The Marriage Arrangement

by Patricia Ryan

  She took her edge and brought it to the opposite end of the table. “Do we have to cover it up? I’d wanted to look at it some more.”

  “You can look at it any time you want,” he said as they settled the cloth down carefully over the miniature scenery. “I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

  She smiled. “Your grandfather sounds like a remarkable guy.”

  “He was. I wish you could have met him.”

  “So do I. I would have thanked him.”

  “For what?”

  She shrugged a little self-consciously. “Being there for you. Making you feel loved and wanted. That’s what people are supposed to do when they care about you. They’re supposed to stick around and... be there.”

  “It’s not always possible.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not always easy. It’s rarely impossible.”

  “Is that the kind of person you are?” he heard himself asking. “The kind who sticks around?”

  She regarded him a little curiously, but with a grave expression. “Yes. Yes, I am.” She adopted a lighthearted smile. “It’s the way I was raised. We Fabrionis are an excruciatingly loyal breed. No one in my family has ever gotten divorced.” An uneasy look shadowed her eyes, and Clay knew what she was thinking—that she’d probably be the first. But he knew something else now—that she didn’t want to be.

  “My grandfather was like that, too,” he said. “My grandmother died in 1967, but he never remarried. He used to say that if there was an afterlife, he wanted to spend it with her.”

  “Wow,” Izzy murmured. “When did he die?”

  Clay smoothed and adjusted the cloth as he moved around the table, making sure there was no place for the dust to get in. “During the fall semester of my senior year at Yale. I was in my dorm room, studying for my advanced macroeconomics midterm—”

  “Advanced... Oh, that’s right. You were an economics major. I’d forgotten that.”

  “I was being groomed for international business, and I’d gone along with it out of sheer inertia, much to Grandpa Tom’s disgust. He used to tell me I should go my own way, find my own path. Turns out, that’s the night I finally did.” He saw Izzy watching him with her big, alert eyes. She genuinely wanted to hear all this, he realized—and, stranger still, he wanted to tell her. “The phone rang. It was my father, so I instantly knew something was wrong. He never called.”

  “Surprise, surprise,” Izzy muttered.

  He shot her a mock censorious look, but then he remembered that phone conversation and his amusement evaporated. “My father’s first words were, ‘Your grandfather has suffered a fatal heart attack, and left you his entire estate.’ I was speechless, in total shock. I guess I shouldn’t have been—Grandpa was ninety-four, but still so active, and he was all there mentally, and then some. The grief was so sudden, so intense, that I couldn’t even talk. I didn’t have to. My old man started in with this litany of advice—sell the house quickly, diversify the portfolio, blah-blah-blah—all of it having to do with the inheritance. He didn’t say a word about—” Clay’s voice caught in his throat. He turned his back on Izzy and took a deep breath.

  She was right behind him all of a sudden, her arms lightly encircling his waist. Without thinking about it, he intertwined his fingers with hers. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was dimly aware of having stood like this with her before. It was when they were posing for Harry’s camera on their wedding day, only he’d been in back that time, and Izzy in front. Her little chenille-and-flannel-clad body felt surprisingly solid behind him. She pressed her warm face to his back. Through the thin cotton of his shirt he felt the heat of her breath, the dampness of her hair, and the tightness inside him uncoiled a little bit.

  Clay drew in another deep, calming breath. “My father asked me if I would mind putting in an appearance at the funeral. He was overseas, and it would be inconvenient to have to fly back just for that.”

  “What the fuck?”

  Clay smiled at the depth of her feelings on the matter. “I packed a knapsack that night, got into my car, and drove away.”

  “That’s why you quit with only one semester to go. I always wondered.”

  “I decided that night I’d rather do anything than follow in my father’s footsteps. Didn’t seem much point to getting an economics degree after that.”

  “Did you go to the funeral?”

  He nodded. “The reporters had a field day. No family there except for this disreputable-looking kid in jeans and a sweatshirt, with a knapsack on his back.”

