by Patricia Kay
His eyes looked like blue ice. "So, you're saying that since you no longer need me to pay your mother's bills, you want out?"
"Yes." She met his gaze without cringing. I was right. He doesn't love me at all. Otherwise he would have said something . . . anything.
"I see." His lips twisted. His face closed. She could see the mask slip into place.
She hadn't realized this would hurt so much. She wanted to cry, You're wrong. You're wrong. I love you. I'm doing this for you. But she didn't. This was too important. She owed Nick. She knew how honorable he was. She knew he would never desert her, never go back on their deal. It didn't matter what their prenuptial agreement said. She knew as well as she knew her own name that he wouldn't leave her no matter how much he wanted a child of his own.
So, she had to go through with this. She had to insult him, wound his pride, give him a tangible reason to feel well rid of her once he got over the shock to his ego. And she would have to learn to live with the knowledge that he despised her. She would also have to learn to live without him. The only man she would ever love.
* * *
Claire wouldn't let Lucille help her pack. She took some of the clothes Nick had bought her, but left most. She certainly wouldn't need all the cocktail dresses and formal gowns. Nor would she need the furs and jewelry. And even if she did, she wasn't entitled to them. Bad enough that she would have to try to figure out how to repay him for all of Kitty's expenses over the past six months.
When she was finished packing, she called her aunt.
"I don't understand, Claire. Why are you leaving? What's happened?" her Aunt Lily said.
"I'll tell you when I get there. Are you sure it's okay for me to come and stay there for a while?"
"Darling, of course, it's okay. You can stay here as long as you like. Permanently, if you want to."
Claire closed her eyes. She wasn't completely alone as long as she had Lily and David. And Peachey. How could she forget Peachey?
After phoning her aunt, she wrote Nick a note and left it propped on his side of the bed. It said:
Nick,
I know I'm not entitled to keep the car, but I'll need to use it for a while. As soon as I get another, I'll return the Mercedes.
Then, as an afterthought, she added:
Thank you for everything. I'm sorry it's worked out this way.
Claire
She didn't cry. Not even when Lucille and Mrs. Stone, both with tears in their eyes, hugged her. Not even when she removed her engagement ring and put it in her jewelry box for Nick to find. Not even when she removed the keys to the house from her key ring and placed them in the center of her dresser. Not even when she passed the closed door of Nick's study.
She burrowed deep into her down parka as she loaded her suitcases into the Mercedes. Then she took one last look at the house. She raised her eyes to the tower room, then lowered them to Nick's study on the bottom level. The windows looked blankly back at her.
She wondered if he were standing inside his study. Was he watching her leave? What was he thinking? Her heart beat with heavy thuds, and tears burned behind her eyelids, but she couldn't let herself give way to them.
She knew if ever she allowed herself to cry, she might never be able to stop.
* * *
Nick watched her leave. A bone-chilling coldness had settled into his stomach and chest, closing around his heart. He watched the car as it slowly drove away, saw the winking amber of her left turn signal, then the quick flashes of green through the hedges that ringed the yard.
He stared out the window for a long time. The house was silent around him. After awhile, he climbed the stairs into the top of the tower.
Claire's room. Since their marriage, the room and Claire had become permanently intertwined in his mind. He walked softly around, touching the loveseat where they'd shared so many intimate talks, the desk where Claire sat to write in her journal or to answer correspondence, the silver coffee service she'd handled so many times.
A faint scent of roses hung in the air. Her scent. Suddenly, he couldn't stay there another minute. Blindly, he charged down the steep staircase, oblivious to the danger of his recklessness. He climbed the main staircase and walked into their private wing.
When he entered their bedroom, he stopped. Traces of her were everywhere. Then he saw the note. Slowly, he walked toward the bed. He read the note twice, then crushed it in his fist. Anger and pain, hot and heavy, surged through him. And when his eyes rested on the music box he'd given Claire for Christmas, he knew he couldn't stay there.
