''I Do''...Take Two!

by Merline Lovelace

  Not this time, he swore fiercely. Not this time.

  Under Massachusetts law, a divorce didn’t become final until three months after issuance of a nisi judgment. That gave Travis exactly two weeks to breach the chasm caused by so many separations and one exercise of monumental stupidity. Determined to win back the wife he still ached for, he issued a challenge he knew she wouldn’t refuse.

  “Too scared to share a bottle of wine, sweetheart?”

  “What do you think?”

  The disdainful lift of her brows told him she knew exactly what he was doing, but Travis held his ground.

  “What I think,” he returned, “is that we should get out of this crowd and enjoy the really excellent chianti I have waiting.”

  The raised brows came together in a frown. Catching her lower lip between her teeth, Kate debated for several moments before turning to her friends.

  “Why don’t you two go on to the Piazza Navona? I’ll catch up with you there. Or,” she amended with a glance at the shadows creeping down the columned facade behind the fountain, “back at the hotel.”

  “We shouldn’t separate,” Callie protested. “Rome’s a big city, and a woman alone makes a tempting target.”

  Travis blinked. Damned if the slender brunette hadn’t just impugned his manhood, his combat skills and his ability to fend off pickpockets and mashers.

  “She won’t be alone,” he said drily. “And I think I can promise to keep her out of the line of fire.”

  “Riiiight.” The redhead on Kate’s other side bristled. “And we all know what your promises are worth, Westbrook.”

  Jaw locked, he heroically refrained from suggesting that a woman who’d left two grooms stranded at the altar probably shouldn’t sling stones. His wife read the signs, though, and hastily intervened.

  “It’s okay,” Kate told her self-appointed guard dogs. “Travis and I can remain civil long enough to share a glass of wine. Maybe. Go on. I’ll see you at the hotel.”

  The still-aggressive Dawn would have argued the issue, but Callie tugged her arm. The redhead settled for giving Travis a final watch-yourself glare before yielding the field.

  “Whew,” he murmured as the two women wove through the crowd. “Good thing neither of them was armed. I’d be gut shot right now.”

  “You’re not out of danger yet. I haven’t had to resort to any of the lethal moves you taught me to take down an attacker. There’s always that first instance, however.”

  Travis figured this wasn’t the time or place to admit those training sessions had generated some of his most erotic memories. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d bedded down in yet another godforsaken dump of an airstrip and treated himself to the mental image of his wife in skintight spandex, sweaty and scowling and determined to wrestle him to the mat.

  “I’ll try not to become your first victim,” he said as she started toward the café.

  Without thinking, he put a hand to the small of her back to guide her through the milling crowd. As light as it was, the touch stopped Kate in her tracks. He smothered a curse and removed his hand.

  “Sorry. Force of habit.”

  Kate dipped her chin in a curt nod. One she sincerely hoped gave no clue of the wildly contradictory emotions generated by the courteous and once-welcome gesture.

  Swallowing hard, she threaded a path through the crowd. His innate courtesy was one of the character traits she’d treasured in her husband. He’d grown up in a grimy Massachusetts mill town still struggling to emerge from its sweatshop past. Yet his fiercely determined mother had managed to blunt the rough edges he’d had to develop to survive in the gang-ridden town. In the process, she’d instilled an almost Victorian set of manners. A full scholarship to UMass followed by his introduction to the hallowed traditions of the air force officer ranks had added more layers of polish.

  And there was another irony, Kate mused as her husband held out a chair for her at one of the rickety tables set under a green-and-white-striped awning. The magna cum laude grad and the thoughtful, courteous gentleman seemed to have no problem coexisting with the gladiator honed by street brawls and the brutal training he’d gone through to become a special operations pilot.