  She squeezed his hands and backed away a bit. He reluctantly took the hint and let her go. “You kind of dropped off the edge of the world after that,” she said.

  “I just ski-bummed around, mainly. Wrote a few freelance magazine articles. That’s when I got into extreme sports.”

  “Judith was an extreme skier, wasn’t she?” Izzy asked, her voice quiet and edged with just a hint of something... wariness? She wanted to connect with him, he knew, wanted to share his bitterest tragedy. He was glad for that, but the notion of opening up that particular wound, especially tonight, when he was so fried...

  “That’s right.” He swooped down and picked up the two glasses, then headed for the stairs. “Speaking of which, I’m gonna have to step up my own activities in that area. That’s one of the strategies we came up with this afternoon, having me do more extreme events, with plenty of media coverage.”

  “Why?” She caught up with him as he started climbing the stairs. If she’d picked up on his changing the subject, she’d decided not to make an issue of it.

  “For the publicity,” he said. “Our fans love it.”

  “Clay, please reconsider this—”

  “We’ve got to increase our subscriber base.” He opened the door at the top of the stairs and stood aside so she could pass.

  “Clay—”

  “It’s not negotiable, Izz.”

  “There’s no other way to boost subscriptions?”

  He headed toward the kitchen, and she followed him. “Actually, there is. Hi, Teddy.”

  Izzy’s aunt, her nose buried in her book, grunted to acknowledge his presence.

  “And that’s where you come in.” He set the glasses in the sink.

  “Me?” She looked so ridiculously enchanting in her robe, with her still wet hair all askew.

  “I’ve been meaning for a long time to hire someone to redesign the look of the magazine, both print and online. It was never done right in the first place, and it’s got way too traditional a look. Extreme sports are, well... extreme. The Rush should reflect that. It should have a hip, pushing-the-envelope look, especially now that Mercer-Hest will be competing with us. I’m talking about a complete graphic overhaul for the brand.”

  “And you want me to recommend someone? Everyone I know is in San Fran—”

  “No, no, no. I want to hire you for the job.”

  She blinked at him.

  “You’re supposed to be one of the best graphic designers in the magazine business, in case you hadn’t heard.”

  She gave a little eye roll, but that gorgeous mouth twitched in a self-satisfied smile. Oh, yeah, She’d heard.

  “And that’s good enough for me,” he said.

  She pulled a stool out from the breakfast bar and sat down. “But what about my condition? When I went in for my appointment last week, Dr. Cooper said I still had to stay off my feet as much as possible.”

  Clay wished he knew what else Jim had said, specifically whether she was allowed to have sex yet. Izzy hadn’t volunteered the information, of course. Why should she? Yet Clay found himself wondering about it, anyway.

  “You can work sitting down,” he said. “You can even work at home. I’ll set up a studio for you here. The front parlor would be great, with all that sunlight. You’d only need to come into the office once or twice a week for an hour or so to touch base, like Marie does. You can come in with her. You wouldn’t even have to drive.”

  “I
don’t know...”

  “Your nausea’s been improving, right? And you’ve been feeling better. Look, I’ll pay you double what you got at D&B for the duration of the job. And I’ll keep you on staff afterward if you want.”

  “Won’t it look like nepotism, giving a job to your wife?”

  “So what? I believe in nepotism. All other things being equal, if you don’t give the job to someone close to you, what kind of person are you?”

  Izzy laughed and shook her head. “Look, I’d like to do it, Clay. I’ve been bored, and it’d be a challenge. And I can use some money of my own. But mostly I feel like I owe you. You’ve done so much for me...”

  Clay darted a warning glance toward Teddy, and Izzy nodded. “You don’t owe me anything,” he said. “Do it, but because you want to.” He came up to her and gripped her shoulders, massaging them gently. “Come on...” he softly coaxed. “I know you want to. It’s written all over your face.”

  She pinkened beneath her toasty skin. Interesting...

  “I’m just concerned about the baby,” she said.

