“Then marry me. Will that be real enough for you? Will that give you enough time to talk about the frustrations?”
She closed her eyes against the anger that was building in his expression. “I’m not challenging you to a duel, Dillon. I’m not looking for drastic solutions. I just want us to face what’s happening realistically.”
“Meaning what? What do you really want, Catherine? Do you want to move to New York and live with me and see how it goes? Do you want to set a schedule, to take turns commuting weekends? Your place one weekend, mine the next?”
“At least that would make more sense than what we’re doing now. Do you realize you’ve never met my family or friends, that I’ve never seen your apartment or met your children?”
“You may not know the color of my wallpaper or the size of my bed, but you know everything that’s important about me.”
“Do I really? I don’t think the picture can possibly be complete without knowing the little details of day-to-day living, without getting to see how you interact with your kids, with the people who work for you. They’re an integral part of who you are, Dillon.”
“Then come to New York. Come for Thanksgiving. Stay for a week, longer if you can. You can send me out the door to work in the morning and have dinner on the table at night. You can see whether or not my closets are neat. You can check out my office and listen to my kids grumble about whatever you fix for dinner. Will that be real enough for you?”
“It would be a start,” she said solemnly, ignoring the sarcastic tone that had crept into his voice.
He shrugged, feigning a display of disinterest. “Then let’s do it.”
“Don’t make it sound like the beginning of the end, Dillon. If we’re not heading toward a life together, then maybe we’re wasting our time.”
“Is marriage the only kind of relationship you want to have with a man? Is it impossible for an Atlanta debutante to simply fall in love, to take one day at a time?”
Catherine couldn’t think of how to answer that. There had been a time only a few short months ago when she’d been convinced that she never wanted to be married again, when one day at a time might have been enough. Knowing Dillon had changed that. She’d begun yearning again. Not just for a husband, but for a family, for the closeness that two people have when they live together, when they commit to happily ever after.
“A piece of paper doesn’t guarantee happiness, Catherine,” he said as if he’d read her mind. “You and I both know that.”
“No. But if we’re not willing to work at what we have now, how in the hell will we ever dare to consider more?”
“Will you be satisfied with less?” he asked in a hushed tone.
She felt as if the sun had gone behind a cloud. She shivered in the suddenly icy atmosphere. “Is that all you’re offering?” she asked slowly.
He uttered a harsh curse, then ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know what I’m offering. Until a few minutes ago, I could have sworn that all I wanted was to spend the rest of my life with you, married or not. As soon as the subject of the future came up, though, I felt like a fighter pilot who’s trained all his life for a mission and suddenly discovers he’s terrified to fly into combat. I guess I have more battle scars than I’d realized.”
Catherine laughed despite herself, though there was a certain bittersweet edge to the humor. “I’m not sure I’m crazy about the analogy, but I know what you mean. What’s happening between us scares me, too, but I don’t want to let my fears stand in the way of what we might have.”
“Brave words,” he said, his gaze intent.
She dared then to touch his cheek. “I don’t feel very brave,” she admitted softly.
He captured her hand and held it tight, kissing her fingers. “Neither do I, but if you’re ready to move forward, then so am I. Thanksgiving week, okay?”
Catherine didn’t think she could squeeze even a simple yes past the raw emotion that clogged her throat, so she nodded. Tears stung her eyes as they had earlier, but when the first one began to roll down her cheek, Dillon was there again to wipe it away. Patient. Enduring. Tender.
She had insisted on this daring, risky new course. Now she could only pray that he would always be there, because for the hundredth time that day alone she acknowledged how very much she loved him and how much she feared that she was wrong to want so much more than what they had right then.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Thanksgiving
“What do you mean you won’t be home for Thanksgiving?” Catherine’s mother demanded, setting her silver teapot down with a thud that rattled the ancestral English bone china. “We have the entire family coming for dinner. Whatever will I tell them?”
“Tell them the truth, Mother. Tell them I’m in New York with Dillon.”
“That man,” Mrs. Devereaux huffed. “I don’t know why you can’t find some nice man right here in Atlanta. George Banes, for instance. He’s always been partial to you.”
“George Banes is sixty-five years old.”
“He’s rich and quite respectable.”
“He’s Southern. Isn’t that what you really care about?”
“I do not have such a parochial view of the world, young lady. I just don’t want you running off to live in New York. You’re the only daughter I have left here in Atlanta now that your sisters have married and moved away.”
It was the closest her mother had ever come to admitting out loud that she loved her. Catherine clung to the words, but she couldn’t let them sway her. She leaned down and kissed the still-smooth ivory cheek. “I’m not going to run away anywhere. I’m just going for a long holiday weekend.”
“And what about Christmas? Will you abandon your own family then, too?”
“We haven’t talked about Christmas. We’re trying to take this relationship one day at a time right now. This trip to New York is a big step for us. We’ve both made mistakes in the past by jumping into a relationship too quickly.”
“Will you be staying with his family?”
“No. They live in Queens. We’ll be in Manhattan.”
“Catherine!”
“Mother, don’t look so shocked. You know perfectly well what sort of relationship Dillon and I have.”
