by Kara Lennox
She had a sudden brainstorm. “You just wouldn’t believe it—someone sneaked into my suite and stole all of my jewelry. Mother thinks it was the cleaning service she hired to do the carpets, but there was no way to prove it.”
“Darling, that’s awful!”
“Don’t worry, I still have my engagement ring. I never take that off. Then, I’ve also had trouble with the bank. They had some kind of computer glitch that just wiped out my checking account. The accountants are still trying to figure out what happened.”
John-Michael nodded enthusiastically and gave her a thumb’s-up for her creative lying.
“Oh, darling, how are you coping?” Marvin said solicitously. Sonya simply could not understand how she ever fell for his slimy pseudo empathy. “It must be awful.”
“I’m fine, now that I know everything’s okay with you.”
“I have to go, love,” he said. “I’ll call you the moment I know when I’m going to be home.”
“I’ll keep my cell phone on.”
He disconnected, and Sonya was so limp with the release of tension she almost fell down. She realized she was still clutching John-Michael’s jacket, and she slowly released it.
“That was brilliant,” John-Michael said excitedly.
“Sonya,” Muffy called. “What are you two whispering about over there? Come here and look at these earrings.”
Sonya dutifully joined her mother at the glass counter, where she had four pairs of dazzling earrings spread out on a velvet cloth.
“Which do you like best?”
“The amethyst drops are pretty. And they’re not so fancy you couldn’t wear them for everyday.”
Muffy smiled. “Paul, I’ll take the sapphires for me, and the amethysts for Sonya.”
“Oh, no, Mother, I don’t need—”
“Nonsense. You’ve been a most devoted daughter during the last few weeks, and I want to show my gratitude. Speaking of gratitude, I gave you a little job to do on your trip to Milwaukee. Did you do it?” And she glanced covertly at John-Michael.
“As a matter of fact, I did,” Sonya whispered, wondering how she would ever get up the nerve to confess she’d never gone to California. “But I had to special-order the gift, and it hasn’t arrived yet.”
“Well, what did you get?” Muffy whispered.
“You’ll see.” She’d added some of her own money, income from her trust, to buy the present she’d selected, but it would be worth it. Maybe she and John-Michael weren’t destined to be together, but every time he used the wonderful gift, she hoped he would think about her.
Later that afternoon, John-Michael waited until Muffy was safely ensconced with Mihir, her Indian guru, in the parlor she’d decked out as her “meditation room,” before seeking out Sonya. He asked her to meet him in the greenhouse, where there was no chance they would be overheard.
“What are we going to do now?” Sonya asked miserably. They ambled along the greenhouse’s long aisles, surrounded by the warm, moist air and the smell of dirt and peat and fertilizer. It was a pleasant smell, recalling John-Michael’s childhood when he used to hang out here, doing small jobs for his father and looking forward to the day when he would be a real gardener. At age seven, he’d had no greater ambition. It was only when his father realized his only son wanted to follow in his footsteps that he chased John-Michael out of the greenhouse and told him to think bigger, to reach for the stars, that he could become anything he wanted to be.
“Marvin must have found out somehow that the wedding is still on,” Sonya said, pausing to sniff a rose bloom, “If I call it off now—”
“Maybe you shouldn’t call it off,” John-Michael said, reversing his earlier position. “If he thinks the wedding’s still on, that he’s gotten away with his crime, maybe he’ll actually show up here again.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking. This might be our last chance to catch him, before he retires to some Caribbean island and disappears forever.”
“Exactly.”
“I can’t deceive my mother any longer.”
“I agree. We’ll have to bring her into our confidence. This plan can only proceed if she agrees to keep up the pretense that a wedding is going to take place. Surely Marvin will return to Houston before too long.”
“I don’t know if I can do it,” she said, her voice full of anguish. “Pretending to be a blushing bride-to-be—you just can’t imagine how painful it is. And how humiliating when everyone finds out what happened. Can you imagine the heyday Tootsie Milford will have? And that wretched Leslie Frazier?”
