He smiled across the table at her. "I'm sure it'll work out," he claimed, "one way or another."
"Sure." Maggie smiled as he grasped her offered hand. Clearly, he wasn't ready to talk about whatever was actually bothering him. She could respect that. Boy, could she respect it. "So," she asked, and grinned. "What's good to eat here?"
"You think I've ever been here before?"
They both laughed. Indeed, Ian made sure after that to be a good companion, keeping the mood light, even festive. She ordered a nicoise salad. He had Chilean sea bass. They each had a glass of Chai tea.
Not that they tarried over dinner, however. Maggie hadn't forgotten they wouldn't be able to get together on Friday, maybe not until the weekend after that. Ian clearly hadn't forgotten this salient fact, either. He was efficient in dealing with the check and getting them back on the road toward home.
Nor did they dally once Maggie opened her front door and they were safely and privately inside.
"When is Andy expecting you back?" Maggie murmured, once Ian's lips gave her a brief moment in which to speak.
"I told him not to expect me until after he'd gone to bed." Ian took her mouth in a deeper, more serious kiss. "We can take our time."
And yet they didn't end up taking their time. Kissing and clutching, they made their way to Maggie's bedroom, where they disposed of their clothes with great rapidity.
But as Ian maneuvered Maggie onto her bed, she found herself reminded of the moment in the restaurant when anxiety had lined his face. There was something a bit frantic going on here. Something behind the determination with which he was getting her on her back, underneath him, receptive.
He was doing too good a job of seduction however for Maggie to stop and question him. She was soon a wanting puddle, her mind filled with nothing but need for him.
It was always like this, actually. She always went a little crazy toward the end. Always ended up submitting completely, like some fading damsel to her dashing knight. And it always felt...good.
This time, though, Maggie felt something in addition to the familiar climbing pleasure as Ian moved inside her. A darker emotion was working here. The emotion almost seemed like despair, as if—as if maybe he didn't think they were going to be like this again.
Maggie felt a stab of her own despair at such a thought and clutched him close. They came together in one grand paroxysm.
Maggie huffed out a breath of release and pulled him even closer. They stayed that way for a little while, locked in each other's arms, then Ian groaned, and moved his weight to one side.
Maggie blinked and her brain wavered back into focus. Something definitely was bothering Ian. Since that something had so obviously moved into their lovemaking, she now felt the right to pry.
Rolling on one elbow, she looked over at him. "Hey."
"Hey," he replied breathily.
"So." Maggie made a two-finger caress on his chest. "You want to tell me what that was about?"
Ian raised his eyebrows.
Maggie tapped her two fingers in a reprimand. "You're upset."
Ian's eyebrows lowered again. He regarded Maggie for a long time. "I'm not upset," he said at last. "At least, not with you. It's this— I don't know, Maggie."
He shifted up to lean on his own elbow. They were face to face, then, at the same level. Ian took a deep breath. "There's so much up in the air in my life, so much I can't control. See— Well— It's just I'd like at least one thing nailed down." And he gazed hard at her, as if she was supposed to know what he was talking about.
Maggie did know. Bone deep in the part of her she was trying to save, she knew exactly what he was talking about. Fear arrowed through her. He wasn't supposed to bring that up. By avoiding a discussion of it at the restaurant, he'd led her to believe all was safe. Discussing it now wasn't fair.
Maggie pulled the sheet close to herself. "Oh, I don't think—"
"Come on, Maggie." Desperation laced Ian's voice. "Let's be— You know how I feel about you. Serious. Really serious. I'm completely in love with you."
Maggie's attempt at retreat stalled. A part of her determination slipped away.
Ian took her arm. "Being in love with you, well, for someone like me that leads to only one thing." His dark eyes stared earnestly into hers. "I'd really like to marry you, Maggie."
The words froze her nascent melting. He'd done the forbidden: asked her to marry him.
The fear that jumped into her throat might not have been strictly logical, but it made perfect sense to Maggie.