“That doesn’t mean I want the whole world to know it. In all these years haven’t I taught you anything about maintaining appearances? Couldn’t you stay at the Plaza or perhaps the Waldorf? It would look so much better.”
“To whom? You and Dad already know where I’ll be. Who else will care? You’re just looking for anything to make me feel guilty and stay here.”
Her mother sighed and lapsed into her thickest drawl. She’d perfected the role of martyr years ago, but she also knew when to quit. Not, however, without one final sniper shot. “I suppose I might’s well save my breath. No one ever pays a bit of attention to me anyway.”
Catherine had to fight to keep from smiling at her mother’s resigned air. “You and Dad could come to New York, too, you know. Think how much fun we could have shopping. We could go to the parade. It would be wonderful.”
“I have no desire to go someplace where I’m likely to be mugged.”
“You’re just as likely to be mugged here in Atlanta. I know perfectly well you’ve seen the statistics. You read every inch of type in the newspaper just to make sure that none of your social set has run amuck.”
“Okay, I’m just too set in my ways to go running off over a big holiday. I’m getting old. I like having the whole family around me.”
“If you start talking about your declining years, I’m going to get up and walk out. Don’t try playing on my sympathies. You have more energy than I do. I will be here for Christmas, though. I promise.”
She appeared partially pacified. “That man, too?”
“I’m sure Dillon will do his best to be here, too.”
Her mother nodded, her expression suspiciously satisfied. “Well, then, I suppose that will just have to do.” She pi
cked up the teapot. “More tea, dear?”
Catherine noted that suddenly too-innocent expression with suspicion. She had the oddest feeling she’d just been maneuvered. “Nope,” she said emphatically, before she could find herself unexpectedly agreeing to move back home, where her old room still had ruffled pink curtains on the windows and an extravagant doll collection on the bookshelves amid the leather-bound children’s classics. “I have to run. I’ll call from New York on Thanksgiving Day so I can say hello to everyone.”
Her mother squeezed her hand tightly as Catherine leaned down to kiss her. “Have a wonderful time, dear,” she said with unexpected gentleness. “It’s about time you had some fun out of life.”
Catherine stared at her in amazement. Even more improbably, her mother actually winked. “Why, you old devil,” Catherine said.
“Remember that,” her mother chided. “I’m not half as stuffy as you and your sisters think I am.”
Catherine was still shaking her head in astonishment as she left to fly to New York the following afternoon. That momentary relaxing of her mother’s reserve gave her a whole new perspective. She had a feeling when she got back from the holiday she ought to begin spending a bit more time with her mother to discover exactly what sort of a woman she really was. Maybe she’d spent too many years thinking of her only as a restrictive mother and not nearly enough time recognizing that there were far more facets to her personality.
When her plane landed at La Guardia, Catherine called Dillon’s office. Helene Mason, with whom she was on increasingly friendly terms because of the number of phone calls she and Dillon made to each other, began apologizing the moment she heard Catherine’s voice.
“I know he was supposed to be at the airport, Mrs. Devlin, but he was called into a meeting downtown. He called from the car phone not five minutes ago to say that the traffic is impossible because of the rain and everyone’s trying to get out of town for the weekend. He’ll never get there. He wants you to take a cab and meet him at his apartment.”
Catherine felt her high spirits begin to sag ever-so-slightly. It was a small thing, but she’d really wanted Dillon to meet her at the airport. She sighed. “If you talk to him again, tell him I’m on my way.”
“You shouldn’t have any problem coming in. You should be at his place in twenty minutes or so. He’ll wait for you downstairs with an umbrella. This rain is coming down in buckets. They say it’ll turn to sleet or snow by tonight.”
Terrific, Catherine thought with a groan. “Thanks, Helene. I hope I get to meet you before I go back.”
Catherine made a valiant attempt to recapture her enthusiasm in the midst of the airport chaos. The baggage area was filled with tired, irritable travelers and tons of luggage that all seemed to look exactly alike as it circled past on the conveyor. By the time she found her two pieces and lugged them to the taxi line, she was exhausted.
The trip into Manhattan across the 59th Street Bridge went as quickly as Helene had predicted, but in town the traffic came to a rush-hour halt. “So this is gridlock,” she muttered, sinking back against the seat as horns blared impatiently. At least it gave her some sense of appreciation for Dillon’s inability to get to the airport.
He was, however, waiting at the curb for her. Dressed in a topcoat, his hair windblown and wet, his complexion ruddy from the cold, he didn’t seem like the man she’d come to know over the last few months at all. There was a new tension about him, a vibrancy that excited her, even as it made her unaccountably afraid.
He reached over and practically lifted her from the car. “You’re here at last,” he murmured, pulling her close and kissing her. “Sorry about the airport, but it couldn’t be helped. You’ve seen the traffic. It’s a bear. Let’s get inside before you get soaked.” He hurried her through the lobby and into a glass-lined elevator, which rose quickly and smoothly the twenty-two floors to his apartment.
Inside, when their coats were hung to drip in the guest bathroom, she said, “I didn’t know you had a meeting this afternoon.”
