The Man She Married

by Muriel Jensen

“Got it,” she said, and let the rhythm of it lull her to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE SHOOT WENT remarkably well thanks to the rapport Prue and Gideon had reestablished. It was strange, he thought, that they were relaxed about it considering the way the last year had been. Prue didn’t seem to want to talk about where this might take them—which was good because he didn’t think she was ready to hear that he had no intention of letting her go again.

  So they stood around hand in hand, waiting for Bruno to set up on the common. As Justine ran to and fro, doing his bidding—another tripod, a different lens, a cup of coffee—Georgette smiled at Gideon and Prue, and they smiled back. And when Prue turned away to return a greeting from a passerby, Georgette winked at Gideon in appreciation of the obvious success of their venture.

  It was probably clear to a blind person that they’d made love last night. Prue glowed with the look of a woman in love, and Gideon had seen in the mirror while he shaved that his expression reflected the closely held pride of the man who’d made her love him.

  He didn’t feel guilty about the little charade because it was working so well. Prue seemed eminently happier than she’d been when he’d first arrived in Maple Hill, and God knew he was.

  He was wearing the sports jacket over the black pants and turtleneck, and she was wearing the green wool dress, her hair caught up into a neat bun, just a few wispy lengths of hair trailing past her ears. Bruno, cameras finally ready, posed them in front of the statue of a man and woman clearly prepared to defend themselves from…judging by their period dress, Gideon guessed the British.

  “Who are these two, anyway?” Gideon asked as Bruno made a few readjustments. His movements were swift but tense this morning, as though he was in a temper.

  “Elizabeth and Caleb Drake,” Prue replied. “They helped drive away the British.”

  Gideon laughed lightly. “At about that same time, there was a young woman living in the room I occupied at the inn who saved a wounded British soldier.” He told her the story Jackie had told him. “She said they lived to raise eight children in that house.”

  “Love accomplishes big things,” Prue whispered with a significant look.

  She was trying to tell him something. “Do you want big things accomplished?” Like our reconciliation?

  She admitted with a shy smile, “I’m confused about what I want. Are you okay with that?”

  “There’s a lot going on right now,” he said, wrapping his arms around her as a cool wind whipped across the square. Flags and awnings fluttered and the tall trees whispered. “It’s hard to be sure about anything.”

  Bruno came to position them with Gideon behind Prue. “You’ll be just visible in the frame,” he told him as he tipped Prue’s chin up and told her to widen her stance. “As though giving her a clear field, but ready if she needs you. You, Prue, are invincible in your little green dress.”

  As Bruno walked back to his camera, Prue turned to grin at Gideon. “You okay back there?”

  He grinned back. “I’m used to being four paces behind the princess.”

  Bruno shot the photo from several angles, then came back to reposition them. He drew Gideon forward and directed him to wrap his arms around Prue from behind. “Lean in so that I get your chin against her hair. Georgette wants to show off the unusual collar on the dress.”

  That was doable. Difficult, but doable. With his arms wrapped around Prue, he had her backside right against him where only sheer self-control kept his body in check. Prue, apparently comfortable, leaned back into him and wrapped her hands on his wrists.

  “Perfect!” Georgette shouted. “Get that, Bruno.”

  He did.

  Bruno moved them around the site, took more photos, then they finally packed everything back into the van and moved on to the Yankee Inn. It became even more clear in the van that something was wrong between Bruno and Justine. The couple who couldn’t keep their hands off each other were now careful to avoid even eye contact.

  At the inn, Georgette directed Gideon to remove the jacket and Prue to change into the caramel knit pants and vest over a white shirt.

  The plan for the shot was a cozy night at home for two lovers. Bruno directed Prue to lie on her back on the sofa with Gideon sitting on the edge and leaning into her. But it was soon obvious that while it was romantic, the outfit, the object of the shot, was rendered invisible.

  “Put Prue on top of Gideon,” Justine suggested, rearranging a light behind the settee.

  Bruno dismissed the idea until Georgette seconded it. “You’re probably the only man alive,” Justine said under her breath to Bruno, “who can’t appreciate a woman-on-top scenario.”

  Bruno gave her an injured and angry look. “I just think if we want to project this protective image,” he said to Georgette, “he wouldn’t let her block his movement by being on top of him.”

  “She weighs a hundred and ten pounds,” Gideon put in reasonably. “I could have her out of my way in an instant. And with her on top of me, I haven’t turned my back on what could be behind me.”

  “Let’s try it,” Georgette insisted.

  Gideon exchanged places with Prue. He lay on his back on the settee, his head resting on an opulent gold and burgundy pillow, one leg bent at the knee on the arm of the settee, the other propped on the floor.

