Weekend Wife

by Carolyn Zane

  He strode into the small living quarters and paced back and forth, threading agitated fingers through his hair.

  “Where’s Helga?” he asked quietly.

  “Out.”

  “Carmen?”

  “Movietime. Kiddy Korner.” She nervously twisted the tissue she’d been using. Knowing she must look horrible—her agony swelling her eyes, blotching her cheeks—she stepped back and cast her face down toward her hands. She wished he’d leave. She’d never been more miserable in her life and, unable to explain why to him, felt trapped. Claustrophobic. Sick with grief.

  Stopping in the middle of the floor, Tyler planted his hands on his narrow hips and squared his imposing shoulders at her. “I had an interesting conversation with Roxanne just now.”

  Emily inhaled abruptly. What did he know?

  “She told me she knows about us.”

  The blotches on her face stood out in sharp contrast as she paled.

  “She told me she knows about you.”

  Backing along the wall, Emily felt for the couch and when she reached it, sank gratefully down to its seat on wobbly legs.

  “So it’s true.” He sighed, shaking his head as he watched her bury her face into her hands. “I think I deserve at the very least the same version you shared with that tramp.”

  “I didn’t share it,” she moaned dejectedly. “Not with another living soul. It’s...supposed to be a secret. She found my diary.” Reaching up, she brushed her bangs out of her bloodshot eyes. “I was going to tell you, though. Just you.”

  “Well, the cat’s out of the bag,” he said, forcing a disgusted puff of air past his tightly clenched teeth. Spying her journal on the countertop beside him, he reached over and picked it up. “You don’t mind,” he informed her, challenging her to object. “Inquiring minds want to know.”

  The next thirty minutes were the most torturous moments of Emily’s life as Tyler sat next to her on the couch in stony silence and read her innermost thoughts and dreams about their relationship and her project. His expression remained unchanging, except for the occasional muscle spasm in his square jaw.

  Finally, just when she thought she couldn’t stand the suspense another second, he snapped her journal shut and tossed it on the couch beside him. Without so much as a word, he stood and strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Heartbroken, Emily laid her cheek down on the worn cover of her diary and soaked its smudged and dirty surface with her tears.

  * * *

  Tyler—after searching nearly every inch of the cruise liner—finally found Uncle Denny and Helga clinging to each other in an airtight embrace and having what appeared to be a deeply intimate conversation.

  It was a night for just one damn surprise after another, he thought, stupefied by the odd couple. He wondered if the spell Emily had cast on him had somehow diminished his normal powers of observation.

  He still couldn’t believe that he hadn’t figured out that Emily was not homeless. There were too many signs he’d overlooked. The finishing school polish, the obvious college education, the ease with which she fit in with the upper management at Connstarr.

  And yet, as polished and comfortable as she had been with the finer things in life, she’d willingly given them up for something she believed in. He had been blown away by the commitment he’d found in her writings. And shamed. She had given up everything for her beliefs. Stood her ground for what was right. He, on the other hand, had sold out. Taken the easy way out to save his lousy career, instead of standing his ground like a man.

  In his heart of hearts, he knew that if he was ever going to get anywhere with the woman he loved—especially now that he knew how much she loved him from the contents of her journal—he was going to have to be as brave and selfless as she was.

  That’s why he’d hunted Uncle Denny down like a bloodhound. And, as fascinating as he found the clandestine meeting taking place before him, his own agenda was far more urgent.

  Clearing his throat, he approached the older couple and waited for them to notice him.

  “Tyler, my boy. We were just talking about you,” Uncle Denny said, slightly loosening his hold on Helga.

  That would have brought a smile to his face if he hadn’t been so intent on delivering his message.

  “Sir, I’d like to have a word with you. Now, if you don’t mind? This shouldn’t take more than a second.” He glanced at Helga, who smiled at him and nodded at Denny.

  “Sure, son. I have a few things to tell you myself,” Denny said, and motioned for Tyler to join him and Helga on some chairs against the wall.

  Taking a deep, fortifying breath of the breezy ocean air, Ty decided to plunge in.

  “Mr. Delmonico, as much as I’ve enjoyed my career working for and growing with your company, I find my current position in the L.A. office untenable.”

  Uncle Denny passed a meaty hand over his face. “I had a feeling—” he began.

