by Lee, Nadia
The cultured voice of Aunt Olivia—Catherine’s mother—came to Amandine all of a sudden, each word spoken with a perfect moneyed diction she could never achieve: “What a shamelessly poor-mannered child she is. Never grateful for what she’s been given, but always demanding more.”
“Don’t be too harsh, dear. She’s still a Fairchild,” her uncle had said.
“Please, Sebastian. She’s a Monroe like her father. I don’t know what Chantelle was thinking, marrying so far beneath her. But this is what she got for it. A greedy, ill-bred girl. At least her brother isn’t as bad.”
The memory of the private conversation she’d overheard still had the power to make her gut clench with shame. Amandine never wanted anybody to see her the way Aunt Olivia had.
Amandine signaled the waiter and asked him to box everything. “Don’t worry,” she said, before Gavin could object. “I’ll have it later.”
He dropped a few crisp bills for their dinner, then took her to the waiting car. Thomas always seemed to have some special sense when it came to Gavin’s schedule. He knew exactly when to bring the car out. It was overkill for such a short walk, but she didn’t want to make a scene in front of the chauffeur, so she let him drive them to Brooke’s apartment complex. Gavin would find out where she was staying soon enough anyway.
Instead of dropping her off at the gate, Gavin escorted her all the way up to Brooke’s unit, while carrying the bag of Chinese food. “I don’t care for the security here,” he remarked. He probably wouldn’t approve of anything less than a platoon of Marines with machine guns and bazookas.
“I’ve never been mugged.”
“You’ve never been mugged yet. And the place is a dump.”
She gave up. Why was she bothering? Once he realized how much time it’d take to convince her that their marriage could work, he’d sign the divorce papers. It sucked, but that was the most likely outcome.
Before she could open the door to the apartment, he gave her the bag of leftovers. As she reached out to take it, he dipped his head, and hers tilted until their breaths mingled. His free hand glided down from her shoulder, then brushed her breast gently with just the three fingertips, then caressed her belly with the back of the same fingers and rested them at the small of her back. She gasped as her nipples tingled, and her inner thighs clenched with longing. What the hell was this? Despite her emotional turmoil, her body seemed to miss the intimacy and ecstasy of his touch.
He kissed her, his lips hard yet gentle on hers. She should push him away, but she couldn’t resist. She had no willpower, especially when she wanted it as much as he did. He was the only man who could make her lose her head.
Just one final taste.
She met his tongue with hers with boldness born from the knowledge he wouldn’t be able to take things very far in the hallway. She could smell a faint whiff of his cologne, which had become her favorite scent the moment she’d met him. His mouth coaxed her, flirting with her, drawing her closer to him until she never wanted to be apart from him.
She pulled him closer, her arm around his shoulders to make sure he would keep his mouth on hers. His erection pressed against her belly, and she moaned softly as her skin tingled at the contact.
This was the only time she felt she could be as greedy as she wanted, giving him as much pleasure as he was giving her and showing him how much he meant to her. His physical reaction to her was starkly honest. If only she could be sure of his feelings for her the way she was of his body…
“You sure you want to give this up?”
It took a moment for the words to register. She pulled back.
“Your body still burns for me. Think about that while you weigh pros and cons of what I offered earlier.”
For a split second she thought he hadn’t been into the kiss at all, that it had just been a gambit. But he was breathing harder than usual, and had definitely been affected. He chose not to act on it because he wanted to win, to have another key point in his favor. More than anything, Gavin hated losing.
Before she could say a word, he gave her an unreadable look and walked away, leaving her weak-kneed and full of frustrated longing.
Chapter Eight
THE MOMENT THE APARTMENT DOOR CLOSED, Brooke hopped off the couch. “Spill!”
Amandine handed her the bag of Chinese.
“What’s this?”
“Your favorite.”
“Lobster?” Brooke asked, brightening immediately. Nothing made her happier than free food.
She pulled out a plate and helped herself to a heaping pile of fried rice and lobster. After taking a small forkful of the shellfish dripping with velvety sauce, she put the plate into the microwave. “Now, spill!”
“What do you want me to say?” Amandine took a seat at the dining table and fished out a fortune cookie. That was one of her favorite things about Chinese. She broke it in half, then growled.
“What?” Brooke said.
“It’s empty.” She crumbled the rest of the cookie. “I’ve been robbed of my fortune!”
“I can give you your fortune: Stay strong even in presence of brand new jet.” When the microwave dinged, Brooke pulled out the plate and joined Amandine at the table. “Come on, what did Gavin say?”
Amandine rested her chin on her fist and started talking, though she decided to keep the part about the kiss to herself. She didn’t want any grief about being weak. When she was done, Brooke said, “Wow.”
“I know. It sucks majorly.”
“No. I mean the ultimatum. I can just see Gavin being all like, I’m a Lloyd.” As she spoke, Brooke frowned impressively, which was not at all what Gavin had looked like. He had been imperial. “But then it totally fits his kind, doesn’t it?”
“His kind?”