  The thought spawned another, one that made her chest hurt as she waited for Travis to claim his seat. Loyalty was another character trait she’d always believed went bone-deep in her husband. He was part of an elite cadre chosen to fly the HC-130J, the latest version of the venerable Hercules transport that performed yeoman service in the Vietnam War. Dubbed the Combat King II, this modern-day, technically sophisticated version of the Herc was the only dedicated personnel recovery platform in the air force inventory. That meant it could fly high over extended distances with air-to-air refueling or go in low and slow to drop, land or recover special operations teams.

  Most of the Combat King crew members Kate met over the years were too macho to spout platitudes about the brotherhood of arms or the bonds forged by battle. They didn’t have to. The racks of ribbons decorating their service uniforms said it for them. Was it that closeness, the exclusivity of the war fighters’ world, that had prompted Travis to take such a personal interest in Captain Diane Chamberlain? He swore it was. Swore he’d only intended to mentor the bright young communications officer.

  Kate had ached to believe him. If she hadn’t been all too aware of the unwritten rule that what happened when deployed, stayed deployed... If his ambitious protégée hadn’t included those graphic details in her Facebook post... If Kate and Trav hadn’t already drifted so far apart...

  And that, she’d admitted—to him and to herself, when she’d worked through the initial anger and hurt—was the real crux of the matter. Their careers had taken them down such different paths. His from a brand-new pilot with shiny wings to a commander of battle-hardened air crews. Hers from a starting job as a foreign accounts manager at a Bank of America branch to the Washington, DC, headquarters of the World Bank.

  Now here they were. Four years of tumultuous courtship and five years of marriage later. Near strangers sharing a tiny table in the city they’d always planned to explore together. As Travis tipped wine from the waiting bottle into dark green glasses, Kate let her gaze drift from the gloriously baroque Trevi Fountain to the tall earth-toned hotels and residences ringing the piazza’s other three sides.

  “I can’t believe we’re really in Rome,” she murmured.

  “Took us long enough to get here.”

  The rueful acknowledgment drew her gaze from the vibrant scene to her husband. She searched his face, seeing again the weariness etched into the white squint lines at the corners of his eyes. Seeing, too, the scatter of silver in the dark chestnut hair he always kept regulation short.

  She couldn’t help herself. Before she even realized what she was doing, she reached across the tiny table and feathered a finger along his temple. “Is this gray I see?”

  “It is. Helluva note when heredity and the job conspire to make you an old man at thirty-two.”

  Her gaze dropped to the muscled shoulders molded by his blue Oxford shirt. Its open collar showcased the strong column of his neck, the rolled-up sleeves his tanned forearms. Withdrawing her hand, she sat back and accepted the wine he passed her with a reluctant smile.

  “You’re not totally decrepit yet, Major Westbrook.”

  “You, either, Ms. Westbrook. Does it violate the ground rules of our truce if I say that you look damned good for a senior investment accounts officer?”

  “Make that executive investments accounts officer. I was promoted two months ago.”

  “Who died?”

  The long-standing joke drew a chuckle. It was a more or less accepted axiom in the banking community that a manager only moved up when a superior keeled over at his or her desk.

  Thankfully Kate hadn’t had to step over any c
orpses to reach her present position. Her undergraduate degree in business management from Boston College and a master’s in international finance and economic policy from Columbia had given her an edge in the race to the top. That and the fact that she’d begun her career at Bank of America. With BOA’s diversity of services and global reach, she’d been able to snag positions of increasing responsibility each time Travis transferred to a new base.

  “No one that I know of,” she answered.

  “Good to hear.” Mugging an expression of profound relief, he lifted his glass. “Here’s to the World Bank’s smartest and best-looking executive investments accounts officer.”

  She clinked her glass to his, surprised and secretly grateful for the easy banter. She still hadn’t quite recovered from the shock of his unexpected appearance in Rome. Although...

  She swirled the chianti inside her mouth for a moment, ostensibly to savor the rich, robust flavors of blueberry and clove. Not so ostensibly to deliver a swift mental kick.

  She should have at least considered the possibility Travis would track her down. Especially since they’d planned and canceled a trip to Italy so many times that it, too, became a long-standing joke. Then an annoyance. Then one more casualty of their crumbling marriage.

