by Joanne Rock
She hadn’t seen Ian yet this morning. She’d awakened to discover he had a meeting with the McNeill family’s private attorney. He had been in the study all morning.
So she prepared for her own meeting with the publicist by herself, asking the morning maid to set out the coffee and pastry treats in the living room to offer her guests. Because apparently Sofia Koslov would be joining them briefly, too, if only to make introductions. She’d texted Lydia this morning to make sure she didn’t mind.
Already, Lydia had the impression she would have been truly fortunate to marry into this family for the sake of gaining a sister-in-law like Sofia. Lydia had read a great deal about the principal dancer for the New York City Ballet last winter during the awkward media coverage of Cameron’s proposal to her. How would Sofia react one day when she learned that Lydia was actually Mallory West? The possibility of being rejected that way—by someone so warmhearted—stirred a deep regret for how she’d handled the matchmaking mistake.
What struck Lydia now, as she finished her scone and reviewed her notes for her morning meeting, was that Sofia Koslov must share some of Lydia’s desire for family. The dancer’s mother had died when Sofia was a girl, and she’d never been close to her father, even though the Ukrainian-born billionaire had stepped in to claim control of her life. But as Lydia read about Sofia, she couldn’t help but think they might have really enjoyed being sisters.
Too bad Lydia’s temporary marriage was proving even more temporary than she’d imagined.
She heard the apartment doorbell chime and checked her watch, guessing that it was Sofia since it wasn’t quite 10:00 a.m. and Sofia was scheduled to arrive a little before Jasmine. Letting the maid answer the door, Lydia took another moment to freshen her lipstick and check the fall of her bright green summer dress with big purple flowers embroidered at the hem. She wore a thin yellow sweater around her shoulders to cover up the dress’s square halter neck.
When she got to the living room, Sofia darted off the couch. Dressed in slouchy pants and a leotard with a hoodie thrown over it, she could have been a nineteen-year-old college student with her clean scrubbed face and glowing skin. Her still-damp hair was piled on her head in a bun with a braid wrapped around it. She moved gracefully toward Lydia, meeting her in the center of the room.
“You look so pretty!” Sofia exclaimed, taking in the embroidered hem of Lydia’s dress. “You already dress like a publicist’s dream. Jasmine is going to love working with you.”
They made small talk for a few minutes, comparing notes on clothes, but before Lydia could offer her guest a seat, the door to Ian’s study opened down the hall. The voices of Ian, Quinn, Cameron and a stranger echoed off the Italian marble floor.
“I forgot Quinn was coming down here for the meeting with their attorney.” Sofia’s smile was infectious, the grin of a woman in love. “He worked so late last night, and then was up at the crack of dawn. Not that I’m supposed to know that since I’m technically living in my own apartment until my wedding.” She made a good-natured eye roll. “But how could I leave Quinn alone last night after what they had to deal with yesterday?”
Lydia felt a pang of guilt at Sofia’s empathetic words. Should Lydia have kept more of her opinions to herself last night?
Her eyes went straight to Ian as the men walked into the living area, close to the private elevator. Their business conversation must be done, as they joked about their golf handicaps and a charity fund-raiser at a popular course in Long Island the following weekend.
Cameron checked out of the guy talk early, his eyes landing on the plate full of pastries on the coffee table. He made a beeline for it as his brothers said goodbye to the attorney.
Cameron gave Lydia a thumbs-up before speaking around a mouthful of jelly doughnut. “This must be your doing. Ian never has food in this place. Good job.”
“I’m glad someone is enjoying it.” She smiled in spite of the tension knotting her shoulders at Ian’s arrival in the room. Something had shifted between them last night and made her uneasy today. She had slept in another room, but he hadn’t spoken to her about it—last night or this morning. Had he thought it peculiar? Or were they back to being strangers with a contractual marriage?
Quinn and Ian joined them in the living area. Sofia and Quinn drew together like magnets, each pulled toward the other irresistibly, splitting the distance between them to meet in the middle. It was beautiful—and painful—to see, making Lydia realize all that she’d sacrificed in tying herself to a man who didn’t think in terms of love and family, but business and legal obligations.
Sofia tucked her head to Quinn’s chest. “Quinn, did you tell your brothers that we don’t want to pursue any investigation into Mallory West?”
Lydia gasped. She covered it with a cough and a murmured, “Excuse me.”
She was careful to avoid Ian’s gaze, although she felt it on her.
Thankfully, Cameron McNeill spoke over her gaffe. “Are you kidding me? I thought we were going to sue her for all she’s worth and donate the money to one of Sofia’s favorite charities?” He leaned down to the coffee table to scoop up another pastry and a napkin. “I thought it was a great plan.”
Ian was suddenly standing by Lydia’s side, his arm sliding beneath her lightweight sweater to palm her back. “Quinn told me you no longer wish to pursue the matchmaker. I’ve called off the investigator.”
When? And had he planned on telling her that the Koslovs no longer cared to sue Lydia’s alter ego? She tensed beneath Ian’s touch, anger tightening every muscle.
