He drank deeply. “I bought the Curtis house on Prospect Boulevard,” he said.
Ann was silent. Duncan Curtis had been a friend of her father’s, the owner of a stucco, Spanish-style waterfront mansion that was arguably the only home on Lime Island more impressive than Henry Talbot’s.
“I didn’t know that Duncan Curtis had moved away,” she finally said.
“He retired to Southern California two years ago to be near his daughter,” Heath replied shortly.
“And you rushed right in and bought his house.”
“Why not?”
“I see now why you want to marry me, why torturing me outside the bonds of holy matrimony would not be sufficient for you,” Ann said quietly.
“What are you talking about?” he replied, swallowing the rest of his drink in one gulp.
“It’s all part of the master plan, isn’t it? The plan to show the Lime Island old-timers—whoever’s left, anyway—that the poor boy from the wrong side of the tracks has made good, big time. The best house on the island, the billboards for Bimini plastered on every available surface, the good works documented in the newspapers, and now marriage to the daughter of the most prominent man, the one they all remember from the country club in the old days. It has little to do with me—I’m just a means to an end.”
“It has everything to do with you,” he said quietly. “Make no mistake about that.”
“They really hurt you, didn’t they, Heath? Those golf playing snobs in their pastel polo shirts. More than even I suspected.”
“They never hurt me as much as you did. They couldn’t. You were the only one I ever loved, the only one I ever let get close enough to see that I had those feelings. And you made sure that you threw it all back in my face.”
She put her hand over his on the table.
He withdrew his hand immediately.
“Do you understand what I want?” he inquired tonelessly, his features immobile.
“Perfectly,” she replied.
“Good. Will you be staying here at the inn until the day of the wedding?”
“Yes. Since my brother’s disgrace, all doors seem closed to me. I imagine you know the feeling.”
“Very well. I’ll call you to arrange a time to go for the blood tests.”
“Am I dismissed?” she asked crisply.
“Not quite yet. We have to discuss the honeymoon.”
“The honeymoon?” Ann said faintly.
“Of course. Don’t you want go somewhere secluded and romantic to enjoy your new husband?”
“No.”
“Too bad. Because I plan to get my money’s worth, starting with a week in Caneel Bay. We’ll fly out right after the wedding.”
“You’re enjoying this immensely, aren’t you, Heath?” Ann said quietly.
“This?”
“Torturing me.”
“Not many people would consider a week at a Caneel Bay resort to be torture,” he said mildly.
“And am I supposed to play the role of the ecstatic honeymooner?” Ann demanded.
“That shouldn’t be too much trouble for you. As I recall, you’re very good at role-playing. You convinced me that you were madly in love with me without too much difficulty.”
She looked away from him. “Is there anything else?” she said tensely.
He nodded. “The Curtis house, which is now the Bodine house, is at 1223 Prospect. If I were you, I would arrange to have anything you want from your apartment shipped there. Do you have anyone in New York who can pack for you?”
“I left a key with a neighbor. I can ask her to put together a few things for me.”
“Good. Better ask her to send them express—we’re booked on a flight out to the islands Friday night.”
“Should I sublet my apartment?”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll buy out your lease if you like.”
Ann smiled thinly. Having money obviated quite a number of considerations.
He must have known what she was thinking because he said, “Turnabout is fair play, no?”
“I don’t think you know much about fair play anymore, Heath,” Ann replied.
He stared at her for a long moment, then said neutrally, “You may go now.”
Ann rose on shaky legs and walked out of the dining room.
Chapter 7
Ann’s wedding day dawned beautiful and clear, as if nature were playing a joke at her expense. She had purchased a lovely suit for the occasion, off-white with a fitted jacket embroidered at the cuffs and along the shawl collar with tiny seed pearls, worn with a silk camisole and a short, slim skirt. She donned the outfit on Friday with grim determination, vowing that she would not show up for the ceremony bedraggled and weeping; she would not give Heath the satisfaction. She piled her hair on top of her head, added her mother’s pearls to her ears and neck, and picked up her purse.
Heath might hate her but he would never be able to say she was a coward.
She had just walked down the front steps of the inn when his sleek Italian sports car glided to a stop at the curb. He got out and held the door for her, saying, “No luggage?”
“I only brought one bag from New York. I didn’t think I would be staying on Lime Island very long.”
“I’ll send somebody for it,” he said shortly. He was wearing a conservative suit that made him look more dashing than ever; the contrast between his businesslike clothes and his dark, almost piratical coloring was devastating.
Ann slipped into the bucket seat of the car and stared straight ahead, thinking that he seemed to have an army of minions with nothing to do but his bidding.
The ride to the registry office was short. They walked up the steps to the concrete building side-by-side in silence. Ann had expected nothing different; they had completed the blood tests and license application while barely exchanging a word.
Inside, the Jensens were sitting together on a bench. Joan held a large orchid corsage in a florist’s plastic box on her lap. They both rose when they saw Heath and Ann come through the door.
