I Married a Billionaire: Lost and Found (Contemporary Romance)

by Melanie Marchande

  Daniel looked down at his shoes. "Should I change?"

  "Maybe take your jacket off," Genevieve suggested. "Roll up your sleeves, sit at the kitchen island with a mug? No - you know what would be even better? Maybe if we moved that basil planter over to the island and you were watering it. Nice and domestic."

  "You really think that's going to change my image?" Daniel asked, but he was following her directions already, tossing his jacket onto the back of a chair. I followed them both out to the kitchen.

  "It can't hurt," said Genevieve. "Anyway, you were the one who wanted your picture taken."

  She snapped a few of the pose she'd suggested. When she was done, she gestured me over and showed me the view screen on the camera.

  "There," she said. "Is that the Daniel Thorne you know and love?"

  I could feel his eyes on me as I looked at the incredibly domestic, incredibly fake image - Daniel posing with an empty watering can, over a plant he barely even knew existed. His lips were slightly parted, as if he were in the middle of a conversation with someone just out of frame. I studied his face like I was seeing it for the first time - his cheekbones, high and sharp, and those deep green eyes framed by long (but not too long) lashes. Paired with heavy eyebrows and a strong jaw, they somehow made him look both strikingly gorgeous and unmistakably masculine.

  People were going to look at him, and then they were going to look at me, sitting next to my stupid little drawing, and think: her?

  I shook myself out of it.

  "Yeah," I said. "Yeah, that's perfect."

  ***

  The article ran just a few days later, but I found I couldn’t look at it. One afternoon, I came home from grocery shopping after having almost successfully forgotten about the whole thing, only to be reminded of it in the oddest way possible.

  Just as I was hanging up my purse, I heard a buzzing noise coming from deep inside my pocket. It was my phone going off. The number was local, but I didn't recognize it. I almost ignored the call. But for some reason I couldn't explain, I picked it up, took a deep breath, and answered.

  "Hello?"

  There was a beat.

  "Hello - Madeline Thorne?" The voice on the other end sounded…almost familiar, but I couldn't quite place it.

  "Yes?"

  "This is Curtis Gossard, I own the Starra Gallery downtown?"

  I had to stifle a hysterical laugh bubbling up inside me. Of all the times for this to happen.

  "Sure," I said. "Of course."

  "I just happened to open the business section yesterday, and I could hardly believe what I saw. Your drawing, of course - and you. I'm guessing you don't remember, what with everything you've been going through, but we ran into each other in a liquor store not too long ago. I'd just gotten back from France and I didn't have my ID."

  "Oh my God," I said. "Of course. I…I had no idea who you were."

  "Neither did I." He was smiling - I could hear it in his voice. "I mean - who you were, obviously I know who I am. Most of the time, anyway. But - can I call you Madeline?"

  "Most people just call me Maddy."

  "Maddy, I have to tell you, I couldn't believe how beautiful it was. I remembered seeing your name on a portfolio that came in a few months back, so I dug it out and took a good look at it. I don't mean to say - we just get so much, you know, I can't possibly look at everything, and most of the time when these businessmen's trophy wives get it into their head that they're going to be artists, they're about as wrong as you can get. So I didn't give you a second thought, at first, without even opening the folder. I don't mind telling you how wrong I was. Your work is beautiful. I have a showing next month for local artists and I was holding a few spots for friends, but they got sucked into the corporate world and they don't have time for me anymore. Would you be able to step in? I understand if you're too busy, but…I just wanted to give it a shot, because I'd love to show your drawings."

  "No, of course. I'll…I'll find the time." There was no way I was saying no to this, even if it was guaranteed to be overshadowed. It was my dream. Even if it wasn't happening the way I wanted, I had to take the opportunity.

  "Great, fantastic. I'll mail you something with all the details. I want to show that piece of the girl with the willow tree, obviously. And I've already picked out some other pieces from your portfolio. It's really impressive work. I'm sorry, I don't mean to repeat myself."

