Gwynneth Ever After

by Linda Poitevin

  The word liar hung so heavily in the air between them, she wouldn’t have been surprised to find it had been spoken aloud. Or that she’d done the speaking.

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “Not really. I’m trying to get in a bit of work while it’s quiet, but it’s not going very well.” Gwyn pushed away the sketches that had so far refused to translate themselves into anything coherent in her CAD program.

  “How did you manage time for work? Did you lock them all in their rooms?”

  “Nothing so drastic, although I’ll admit the idea has crossed my mind. Kirsten was able to come over for a few hours to keep them occupied for me. They’re reading stories.”

  “And here I was starting to think I was indispensable.”

  You are.

  Gwyn forced a light note into her voice to match his teasing. “’Fraid not. But you were a great help, if that makes you feel any better.”

  “Marginally.” A pause, then he cleared his throat. “I wanted to see you today.”

  The shift in topic squeezed the air from her lungs in a little hiss.

  Gareth continued as if he hadn’t heard the sound. “Unfortunately I have company until later this evening. My agent flew in with a message for me, and her flight doesn’t leave again until eight.”

  Her flight?

  Gwyn gave her green-eyed devil a mental whack on the head. “Your agent hand delivers your messages?”

  “Only when I don’t return her phone calls,” he said wryly. “Anyway, the point is that I have to go back to L.A. for a few days. The sound on some of the scenes got fouled up and they need me to do some dubbing for them.”

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she cast about for a more suitable response than the desperate please don’t go that hovered on her lips. Nothing. She had nothing. She bit her lip and waited.

  “I leave tomorrow night,” Gareth said. “I want to see you before I go.”

  “I – I – ”

  “I don’t know what time I’ll get back from taking Angela to the airport, so tomorrow might be better than tonight. May I come for lunch?”

  It took forever to work the words past the lump in her throat. “I don’t think – ”

  “Actually, you think too much,” he interrupted gruffly. “It’s only lunch, Gwyn. You, me, the kids…friends, I promise.”

  Friends? Was that possible?

  “I – ” she tried again.

  “I know you don’t like fast food for the kids, but I can bring something a little healthier. Pizza?”

  If you married Gareth, he’d be my daddy…

  “No.”

  Silence met the harsh, strangled word.

  “No pizza, or - ?”

  “I can’t, Gareth.”

  “All right, then. Dinner. Without the kids.”

  She shook her head for several seconds before she remembered he couldn’t see her. “I can’t,” she whispered again.

  Gareth’s sigh bespoke his frustration. “You’re a stubborn woman, Gwyn Jacobs. Fine. You win for now, but only because I don’t have time to argue with you. I’ll call you before I leave tomorrow. And, Gwyn?”

  “Yes?” She covered her mouth with her free hand. Had she really just squeaked?

  “If you don’t answer the phone, I’ll come and see you in person.”

  Chapter 22

  Gareth jolted awake as something thudded onto his torso. “What the - ?”

  He propped himself up on one elbow and stared at the newspaper sitting on him. The cordless phone joined it. He looked up at Sean, standing bleary-eyed beside the bed.

  “Just for the record, you might tell her that it’s Sunday, it’s six a.m., and it’s my bloody day off,” his cousin muttered, shuffling back towards the bedroom door.

  Gareth rubbed a hand over his eyes, wiping away the remains of sleep. “Tell who?”

  “Catherine. She’s on the phone. And apparently you’re on the front page.”

  The door slammed behind Sean with a force that made Gareth wince. He dropped his head onto the pillow again, closed his eyes, and drew a long, bolstering breath. His ex-wife at six a.m. on Sunday. Oh, joy.

  He fitted the receiver to his ear. “Good morning, Catherine.”

  “We had a deal.” Her voice, unusually husky for a woman, might have been beautiful if it didn’t have that constant edge to it.

  “Which one?” he asked dryly. To call Catherine demanding was a definite understatement, and at this point she’d extracted so many promises from him – most of which he’d come to regret – that he honestly needed specifics.