He felt for Sonya. He really did. He’d thought she was enjoying her role as a bride a little too much. After listening to her performance on the phone with Marvin, he realized what a skilled actress Sonya was. She wasn’t enjoying herself. The stress of the pretense was wearing her down.
“The worst part has been deceiving Muffy, right?”
Sonya nodded.
“You’ll feel better once you come clean with your mom. If she pulls the plug on the wedding plans, it’ll all be over.”
“And we’ll never catch Marvin.” She balled up her fist and pounded it on the long bench. Nearby plants shuddered.
“Here, now.” John-Michael took her clenched fist and coaxed it open. “You need to relax. All this stress is not good for you.”
“I’ve never been much good at relaxing,” she said. “I never had a hobby I could lose myself in. The closest thing I can think of is when I’m lost in some complex equation. But I haven’t done any engineering work in a long time.”
“I hardly think quantum mechanics is the way to relax.” He found a gardening apron and handed it to her. “Put this on.”
“Oh, come on.”
“I’m serious. Gardening is a very soothing activity. Digging your hands in the warm earth, nurturing living things—it’s good for the soul.”
“How would you know?”
“I’m my father’s son in some ways,” he said.
“All right.” She put the apron on over her pristine, pale-gold sweater and darker gold jeans. “What should I do?”
“I see some little chrysanthemum bushes that need transplanting. Here’s a pot and a spade. That container over there contains potting soil. Fill the pot about halfway.”
She followed his directions, though she held the pot and the dirt as far away from herself as possible.
“Now set the pot down, and dig a hole in the center.”
“With my hands? Shouldn’t I have gloves on?”
“Your hands will wash.”
She made a few tentative pokes at the dirt. John-Michael came behind her, put his larger hands on her pale, delicate ones, and pressed her fingers deep into the dirt. “Like this.” He could smell her hair and her light perfume, sweeter and softer than anything growing in the greenhouse. He immediately grew hard, and he had to stop himself from deliberately stepping just a bit closer, pressing his arousal against her bottom.
“O-okay. I see now.”
Reluctantly he let her go. “Now you have to get the chrysanthemum out of the old pot.” His voice sounded strangely strained even to him. “Grab on to the plant, hold it up, tap a few times on the pot with your spade, wiggle…wiggle it around, that’s it. Now gently extract the plant and root ball from the pot.”
She did all this, grinning when the plant came loose. “Look at all those roots. Must be a healthy plant.”
“Jock doesn’t grow anything but. Those roots will have more room to spread out in their new home. Now set the root ball into the hole you made, and fill in with more potting soil.”
She started to get interested in the task and forgot to worry about whether she got dirty.
“Now really mash the dirt around the base of the plant firmly.” Again, he had to demonstrate, putting his arms on either side of hers, their fingers comingling in the warm, fragrant soil. They pressed enough dirt around that one plant for ten.
“Wh-what next?” Sonya’s words came out a br
eathy hiss.
“Whatever you want.” John-Michael didn’t plan for that to come out. It just did, and it produced the desired result. Sonya turned slightly so that she faced him in the circle of his arms. He thought she was going to kiss him, but instead she laid her head on his shoulder. His arms went around her instinctively.
“Why is it so hard being me sometimes?”
“It’s hard being anybody. It’s hard being human. All the money in the world doesn’t protect you from stress and heartache and disappointment and hurt.”
“Hurt most of all. I don’t know why I’m doing this. I know you have no interest in comforting the poor little rich girl.”
“That’s not true.” He rubbed her back, knowing he was getting dirt on it. But she was doing the same to him, clutching at his shirt beneath the leather jacket. “We’ve had our differences, but deep down you know I care about you.” More and more each day—as he saw depths he never imagined, compassion only hinted at in her youth.