  "It's fine," I said, a genuine smile crossing my face for the first time in a while. "Trust me, I don't mind. You can flatter me any day."

  "Well, I'm not even trying to flatter you. I'm not just saying this because you could buy and sell me. I really, really do like your work."

  "Thank you," I said. "I never wanted to think that anyone would show me just because of my husband, or his money. I know that's silly."

  "It's not silly at all. I don't blame you." He hesitated. "Do you think there's any way…could you bring the willow drawing here? I really want to envision where I'm going to place it, and it's hard if I don't have something to play around with. There's no rush, but sometime in the next few weeks?"

  "Oh - sure. Can I just stop by?"

  "Pretty much any time at the gallery, I'm always here. I'd love to meet you. Again. You know, properly."

  "Likewise." I paused. "Thanks, Curtis. I really appreciate the opportunity."

  "My pleasure," he said. "I just wish it could have come at a better time."

  "Yeah," I said. "Me too."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Daniel was meeting with Genevieve again the next morning, so I ended up folding my drawing into a big portfolio and taking it down to the gallery as soon as I'd had my coffee. I hoped Curtis hadn't been kidding about being there all the time. I knew from my days as an art student that "all the time" often meant something different to artists than it did to the rest of the world, and it usually started sometime after noon.

  A bell above the door tinkled lightly as I pushed it open. I was immediately surrounded by the smell of cedar and the strange atmosphere that all galleries had - I'd always assumed it was a result of the temperature controls that often ruled these places, but I'd never actually asked.

  I headed towards the back. It looked like the door to someone's office was hanging open, and a light was on inside. I stepped forward and rapped lightly on the wall next to the door frame.

  Curtis looked up. I did recognize him now that I saw him - salt and pepper hair, with stubble on his chin that was almost completely gray. He was tall and slender and he dressed like an art gallery owner - charcoal slacks and a dark turtleneck, which somehow worked on him.

  "Maddy!" he said, jumping to his feet and running over to me with his hand extended. "I'm so happy you're here. I didn't expect to see you for a while."

  "Well, there's a lot of…lulls," I said, shaking his hand. "Right now there's not much going on. It’s nice to have a distraction, actually."

  We talked shop for a while, and he started asking me about my art. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had been interested in this aspect of my life. I started telling him how I’d first been inspired to start drawing, and why I’d ended up studying graphic design instead, despite what I actually wanted to do.

  "Anyway, I’m so glad you could take the time to come down," he said, after a lull in the conversation.

  "No problem. Like I said, there’s not a lot happening. And even if there was, I don’t think there’s much I could do to help out."

  "Sure, sure," he said. "But I have no doubt that he appreciates you being around to support him, at any rate."

  "Yeah," I said. "I guess. Not that you'd know it." I didn't know why I was being so candid with Curtis, when he was essentially a stranger, but it was a relief to be able to talk about it to someone.

  Curtis frowned a little bit. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up something painful. Here, sit down." He pulled out a chair.

  "You didn't. I did." I sat down, slowly. "It's just been hard on both of us, I guess. This wh
ole thing. But him especially, I mean, it's his reputation. It's his life."

  "But it's your life too," said Curtis, gently. And to my utter humiliation, I felt tears threatening to gather in the corners of my eyes. It was just such a relief to hear someone say it, besides me. Before I could stop them, they trickled out and started rolling down my cheeks. "Oh, no, honey - I really am sorry," he said, jumping up and grabbing an industrial-sized roll of paper towels from behind him. "I don't think I have any tissues, sorry, but here - I really didn't mean to upset you."

  "It's not your fault," I managed, tearing a piece off the roll and dabbing at my eyes. "It's just been so stressful and I don't get much of an opportunity to talk about it, you know, you're always afraid someone's going to tell the…" I looked up at him, suddenly, realizing that I had absolutely no reason to trust that he wouldn't turn around and tell this exact story to a blog or newspaper for a quick buck. DANIEL THORNE'S MARRIAGE IN TROUBLE? TEARFUL WIFE TELLS SOURCE SHE FEELS IGNORED. "I'm sorry - I really shouldn't -" I stood up suddenly, the chair scraping the floor behind me. "Let's just talk about the installment, okay?" My forced cheerfulness was clearly throwing him off a little bit, but he smiled back and went along with it.

