Robert danced her around, spinning and twirling her as if they were back at that long-ago competition. The dance ended with a dramatic drop, where Robert bent down on one knee, she went through a series of turns around him and ended in a back bend over his knee, her head inches from the floor.
The execution was perfect and her crown stayed on, but as Robert helped her up, they bumped into Julianna. The drink Julianna held spilled. Catherine jumped back, trying to avoid the liquid. The glass clattered to the floor and shattered. The liquid splattered the bottom of Catherine's gown and her shoes.
"Oops," Julianna said.
***
"Excuse me, Carl, but I need to borrow Jarrod." Elizabeth came to his rescue.
"Thank you," he said, walking away with her. Carl Wilson had been a chef on ocean liners for all of his adult life. Now in his sixties, he never tired of telling stories of his exploits at sea. Jarrod was sure the majority of them had only a nodding acquaintance with the truth.
"You looked as if one more story and we could use your eyes to glaze the ham."
They reached the dance floor and started to dance. "Carl means well, but his stories can sometimes be. . .hard to take."
"That's a polite way of saying he's a bore."
The two of them began to dance. Catherine had disappeared. She'd been dancing with Robert the last time he'd seen her. He looked around the room. She was missing.
"Do you think Robert is still calling that 1-800-WIFE?" Elizabeth asked matter-of-factly. Jarrod thought of what Catherine had said earlier and looked for his friend too. Robert stood at the bar. His expression was happy, expectant, optimistic.
"I hope not," Jarrod answered. "I had it disconnected." Elizabeth's eyebrows rose.
"Don't look so surprised." He mocked her with his own eyebrows. "Catherine told me you know about the phone. And the marriage. Robert knows too."
Elizabeth smiled knowingly. She glanced at Robert on the other side of the room. "I told Catherine her scheme wouldn't work, but I guess I was wrong.''
"Ever thought of trying it yourself?"
"A husband?" She shook her head. "Been there, done that. It didn't work."
Jarrod's step faltered. He'd heard that before, and from his own wife. It was what she would tell her parents when they finally dissolved this marriage.
"It might have some merit," she spoke softly, glancing at Robert. Then she turned her gaze back to Jarrod and smiled. "Catherine's never looked more radiant."
"She is beautiful."
"Being in love will do that to you."
Jarrod didn't falter this time. He stopped in the middle of the floor. "What did you say?"
"She hasn't told you?"
"Told me what?"
Knowing she'd said too much, Elizabeth clammed up as tightly as any crustacean fighting for survival, but he wasn't willing to let her be. He glanced around but still couldn't find Catherine.
"Tell me," Jarrod demanded.
"Jarrod, you should talk to Catherine."
"I will, but I want to know what she's told you."
Elizabeth took his hand. They left the dance floor and headed for the hall. Every room they passed had people in it. Elizabeth kept going until she was at the front door. She went through it and found the porch empty. The servants were taking care of the trick-or-treaters, but it was getting late for them.
It was cold outside, the wind stirring slightly, but the air had the teeth of winter deeply sunk into it.
"Promise me you'll keep this to yourself until Catherine tells you?"
"No," Jarrod stated. Elizabeth hugged her arms. He removed the huge robe of his outfit and slipped it around her, leaving him with only a shirt and trousers. He'd refused the headdress before they left home earlier in the evening.
"Are you in love with Catherine?" Elizabeth asked.
Jarrod didn't answer right away. He was in love with her, but he often hid it. For more than half his life he'd kept the secret. Now, looking at Elizabeth, he nodded.
"Do you think she's in love with you?"
"She's planning to divorce me in February," he answered. "But you already know that."
"When was the last time you looked at her, really looked at her?"
"I look at her everyday."
"But you don't see what's there."
He looked over her head, as if he had X-ray vision and could look through the heavy concrete wall into the house and see Catherine.
"Stop dancing around the story and tell me."
"She's in love with you."
Jarrod's hands reached out and took her arms. He pulled Elizabeth to within a foot of where he stood. "Did she tell you that?"
Elizabeth nodded.
Jarrod was gone in a flash. He left Elizabeth standing alone and returned to the house, bent on finding Catherine. He searched the dance floor but didn't find the gold dress that made her seem to float when she walked. He spotted Robert.
"Where's Catherine?" he asked.
"She spilled something and went upstairs to clean it."
"Elizabeth is on the porch. Go keep her company."
"What's she doing out there?"
Jarrod didn't answer. He was already halfway to the stairs, which he took two at a time. Elizabeth's house was another one that they had played in and out of as children. He knew where Elizabeth had always slept, although she might have moved into the master suite since she was the sole owner of the house now.
"Catherine," he called. His heart hammered. He headed for Elizabeth's old room. "Catherine!"
"In here," she called back. Her voice was muffled, as if she was farther in the room than just beyond the door. He went into Elizabeth's room. It was a guest room now. Jarrod closed the door. Catherine came out of the bathroom. She dropped the hem of her dress.
"It was just a tiny stain. I got it out."
"Are you in love with me?" he asked without preamble.