Grabbing a leather jacket from his closet, he tore back down the steps. He called a message to Mrs. Stone on his way out the back door. "I'm going out. Don't fix dinner for me."
Climbing in the Maserati, he strapped himself in and started the powerful engine. Within thirty minutes he was on the open highway driving west. Where he was headed, he didn't know. He only knew he had to get as far away from Houston as he could.
* * *
Claire found a job within two weeks. Finding the job was easy. Surviving the two weeks wasn't.
Her first hurdle was facing her aunt and uncle. Haltingly, she explained the situation. She told them everything, including the terms of her agreement with Nick.
"Claire!" Lily gasped. "I can't believe this. Why, I would have sworn the two of you were deeply in love."
"Yes. I agree," her uncle said quietly, his gray eyes thoughtful as they rested on Claire's face.
Claire looked away as pain constricted her heart. "No," she said quietly. "It was all a pretense. A contract."
She could tell they still didn't believe her, but thank goodness they didn't argue with her. But she caught them watching her when they thought she wasn't looking, and she knew they both had doubts about what she was doing.
Her second hurdle was Peachey.
"Claire Kendrick Callahan, I'd like to turn you over my knee and spank you!" Peachey declared, dark eyes flashing. "What in the world are you thinkin' of, girl?"
"I had to leave, Peachey. I had to! Don't you understand?"
"I understand that you're crazy. Can you look me in the eye and say you aren't in love with your husband?"
Claire couldn't, but she tried anyway.
"You'll have to do better than that, sugar, if you expect this old friend to believe you."
Claire broke down then, and Peachey put her arms around her, and pretty soon they were both crying.
"This is ridiculous, you know that?" Peachey said when the tears were finally dried up and the two were once more talking quietly. "You love him. And he certainly gave you no reason to think he wanted out. And you'd only been married six months. Hardly long enough to give up on this pregnancy business. Weren't you just a tad hasty, Claire?"
Claire shrugged. "I don't know. All I know is how I feel, Peachey. Nick doesn't love me. I gave him every chance to say he did. Every chance to ask me to stay. And he didn't. He agreed with me."
"Do you blame him? You practically told him he was no longer useful to you. The man has pride, sugar. What did you expect him to do? Cry and beg you to stay? That isn't his style. The Nick Callahans of this world never beg."
"No, Peachey. I know I'm right. He doesn't love me, and I can't bear to live there any longer. I don't want to talk about it anymore. I did what I had to do, and it's over. The marriage really never had a chance."
"Has he filed for a divorce yet?"
"I don't know."
Peachey gave her a speculative look. "If he had, you'd know, because they'd send the papers. Maybe he's not going to."
A small spark of hope flared in Claire's breast. But it was quickly extinguished. "He will."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because last week he sent over all the clothes and furs and jewelry I'd left at the house. Everything. He also sent a note saying he wouldn't take the car back." Her heart thumped heavily as she remembered the icy tone of the note. "He said all of it, including the Mercedes, belonged
to me 'for services rendered.' " She swallowed against the lump in her throat. How could she resent his cruel barb? She'd hurt his pride, insulted him, and he was obviously lashing back at her.
"Whoa," Peachey said. "The dude is decidedly hacked off. So what are you gonna do? Keep the loot? Or send it back?"
"I'd like to send it back. But I know what'll happen if I do. He'll just dump it all on my doorstep again." She slumped down in her chair and rubbed her temples. Weariness stole over her. "I haven't got the energy to fight him. I think I'll just donate it all to Buffalo Children's Home."
The hardest thing Claire had to do was go to Pinehaven and talk with Dr. Phillips. Walking into the nursing home brought so many memories back, and tears stung her eyes. Kitty's face, green eyes glowing, as she touched Claire's wedding veil. The kindness and patience of Nick as he and Claire visited her mother together so many times. The last time she'd seen Kitty here . . . She shook off the thoughts. She had the future to face. Obligations to meet. There was no time for regrets.