  Building steam, Tyler cut him off. “Your shrewish, ill-mannered, vampire of a niece has a form of nymphomania that I can not...and will not be subjected to any longer. She has harassed me from the second I walked through the door, threatening me with my future, and I have had it.” Ty’s voice rose angrily as he leapt out of his chair and turned to face Connstarr’s owner.

  Plowing his hands through his hair, he stopped and laughed shortly in self-derision. “You know—” he shrugged, disgusted with himself “—the only thing I regret is not telling you sooner, Mr. Delmonico....” He paused and looked the older man straight in the eye. “Please take this as my respectful resignation. I liked Connstarr, I liked my job, I liked working for you. It’s your niece I can’t stand.”

  Uncle Denny shook his head as he struggled to get out of his chair and to his feet. “Son,” he said, holding his hands up in an attempt to pacify Tyler. “I understand where you’re coming from here, and I just wanted to let you know—”

  “Mr. Delmonico,” Ty interrupted, not caring to hear a long-winded defense of the errant Roxanne. “There’s really nothing you can say to change my mind. I have to do this. For me, it’s right. If you don’t mind telling Roxanne what she can do with her job, I’ll be on my way. Good night, sir.”

  Before the speechless Uncle Denny could open his mouth to protest, Tyler was gone. For good.

  * * *

  “Emily!”

  Emily peeled her face away from the cover of her journal and sat up to better listen to the commotion in the hall. Was someone shouting her name?

  “Emily!”

  Yes. She stood and, running to the door, peeked fearfully out the peephole. Mortified, she could see every door in the hallway popping open and curious heads swinging in her direction. Oh, no. It sounded like Tyler’s voice. Still in the distance, but closing in quickly.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the porthole. Hermetically sealed. No escape. What was she going to do? Her poor heart couldn’t take much more.

  “Emily!”

  He was outside her door. Pounding for all he was worth and shouting like a lunatic. Her eyebrows knitted together in consternation. Why couldn’t he just knock, like every other civilized man on this ship? Unless he planned to punish her for lying to him. No. He might be crazy, but he wasn’t insane.

  She watched through the peephole, wringing her hands, as he paced back and forth in front of her cabin, ignoring his audience and gearing up to ram the door in if she didn’t open it soon.

  “Emily!”

  “Would you keep it down out here?” Roxanne snapped, stepping into the gathering crowd.

  “Shut up, Roxanne.”

  Gasping in outrage, Roxanne took a step forward and poked a bright red nail into his broad chest. “How dare you talk to me like that? I won’t stand for it.”

  Ty stopped his assault on Emily’s door long enough to deal with his ex-boss. “Roxanne, I can talk to you any way I damn well please. Haven’t you heard? I don’t work for you anymore.” At her skeptical expression, he explai
ned. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, come Monday morning, Uncle Denny will tell you where I said you could file your job.”

  Livid, Roxanne whirled around, stalked to her room and slammed her door behind her.

  “Emily! Open this damn door before I bash it in.” Tyler pounded menacingly to emphasize his point.

  Beginning to believe he would, Emily pulled it open and let him in. Without another word, she suddenly found herself swept up into his arms, and—to the amusement and delight of the curious cruisers—carried down the hall.

  “Ty!” she cried, pulling at the dinner dress she still wore as it rode up her thigh. “Put me down.”

  “No,” he said firmly, and continued down the hallway away from the cheering crowd, up two flights of stairs, across the deck and back to the darkened corner where he’d proposed earlier.

  “What are you doing?”

  Setting her down, he drew her into his arms and looked down into her large, liquid brown eyes.

  “I’m proposing to you.”

  “No,” she whispered in agony, wondering why he insisted on torturing her this way.

  “Why not?” His voice was exceedingly gentle as he brushed a wispy tendril of hair away from her smooth cheek.

  “Because I lied to you.” She hung her head in shame.

  Tilting her face back up, he said, “We’ve both been telling lies since the moment we met. At least you were telling them for a good cause. What’s my excuse? If anyone should apologize for lying, it should be me...and, honey, I am truly sorry. For everything.” He took a shaky breath. “Now, Emily, will you marry me?”