  “What do you think?” Clay asked Teddy, who he suspected had followed every word despite her reading. “Will this be a problem with the pregnancy?”

  Teddy shrugged without looking up from her book. “Ask Cooper.”

  “Right!” Clay said. “We can call him in the morning.” He tilted Izzy’s chin up. “What do you say, coffee bean? If Cooper gives it the ol’ seal of approval, will you do it?”

  She looked up at him. “You really want me?”

  His heart stopped beating for a moment. God, yes, I want you. What was he doing, maneuvering Izzy into a position where he’d actually be working with her? He wasn’t obsessed enough with her already? He had to torment himself by giving her a job with the magazine?

  “Of course I really want you,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “I want you very much. That’s what this whole thing is about, you little idiot.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SO, WHAT DO YOU THINK?” Clay asked Izzy as he, Harry and Marie began gathering up the material strewn over the conference table: printouts of fonts and design elements, photos, copies of other sports magazines, and back issues of The Rush dating to its inception nearly a decade ago.

  “I think I must be incredibly gullible to have let you talk me into this,” she said with a grin. Gullible... and susceptible to his charm. Come on... I know you want to...

  And so, when Dr. Cooper had given her the go-ahead, she’d gone ahead. Clay had driven her into Manhattan this morning, to the editorial headquarters of The Rush in a Madison Avenue skyscraper. After quick introductions to the staff, he’d called the four of them together for this brainstorming session.

  “I’ve had a few thoughts on the cover,” Izzy said, swiping through ideas she’d been briskly sketching on her graphics tablet while they talked. She turned the tablet around so they could all see the image on its LCD screen. “This is one interpretation of the ‘rush’ motif we were talking about.”

  “I like that,” Clay said.

  Harry made a face. “Too... pretty.”

  “I kind of thought so, too,” Izzy said. “What about this?”

  Marie leaned forward on her elbows. “Now, that I like.”

  “This theme,” Clay said, “with the new typefaces and all that, could you really carry it through the entire magazine?”

  “Absolutely.” She displayed image after image as they moved toward a consensus as to the magazine’s new look.

  “How soon can you have sample layouts of that?” Clay asked. Reaching out to touch her hand, he added, “And don’t push yourself too hard. Give yourself a generous deadline.”

  “A week?” she said.

  “Take two.” Clay stood, and the others followed suit. “I’ll have everything delivered to the house tomorrow—some kind of table to work at, an ergonomic chair, lamps, whatever supplies you need...”

  “I’ll need a really good twenty-seven inch monitor,” Izzy said. “Plus a scanner and a color laser printer. I’ve got all the software I’ll need.”

  “Just make a list,” Clay said. “Harry will help you choose photos for the layout before you leave today—unless you’re tired and you’d rather wait.”

  “No, I’m fine,” Izzy said. Clay had kept the meeting short, out of deference to her. It had been strange to observe him in his professional capacity. He was so authoritative, so brisk... such a boss. Of course, he didn’t overdo it, which had to account for the obvious affection his entire staff had for him. But then, he’d always been great with people. He knew how to make them relax...

  How to make them let down their guard, Izzy amended as Clay curled an arm around her shoulder and whispered into her ear, “Nice goin’.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Can I take you to lunch after you meet with Harry, or would you rather I just took you home?”

  “Home, I think. I don’t want to overdo it.”

  He nodded and patted her back. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

  Izzy followed Harry to his office, chuckling when he opened the door and motioned her through it. “I might have expected something like this.”

  The walls and—she looked up—yes, even the ceiling were papered with a kaleidoscope of photographic images, some actual prints and some evidently torn out of magazines or printed off the computer. The overall effect was of being inside a giant, three-dimensional collage. Propped up between the corner windows was a male department store mannequin, nude except for a strategically placed photograph of a leaf. In another corner stood a life-size cardboard cutout of a shirtless historical romance hero in cowboy garb, wielding a bullwhip.