  "Okay, well, I'd love to take a look at the drawing in person if you don't mind." He gestured towards the portfolio, which was still clutched to my chest.

  "Oh, of course." I handed it over, taking a few deep breaths. Get it together, Maddy.

  "I love this," he said, softly, staring down at the drawing. "It almost…it reminds me of being a kid, you know? That feeling of being alone, but not lonely. Having all that time to waste. The days just seemed to go on forever. Somehow it never seems to be like that anymore." He smiled at me. "I want to put this one front and center. Come over here, I'll show you what I have planned."

  I followed him out to the one of the freestanding walls in the gallery, right in the middle. It seemed like the focal point of the whole place, which made me feel slightly queasy. He held up the pieces he'd selected, showing me several different arrangements he was thinking of.

  "Of course, these won't be here," he said, waving his hand over the current installments. "So we'll have plenty of room to play with. What do you think for a backdrop? If I painted the wall a different color, it would really stand out."

  "I think it stands out plenty as it is," I said, looking around the room. "Are you sure they wouldn't look better somewhere a little less…conspicuous?"

  "Absolutely not," he said, firmly. "I want these to be the first things people see when they walk in. Do you think you'll be able to make the show? It's, uh, the twenty-sixth - starts at five pm. I'm not sure how late it'll run, but if there's any possible way you can make it, I'd really appreciate having you here."

  I swallowed. I hadn't even really thought of that. I when I used to dream of having my art shown in galleries, of course I always pictured myself standing beside it and talking about my inspiration to all the interested parties. But now - if I showed, I'd be inundated by reporters and hassled by everyone who recognized my name...

  "I can keep it quiet, if it helps," he said. "Not publish your name in any of the announcements. You can be a surprise guest." He smiled. "I'll give you some time to think about it. I'll understand if you can't, but I really hope that you can."

  "Thanks, Curtis." I shook his hand warmly. "I really…I really appreciate everything."

  "Of course," he said. "I couldn't be happier to have you." He hesitated. "Oh, and - one other thing - I know you're probably not used to people acting like human beings around you anymore, but I promise everything we talked about here today will stay between us. Okay? So no worries on that front."

  I let out a breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "Thank you," I said. "That's very nice of you to say."

  "And I mean it." He was still holding my hand in his, and after a moment, he finally seemed to realize what he was doing. He shook his head and let me go, abruptly. "Hang in there, Maddy. I hope I'll see you soon."

  "Yeah, me too."

  I walked away, with my drawing tucked under my arm. I was going to have some prints made and have it framed in something simple before I handed it over to him for the actual show. If he wanted to change it that was his prerogative, but I just wanted to feel like it was protected. There weren't many things in my life that I felt I was in complete control of, but my art was one of them, and I wanted it to stay that way.

  ***

  I knew Daniel would still be out when I got home, and the silence of the apartment as I shut the door attested to that. I thumbed through the mail on the hallway table, then suddenly heard faint noise issuing from somewhere nearby.

  My phone was ringing. I fumbled it out of my purse, staring dully at the number for few moments before I recognized it.

  Oh, great. This was just what I needed.

  "Hi, dad." I tucked the phone between my shoulder and my ear as I slipped out of my jacket. "How are you?"

  "I was going to ask how you are," he said. "We've been watching the news. Your mother thought I should call."

  I let out a long breath.

  "Okay," I said.

  "Are you feeling all right?" My dad cleared his throat. "You looked awfully disheveled in that picture."

  "I was coming home from yoga, dad. I always look like that when I get out."

  "Yoga?" My dad repeated, like he'd never heard the word before. "Well, all I know is, you didn't really look like you had yourself together. If you're going to have your picture in the paper, you really should clean yourself up a little bit."