  “So how are you liking Washington?”

  She let the wine slide down her throat and answered carefully. “So far, so good.”

  Long, agonizing hours had gone into her decision to accept the job at the World Bank. Travis had agreed it was a fantastic opportunity, too good to pass up. He’d also acknowledged that they’d put his career ahead of hers up to that point. What neither of them could admit was that her move to DC had signaled the beginning of the end.

  Even then they’d tried to make it work. He’d flown in between deployments for short visits. She’d zipped down to Florida for the ceremony awarding him the Silver Star—despite the fact his plane had taken hits from intense antiaircraft fire, Travis and his crew had managed a daring extraction of a navy SEAL team pinned down and about to be overrun. An air force general and a navy admiral had both been present at the ceremony. Each had commented on how proud Kate must be of her husband.

  She was! So proud she often choked up when she tried to describe what he did to outsiders. Pride was cold comfort, though, when he grabbed his go kit and took off for another short-notice rotation to Afghanistan or Somalia or some other war-ravaged, disease-stricken area of operations.

  Then there were the ops he couldn’t tell her about. Highly classified and often even more dangerous. Like, she guessed a moment later, the present one. She got her first clue when he glossed over her question about how long he’d be in Italy.

  “We’re not sure. Could be another month, could be more. What about you? How long are you staying?”

  “I fly home on the twentieth.”

  He cocked his head. “Two days after our divorce becomes final.”

  “Dawn and Callie thought it would be easier to... That is, I wanted to...” She played with her glass, swirling the dark red chianti, and dug deep for a smile. “I couldn’t think of a better distraction than touring Italy with the two of them.”

  “How about touring it with me?”

  Her hand jerked, almost slopping wine over the edge of the glass. “What?”

  “I owe you this trip, Kate. Let me make good on that debt.”

  “You can’t be serious!”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  Stunned, she shook her head. “We’re too far down the road, Trav. We can’t backtrack now.”

  “True.” He leaned forward into a slanting beam of sunlight, so close and intent she could see the gold flecks in his hazel eyes. “But we can take some time to see if there’s enough left to try a different track.”

  “That’s crazy. All we’ll do is open ourselves up to more hurt when we say goodbye.”

  “No, Kate, we won’t. Despite Dawn’s snide comment a few minutes ago, I hold to my word.” Reaching across the table, he curled a knuckle under her chin. “When and if we say goodbye, I promise you won’t regret this time together.”

  Chapter Two

  “Kate!” Dismay chased across Dawn’s expressive face. “Tell me you’re not actually going to traipse off with the man!”

  “I said I’d consider it.”

  “But...but...”

  “I know,” Kate admitted with a grimace. “The whole idea of this trip was to help me remember there’s a big, wide world out there that doesn’t have to include Travis Westbrook.”

  “Now you want to narrow it down again?”

  “Maybe. For a week. Or not. I don’t know.”

  The less-than-coherent reply had Dawn swiveling on the crimson brocade sofa lavishly trimmed with gold rope. It was one of two plush sofas in the sitting room of their suite at the five-star Rome Cavalieri. A member of the Waldorf chain, the hotel sat perched on fifteen acres of private parkland overlooking the Eternal City. With its elegant decor, breath-stealing view of St. Peter’s Basilica in the near distance and shuttle service to the heart of Rome, the Cavalieri provided a home base of unparalleled luxury and convenience. The stunning vista framed by the doors of their suite’s balcony was the last thing on the minds of anyone at the moment, however.

  Ignoring the city lights twinkling like fireflies in the purple twilight, Dawn made an urgent appeal. “Talk to her, Callie. Remind her how many times she and Travis tried to bridge the gap. When he was home long enough to do any bridging, that is.”

  “She doesn’t need reminding. She knows the count better than we do. And God knows you and I haven’t scored any better in the love-and-marriage game.”