Marriage. This was how her mother had ended up dominated by her father. It was how Sophia had ended up dominated by Ian himself, for that matter. The institution clearly did something to a woman. Maggie was already situated so precariously on a precipice of subservience that entering marriage would send her hurtling right off the edge. She'd utterly lose herself. It would complete a process already much too far along.
"I was supposed to take a yoga class tonight," Maggie blurted.
"What?"
"I was supposed to take a yoga class." Maggie pulled out of his grip. "But I didn't. Because I wanted to be with you, to please you."
Ian looked utterly baffled. Of course he was. He couldn't imagine that he might have impinged on her life, or that she even had one separate from him. "A yoga class," he repeated, clearly lost.
"That's right, and I didn't take it. Isn't that enough? Isn't it enough I'm that far gone?" She sat up straight. "That should be enough for you."
Staring at her, Ian, too, pushed himself to a sitting position. "Isn't it enough—? You skipped a yoga class for me?" He looked astounded. "I don't care if you skip yoga or not."
"That's exactly it." Pressure built behind Maggie's forehead. "That's the problem. You don't care. About my life. What I want to do. What I want to be. Except insofar as it affects you."
Ian was staring at her gape-mouthed. "What?" he whispered.
"You asked me to marry you, as if—as if that could possibly be in my best interest," Maggie stated.
The shock on Ian's face said that he'd never considered marrying him could be anything but in Maggie's best interest.
Maggie pulled the bed sheet tighter against her chest. "I refuse to be controlled by anybody, Ian. Not even you."
His eyes widened as he stared at her. "I'm not asking to control you."
The pressure behind Maggie's forehead got worse. "I'd like to know what you are asking, then."
He waved a hand in the air, obviously reining in his temper. "A life shared. Commitment— Dammit, Maggie, you know what I'm talking about."
Panic clogged Maggie's throat. He made it sound good, equal, like something that might actually work. Terrified she might start to believe him, she blurted, "I'll tell you what I know. I know the kind of life Sophia led."
That stopped him. Indeed, her words produced a ringing silence.
For a second or two, anyway. Then Ian's face went dark. His voice lowered to a rough whisper. "Tell me, Maggie. What kind of a life did Sophia lead?"
Maggie's throat was so tight she could barely breathe. She could feel Ian's anger, but she refused to be cowed by it. "She lived under your thumb, that's how she lived. Unable to make a single decision for herself."
Ian's lips were thin lines. "I agree with you. She was unable to make a single decision for herself. It was absolute hell for her to make decisions. So I did it for her. She depended on me for that."
Maggie stared at him, her heart pounding like a jackhammer.
Ian leaned toward her. Somehow, his voice went even rougher. "You're really reaching if you're trying to make out your sister was unhappy with me."
"I'm not," Maggie whispered past the clog in her throat. "She wasn't."
Ian's lip curled. "Easy for you to criticize, from the outside. The fact is you know nothing about it. In fact, you know nothing about having a relationship with a man at all."
Maggie's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"
"You accuse me of being a
tyrant. I know what you're really saying. You think I'm like your father. In fact, you think every man is like your father. You can't see anything else."
Maggie stared at him, her fury rising. "I do not," she retorted. "I've had relationships with men. Plenty of them."
Ian's eyes were hard on her. "Oh, sure, you've had boyfriends—and they were 'boys,' every one of them."
Maggie gasped.
"You've never been with a man who dared to stand up to you."
Maggie could only gape at the man. The nerve!
Ian pushed off of the bed. He was naked, but that didn't seem to detract from his raw angry power. "Now I know what happens when the man you're with exhibits an ounce of self-determination. You punish him. No wonder you've always been single."
Maggie sat up very straight. "And now I know what happens when the woman you're with refuses to be pushed around." She was trembling with fury. The nerve. The nerve. "You can't handle it."