"I need to know exactly how much money my husband paid you over the past six or seven months," Claire said to Dr. Phillips.
Then she called the hospital, and after getting the runaround and talking to five different people, she finally got a nice man named Richard Edwards who said he'd send her a copy of her mother's hospital bill. "Even though it's already paid in full," he emphasized.
Chapter 12
"Are you sure this is what you want, Nick?"
Nick evaded Tim's eyes. Instead, he steepled his hands and stared out the windows. The skyline was barely visible through gray clouds. It had been raining for days. He remembered that it was a day much like this one when he'd first called Claire into his office and asked her to write the fake article about him. A year ago. It was hard to believe he'd only known Claire one year.
"Have you talked to Claire since she left?" Tim persisted.
Nick finally looked at Tim. A frown marred his smooth, freckled face. "No."
"Why not?"
"What's there to talk about? She made herself perfectly clear. She wants nothing more to do with me."
Tim's frown deepened. "There's something about all this that bothers me. Something that doesn't seem quite right."
"Such as?" Nick didn't really care what Tim thought—what anyone thought. Claire was gone. Their marriage was over.
Tim leaned back in his chair and bit his lip. He sighed. "You know I wasn't in favor of this marriage," he began. "I didn't trust Claire at all, or your assessment of her."
Nick nodded. His assessment had obviously been wrong. He had a sudden clear picture of Claire on their wedding day. Her purity. Her luminous smile. Had it all been an act? Could he have been so blind? Pain knotted in his chest.
Tim was still talking. "But once I got to know her, I changed my mind. And I don't change my mind easily. You know that, too."
Nick nodded again. Yes, they'd both been taken in. It was ironic really. Nick Callahan—the shrewd businessman—had been bested at his own game. While he'd been congratulating himself on his clever handling of his malleable wife, she had even more cleverly manipulated him. She had given him exactly what she'd known he wanted—the belief that he had the upper hand. She'd used him, and when she no longer needed him, she'd discarded him.
"The point is, Claire is a fine person. Too fine to dump you simply because she doesn't need you anymore. I think her emotions are a mess. I think her mother's death has done a number on her mind and she's not thinking straight. I think you should try to talk to her."
He wanted to believe Tim was right. But Tim hadn't seen her face when she called their marriage a travesty. No. She didn't love him. She wanted to be free. "I'm not going to beg."
Tim stared at him for a long moment. "There's a difference between fighting for something you believe in and begging. I thought you knew that."
"Why fight to save something that never existed?"
"I saw the way she looked at you, Nick. The way you looked at her. The two of you had more going than a simple marriage of convenience. And if your pride wasn't hurt so badly, you'd admit it." Tim gave him a cunning look. "I never thought you were a quitter. I can't believe you're giving her up without a fight. Believe me, if Claire was my wife, I wouldn't give up unless she married someone else." Tim laughed, the sound self-deprecating. "And maybe not even then."
"Well, I'm not you."
Tim stood. His voice hardened. "How well I know that." He picked up the papers he'd brought into the office. "So you want me to draw up the divorce documents?"
"Yes." Why didn't Tim just leave him alone?
"Nick, I've given this a lot of thought, and I decided that if you were determined on this course of action, you'd have to get yourself another lawyer."
Nick's jaw tightened. "You're my lawyer."
Tim took a deep breath. His dark eyes glittered as they met Nick's squarely. "In all fairness to you, I can't represent you on this. There would be a conflict of interest."
"Explain yourself."
"I'm interested in Claire, even if you aren't. If it's really over between the two of you, I'd like to see her." Tim's chin lifted. "You don't mind, do you?"
"Why should I mind? She's nothing to me. She never was." He pretended an interest in the report he'd been reading before Tim came into his office. "If you don't want to handle the divorce, fine. I'll ask Angelo to take care of it."
After Tim left, Nick abandoned the report. He walked over to the window and stared unseeingly at the bleak day.