  Georgette came to pull the pins out of Prue’s hair and let it fall to her shoulders. Gideon lay quietly, enjoying the unobstructed view of Prue’s slender but nicely rounded hips, her shapely legs in the pants. Then her hair caught the glow of the fire, lit just for their shoot, and he was reminded vividly of several occasions when she’d come to him just this way, a small smile on her lips that said she wanted him and something in her eyes telling him she had no idea what was happening to their relationship.

  He should have taken the time then, he knew now, to make her understand how important she was to him, how much he loved her. But he’d been enduring his own insecurities about his job and how difficult it was to affect the changes he’d hoped to accomplish. Instead of uncertainty in her eyes, he’d wanted to see confidence, belief in him. Each had been looking to the other for the strength and sense of security they lacked, but finding only more of the same.

  He reached up to help her down to him as she put a knee on the settee and lowered her weight. The moment was delicious, the silk of her hair falling on his face, the softness of her body in the elegant fabric lying atop him. He lifted her by the waist to settle her comfortably.

  As Bruno and Georgette argued over whether or not they should be able to see Gideon’s face, Prue smiled sweetly and kissed his lips.

  “What was that for?” he asked.

  She giggled. “I weigh a hundred and fourteen.”

  He laughed, unable to resist the impulse to kiss her again.

  “Try a couple with his face hidden by her hair,” Georgette directed. “We can see his hand on her, and in this scenario, that’s even better.”

  It took an hour for everyone to be satisfied with the work. By then Gideon was nearly paralyzed with frustration while Prue seemed to sparkle. Bruno took several shots of her alone while she and Georgette carried on a running conversation about the knit, the body-hugging fit of it, the versatile color.

  They were still talking when it was time to pack up. Bruno was throwing lenses into a camera bag with alarmingly little care for their vulnerability to damage. He pointed Justine to the lights behind the sofa.

  “Get those,” he ordered.

  The lights were tall and hot, but she handled them with the skill of someone who set them up and took them down a dozen times in a day. As she fought a stand set particularly high and adjusted tightly, Gideon went to help her.

  He’d watched Bruno make that adjustment when he’d been angry over Justine’s woman-on-top remark.

  “Let me get that,” he said, taking it from her and loosening it. The pole slid into itself and she removed the light.

  She smiled. “Thank you.
The shot’s going to be great.”

  He had to agree. “Prue looks good in everything.”

  She glanced at him as she packed the lights into a padded case. “I envy the way you two are together,” she said with a sigh. “I suppose you’ve always been that way. Some relationships just fit better than others.”

  He ignored the irony of that statement. “Bruno seems to have a disposition that’d be hard for anyone to fit into.”

  She nodded. “Yes. The intense artist.”

  “The selfish egotist,” he corrected. “Don’t fool yourself into thinking that’s a creative quality.”

  “Today was my fault,” she said, taking the poles from him and tucking them into their fitted corner. “I entered a photo contest at home and got a call this morning telling me that I was a winner. I’ll have to have a week off and he’s upset about it.”

  It seemed criminal to Gideon that she should be made to feel guilty because she’d succeeded at something that made Bruno resentful. “If he’s not happy for you that you’ve accomplished something wonderful,” he said, taking the case from her as she would have lifted it, “then you should think twice about him.”

  She followed him with an electrical cord looped over her shoulder. “I’m beginning to come to that conclusion myself.”

  “I would kill for Chinese take-out,” Georgette said as they headed home. “Does that sound good to any body? But I’m too pooped to decide between mu shu pork and kung pao chicken.”

  “I’ll take you home,” Gideon said, “and I’ll come back for the food.”

  Bruno shook his head. “I think Justine and I’ll go back to the room. I didn’t sleep very well…”

  “Chinese take-out sounds good to me,” Justine interrupted with a casual smile in his direction. “Would it be a problem to take me back to the hotel later?” she asked Gideon.

  “It’d be my pleasure,” he assured her.

  He dropped Bruno at the inn. Bruno gave one quick look over his shoulder at Justine and went inside.

  “I want to know what happened between the two of you,” Georgette said. “He’s been like an angry wasp all day long.”

  Justine explained as Gideon headed back in the direction of the lake.

  “You won that contest?” Prue asked. She and Justine sat in the second seat together. “We should have been celebrating today! That’s wonderful!”

  Georgette turned in her seat to add her congratulations. “Justine, that’s marvelous. And I know that contest. It’s very prestigious.”

  “I know, I was thrilled about it until Bruno got upset because it means I’ll have to take a week off.”

  “Bruno got upset,” Prue corrected, “because it means you have the potential to be as good as he is. That’s what he doesn’t like. Well, I think that calls for mandarin duck.”