“May I ask why?” Lydia asked, not caring if they all thought her rude to question them about a piece of private family business.
She needed to know. Why had Ian let her think that the lawsuit from Sofia’s father was still very much a possibility? Had he been that intent on marrying her to fulfill his grandfather’s will? Her chest burned with frustration and her stomach rebelled at the scone she’d eaten earlier.
Sofia smiled warmly. “Of course. I was never upset with Ms. West after I discovered it was my father’s matchmaker who truly caused all the trouble with me getting paired with Cameron.” She gave a sisterly elbow to Cameron’s stomach as he stood beside her. “But I made a point of speaking to my father about it last month and convinced him that there was no need to scare a good matchmaker out of practicing her skills in New York. I mean, thanks to her—and Olga, the matchmaker my dad hired—I found Quinn.”
How kind of Ian to let me know.
Lydia felt breathless and immobile, kind of like she’d had the wind knocked out of her. Behind her, she felt Ian’s grip tighten on her waist, but she knew that as soon as his family left, she would tell him what she’d known yesterday and hadn’t wanted to admit to herself.
She could not possibly stay married to him.
Thirteen
From a leather slipper chair in the corner of the spare bedroom, Ian watched—stunned—as Lydia packed her few things an hour after Jasmine left the apartment following a tense meeting. He’d only stayed for a portion of it, sensing he was the one causing the tension for Lydia. But he’d been able to see for himself that Jasmine had things well in hand for managing Lydia’s public presence, making smart suggestions for how to handle Lydia’s mother all the while maintaining control of all publicity.
He hoped she was simply preparing for their flight to Miami to return to work on the Foxfire. He feared it was more than that since their plane wasn’t scheduled to take off for nine more hours.
Lydia folded a white silk nightgown with unsteady hands, her focus overly careful. “How long have you known that the Koslovs didn’t plan to sue me?”
Her words hung in the air. She smoothed the neatly folded garment on the bed, then tucked it into the small travel bag she’d set on a nearby luggage valet. Her face was still averted. She looked too pretty in her br
ight dress, and he wished he could twirl her around the room and make her smile the way they had in Costa Rica.
And before that, in Rangiroa.
What was it about their relationship that it only seemed to thrive in vacation mode? He should’ve never returned to New York with her so soon.
“Quinn told me to call off the investigator last night in a phone call after you’d gone to bed.” It was the honest truth.
But it wouldn’t be the first time she’d ignored the truth to draw her own conclusions.
She gave a vague nod, hearing his words, but never slowing her pace as she moved to the closet and found the next item of clothing to fold—the sheath dress she’d worn yesterday.
“You didn’t have any inkling that your family no longer cared about uncovering Mallory West’s identity?” She glanced his way, her green eyes huge and rimmed with red, before she returned to her task. “I asked Jasmine about my double identity in confidence, and she said—if I want her to—she would speak to Sofia about having us reveal the truth together and turn it into a story of happily-ever-afters.” Lydia’s voice hitched on the phrase and she stopped. She swiped an impatient hand across her cheek as she refolded the dress that wasn’t cooperating. “She said it could be the perfect publicity spark to relaunch Mallory’s matchmaking career, especially if Sofia were to get behind the Moms’ Connection charity.”
Ian hated to see Lydia hurt and upset. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and comfort her. Remind her that she knew him better than that.
But she’d never had faith in him, assuming the worst of him when his profile had landed on a matchmaker’s site last summer. Assuming the worst of him now, even though he’d told her the truth. That’s why he’d kept this marriage agreement flexible.
Smart of him, right?
So why did he feel as though her leaving was driving a knife through his chest?
“I had no idea that Sofia had talked her father into giving up the search for Mallory West,” he reiterated, hoping if she heard it clearly, a second time, the words might mean more to her. “Lydia, I will tell you honestly that I was confident once I spoke to Vitaly Koslov and told him I knew Mallory’s identity and that she meant no harm, he would forget about pursuing legal action.”
“Yet you used the threat of a lawsuit to maneuver me into a marriage that would secure your share of McNeill Resorts.” She straightened from folding the clothes and faced him. “That in itself seems...disingenuous.”
“Perhaps,” he conceded. “But don’t forget that when I came to Miami to speak to you, I thought you’d been playing revenge games with me by matching me up with inappropriate people through your matchmaking service.” He cut her off before she could argue. “Only you weren’t. I jumped to that conclusion about you, not realizing you’d just lost our child and were hurting desperately. And I am sorrier for that than I can ever say.”
He rose from the chair, needing to hold her. Hoping she would let him.
“It seems we are both at fault for misjudging each other,” she admitted, her voice thin and her expression unhappy. “But I was in the same apartment as you last night when you found out that your family had forgiven me for the matchmaking mistake. You could have told me then, or this morning.”
“It would have been easy to do if you’d been in my bed, where I thought you’d be.” He wondered why he hadn’t knocked on the door to the guest room last night. Asked her what was wrong and shared that good news with her.