Bleak. Gray. Cold.
He rubbed his temples. Bitterness welled into his throat. Once again his personal life was a dismal failure. What the hell was wrong with him that he continued to set himself up for a fall? He'd always prided himself on his good sense, his ability to see a situation, assess it, and make good decisions. And once more, he'd walked headlong into disaster.
Well, he had finally learned his lesson. Never again.
The words mocked him. Too late, they said. The damage has already been done. You did it again. You allowed your emotions to become involved. And, bingo, you lost your edge.
How had it happened? When had it happened? He had thought he was so smart. He had picked a woman with his brains, offered her money and security, and then he had married her. He had scoffed at her questions about love when he'd first proposed, told her he'd give her something better.
He was a fool. He had married a woman who believed in love, but by forcing her to give him only what he thought he wanted, he had killed any chance he'd had that she could love him. The laugh was definitely on him.
He had fallen in love with his wife but too late. Now he had to pay the price. Now he would have to stand by and watch her fall in love with someone else.
Punching his right fist into the palm of his left hand, Nick fought the tightness in his chest and the hot tide of misery that threatened to engulf him.
Then he turned away from the window, grabbed his briefcase, and charged out of the office, down the short hallway to the reception area.
Wanda looked up, obviously startled, hands poised over her keyboard. Her dark eyebrows arched up.
"I'm leaving for the day," Nick said. Before she could answer, he stalked off.
* * *
For the first month after she left Nick, Claire avoided the Buffalo Children's Home. Then one day she realized she was depriving herself unnecessarily. Nick never visited the home except on the weekends. He worked too late most weekdays. So she was perfectly safe stopping there on her way home from work.
The following Tuesday she did just that and spent an hour and a half visiting with the children she'd come to love so much. They all wanted to know where she'd been.
"I started a new job, so I've been very busy," she explained, keeping her voice light.
"I missed you a lot," Brigitte said. "I even called the house one day, but whoever answered the phone said you weren't there."
A dull pain throbbed in Claire's breast. "Hone
y, I'm sorry. It was thoughtless of me not to come sooner."
Brigitte, who was too sharp to be fooled easily, said, "Nick hasn't been around much lately, either."
At the mention of Nick's name, Claire's heart bumped painfully against her chest wall. She was on the verge of fabricating another excuse but something in Brigitte's eyes stopped her. Claire couldn't lie to her. Brigitte deserved the truth. "Nick and I are separated, Brigitte. And . . . well . . . things have been . . . difficult."
Brigitte's blue eyes widened, and an expression of dismay distorted her pretty face. "Oh, no! Why?"
Claire sighed. "We made a mistake, that's all."
"A mistake! But, Claire—"
"Sometimes adults do stupid things, honey. Then they have to try to correct the problems they created."
"I ... I can't believe it . . ." Without warning, Brigitte's eyes filled with tears.
Claire's throat constricted at the obvious pain the teenager was feeling. Impulsively, she drew the slender girl into her arms. Her own eyes filled. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry we let you down." Now the destruction of the child's illusions was one more thing Claire had to feel guilty about.
"I ... I thought . . ." Brigitte pulled away, and their eyes met. The girl swallowed. A tear rolled down her cheek.
"What, honey?" Claire gently wiped the tear away.
Brigitte's bottom lip trembled. She turned away, blinking furiously. "Oh, nothing. It . . . it's stupid. I'm stupid."
Claire touched her arm, and Brigitte bowed her head. Now the tears came freely. Claire put her arms around the girl and hugged her. She couldn't hold back her own tears. "It's okay," she soothed, rubbing Brigitte's back. "But I wish you'd tell me what you're thinking."
"Oh, it's so dumb," was the muffled reply. "I . . . I thought ... I used to dream about you and Nick. I . . . oh, I know you would never have been my parents, but . . ." Her voice trailed off, and Claire tightened her arms. Dear God. How cruel they'd been. Unknowingly, perhaps, but still cruel.