye on you.”
“Alec, how could you?”
“I was furious you’d left, and paranoid you’d find someone else. I hated myself for doing it but I had to know.”
“I’ve never been with anyone since you.”
“I know that now.”
“Can you say the same?”
“Me? Hell, Derry, I can’t stop wanting you long enough to think about another woman.”
A slow smile spread across her face. She flung her hands around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. “I love you, Alec Rohan. Until death do us part.”
“Try to leave me again and it will be death,” he growled, pushing aside her nightgown and easing into her.
She threw back her head and laughed, a mixture of pleasure and joy that ended on a deep, sensual sigh as she wrapped her legs high around his waist. “Keep this up and you’ll have nothing to worry about.”
“Count on it, Mrs. Rohan. Count on it.”
Chapter 29
It was a test. And Richard had no idea that he was the one being tested.
He breezed past the perfume counters in his burgundy silk shirt and cashmere slacks, nodding at the beautiful sales clerks as he passed, his silver gaze lingering just a few seconds short of too long. As he approached, each woman, varying in age from nineteen to fifty-eight, all with similar shades of dark tresses packed in tight buns, smiled their slow, seductive smiles, reminding Shea of Robert Palmer’s music video, Addicted to Love.
She pretended she didn’t notice. Women had been looking for years, so long and so often that she’d once spent an entire weekend arguing with Richard about not appearing so available. He’d called her paranoid. She’d called him lecherous. She’d been right. Now she didn’t care and maybe it was her very indifference that made Richard try to win her over.
“Shea,” he murmured close to her ear, “why don’t we go to Renaldo Jeweler’s and pick out a new pair of diamond studs? They’d look perfect with your red hair.”
“Do you think my hair’s the same color as Ann Margaret’s?” she blurted out. It slipped from some place deep in her subconscious, where she kept all thoughts of Marcus Orelean.
Richard stared at her as though she’d asked him to make a public speech on the benefits of monogamy. “Don’t compare yourself to anyone else, baby, because there is no comparison,” he said, and leaned down to kiss her on the temple.
God. Had she really believed his smooth talk all these years? It reeked of insincerity.
“So, how about diamonds for my jewel? I saw a pair the other day, half carat each, platinum setting. With those on you’d outshine those plastic mannequins behind the counter.”
“I don’t think so.” She didn’t need another bill. Somehow, Richard couldn’t equate buying something with actually paying for it. Why should he when she’d made it so ridiculously easy for him to point and purchase? In the past, it had been enough that he’d wanted her to have jewelry or lingerie, even if she had to go in debt to do it.
Not anymore.
Richard stopped next to Renaldo’s and pulled her close to him. “See those earrings in there,” he said, pointing to a pair of diamond tear drops. “That’s you, Shea. I can picture you wearing those.” He leaned close to whisper in her ear, “And nothing else.”
He might have promised not to push sex on her but he sure took every opportunity to talk about it. How many years of lonely nights had she spent waiting for him to come home? And now that he was finally always around, why did she wish he weren’t?
“Shea?”
“What? Oh.” She scanned the earrings. “Richard, I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I don’t want them.”
“Why not?” He lifted a lock of strawberry-blond hair. “Maybe if you darkened your hair a few shades and added a few highlights,” he mused, “not blond or anything but maybe a pale gold streak.”
“Like Tanya Madison.”
“Christ, Shea, aren’t you ever going to let that go?”
The brilliance of the earrings shimmered, taunting her with unfulfilled promises. “Not anytime soon,” she said turning to face him.
He really was too damn good looking and he knew it. No wonder there was a hole in the middle of his personality. He’d never had to work at it.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and cursed. “What do you want from me?”
Shea saw the truth. Richard really didn’t know. It had taken her miscarriage and Tanya Madison’s pregnancy, for Shea to figure it out. “Honesty. Fidelity. Respect. Companionship.” Her lips curved into a small smile as she added one last desire, “And a Maid-for-You mixer. Strawberry Parfait, to match my hair.”
***
The first snow fell two days before Thanksgiving. Huge gobs of white drifted from the sky, camouflaging rooftops, sidewalks, cars, so that by morning Reston looked as though it had been double-dipped in a canister of flour.
Cyn glanced up from the computer monitor and looked outside. If this kept up, she’d never make it downtown tomorrow, and that meant postponing the meeting with Phillip Dramen and Associates. Which meant training in New York for her securities license would be delayed, too, a possibility that wouldn’t make the company happy.
At first, they’d thought her another ditzy suburban housewife who’d read one too many Suze Orman books. But once she showed them her spreadsheets for the past five months and the gains, the district manager invited her to lunch and continued conversation where she’d mapped out several hot picks and the rationale behind each. Phillip Dramen extended a job offer before they left the restaurant, and Cyn accepted. As long as she kept busy, everything was fine.
She sighed and ran a hand through her newly-dyed hair. It was redder, more Sophia Loren this go-round than Derry’s attempt. And this time, she actually felt more like Sophia Loren. Maybe it was the five pounds she’d dropped or the smaller sweater size she wore to enhance her bust.
Tweed and cashmere were her new best friends and they were from this season’s collection, not last. No more sales racks or bargain basement shopping either. It was a whole new world, filled with the latest designs from Jones of New York, Liz Claiborne, and Calvin Klein. And Cyn finally succumbed to her one true desire and bought a Coach purse.
“Mom?”
“Hmmm?” Cyn saved the file on the computer and turned toward her daughter.
“I’m getting hungry.” Janie lay stretched on the thick taupe carpet in an Abercrombie sweater and jeans, both recent online purchases.
“I think it’s too nasty to go out, but we could always order Chinese, or what about
pizza?” In their old life, take-out had been a cautious luxury. Now it was routine.
Janie wrinkled her nose. “We just had lo mien two nights ago and pizza on Monday. What about spaghetti?”
Cyn hadn’t cooked a real meal since they moved into the condo four weeks ago. She refused to allow herself any semblance of her old routines.
But some nights, like now, she felt the pull to the kitchen. She fought it. If she started back there, the next thing she’d want would be her old cookbooks, and then her Orange Blossom Maid-for-You mixer, and then Sam.
She’d only seen him twice, both times when he stopped to pick up Janie for the night. Usually, she stayed in the study when she knew he was coming, or she’d rush to the bedroom and wait until she heard the front door click shut.
She knew it solved nothing to avoid him, and at some point they’d have to sit down and discuss their future together, or apart, but not now. If she kept busy, time would distance her from her old life and eventually she’d figure out what to do.
“Mom? What about spaghetti?” Janie asked again. “And meatballs?”
“It doesn’t look like we’ll be able to get out of the driveway tonight,” Cyn said. “Vincenzo’s is out.”
“I meant homemade.”
That request sounded too much like the old life. “I don’t have time,” she said. “It’s almost 4:30 now.”
Janie folded her arms behind her head and stared at the ceiling. “Dad made pork chops and baked potatoes last night. And I made brownies. Of course, Kiki didn’t do anything.” She glanced at Cyn. “I didn’t know he could cook. He’s pretty good, you know? Simple stuff, but still, he can do it without setting off the smoke alarm.”
Cyn kept the polite smile on her face but talk of Sam and the girls stole the oxygen from her lungs. “That’s good, Janie.”
“Yeah.”