She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, asking an unspoken question. He answered that question by lowering his head and capturing those sweet, pink lips with his.
Her response was instantaneous and explosive. She moved her hands to his head, pulling him closer, working her mouth against his hungrily, pressing her body against his. She hooked one leg around his, opening herself. The heat at her core radiated out against his erection.
Her hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail—she’d been wearing less elaborate hairstyles lately. He slid the elastic off, letting her hair loose, burying his hands in the soft, gold silk. He felt like a spider caught in a web, unable to extricate himself even if he wanted to.
“You do still want me,” she said, almost sobbing.
“Yes. How could I not? You’re the most beautiful—”
“I don’t want to hear that,” she said. She moved her arms around his neck and stood on her toes so she could speak softly into his ear. “Beauty doesn’t last forever. So if that’s all you’re attracted to—”
“Sonya. I think you’re beautiful inside and out. There’s nothing wrong with who you are.”
She resumed the kiss, even more passionately than before, and John-Michael was starting to wonder if there was anyplace close by that would make a good place for a tryst when a sound from a distance penetrated his brain. He realized fuzzily that someone had entered the greenhouse. He broke the kiss. “Someone’s coming.”
“I don’t care.” She tried to resume their heated exchange, but John-Michael forced himself to pull away.
“I do. You’re engaged to another man, at least officially. I’m not going to be the one to ruin your reputation.”
Sonya apparently saw the wisdom in his argument. She let him go, though she looked sullen about it, and went to work repairing her hair. John-Michael used the corner of her apron to hastily wipe a smudge from her face.
She pointed to her mouth, then his. “Lipstick,” she whispered. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hands.
She took off the apron and hung it on the hook where they’d found it as footsteps and jaunty whistling grew closer. It was Jock, and as he came around the corner with a small wheelbarrow bearing some winter-dead bushes he’d apparently just pulled out of some flower bed, he stopped in surprise.
“What’re you two doing in here?” he asked, curious but not sounding particularly suspicious.
“I just wanted to see what you had blooming. The roses look marvelous, Jock.”
“Did you see the red-and-white-variegated one?” he asked, a kid doing show-and-tell. “It’s only budding right now, but it should have some beautiful blooms…” He trailed off as he took a hard look at Sonya, then quickly looked away. “…um, that is, I was thinking of it for your bouquet,” he finished lamely. Then John-Michael saw what his father had seen. A smudge, roughly the shape of a hand, along the side of Sonya’s breast. In fact, she had no small amount of dirt on her sweater from his careless caresses.
“That sounds lovely,” Sonya said. “I think I’ll go see what Mattie has on for dinner.” She headed for the door and John-Michael started to follow, but his father called him back. “A word with you please, son.”
He nodded, but he stopped Sonya before she got too far and whispered in her ear, “Change your clothes.” She looked down at herself, saw the hand print and blushed prettily.
Jock was busy bagging up the dead plants for disposal when John-Michael rejoined him. “You wanted something, Dad?”
“Any fool can see what you’ve been up to.”
John-Michael had nothing to say to that. He had no defense. Nor did he really feel he needed one. He was counting the days until seducing Sonya would no longer be forbidden.
“I thought you two got over all that stuff years ago.”
“It was just a kiss.”
“Damn it, John-Michael, I didn’t think I raised an idiot. She belongs to another man. How could you even—”
“She doesn’t. She’s not going to marry Marvin.”
“Oh, is that what she’s tellin’ ya?”
John-Michael pulled a black plastic garbage bag from the roll and helped his father dispose of the dead plants. But as soon as he picked one up, he realized they weren’t dead. “Aren’t these Muffy’s camellias? The ones she’s so fond of?”
“So what if they are?”
“She’ll kill you for pulling these up. Dad, what were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that I’m the head gardener around here, and it’s high time Miss Muffy listened to my advice. Those camellias were old and they overpowered the corner where they were growing. I’m going to put some nice azaleas there.”