  She ignored his question. “Have you seen today’s paper?”

  He peered at the newspaper, still sitting where Sean had dropped it. “I’m looking at it now.”

  “You weren’t supposed to let anyone know you were here.”

  Gareth levered himself upright and stuffed a second pillow behind his bare shoulders. He held the receiver against his ear with his shoulder, unfolded the paper, and scanned the front page. “I was bound to be seen by someone,” he pointed out. “What did you expect me to do, hide in Sean’s apartment until you deigned to let me meet Amy? Our deal was for me to keep a low profile, not turn invisible.”

  There it was. A tiny corner story at the bottom, all of a dozen lines long. He almost choked. “For God’s sake, Catherine, if you blinked, you’d miss it.”

  “It’s still there.”

  “Right. Rumor has it that actor Gareth Connor is in town,” he read aloud. “The actor has been spotted in two area restaurants this week, accompanied by an unknown woman…give me a bloody break. There’s nothing concrete here – they even came right out and said it was a rumor!”

  “It will still have the entire city watching for you, and you know it.”

  “If you think that you’re going to use this as an excuse – ” he growled.

  “Given the chance, I certainly would,” she snapped back. “Unfortunately, it’s not my decision.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I talked to Amy. She wants to meet you.”

  Gareth clenched the newspaper in his fist. A dozen emotions swept through him and settled in his middle. He fought past the tangle they formed. “She knows?”

  “Of course.”

  “You told her over the phone?”

  “Well, I couldn’t very well demand that she come home from Europe to meet a strange man without some kind of explanation, could I?” Catherine responded sourly. “She’ll be home a week Tuesday.”

  Still digesting the realization his daughter knew about him, Gareth scowled. He had to wait more than another week? He’d be done by Friday, Angela had told him, which put him back here on Saturday at the latest. He’d have the whole weekend to –

  A vision of auburn hair and dancing blue eyes floated to mind and he bit back an oath of surprise. Damn, but thoughts of Gwyn surfaced easily. He forced his attention back to his ex.

  “What time does she arrive?”

  “She’ll let me know when her flight is booked. I’ll call you then.”

  At her own convenience, no doubt.

  “Please do. Was there anything else, or can I go back to sleep now?”

  “Still a late riser, are you?”

  Catherine had always risen at five in the morning. In the course of their short marriage, she’d done her level best to convert him, claiming that sleeping past that hour was akin to sloth. It had been one of the many bones of contention between them.

  “As lazy as ever.” He didn’t bother to stifle a yawn. “It’s probably why my career’s never amounted to much.”

  His ex-wife gave a pained sigh. “Very amusing, Gareth. There is one more thing…”

  “What?”

  “She wants to talk to you. Today. She’s going to call my cell phone at lunch.”

  Amy wanted to talk to him?

  But he wasn’t ready.

  Gareth’s heart stuttered. Sixteen years he’d been preparing for this moment, and h
e was nowhere near ready.

  Catherine cleared her throat.

  Keep it together, Connor. You can panic when you’re off the phone.

  He didn’t dare let Catherine see – or hear – the slightest hint of uncertainty. She’d only find some way to use it against him. He frowned.

  “Why can’t she call me here?”

  “Is that how you want to play the game now? You’ve broken one promise, so you think you can toss all the others aside, too?”

  He gritted his teeth. Right. He’d agreed to have Catherine present the first time he talked to Amy. Another promise made, and another regretted. He sighed.

  “I’m not playing games, Catherine. If it’s that important to you, fine. Where do you want to meet?”

  “Well, now that you’ve made sure that everyone knows you’re in town, I suppose we’d best meet somewhere out of the way. There’s a restaurant in a little town called Chelsea on the Quebec side of the river. If you take Highway 50 to the exit, then turn left and follow the signs toward Kingsmere, you’ll find it just after you turn off the main road. It’s called L’orée du Ruisseau – ”

  Gareth choked on an inhale.

  “You know it?” Catherine asked.