She stood rock-solid still, as if a lightning bolt had rooted her to the spot and she was now a life-size statue of Nefertiti in a dress of gold inlay. "Why do you ask?"
"Answer me." He came closer to her. She didn't move, but oh, she wanted to. He could see it in her eyes.
"I'm still divorcing you."
"I didn't ask if you were divorcing me." He stood directly in front of her, towering over her. He knew the effect he had on her. She got nervous quickly when things weren't comfortable between them, and this moment was not comfortable. "I asked if you were in love with me."
"That's not an easy question. I've known you—"
"It's very easy. Either you are or you aren't. So which is it?"
"Jarrod, this is not the place—"
"It will have to do. Now answer me." He put his hand under her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. "Catherine Melissa Carson Greene, are you in love with me?"
"Yes," she whispered.
Jarrod let his breath go. He swept her into his arms, holding her totally off the floor, his hand behind her neck, his head on her shoulder. He squeezed her to him, holding her, never wanting to put her down, never wanting to let her go. He wanted to stay here, suspended, for eternity. Knowing she loved him. It was too much. It was a hope, a dream, an impossible dream, but it was true.
This was what Robert had suggested he do only a couple of hours ago. Jarrod hadn't thought about it. If he had, he might not be holding her now. He might not have this knowledge.
"Jarrod, put me down."
He felt the change before his brain registered it. Catherine wasn't pliant, she wasn't holding on to him as a lover. She held on to him to keep her balance. He knew something was wrong. He let her slide to the floor. Immediately she stepped out of his reach.
"Catherine, what is it?"
"You know, Jarrod. You've known from the first. From the night in Montana when I explained everything."
"You mean you're in love with me and you're still going to go through with this asinine plan?"
"We agreed—" she started.
"To hell with what we agreed," he cut her off. "After the way we are together, the way lightning strikes every time we get near each other, the way we make love and even when you've told me you love me, you still want a divorce?" It was incredible. She couldn't mean it. It had to be a mistake, but when he looked at her face, it was closed to everything. She loved him, but she wouldn't stay married to him because marriage, real marriage, scared her to death.
"Catherine, we don't have to wait until February. You can have your divorce tonight."
He turned and wrenched open the door. He was too angry, so angry that if he closed the door behind him, he'd slam it so hard the entire foundation of the Westfield house, which had stood for a hundred and fifty years, would crumble to powdered stone.
***
Life changed after she told Jarrod she was in love with him. The glass house they had been living in shattered to slivers. Jarrod didn't come home that night. She didn't know where he was. She waited all night for him to return. He didn't come home Sunday either.
He was there Monday afternoon when she got in from work. All his clothes had been moved back to the guest room. He barely spoke to her, and after dinner, he excused himself and went to the den, where he worked until he was too tired to stay awake or she was already in bed.
Catherine missed being with him. She missed sleeping with him. She'd tossed and turned for three nights now. She turned over and hugged his pillow. It didn't smell like he smelled. She wanted Jarrod back and there was nothing she could do to regain anything. He wouldn't be her friend and she couldn't remain his wife.
Getting up, she didn't turn on any lights. It was after midnight. She'd try some tea. Maybe that would help her sleep. She headed for the kitchen. At the bottom of the stairs she saw the door to the den was open. No light came from any other room. Only a small amount spilled from the room where Jarrod worked. She approached the door. The room was warm with the glow of the fire.
Jarrod sat at his drafting table. The intensity light attached to the drafting table illuminated the paper on which he was writing. He didn't see her and she remained silhouetted in the stillness. It was amazing how well he fit into this room, into her life. A few months ago, this space contained only her books and music and an arrangement of comfortable furniture. Now it contained Jarrod's desk and drafting table, a computer hooked up to a special printer, the general clutter of work projects and most of all Jarrod.
Catherine moved like a cat, her satin nightgown making no sound as she sank into a large chair across the room from him. She watched, unobserved and quiet, looking at the man she loved. She could see only part of him and he could see none of her. He hummed "Yesterday" softly under his breath. She often heard him humming it unconsciously. It had become his signature song, although he would surely deny it if she called him on it. She wouldn't. She liked knowing he thought of her and the song was a subliminal method of bringing her to his mind.
"Trouble sleeping?" Jarrod's sudden question surprised her.
"I didn't think you knew I was here."
"Catherine, you can't walk into a room where I am and not have me know you're there." His voice was as sexy as his comment. It was the voice that had her heart doing somersaults. She got up and went to the table where he worked. She stood on the side facing him, hesitating, not knowing how to approach him. He hadn't really talked to her in days.
"What are you working on?"
"Come see."
He pushed the rolling stool back a foot or so and she walked in front of him. White lines and notes covered the paper. Arrows pointed to places with numbers written in. It was a confusion of color, but in it, she could see the finished project.
"It's a roller coaster," she said.
"Not quite." Jarrod rolled the stool closer. It had a high seat, giving him the ability to work at the slanted table and read even the top of the paper. Catherine felt the warmth of him as his chest touched her back, pinning her between him and the drawing. He reached around her and pulled the paper aside. Under it were plans for a carnival ride.