Maybe he really hadn’t wanted to know that she sided with his new half siblings over him. That once again, he didn’t come first with someone he loved—
Loved?
He let the word settle in his head, into his heart. And yes, hell, yes, he realized he loved her.
That’s why his chest hurt as though it wanted to bleed out on the floor at her feet. He loved Lydia. And she was already looking for a way out of his life. Again.
“I wasn’t half a globe away, Ian. I lay wide-awake in a bed one hundred feet from yours,” she reminded him, tears gathering in her green eyes. “I guess I thought after the way our honeymoon went, maybe you wouldn’t always have to put the McNeills before me.”
He reached out to her, clasping her shoulders in his hands.
“You are a McNeill, damn it.” He’d spent half the evening making sure she was legally protected in every way.
But Lydia was already tugging off her wedding ring. She held it out to him, the yellow diamond winking in the afternoon sunlight slanting in through the curtains.
“Not for much longer, Ian.” She dropped it into his hand, and it was only then, when he held the cold stone in his palm, that he realized his hands had fallen from her shoulders.
“We still have months together,” he informed her, his tone fiercer than he intended.
How could he convince her to make this a real marriage unless she stayed with him?
“It’s not too late to admit we made a mistake.” She turned her back on him, her green dress swishing as she moved around the room, taunting him somehow. “I thought I could pretend with you for twelve months and somehow survive the emotional fallout, but after how close we got in Costa Rica, I know I can’t do that. I can’t pretend when it hurts this much.”
“And you’re not worried about a scandal now, when a divorce after a three-day marriage will put you in the headlines for the rest of the year?” He hated himself for saying it.
Especially right on the heels of realizing he loved this woman. He should let her go with some dignity, damn it. Except he’d tried that once before and it hadn’t made him any happier.
“I’ve realized a scandal is far less painful than a broken heart.” She snapped the suitcase closed. “I called for a car, Ian. I’m going to stay at my place and see Kinley before I return to South Beach. I’ll send someone up for my bag.”
She picked up her purse and walked out of the guest room while Ian scraped his heart off the floor.
Wait a minute.
Why would her heart be broken?
He tried to put the pieces together and figure out what she meant. Why she was so upset.
Bloody hell.
Just as the elevator doors shut behind the woman he loved, he realized the truth that should have been obvious ever since they’d peeled each other’s clothes off in Costa Rica.
She loved him, too.
* * *
By some kind of miracle, Lydia rode the elevator all the way down to the first floor without crying.
She hadn’t wanted to walk through the busy lobby past the concierge desk with tears streaming down her face. She’d spent too much of her life trying to avoid making a scene to let herself fall apart publicly.
She hadn’t called for a car. That had been total fiction she’d made up for Ian. And she didn’t send someone up for her bag the way she’d told Ian she would. The tears behind her eyes were burning, burning, burning, so she blindly hurried out of the Pierre and rushed toward the closest traffic light so she could cross Fifth Avenue and lose herself in Central Park. A sea of tourists crowded the Grand Army Plaza, but she bypassed all of them, feeling the tears already plunking from her eyelashes to her cheeks.
Hugging her purse tighter, she squeezed through a line of city visitors waiting to ride the Big Bus. Couples and families milled around the food vendors, some checking street maps and others negotiating prices with the hansom cab drivers.
Lydia’s shoes clicked along the pavement and onto the shady road leading into the park down to the pond. She found an empty bench near Gapstow Bridge, close enough for her to enjoy the view as well as some privacy. Only then did she give in to the crushing feeling in her chest, letting loose a soft wail of sadness that only constricted her lungs more.
Damn him.
She rummaged for tissue in her purse and came up with an an
tique handkerchief she’d purchased in a vintage shop a year ago. She’d washed it and tucked the linen in her bag, but hadn’t found reason to sob her heart out in public until now.
She just couldn’t see any reason to remain in a marriage with a man who freely admitted he only wanted to wed her to legally protect his share of a family business. But now, with the news of his half siblings and his grandfather’s need to rewrite his legal documents to include the rest of the family, Ian didn’t need her to serve that role anymore. Plus, she didn’t need Ian’s protection from a lawsuit since that wouldn’t be happening either.
They’d been hasty. And she’d been too entranced by his kisses to see what a bad idea it was to play house with a man who held your heart in his hands. She’d been foolish.
She’d loved Ian McNeill ever since that first night together in Rangiroa.
“Is this seat taken?” The familiar masculine voice came from over her left shoulder.
She debated her options for running and hiding. She did not want Ian to see her like this. Sniffling loudly behind her handkerchief, she gave an inelegant shrug and tried to collect herself.
“Lydia, I need to talk to you.” He lowered himself to the bench beside her.
She felt the warmth of his knee graze hers, but he didn’t touch her otherwise. She ducked her head, unwilling to meet his eyes. How on earth had he found her? He must have followed her.
“I feel like you had your say back in the apartment, but I didn’t really get to make my case.” He draped a hand along the back of the metal bench, but didn’t touch her. “I’d like a chance to tell you a few things before you follow through with...whatever you decide to do.”