Ian hopped into his pants. He grabbed his shirt and shoved one arm through a sleeve. "I should have known," he muttered. "I should have known."
"Make that ditto for me," Maggie shot back at him. "I knew, I knew what you were all about."
Ian shrugged his other arm into his shirt. "Don't get up," he said. "I know the way to the door."
Maggie did not get up. She sat there in helpless fury as Ian swept out of the room. She was so angry she was trembling. The next moment she heard her front door open and then slam shut.
Good riddance, she thought, still trembling. Good riddance.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
If Ian had been thinking about it, he probably wouldn't have gotten behind the wheel of his Cherokee. He was too angry to drive. But he didn't think about it. He stalked out of Maggie's house and opened the door of his car, all the while trembling with fury.
The nerve of the woman. The nerve! Accusing him of dominating Sophia, of being a bad husband. What did she know about it? What did she know? She'd never been married—or even close to it—in her life!
As for her claim that he wanted to own her and didn't care about what she wanted—
With his hands in death clenches on the wheel, Ian made it home. At the corner, in sight of the lights in his house, he dramatically reduced speed. With his jaw set, he turned into his driveway. He sat there a moment, still seething, before turning off the motor.
Maggie didn't know what marriage was all about. She had no idea. The thought echoed in Ian's brain, and made there an unhappy curve. That's right. Maggie didn't know what marriage was all about. She didn't have any idea.
But he'd known. He'd understood perfectly Maggie's mistaken notions about marriage and relationships with men in general. In the silent car, Ian's hands relaxed on the wheel. He'd known exactly where Maggie was coming from.
He'd even known the likely result of a marriage proposal.
A groan rose from Ian's chest. He smoothed his hands up the steering wheel and dropped his forehead on them.
He'd known, but he'd gone ahead and blundered into it anyway. What he'd told Maggie had been honest. He was desperate to nail down at least one thing in his life. He could have added the only thing he'd truly been desperate about nailing down was her.
Groaning again, he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead hard against the leather cover of the steering wheel.
This is where his desperation had landed him: broken up with her. Irrevocably so. He'd lashed out in anger and said things for which she would never forgive him.
She had no idea how to have a relationship with a man? Talk about digging your own grave.
Ian gritted his teeth against another groan and banged his head against the steering wheel. He was a complete and utter idiot.
~~~
When Andy heard his father pull the car into the driveway, he shut the magazine he hadn't really been reading anyway. Huh, the jerk was home earlier than Andy had expected.
Good.
Andy's lips curled back in a smile of scorn. He was ready to get into this. Who did his dad think he was, anyway? Who did he think he was?
Rubbing his hands on his jeans, Andy stood up. He was ready, but his father was taking his sweet time getting out of the car and into the house. It gave Andy the opportunity to wonder if he should stand there confrontational, or act all casual and stay on the sofa with the magazine.
Stand there, he decided. He took up a wide-legged stance, his arms crossed over his chest. He knew he was in the right here, but his heart still pounded under his crossed arms when he heard the key turn the lock of the front door.
Andy simply set his jaw harder and narrowed his eyes as his father pushed open the door and came in.
"Andy," Ian said, obviously surprised.
"Dad," Andy replied, and raised one eyebrow.
Ian looked confused. In fact, he looked all around out of it, missing his jacket and tie, and with his shirt all mussed.
Andy didn't want to think about how his father's clothes had got that way. He firmed his jaw yet more. "You got a message," he told his dad, "while you were gone."
"I did?" Ian still looked confused, probably because he couldn't figure out why Andy was looking so militant about a phone message.
Andy was happy to explain it to him. "From your boss," he elucidated. Though the words nearly closed his throat, he forced himself to sound calm and collected. He even smiled, though it was a strained, furious type of smile. "He wanted to make sure you were on a Wednesday flight, because they managed to squeeze in an early-morning interview on Thursday morning."