  In an instant, he sat across from Gwyn again, hair tumbled about her shoulders in a wild disarray that begged a man to become entangled in it; her red dress, modestly cut but sexier than any strapless number he’d ever laid eyes on…

  “I said, do you know it?”

  He closed his eyes. “I know it.”

  “I’ll make reservations for noon.”

  Gareth disconnected. Dropping the receiver onto the floor beside the bed, he rolled over. He’d barely closed his eyes again – and hadn’t even begun to sort through the hundred million thoughts bouncing about his brain – when a pillow whacked into the back of his head.

  “Coffee’s on,” Sean informed him from the doorway.

  “I thought you were going back to sleep.”

  “After talking to your ex? I’d have nightmares. What did she want?”

  “Other than to give me hell about all four square inches of newspaper article? Amy’s agreed to meet me.”

  A long pause ensued. Then, “I’ll see you in the kitchen.”

  Chapter 23

  Gareth slumped into a kitchen chair as Sean set a mug before him. Taking a swig of the bitter black brew that could only loosely be called coffee, he grimaced. His cousin’s innards had to be made of cast iron.

  “So she finally caved to temptation, did she?” Sean dropped into a chair opposite him. “Do I get to say I told you so?”

  Gareth rubbed both his hands over his face. He’d had what, three hours’ sleep over the last two nights combined, and that was supposed to make sense?

  “I suppose it depends what you’re talking about.”

  “Your girlfriend going public.”

  Nope. He still needed more. He raised an eyebrow.

  “The newspaper story?” Sean prompted.

  Ah. He reached for the sugar bowl. “It wasn’t Gwyn.”

  “Right. And you know that because - ?”

  “Because she wouldn’t.”

  “Then how did they find out?”

  “Gee, I don’t know. Between coffee and dinner, there were only about three or four dozen people who saw me,” Gareth growled. “I guess I should have asked them all to sign confidentiality agreements.”

  Sean eyed him, toying with his spoon. He shrugged. “Have it your way,” he said. “So how ticked is Catherine?”

  “Ticked would be a definite understatement.”

  “Do you think it’ll affect how things go with Amy?”

  “Amy doesn’t know me from a hole in the ground. Catherine, on the other hand, has been the center of her entire life,” Gareth said with a sigh. “What do you think?”

  “Maybe it won’t be that bad.”

  Gareth snorted his disbelief. “We’re talking about Catherine, remember? If anything, it’ll be worse.”

  “Does she really hate you that much?”

  “Not me, per se. Just the idea of not being in control. I’m an unknown quantity in Amy’s life.”

  “What’s she afraid of? That you’ll turn Amy against her?”

  “Not that she’ll ever admit it, but yes.”

  “You’ve spent sixteen years giving in to her way of doing things for Amy’s sake – if you’d wanted to stir up that kind of trouble, you’d have done it by now.” Sean reached for the sugar bowl Gareth had finished with. “I’ve always wondered how you put up with that woman’s demands.”

  “It was either that or watch my daughter dragged through every court in two countries – and across the front page of every tabloid in existence. Amy was the innocent one.”

  “Beats the heck out of me how you’ve managed to avoid the tabloids on this in the first place.”

  Stirring his coffee, Gareth offered his cousin a ghost of a smile. “I wasn’t on their radar when all this started, remember? They don’t give two hoots about the struggling wannabes. By the time I made a name for myself, Amy was already four and living with Catherine and Lance in Canada.”

  “True enough.” Sean grinned. “And if I remember correctly, you were giving the paparazzi plenty of other things to write about you.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  His cousin turned serious again. “You really think she’d have done it? Fought you, I mean?”

  Gareth thought of his ex-wife, standing in the doorway of her new home when he’d gone to reason with her all those years ago – to tell her that he’d changed his mind about letting go of his daughter. He remembered the tight, bitter line of her mouth and the cold, sea-green eyes. He’d already destroyed her illusion of a perfect life once. She hadn’t been about to let him do so again.