  Squinting, she drew her lower lip between her teeth and chewed. “What about Helga and Carmen? They’re part of my family now. I can’t leave them for my own selfish life.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to.” He smiled teasingly. “Bring them along. The old bird can be the mother and the kid can be the daughter. It’s perfect.” He grinned.

  “Really?” She looked up at him in wonder.

  “Really. Now. Will you marry me?”

  Her brow still slightly puckered with determination, she boldly met his gaze. “I want to finish my study of the homeless for the thesis project I’m working on.”

  “Fine. Will you marry me?”

  “What about school? I want to finish school.” She began to smile.

  “School is good. Finish it, by all means. Marry me.”

  “What about your career with Connstarr? Roxanne will have your head on a platter—”

  “Not a problem. I quit my job. Marry me.”

  “You quit?” she gasped in surprise. After all they’d gone through to save it?

  “Seemed the honorable thing to do.” He grinned. “Besides, all the better to help you study the homeless. From the streets...where we’ll probably be living,” he said dryly.

  “You’d do that for me?”

  Tyler looked down into her face with a yearning so bittersweet it brought tears to her eyes. “Sweetheart, don’t you know that I love you so much, I’d live in a cardboard box as long as we could be together?”

  “Really?” she whispered, full of wonder at this marvelous man, who was more an extension of her soul than her identical twin could ever be.

  “Really.”

  Sighing, Emily ran her hands along the sides of his jaw and pulled his lips to hers. “Me, too,” she whispered against their exquisite softness. “Me, too.”

  “Marry me?” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she answered, and with that simple word, had finally come home to stay.

  Epilogue

  The ever present hum of jet engines lulled Emily Newroth to sleep against the secure strength of her husband’s shoulder. She was exhausted. Ty looked lovingly down at his new bride and gently kissed the top of her head.

  They were flying back to Mexico, where they’d first fallen in love, for a real honeymoon this time. Tyler couldn’t wait. No Roxanne. No Helga. No Carmen... Just the two of them in paradise, exactly like he’d fantasized. Not that he wouldn’t miss his adopted mother and daughter. But he definitely wouldn’t miss Roxanne, though she was now his employee.

  As the jet slowly began its descent, Emily’s ever present journal slid off her snack tray and into his lap, falling open to the day’s entry. Glancing over at her, Ty whispered, “Honey?”

  Emily sniffed and burrowed her head more firmly into his shoulder, smiling in her sleep.

  Taking that as a yes, Ty grinned and began to read.

  December 31, New Year’s Eve—Our wedding day.

  Dear Diary:

  Not wanting to forget a single detail of this special day, I’m confiding in you once again the pieces of my life that have nothing to do with scholarly achievement.

  The ceremony was so beautiful, the old church in San Francisco never looked more heavenly, filled to the top with poinsettias and pine swags. Thank heavens, my sister Erica was back from her honeymoon with Will in time to stand up with me as matron of honor. It’s wonderful to see them all looking so happy. Her stepchildren seem to positively thrive under her firm but loving touch. I’m still amazed at how grateful they all are that I went to L.A. I’d be hurt if I wasn’t so deliriously happy myself.

  Now I have a wonderful family of my own. And, if Ty was serious about what he promised Big Daddy Brubaker, it should be growing soon. I would love that.

  Helga and Denny were thick as thieves during the reception, not dancing with anyone but each other. I’d be willing to bet that they will marry before the end of next year. I know I will miss having her live with us, but since she’s now heading up the homeless project for Connstarr, West Coast, she’ll never be far away.

  Ty and I both owe Helga, and Denny, too, so much. If she hadn’t been in the bathroom the night that Roxanne had threatened me, maybe Denny would have let Tyler leave the company.

  Luckily for us, Denny insisted on appointing him Regional Vice President, and Roxanne, bless her pointy little heart, is pulling shifts in the mail room. Denny thought it was about time she learned the Connstarr way from the ground up. Just like Ty.

  The results of my thesis will be published soon, and it is my fervent prayer that in some small way I was able to help. Myself...I just thank the good Lord every day for my wonderful life, and most especially, Tyler, Helga, Carmen, and our happy home.

  * * * * *

  ISBN: 978-1-4592-8763-1

  Weekend Wife

  Copyright © 1995 by Carolyn Suzanne Pizzuti

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  Carolyn Zane, Weekend Wife