"Oh," Ian said. "That's fine. Thanks for giving me the message." Then he started walking, like he was just going to go up the stairs to his bedroom or something. Just 'thanks for the message' and that was it.
Andy moved to block Ian's path. "You're going on a plane somewhere?"
"Didn't I tell you?" Ian acted all innocent, like he was just sure he'd told Andy. "I've got to go to Kansas City tomorrow, do a few interviews with this crazy architect. I'll be back Sunday afternoon."
Rage rose within Andy, a clear, refreshing rage. "No. You didn't tell me."
"Oh." Finally, guilt began to appear on Ian's face. "Sorry. I was sure I—"
"You didn't tell me," Andy interrupted. "You wouldn't have dared tell me, because you knew what I would think of it."
Ian's mouth opened. His face displayed more guilt, though he tried to sound surprised. "What?"
Andy uncrossed one of his arms to point. "You know what I would think of you doing something so—so—hare-brained and selfish."
Ian drew himself straight. "Excuse me?"
Andy laughed. Oh, his father was going to continue playing innocent, was he? "You're going on a business trip?" Andy queried. "As if you're just Mr. Hale and Hearty, huh? As if you're Mr. One Hundred Percent. As if nothing ever happened at all?" Some of Andy's control slipped at the end there. His voice went hoarse.
The expression on Ian's face abruptly changed. "Andy, you've got it wrong—"
"Have I?" Andy couldn't pretend control any more. He was too damn mad. "Have I got it wrong that you had a heart attack after the last of your business trips? Is that wrong? Have I got it wrong that you're still on a shitload of medications to make sure you don't have another one? Have I got it wrong that you have to see the cardiologist every other minute to check up on you? Have I got that wrong? Have I?"
"Andy—"
"No!" Andy moved back as his father made to approach. "Don't imagine I care if you up and croak. Go kill yourself, for all I care. But you might think about somebody else for a change. You might think about what it would do to me or Kath—or Aunt Maggie—if you don't recognize yourself for what you are, and what you can really do."
There was more. Andy was pretty sure there was more he had to say, but that seemed to be all he could come up with at the moment. He glared at his father. His father stared back, as if Andy had just gut-shot him.
They stood there another minute, both of them silent and still.
Then his father inclined his head. "Thanks for giving me the message," he said in a low voice. Without another word, he walked right past Andy and up the stairs.
Andy stayed standing in the living room for a long while after that, amazed. Hadn't he made an impression with all that? Hadn't he made a dent?
No. Shit, no. Of course not.
~~~
Maggie took a shower after Ian left. A long, cleansing shower. She wanted to get every drop of him off her. Every time she thought of what he'd said, his insults, she began trembling again.
She had only herself to blame, really. She'd known who he was, the kind of person. She'd always known.
After her long shower, Maggie put on her most comfortable flannel nightshirt. Then she stripped the sheets off the bed and put on a whole clean set. She even dragged out a clean counterpane. There, starting out new, clearing the slate.
The bed looked great, but Maggie wasn't sleepy. She went out to the kitchen. There were some dishes in the sink, left over from breakfast. She washed them. When she turned around, she saw the living room was a bit untidy, with a few days' worth of newspapers lying about. She picked up the newspapers, put them in a pile, then shoved them into her recycle bag under the kitchen sink. She brushed her hands and turned around. Now, what?
But it was too late. The few seconds of inactivity allowed the horrible words to return to Maggie's mind.
Ian said she didn't know how to have a relationship with a man. He said she couldn't deal with a man who wanted any self-determination. Oh! It made her angry all over again.
Angry...and uncertain. Maggie blinked out at her little house. Had she ever had a boyfriend who wasn't thrilled to do her bidding, one who didn't bend over backward to make her happy? She stood there with her heart pounding and tried to remember. There'd been Paul, and before him Eric...Her brain sifted through the names and the years.
Her fingers curled into fists as she tried to think, to come up with one name. Surely, surely there had been at least one man in her life who'd had some backbone.
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