She could hardly concentrate. He was so close. She felt the old weakness enter her legs and threaten to dissolve her knee joints. She wanted to lean back, sit on his lap and press herself against him, have him cradle her in the safe haven of his arms.
But she didn't. She forced herself to stand and concentrate on the design.
"A Ferris wheel," she said. When he pulled that page away and she saw the plans for a large mansion, she understood. "It's an amusement park." She turned to him. He was so close to her, his arms completely surrounded her.
"The Cantu Brothers are considering adding another theme park to their holdings. We're bidding on the project."
"I hope you win," she said. She paused for a moment. She raised her eyes to look at him. The light was behind her and she cast a shadow on him, obscuring his vision. "I'm glad you're talking to me again."
He said nothing. Catherine thought, maybe she'd been mistaken.
"I thought you understood when we were in Montana that I didn't want to stay married."
Jarrod closed his arms around her. He felt so good. She put hers around his neck. "Were you in love with me when we were in Montana?" he asked.
She was. She knew that now, but she didn't know how to answer his question. Now she knew she'd been in love with him a lot longer than Montana. He was the reason she took that 1-800 number. It wasn't Audrey or her mother. It was because she wasn't in love with anyone other than Jarrod. She didn't want to marry anyone but him. Yet she never thought she would. He wasn't even in the United States at the time.
Then suddenly he was there. He was holding her on the swing, much like he was holding her now.
"Catherine?"
She looked in his eyes. She nodded. She had been in love with him in Montana. She had to tell the truth. She didn't want to lie. She couldn't.
"Yet you think I'll take away from you the things you want to do in life?"
"You won't mean to."
He stood up suddenly. His hands, which had been on her waist, went to her head. He finger combed through her hair. "People in love don't do that, Catherine. They make a life together, as a single union, not as two individuals on separate roads who happen to sleep in the same bed. They believe in the same things. We don't know what those things are because you won't let us find out."
She wanted to tell him that she did want to know. She wanted everything he wanted, but she said none of the things she knew he wanted to hear.
"There are several things I can do, Catherine." His mouth dropped and he kissed her. Her eyes closed, and the slow burn Jarrod had already kindled in her body cranked up her thermostat. "I could make love to you. Torture you with your own love." He kissed her again, his tongue dipping into her mouth, extracting a response that was immediate and overwhelming. He yanked her forward, slamming her body into him, allowing her to feel the entire length of him, the erection that pushed into her stomach, tantalizing her with what she wanted. Her feet lifted her to her toes, her body pressed into his, feeling his length, the hard strength of him as he held her. "It feels good, doesn't it, Catherine? You like it. I can tell. I can hear it in the sounds you make in your throat." He kissed her throat, then trailed his mouth across her shoulders, pushing the small straps of her gown aside. She felt the heaviness of her breasts release. Her body longed for him to touch her breasts, to touch her all over. "But I'm not going to do it, Catherine."
He pushed her out of reach. She felt the cold where his body had been.
"I'm going to let you torture yourself. I'll fulfill my part of the contract. I'll attend dinners and parties. I'll play the attentive husband, the doting newlywed, but once we're inside these doors, all bets are off."
He left her then. A moment later, she winced as the front door slammed.
She'd really made a mess of this whole thing. Jarrod had been the first to tell her that she hadn't thought everything through. Now she'd hurt him immensely. She hadn't
intended to, but she knew he wouldn't listen to an apology. She didn't know what to do except try and make him understand. It wasn't now that life would change. They were too much in love now. In time the fire between them would bank and the smoke would clear. Then she would be rid of her dreams of her need to be an individual. She would be Jarrod's wife and nothing more.
Catherine looked at Jarrod's drawings. She ran her fingers across the flat surface of the paper.
Was being his wife such a bad thing?
***
Jarrod's wife. Catherine paced up and down the den after Jarrod left. They were always angry these days. Their emotions simmered just below the surface, and she seemed to set off some kind of bomb in him each time she got close. She wanted to be close. The idea of not having Jarrod around caused her physical pain. She'd become used to people smiling as they teasingly emphasized "Mrs. Greene" when they spoke to her.
She was Mrs. Greene. Catherine sat down on the stool where Jarrod's amusement park was taking shape. He was designing the plans. What about them? Could he design plans for marriage? Could she be married to him for always, for the death-do-us-part kind of forever? She tried to look forward to February, but all her mind did was race backward to the places they had been, the times they had laughed together, the silly, cute and loving things he did for her. He wanted her, actively pursued her and she. . . she stopped him at every turn, invoking the divorce card like some carnival barker playing the badger game.
Catherine didn't want a divorce, not anymore. She wasn't sure now that she ever had. She wanted to change her life to keep him in it. She'd told him women changed their lives after marriage. She'd even explained how it happened. People did things for love and didn't even realize they were giving up something for that opportunity. They would look back and see all the things they'd wanted to do, but never had because somehow they had gotten lost in marriage. But life was full of those decisions, and marriage was no different. She could tell herself it was a compromise, but if that was true it was one she wanted to face. And she wanted to face it with Jarrod.
His 1-800 Wife Page 22