  He nodded. “Oh, she’d have done it, all right.”

  “Still, sixteen years of hiring private detectives just to keep track of your own kid?”

  Gareth recognized his defensiveness and the guilt that triggered it, but he couldn’t help bristling just the same. “You’d have done things differently, I suppose?”

  Sean grimaced. “I’d like to say I would’ve, but with what you had at stake…” He trailed off with a sigh and took a swallow from his cup. “Honestly? I think I would have done everything that you did. But I would have been royally pissed about it.”

  “Join the club.”

  “Then you’re still letting her call the shots?”

  “It’s only for a few more days. I don’t know what she’s told Amy so far, and I don’t want to give her any fuel. She could still mess things up for me.”

  “I take it that means you haven’t told Gwyn.”

  Gwyn. A whole other complication he hadn’t decided how to deal with. Gareth turned sideways on the kitchen chair, leaned against the wall, and drew one knee up to support his forearm. He stared at the mug in his grasp.

  “No, I haven’t told her,” he answered Sean.

  “But you’re going to.”

  “That depends.”

  “On?”

  “Gwyn.”

  Perplexion etched itself into the lines between Sean’s sandy eyebrows. “May I remind you that it’s not even seven a.m. on a Sunday morning? In my book, that’s a tad early for guessing games. Humor me with a few more details, will you?”

  “Gwyn suggested it might best if I don’t visit any more.”

  Sean choked on his coffee. “Excuse me?”

  “She’s afraid the kids are getting too attached to me.”

  “Well. I’m impressed. I didn’t think any woman had it in her to blow off the famous Gareth Connor in favor of family commitments.” Sean’s gaze narrowed. “You’re going to listen to her, right?”

  “Up until yesterday, the answer would’ve been no. Now I’m not sure.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “A certain theory someone shared with me.”

  “Ah. You think I’m right.”

/>   “Honestly? No. But with all that’s going on in my life at the moment, my judgment might not be at its best,” Gareth allowed. “And if there’s even the slightest chance you might be right, I’m not sure I want to risk hurting Gwyn like that. Or her kids.”

  Another silence. He watched the digital clock on the stove as the green display changed to reflect the passing of another minute.

  “So what’re you going to do?” Sean asked finally.

  “I don’t know. Think about it while I’m in L.A., I suppose. Maybe being some time and space – ” He raked his hand through his hair. “I don’t know.”

  “You really have a thing for her, don’t you?”

  Gareth reflected on the permanent knot that had replaced his stomach these days. “Oh, yeah.”

  “So why not tell her?”

  “Tell her what? That I have a thing for her?”

  “About Amy.”

  “Right.” He snorted. “Even if I hadn’t promised Catherine I wouldn’t tell a soul, can you imagine the conversation? Pardon me, Gwyn, I think I’m developing feelings for you, but I have this daughter I haven’t seen in sixteen years, and I’m not sure if what I feel is real or part of a huge guilt complex. Do you mind if I stick around while I figure it out?”

  Sean looked him straight in the eye. “Hey, Gwyn,” he mimicked, “now that I’ve led you and your kids on until you’re all crazy about me, did I happen to mention I’ve been keeping this secret from you? Nothing big, only the fact that I have a daughter I abandoned when she was a baby, kinda like someone else you once knew.”

  Gareth’s gut snarled tighter. “Touché.” He sighed. “Bloody hell, no matter what I do, she’ll get hurt.”

  “So minimize the damage.” Sean stood up and strolled across the kitchen to place his mug in the sink.

  “And how would you suggest I do that?”

  “Do what she asked. Stay the hell away from her.”

  Chapter 24

  Gwyn waded into the argument between her children and scooped up the game they’d been playing. Aptly named Trouble, it had been at the center of growing dissent for the last fifteen minutes, and tempers were critically near boiling point. Maggie and Nicholas tugged on her blue jeans, tears cascading down their faces, howling for their game. A mutinous Katie scowled up at her from the living room floor, knees tucked under chin and arms wrapped around them.