  “How can you work in this environment?” she asked.

  “I spend a lot more time on location, taking pictures, than I do here. This room is for... inspiration.” He lifted a stack of files off the only chair and dumped them on the floor. “Clay made me promise to make you sit.”

  She did. “Happy?”

  “Always. What about you?” he asked, settling cross-legged on the floor at her feet. “Are you glad you took this job, or are you having regrets, now that you see how much work is entailed?”

  “No, I’m happy, mostly. I’ll just have to pace myself.”

  He speared her with a serious look. “See that you do. Clay will lose his shit if anything happens to you. Not that I give a fuck.”

  She swatted his massive shoulder.

  Firing up his big-ass monitor and tapping some keys, he said, “Look through these and see what you’d like to use for the sample layout.”

  She started scanning a series of photographs of a woman skier negotiating her way down a steep and perilous run. “How well did you know Judith?” she asked Harry.

  He raised his eyebrows, but then his expression turned thoughtful. “Not well. No one did, except for Clay, and even he never really got to know her. They were together for such a short time, and they lived in Colorado. I met her when you did, at the wedding, and I went out for a long weekend once. I liked her. She was very real.” He laid his big hand on her knee. “A lot like you.”

  “Thanks.” Izzy moved on to the next series of photos. “What the hell is this?”

  Harry craned to see what she was looking at. “Kite-skiing.”

  “Holy shit.” She flicked through the images. “How did he meet her?”

  Harry leaned back on his palms. “Clay used to write articles, mostly for ski magazines, some for Sports Illustrated. I think it was Sports Illustrated that sent him out to Colorado, to write about these hot-doggers who were taking on these impossible runs. One of them was Judith.”

  “And it was love at first sight, I take it.”

  “It was like he’d gotten hit over the head with a two-by-four. He called me the day he met her. I’d never heard him so excited. ‘I’ve met the most amazing girl...’ Three weeks later they were man and wife.”

  Izzy closed the file. “And four months after that...�
�

  “Yeah.” Harry shook his head forlornly.

  “What happened?” She turned to face him, the monitor ignored. “All I know is it was a ski accident.”

  “You ever hear of Wolf Peak, in Colorado?”

  She shook her head.

  “Serious skiers know about it. It’s a notorious run, down a super steep slope. They call it the Suicide Chute. Not because it’s so challenging, although it is. They call it that because it’s prone to avalanches. Any disturbance on the surface and an ocean of snow can come sliding down in a heartbeat.”

  “Judith died in an avalanche?”

  “Technically, no. She did some fancy maneuvers to avoid it as it came down. She did manage to get out of its path, but then she hit a rock outcropping and broke her neck”

  “Oh.”

  “Clay found her.”

  “Oh, God.”

  Harry sat forward, rubbing his jaw. “He was really torn up about it, as you can imagine. Judith was... everything to him. She was his emotional lifeline. His upbringing hadn’t exactly been warm and affectionate.”

  “So I gather. Do you know they never even gave him a birthday cake?”

  Harry shook his head disgustedly. “Doesn’t surprise me. His birthday’s next month, you know—Valentine’s Day.”

  “That’s right. I should do something special for him.”

  “Good idea.” He nodded toward the monitor. “Which shots are you gonna use?”

  “What? Oh. The first set, I think—the skiing. So... what else do you know about his childhood?”

  “I know that his mother went back to Switzerland when he was eleven. Then, three years later, his father moved to Geneva, and left him all alone in that ridiculous apartment. He had us, and his grandfather out on the Island, but he’d never had anyone who got all the way inside, you know? Until Judith.”

  Izzy nodded.

  “She changed him,” Harry said. “For the better. He learned to open himself up. Then, when she died, so suddenly and unexpectedly, he... he lost it.”

  “You mean, he closed up emotionally?”

  “That, too, in a big way, but I also mean he lost it. He went crazy, like completely nuts. I never knew anyone to grieve like that. You heard about what he did, right? At Wolf Peak?”