“Her mother planted those camellia bushes,” John-Michael said, as if Jock needed reminding. “Are you trying to get yourself fired?”
Jock narrowed his eyes. “If she fires me, I’ll file sexual harassment charges against her.”
“Sexual—dear God! What are you talking about?”
“It doesn’t concern you.”
“Yes, it does. So long as I’m on the Patterson payroll, part of my job is keeping you in line.”
“How can you keep me in line when you’re not keeping yourself in line?” Jock shot back. “You were all over Muffy’s precious daughter. You’re more likely to get fired than me.”
“I’m already leaving. Dad, what did Muffy do to tick you off?”
But Jock wouldn’t say anything more about it.
Chapter Nine
“I hope you don’t mind, Mother,” Sonya said as she and Muffy sat down at the huge walnut table in the dining room. “But I asked John-Michael to join us for dinner. We have something we want to discuss with you.”
“No, I don’t mind,” Muffy said vaguely. She’d rubbed the eyeliner off one eye. This was very un-Muffy-like.
“Mother, are you feeling all right?”
“Never better,” Muffy answered too quickly. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You seem a little distracted.”
“I’m fine.” Her smile was obviously forced. “What tasteless concoction is Mattie forcing us to eat tonight?” She lifted the silver lid off a serving dish, revealing poached salmon. “Oh, hell, not more fish! I’m going to grow gills if I eat any more fish. Why can’t I have a nice, juicy steak now and then?” She made equally disparaging remarks about the steamed asparagus and wild rice as she spooned them onto her plate, leading Sonya to the unmistakable conclusion that something was bothering Muffy.
“Mother, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
John-Michael chose that moment to enter the dining room. He’d changed into clean, pressed khakis and a long-sleeved knit shirt. There was no sign of their “dirty” kiss in the greenhouse an hour ago.
“You’re late,” Muffy said.
“I’m sorry.” He looked at the grandfather clock in the corner, which read one minute until seven. “Sonya, you did say seven, right?”
“Yes. You’re n
ot late. We just sat down ourselves.”
“Don’t contradict me,” Muffy said peevishly.
John-Michael shared a look with Sonya, who shrugged helplessly. She had no idea what was going on with her mother. But maybe it was better this way. If Muffy was already in a lousy mood, they couldn’t ruin it with their bad news.
“What’s that?” Muffy asked, nodding toward an arrangement of chrysanthemums and baby’s breath that graced the center of the huge table.
“It’s a flower arrangement,” Sonya answered dryly.
“I know what it is. What’s it doing there?”
“Just sitting, I think.”
“Don’t be cheeky, Sonya.”
“It’s one of Jock’s arrangements he did specially for you,” Sonya replied, trying to give her mother the answer she was looking for. Jock had been doing a fresh arrangement every day since Muffy had come home from the hospital. Mattie or June would deliver the new flowers each day to Muffy’s bedroom, then take the previous day’s arrangement and put it somewhere else in the house. “I think this was Saturday’s delivery.”
“It’s ugly,” she declared. “Get it out of here. I don’t want to look at it.”
“Ooookay.” Sonya rose, walked over to the flowers, picked up the heavy ceramic container and headed toward the kitchen.
“No. Wait. Bring them back.”
Sonya did a U-turn and deposited the flowers where they’d been. Then she waited to see if Muffy would reverse her orders again.
Muffy looked at Sonya, challenging. “I can change my mind if I want.”
“Of course you can, Mother. Now, are you going to tell me what’s really bothering you?”
Muffy burst into tears, prompting Sonya to rush around to the head of the table and put her arms around her mother. “Please, Mother, don’t cry. Whatever it is, we can fix it, we can get through it together. But I can’t help if you won’t tell me.”
“It’s n-nothing,” Muffy said through her tears.
John-Michael looked on, concern etched in his face. “Does this have anything to do with the camellias?” he asked.