“His family. His friends. That whole group. They think they can get away with murder because of who they are and how much money they have.” Brooke tilted the carton of lobster. “Sure you don’t want any?”
“I’m fine.”
“All right. I’m gonna put it in the fridge.”
Amandine nodded.
“I wonder why he wants the baby,” Brooke said, as she placed the two cartons into her serviceable white fridge. Everything in her kitchen was simple and functional. “He barely knows what to do with a wife. What’s he going to do with a kid?”
“He probably feels responsible. Says he doesn’t want his kid to grow up without a father.” There hadn’t been any mention of love for her or the baby. True, he’d said he loved children before, in a general way, but was that the same thing?
“Let’s talk about a scenario where he stays the course, since I’m not sure if he’s capable of reprioritizing his life.” Brooke reclaimed her seat and tapped her chin. “He’ll never have any time to properly care for the child, and you’ll end up having to invent lame excuse after even lamer excuse for his absences.”
“Probably.”
“He’s going to miss the kid’s school plays and baseball games. Just like he missed the anniversary dinner.”
Because he’d been too busy doing yard work for Catherine. Would he ignore the child because of Catherine’s needs?
That’d devastate the child and break Amandine’s heart.
She wanted to believe she was strong and resilient, but she knew she’d eventually become hardened and bitter from resentment, and it might affect her relationship with her child. No, there was no might about it. It would affect her relationship with her child. What other outcome could there be?
“He might be different with his own kid,” Amandine began, thinking out loud. “His family really is big on children, and he loves them. Every one of the Lloyds adores Meredith’s son, and she had him out of wedlock.”
“Was there a scandal or something?”
“I think it was semi-scandalous.”
“Hmm.” Brooke’s middle finger tapped the table. “Meredith is the youngest, plus she’s the only girl…so Gavin and the others probably protected her. Yo
u know how things are with a baby sister.”
“I don’t know if it’s that.” Meredith was so smart and sophisticated, she didn’t need her older brothers to shield her. “Some of them would’ve liked to kick the guy’s ass for getting their only sister pregnant, but I think that generally they’re just happy that he never came forward to stake a claim and waste their time. None of them treat the kid any different.”
“So why does Gavin think you have to stay married? It’s not like you’re going to flee the country with the kid. You guys live in the same area, so he can stop by when he can. He can send you child support if he feels that responsible. You gotta admit, one thing he’s really good at is throwing money at people.”
“And cars and jets and diamond watches and pearl earrings,” Amandine added, half-glum, half-sarcastic. “Still, I don’t think I can ignore his threat. He wasn’t kidding about fighting for custody, and he’s on a first-name basis with every judge in the area.”
“You need a lawyer. A really good one.”
“I know.”
“Get Samantha Jones.”
Amandine frowned. The name sounded vaguely familiar.
“She’s a divorce attorney to the rich and famous,” Brooke said. “She’ll know exactly what to do to make sure whatever deal you strike with Gavin over the custody issue will be solid.”
“Not sure if I can afford her.”
“Gavin can, and it’s the least he can do. If he wants to convince you to stay, he can start by paying for your lawyer.”
“And there’s something else I want to mention.” Amandine bit her lower lip. “I’m really sorry, but you might not have a job much longer. I can’t continue to pay you.”
“Psshh. Don’t worry about me. I can update my résumé and get a new job. And if that doesn’t work out, I can always join the family flooring business. Sandy said she needed somebody to do record keeping, and I’m good at that.” Brooke hugged Amandine. “You just worry about yourself, okay?”
* * *
On his way home, Gavin glanced at his phone at the new text from Amandine.
I want Samantha Jones. And you can pay her fees.
His mouth twisted into a small wry smile. So she’d been serious about getting a lawyer. Well, she might as well have the best. Samantha was excellent, and he didn’t mind footing the bill if that was what Amandine wanted.
He was willing to put up with the farce to placate her. He knew he’d screwed up, and amends needed to be made. But he had no intention of letting her go.
There would only be one final outcome: Amandine back in his life as his wife and mother to their child.
By the time Gavin arrived home, it was well after ten thirty. No one was around; Luna had been sent home earlier.
He went to the master bedroom. It was strange to come home to a house without Amandine in it. It’d always been a given that she’d be there when he returned.
As he started to undo his cufflinks, a vase with yellow roses on the table showed in his peripheral vision. He usually didn’t notice the flowers in his home. They were everywhere, freshly delivered two or three times a week, and he paid about as much attention to them as he would sand on a beach. But yellow roses were different.
An image of his mother came to him. She’d been standing on her front lawn, surveying the neighborhood, when she suddenly said, “I don’t know why anybody likes them yellow.”
“Them?”
“The roses.” She’d gestured at the bushes in her neighbor’s yard.
“Why not? They’re pretty enough.”
“They symbolize jealousy.”
“Huh?”
“Yellow roses. They mean jealousy in the language of flowers.”
“I could swear I read somewhere that they mean friendship.” Gavin had made a point of learning a bit about flowers because of his mother’s love of gardening.
“That’s one of the more…generous interpretations. Regardless, I’ve never cared for them.”