  Dawn scrunched her nose at the unwelcome reminder while Callie searched their friend’s face. “Which way are you leaning? Yea or nay?”

  Sighing, Kate unclipped her hair and raked a hand through the sun-streaked blond spirals. She kept intending to get the shoulder-length curls cut, maybe have them tamed into a sleek bob. Another manifestation of the new Kate Westbrook, like the tailored suits she’d invested in for her move to the World Bank and the two-bedroom condo she’d rented in DC.

  “I keep swinging back and forth,” she admitted. “My head says it would be a monumental mistake. If I think of it in terms of a return on investment, I can’t see how a few days together will alter the long-term viability of our marriage. Not unless we introduce some new variables into the equation.”

  “Forget equations and investment returns,” Callie urged. “Don’t think like a banker. Think like a wife who has to decide whether she wants to give her husband one last chance. It’s that simple.”

  “No, it isn’t! You and Dawn figure into the equation, too. I can’t desert you at the very start of our vacation.”

  “Sure you can. Granted, it won’t be anywhere near as much fun without you. I suspect we’ll manage to keep ourselves entertained, though.”

  “But I planned our itinerary in such detail.” Of all the iterations of this trip Kate had devised over the years, this was the most elaborate. “I’ve laid out all the train schedules, subway maps, museum hours, hotel locations.”

  “Dawn and I are big girls. We can get ourselves from point A to point B. Can’t we?”

  “I guess.”

  With that reluctant concession, Dawn shoved off the sofa and skirted a coffee table topped with what seemed like an acre of black marble to plop down beside Kate. Tucking one leg under her, she reached for Kate’s hand and threaded their fingers.

  “Much as I hate to admit it, Callie’s right. Rambling around Italy won’t be nearly as much fun without you. But she’ll get us where we need to go, and I’ll do my damnedest to hook us up with a couple of studly Fabios. So don’t factor us into your equation. All you have to do is decide whether you want to give Travis another chance to break your heart.”


  “Oh, well, when you put it that way...”

  “Dawn, for heaven’s sake!”

  With an exasperated laugh, Callie joined them on the sofa. Wiggling her bottom, she wedged in on Kate’s other side and grasped her free hand.

  They’d huddled together like this so many times as young girls to watch TV or giggle over the silliness of boys. As teens, to whisper secrets and weave dreams. As women, to share their joys and heartaches. More heartache in the past few years, it seemed, than joy.

  “It sounds to me as though your head and your heart are pulling you in opposite directions,” Callie said quietly. “So my advice, girlfriend, is to go with your gut.”

  * * *

  When the three women went down to dinner, Travis was seated at a table in the Cavalieri’s gorgeously landscaped outdoor restaurant. Hurricane lamps flickered, the tables were draped in snowy linen and tall-stemmed crystal goblets gleamed. The floodlit dome of St. Peter’s Basilica looming against a star-studded sky a mile or so away took the setting out of the realm of sophisticated and straight into magical.

  Kate suspected her husband would have preferred she deliver her answer to his outrageous proposal in private. Callie and Dawn had made no attempt to conceal their animosity at the Trevi Fountain, and Travis had to know they would be even less thrilled over the possibility Kate might abandon them. No special ops pilot would ever turn tail and run in the face of the enemy, however. Whatever her decision, he would take his licks.

  Pushing his chair back, he rose as a hostess escorted the three women to the table. He’d topped his jeans and blue Oxford shirt with the gray suede sport coat that Kate knew packed easily and wore well. All he needed was a salon tan and a leather shoulder satchel slung over the back of his chair to fit right in with the casually sophisticated European males in the restaurant.

  Kate, too, had dressed for the occasion in the caramel-colored slacks and matching hip-length jacket she’d bought especially for this trip. Made of a slinky, packable knit, the outfit could be dressed up with the black silk camisole she now wore or down with a cotton tank and chunky wooden necklace. The appreciative gleam in her husband’s eyes as he seated her said he approved of her new purchase.