“I didn’t know about it when I called you this morning. It came up at the last minute. It’s a big Wall Street account and when they want to talk, I have to go listen. Come on, let’s get your things unpacked and then I want to take you out to dinner. We’ve been invited to join the Farrells for a drink at six. I’ve told you about them, haven’t I? He’s my top creative man. I’ve been thinking lately about making him a full partner. Maybe you can help me decide if that’s the right way to go.”
Catherine was so taken aback by the busy schedule Dillon had planned for their first night that his request for her decision-making assistance barely registered. She glanced at her watch and protested, “Dillon, it’s already five-thirty. I need to change.”
* * *
“No, you don’t. You look beautiful. They’re going to love you. And I can’t wait for you to meet the O’Haras. They want us to stop by for a nightcap. Tomorrow we’re having Thanksgiving dinner at the Plaza with the Petersons. It’s an annual bash.”
“A bash?” she repeated weakly. “How big?”
“I think they had fifty or so last year, mostly clients.”
“But I thought we’d be having Thanksgiving dinner with your family.”
“I told them we’d try to get by at some point over the weekend. We’ll fit it in somehow. The Petersons are an important account for me.”
“What about your kids? Maybe we could just get a turkey and invite them.”
“They’re going to spend the day with Paula’s family. Then they’ll come into the city Sunday. I told them we’d go skating at Rockefeller Plaza.”
“Ice skating?”
“Sure. You skate, don’t you?”
“No.”
“We’ll fix that. I’ll have you skimming over the ice like an Olympic champion in no time.”
“On my feet or on my bottom?”
“On your feet, I promise.”
Catherine felt another attack of trepidation. She’d known what sort of life Dillon led in New York. She knew he was a high-powered executive. In fact, she had known from the beginning that was what had broken up his marriage. She was just beginning to understand why. There was a dynamic, full-speed-ahead side to his personality that matched the frenzied pace of New York. In Savannah it had been muted. She’d fallen in love with the charm and energy, but she wasn’t quite prepared for the full force of Dillon in high gear.
As she went into the bathroom to freshen her makeup at least before they left for the evening, Dillon followed her, perching on the side of an extraordinarily lavish tub big enough for two. That tub aroused some intriguing ideas, but Dillon appeared oblivious to its proximity or its promise. He continued to run through his plans for the holiday.
“Dillon, if we cram all that in, when will we breathe?” When will we make love? She left that question at least unspoken. Maybe he didn’t want her as much anymore. Maybe in this environment, he’d already recognized that she was out of place.
He dismissed her plaintive question with a wave of his hand. “I just want to make sure you have a good time. I talk about you so much that everyone wants to meet you. And that’s what this weekend is all about, isn’t it? You wanted to see how I live.”
Catherine supposed she should feel flattered that he was so anxious to open his life to her. Instead, she felt overwhelmed. He was right. This was what she’d wanted. She didn’t dare attempt to throw a damper on his enthusiasm. “Let the games begin,” she muttered mostly to herself.
“What?”
She plastered on her very best smile, the one she’d used to effect at a hundred charity balls and boring dinners with Matthew’s medical associates. “Nothing,” she said, linking her arm through his. “Let’s go. I can’t wait to meet your friends.”
* * *
She hated them. She had been with Evan and Shirley Farrell for precisely fifteen minutes and already her nerves were screaming for release. There was nothing really wrong with them. They wer
e polite. They were delighted to meet her. They adored Dillon. But Evan laughed too loudly, drank too much and had the personality of a bulldozer in overdrive. Shirley, by comparison, was a timid gray mouse, totally overshadowed by her exuberant husband.
“Shirley, do you have children?” Catherine asked, hoping to find some topic that would animate the woman’s dull demeanor.
“Two, a boy and a girl.”
“How nice. How old are they?” she asked, genuinely interested.
“Seven and eleven. Evan thought that four years was the best spacing. They’re friends, without being quite such rivals.”
Catherine cringed inwardly. “I see. Are they involved in a lot of school activities? I know my friends seem to spend half their lives carpooling their kids. My neighbor Beth says she hasn’t had control of her life since the kids were old enough to talk.”
“Actually, I don’t have to worry about that. They’re in boarding school. They came home for Thanksgiving, of course, but they’ll be going back on Sunday.”
Then, why are you here, Catherine wanted to demand. Instead, she merely said, “You must miss them, or do you have a career that keeps you busy?”
“No. The house is large, though, and Evan likes to entertain. That takes all my time. We’ve tried several housekeepers and none of them can seem to get the work done to his satisfaction.”
Catherine thought at once about how many times she’d made similar statements to Matthew’s friends, always feeling a little ashamed that she wasn’t doing more with her life. She felt sorry for Shirley and wondered if she’d been the object of similar pity for all those years she’d been content to bask in her husband’s shadow.
Before she could try to instill some sense of renewed purpose in Shirley, Dillon was on his feet, explaining that they had dinner reservations. Five minutes later they were back in his car.
“Thanks for keeping Shirley occupied,” he said. “You’re terrific. I knew you’d get along with her.”
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