“Well, there she is!” Joe Jensen caroled, and enfolded Ann in a backbreaking bear hug. “Prettiest little girl I ever saw. I always tell Heath that.”
When he released Ann, Joan kissed her on the cheek and handed her the corsage. “We’re so happy to be part of your special day,” she said, beaming.
Ann looked at Heath, who turned away.
He had obviously not told the Jensens the details surrounding this happy event.
Ann stood patiently while the older woman pinned the corsage to the shoulder of her wedding suit and then patted the flower with satisfaction.
“There now. That’s just the touch you needed,” Joan said. “I knew Heath wouldn’t think of it.”
Mercifully, the door to the registry office opened and the clerk called their names.
The spare, paneled walls of the judge’s chamber did little to lift Ann’s spirits once they were inside. Someone had decided to get a jump on Christmas and had hung a huge green wreath decorated with holly berries and a fat, glittering silver bow over the registry desk. Ann stared at it as the justice put on his glasses and examined their documents, then began to read. As he droned on, Ann tuned out, and so she was surprised when Heath suddenly took her hand and slipped onto her finger a slim, etched gold band. She hardly had time to recover from the thought that he had selected it for her when she found herself accepting a thicker band from him and putting it on his finger. Her eyes met Heath’s and he held her gaze for a second, then looked back at the person marrying them. Ann felt her throat tighten as she heard the justice talk a little more and then say, “You may now kiss the bride.”
Heath turned to her and kissed her.
Ann hadn’t felt the touch of his lips in eleven years, but the memory was so strong it seemed like eleven minutes. Despite the circumstances she felt herself yearning toward him, and when he pulled back she felt such a sense of loss that she had to turn away to mask her expression.
She blinked rapidly, sniffing, until the tears had vanished from her eyes.
Afterward, Ann remembered little of the ceremony’s conclusion. It had been such a far cry from the wedding she had dreamed of as a girl that she blocked it out, accepting the congratulations and warm wishes of the Jensens with a wooden smile. Heath must have said something appropriate to them because they melted away with cheerful waves and she found herself back in the car with him in a matter of minutes.
“What did you tell them?” Ann asked as he shifted gears and gunned the motor.
“I told them we had been apart so long that we wanted to get right on with the honeymoon.”
“Didn’t they think that was rather a sparse wedding for a multimillionaire?” she inquired.
“They know I value my privacy,” he replied shortly.
Ann let her head fall back against the leather headrest, wondering where they were going. Her life seemed to be out of her hands since she’d met Heath again.
Her question was answered as he turned down Prospect Boulevard and then pulled into the long, curving driveway of the house which had once belonged to Duncan Curtis. The landscaping was different, more elaborate than Ann’s memory of it. Curtis had never made the estate a showplace to be envied, but it was clear that Heath wanted Lime Island residents to know that its new owner was a man who had definitely “arrived.”
Heath used a remote control to open one of the triple garage doors and pulled the sleek car into the middle bay. The garage was antiseptically clean, a tier of shelves against one plaster wall containing antifreeze and motor oil the only color in the whitewashed environment. The bay to the right contained an RV; the one to the left, an elaborate Harley Heath could never have afforded in his Jensens’ Marina days. Ann was sure there were several boats anchored out back in the lagoon and maybe even a plane stashed somewhere.
“He who dies with the most toys wins,” Ann said softly, glancing around her.
Heath shot her a look as he turned off the motor. “What is that supposed to mean?” he said.
“Has all this shiny machinery made you happy, Heath?” Ann inquired.
“It hasn’t made me unhappy, which is more than I can say for you,” he replied.
“Still a Harley man, I see,” she said, deciding to ignore the riposte.
“Always,” he replied, and got out of the car, coming around to open the door for her before leading her into the house.
The garage entered into the kitchen, and Ann paused on the threshold, struck by the transformation the house had undergone since she had last seen it.
Heath had gutted the place, eliminated walls and raised the roof, introducing a Native American motif that carried through the newly enlarged, now airy rooms. She walked across the tiled floor, passing the gleaming appliances and double refrigerator, through the dining area, with its varicolored Seminole rug on the wall and carved oak chairs. She moved into the living room, where the modern furniture centered around another rug of Native American design spread on the pegged pine floor. She looked around in reverential silence for a few moments and then said, “This is gorgeous, Heath.”
He said nothing. The sincerity of her remark was obvious.
“But where are the people?” Ann added.
He looked at her.
“You’ve created an appropriate setting, but you’re alone here. This house looks like a museum.”
“I’m never here,” he said stiffly. “In the past I’ve stayed mostly at my town house in Miami.”
“Then why buy this place here? To prove to the townies that you could?” Ann asked.
“I do as I damn well please—I don’t have to justify myself to you,” he replied, not looking at her.
“Who takes care of this place?”
“I employ a couple who live in the guest house out back. I gave them the week off when I knew we were getting married.”
“Didn’t want any witnesses to the torture?” Ann said. “Afraid Amnesty International would come after you?”
He walked over to the liquor trolley by the bay window and poured himself two fingers of Scotch.