  "First of all, it wasn't in the paper, it was on a blog. And second of all, I shouldn't even have to point this out, but I had no idea they were taking my picture. You're familiar with the concept of paparazzi, yes?" I grabbed a cup out of the cabinet and slammed it down on the granite countertop so hard that it cracked a little.

  "Sweetie, I'm just worried about you," he said. "You don't have to get defensive."

  "Well, thanks. I appreciate it." I squeezed my eyes shut, tightly. "How's mom?"

  "Worried about you."

  I took a long, deep breath.

  "Well, tell her not to worry. Daniel's got one of the best lawyers out there, we're going to be fine. It's just going to drag out for a while because these things do."

  "Oh, well." My dad sighed. "I guess if he's going to find a way to weasel out of it, that's all right."

  "He's not….weaseling out of anything," I said. "He didn't do it."

  "Honey," he said, in the most condescending tone I could imagine. "You don't know the first thing about what rich people do."

  "I actually think I might, dad. I've been married to one for two years."

  "Insider trading is how people with a lot of money turn it into more money. Everybody does it, if they have the opportunity. Your Daniel was unlucky enough to get caught, but I promise you, that's the only thing that makes him different from most of the others."

  "You have no idea what you're talking about," I snapped, grabbing my phone and switching it to my other ear. I felt like my head was going to explode. "You know, for once, it would be nice to just get some support from you. You know, just, hey, honey, we're rooting for you. A little less judgment disguised as advice and concern. That would be really fantastic. Just once."

  "You know, I just called to be nice," my dad said, sternly. "I thought maybe there was something we could do to help. You don't have to be so hostile."

  "Well, next time you want to be nice and help out, you could do that by not calling, if you don't have anything positive to say. Okay? Okay."

  I hung up, throwing my phone down on the counter and sitting down heavily on one of the chairs.

  "Your dad?" came Daniel's voice from behind me.

  I turned around. "How long have you been standing there?"

  He walked over and sat down beside me, letting his hand rest gently on my back, right between my shoulders. I let out a massive sigh and sagged, leaning on the c
ounter with my elbows and letting my head hang between my arms.

  "Yeah," I said, finally. "It was my dad."

  I'd never talked much about my relationship with my parents. The truth of the matter was, there really wasn't much to say. From the way we talked to each other, anyone on the outside would assume that there had been a huge blowout at some point, from which none of us had ever fully recovered. But that wasn't really true. We simply didn't get along. We never really had.

  "I'm sorry," he said.

  "You're sorry?" I scoffed. "This is still your cross to bear, not mine."

  "Maddy," he said, taking a deep breath. "I know I've been…" he drifted off, then started again. "What I'm trying to say is, if you need to talk about it, you can."

  I shook my head, finally lifting it back up to look at him.

  "He's just…he's just being the way he is," I said. "He thinks he knows everything, and he thinks it's okay to be hurtful and judgmental as long as his intentions are good. He makes up his mind about something as soon as he sees even the first little hint of it, and no matter what you say about it afterwards, you can't change his mind. So I guess in a way he's like everybody else out there. He sees 'billionaire' and 'illegal insider trading' and he just assumes he knows the whole story. I tell him you're innocent and he thinks I'm naïve. To him, I'm still a stupid little girl who doesn't know how the world works."

  "You believe it, then?"

  I frowned at him. "Believe what?"

  "That I'm innocent?"

  His face was soft and open in a way I hadn't seen…well, since our second honeymoon. I reached out and grabbed his hand, holding it tightly.

  "Of course," I said. "Did you really think I didn't?"

  He shrugged, smiling a little. "I wouldn't necessarily expect you to," he said. "But thank you. That's very nice of you to say."

  "Well, I'm glad you appreciate it, at least." I sighed again, twisting my neck a little until I heard a pop. I rubbed my shoulder, feeling the muscles stiff and tightly knotted underneath my fingers. "I just…I really could have done without hearing from him today."