He hadn’t pointed out that she’d grown a few of her own until she found out that Catherine liked them.
But…jealousy. Probably neither Jacob nor Catherine had said anything about how they came to be engaged. However, his mother seemed to have some kind of radar for what her children were up to.
Gavin stared at the roses in his bedroom, then suddenly walked over to the vase and grabbed it. He threw open a window and chucked the flowers out of the vase and into the night. Then he closed the window and replaced the vase on its stand, making a mental note to tell the florist to blacklist yellow roses. There was no need for things that reminded him of Catherine or his mother’s disapproval.
He poured himself a bourbon and stared at his tablet without comprehending a word of the emails cramming his inbox. The house was too quiet and too large without his wife.
He turned on the ceiling fans. They spun quietly, and he sighed. Of course they’d be silent. That was one of their big selling points.
The room seemed cavernous and unwelcoming without Amandine’s presence. Something was needed to fill the emptiness until he brought her back where she belonged. No more than a week, he decided. It was plenty of time to have her back in the house.
He turned on some music. Masterful strains of Bach’s Suites for Solo Cello poured out of the top-of-the-line surround-sound system. It was the latest recording from one of his closest friends, Damien Kirk. Gavin took a seat in one of the armchairs as the incredible precision of Damien’s performance filled the room. One would think months of seclusion and lack of practice would have dulled his skills, but they were as sharp as ever. Recordings as precise as Damien’s should also be devoid of soul, like a computer printout of Bach’s notes, but they were full of heart and verve.
How in the world had Damien managed it? Was it love that gave an added depth and dimension to what had been already close to perfection? People who didn’t know much about his private life might simply have considered him a lucky bastard, but Gavin wasn’t among them. The musician was crazy about his wife, and he refused to go on tours without her. She was a writer who could work anywhere, and it was rumored that they had never spent a single night apart since their wedding.
That kind of thing wasn’t in Gavin’s life, though not for lack of trying. Three-plus years, and though he was ever more successful in business, he was losing his wife. And now his child as well.
If only Amandine wanted Gavin the way he wanted her…
He needed to get his lawyer to set up a meeting with Amandine and Samantha ASAP. It’d take priority over his other engagements. Once the unpleasantries were over, he’d have Amandine back in his bed and his life. The time apart would make her realize how much she missed him.
He couldn’t be the only one who felt so empty.
Chapter Nine
SIX DAYS LATER, Amandine put on her best pale blue blouse and black slacks. Incredibly, Gavin had gotten an appointment for both of them at Jones & Jones in less than a week. She’d spoken with Samantha Jones over the phone a couple of times, and the woman sounded like the nicest person ever—the kind who’d help out at a church bake sale to benefit the homeless, not a barracuda of a lawyer who ate her opponents for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
“Are you going to be able to drive?” Brooke asked, looking at Amandine’s shaky hands. “I can go with you.”
“No, it’s all right. You take some time for yourself.” Amandine wiped her palms on her pants. Get a grip, girl. She was just going to a lawyer’s office, where she and Gavin were going to discuss their differences and figure out what to do about the baby. Gavin probably wasn’t still thinking about reconciliation. More likely it had been some spur-of-the-moment gambit on his part. She was sure he’d regretted it the instant he’d dropped her off. Otherwise, he would’ve sent a truckload of flowers—no, a space shuttle to top the anniversary jet—or done something similarly over-the-top to convince her to come back.
After an hour of fighting the Los Angeles traffic, Amandine parked h
er car at the glittering high-rise that housed the main offices of Jones & Jones. She stepped out and shrugged into a conservative black blazer as she walked toward the lobby. Samantha had advised Amandine to adopt a tough and untouchable demeanor, and she hoped what she had on would be enough.
She bumped into Gavin and Craig Richmond just outside the front entrance. So. Gavin had brought his own high-powered lawyer. Just as aggressive as Samantha, Craig was one of the most popular divorce attorneys in the state. Everyone in the country knew what he looked like after one of his Hollywood celeb clients had a divorce that turned into a huge media circus last year. It had more to do with drugs, groupie orgies and binge drinking than irreconcilable differences, but had served to turn both of the lead attorneys into stars. In his late forties, Craig had silver-streaked brown hair that was cropped short in an inoffensive style. His lined face was light olive, and he wore a black Armani suit with a tie the color of a shark’s fin.
Amandine’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile as Craig held the door open for her and they all went in. His presence said everything she needed to know about Gavin’s intentions. Craig’s specialty was squeezing every penny from the other side, not reconciliation.
Amandine waited, hoping that some indifference would surface. It’d be easier if she no longer cared about Gavin. She could treat him as though he were just part of the furnishings. But quietly confident in his usual custom-tailored three-piece suit, he was as irresistible and arresting as he had been when she’d first met him at Catherine’s party.
On the other hand, the melted chocolate eyes had dark circles under them now, and he looked a little bit…vulnerable. Her first response was to wonder if he was all right, but she caught herself before she did something stupid like push back the errant hair that fell on his forehead.