“You’ve changed, Princess. You never used to indulge in self-pity,” he said.
The telephone rang.
“Does anybody know we’re here?” Ann asked.
“I left word at my office that we would be stopping off at the house. You might want to check in the den to the left of the front hall—I had your boxes put in there when they arrived from New York. See if everything you need is there.”
Heath went to the kitchen to answer the phone and Ann walked out of the living room and into the hall, which was floored with terra-cotta terrazzo tiles and filled with tall, standing plants. Sunlight flooded in through the floor-to-ceiling windows and reflected off the Seminole shields on the walls. She got the same feeling here as in the rest of the house; it was beautiful and perfectly assembled, but cold. Had Heath changed so much that an environment like this one was now acceptable, even desirable?
She moved into the den and slit the tape on the boxes with a brass letter opener she found on the desk. It didn’t take her long to determine that her neighbor had sent the clothes and personal effects she had requested, including her computer disks, but the specially packed computer box had not arrived.
“Everything there?” Heath said from the doorway.
“Everything except my computer. I need it to work.”
“Do you have the disks?”
“Yes.”
“Then buy another computer.” He took out his wallet and extracted a credit card from it, tossing the card onto the desk. “There’s a computer store on Big Palm. We’ll be going there, anyway, so you can stop off and get whatever you need.”
“Why will we be going to Big Palm?” Ann asked.
“The honeymoon’s over, Princess. Something’s come up. I have to be at a meeting tomorrow so the trip to Caneel Bay is off.”
Ann didn’t even try to disguise the relief she felt.
“You don’t seem devastated by this piece of information,” he said dryly.
“I’m not.”
“Why?”
“I wasn’t exactly up for Honeymoon Heaven. To have to be with other people obviously in love, when we’re...”
“In hate?” he suggested. “I’ve booked the bridal suite at the Imperial Plaza for tonight,” he said, smiling at her change of expression. “We’ll stay there until Daniela and Victor return.”
“Why can’t we stay here?” Ann said wearily.
“There’s no food in the house, nobody to cook it if there were,” he replied.
“I’m not helpless, Heath. I can go to a store and operate a stove, and for that matter—”
“No,” he said quietly.
Ann subsided. If he was determined to play out this charade there was little she could do but go along with it.
“Do you want to pack some of your things?” he asked. “There’s a suitcase in the bedroom.”
Ann followed him down the hall to what was obviously his room. By stark contrast with the rest of the house, it was an almost Spartan chamber lined with bookshelves and featuring a king-size bed covered with a plain, striped quilt.
“There’s a dressing room through there,” he said, pointing. “You can use the closet and chest of drawers. This bed, of course, you will be sharing with me.”
Ann felt her scalp tingle at his dispassionate description of their connubial bliss. She went into the dressing room and found the valise sitting on a chair.
He had, apparently, thought of everything.
When she returned he had discarded his tie and was carrying an overnight bag in his hand.
“Ready?” he said.
Ann nodded. She didn’t feel ready, but then for what he had in mind she never would.
As he backed the car out of the garage Heath said to her, “Didn’t it strike you as odd that I didn’t have you sign a prenuptial agreement? I’m worth quite a bit of money, you know.”
“Yes, Heath, I know. You’ve made that very clear.”
“Well?”
“I’m sure you have it covered,” Ann said wearily.
“That’s right, I do. So don’t get any ideas about ditching me after a few months and walking away with a fortune, you’ll find that my lawyers can make that very difficult. You can understand my concern, since ditching me was one of your areas of expertise, as I recall.”
Ann ignored him, staring out the window as they drove across the causeway. She tried to imagine that she was with Heath under pleasant circumstances, anticipating an evening that would end with them going home together like a normal couple. The contrast with reality was too painful and she gave up the fantasy, turning to look at him as he drove with the single-minded attention she remembered him giving to mending boat engines when they were younger.
His profile was grim, but clean as a coin’s, his mouth firm, his nose arched and strong, his lush hair spilling onto his forehead. Just the sight of him made her heart beat faster. Why couldn’t he be less desirable? she wondered. Why couldn’t he have gotten fat or bald or somehow less attractive, so she could just close her eyes and think of England, like those Victorian ladies with portly husbands who did their British duty? But she still wanted Heath too much, still thrilled whenever he touched her. It was going to be hard work not to fall desperately in love with him all over again no matter how badly he treated her. She couldn’t help thinking that the real Heath was still in there somewhere. The passionate, headstrong Heath she had known, was hiding behind the facade of this sarcastic, bloodless millionaire.
He turned and caught her staring at him.
“What are you thinking?” he asked sharply.
“Just that you haven’t changed very much.”
“You’re wrong there. I have.”
“I meant physically.”
“Neither have you. A little skinnier, maybe.”
Ann let that pass.
“Do you enjoy what you do?” he asked suddenly.
“What?”
“The writing. Do you enjoy it?”
“Yes. Very much.”
“Why?”
“Well, the research takes me away. It’s almost like living in the time and place I’m studying when I’m preparing the work. And then writing the story is like...” she hesitated.
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