  Gideon dropped everyone off at home, then returned to town with a long list of takeout to which they’d all contributed. He thought he’d add a bottle of champagne in honor of Justine’s victory—over the contest and the stirrings of her liberation from Bruno.

  He sat in the Chinese restaurant perusing a magazine while waiting for his order, when the door flew open and Paris rushed in.

  “Hi!” she said, throwing her arms around him. She was breathless and pink-cheeked. “I saw your rental van in the lot and I wondered if you could save me the trip to your house with this stuff.” She handed him a magazine and several envelopes.

  “Sure,” he replied. “What is it?”

  “It’s Prue’s mail. I thought it could just wait until…” She hitched a shoulder, obviously unsure how to put it. “Until your aunt goes home and the act is over. Until you two can decide what you’re doing with your lives. Until you move on to Alaska and she goes home to Mom.”

  “Okay,” he said, taking the mail from her.

  “I was going to deliver it,” she said, “but I got a call on the way. Somebody’s late for the airport. I wouldn’t have worried about it, but there’s something there from a hospital. I had to sign for it.” She frowned at him, seeming to slow down for a moment to focus on the question that presented itself. “I didn’t even know Prue had been in the hospital.”

  He nodded, looking at the envelope with the hospital’s return address. “She spent a few days there after that whole fiasco in Maine,” he explained.

  Paris gasped. “What happened?”

  “The doctor wouldn’t let me in,” he said. “Her friend said Prue had suffered a nervous collapse.”

  “She never told me that! Or Mom.”

  “Yeah.” He hated to think back to that time. “It was a rough period for her. She probably just didn’t want to have to think about it again.”

  “Have you guys been able to talk about what happened in Maine?” Paris asked gently.

  He nodded. “Actually, we have. And though we haven’t really resolved anything, it’s looking more hopeful than it has been.”

  She hugged him again. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Gotta go, Gideon.”

  “Okay. I’ll see that she gets the mail.”

  PRUE COULD NOT remember when she’d had a better time. Gideon had come back from town with a bottle of champagne as well as a veritable Chinese feast.

  Justine told them about the photos she’d entered in the contest, about her dreams for the future, even shared a little about her disappointment over Bruno’s attitude.

  Georgette had stories about her various husbands, about life in Europe, and as they read their fortune cookies, she laughed over the prophetic nature of hers. “Keep your eyes open,” it read. “The best part of life is still unfolding.”

  She smiled at Gideon and Prue. “That’s true,” she said. “I think I’ll take your advice, Gideon, and see if your parents would mind if I spend some time at the vineyard. I’ve so enjoyed being involved in your lives. When the children start coming, I don’t want to be too far away to watch them grow.”

  Children. Prue felt a fist of pain and tension develop in the pit of her stomach.

  Gideon, topping up everyone’s champagne, noticed the sudden change in her expression.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, refilling her glass, then sitting beside her on the sofa. Justine and Georgette talked about working together on another project.

  She shook off the mood and smiled. “Nothing. It was a long day and all the food and champagne has made me sleepy.”

  “You look sad,” he argued quietly, “not sleepy.”

  She took a deep sip and leaned back, resting her elbow on his shoulder. “Well, it is sad, isn’t it? The way two people start out loving each other, then somehow get lost to one another along the way? Like us. Like Bruno and Justine.”

  “Their only problem is his ego,” he said. “You and I were a bit more complex than that. And that’s kind of taken a favorable turn, don’t you think?”

  She nodded. “Yes. It’s just that some things were lost that can’t be reclaimed.”

  That startled him. It was something she’d never said before. He tried to imagine what she meant. Last night had felt to him as though all the love and passion they’d ever had flared to life between them.

  But he had to remember that his responsibility in their breakup was that he hadn’t listened to her, had been too engrossed in his own problems to notice hers.

  “What have we lost that’s unredeemable?” he asked.

  “Oh, you know,” she said, suddenly offhand, as though she’d become afraid of his attention. “Youth, I guess.”

  “You’re not even thirty,” he disputed. “And I’m thirty-four. Hardly time to be picking out assisted-living accommodations.”

  She nodded and sipped more champagne. “I know. I guess I’m talking about that first blush of your life together when everything’s perfect.”

  He had a feeling she wasn’t telling him the truth about what was bothering her, but he didn’t want to press her. They weren’t alone for one thing; and for another, what he felt for her was too complicated for him t
o explain to himself, much less to her. He could only hope she felt the same.

  The party finally broke up with a toast to Justine’s success, and her promise that whatever she decided about Bruno, she wouldn’t let him get in the way of having her own career as a photographer.

  Gideon prepared to drive Justine back to the inn, then remembered the mail. He delved into his pocket and handed it to her. “Here’s some reading material,” he joked, “to keep you occupied while I take Justine home.”

  She looked surprised as she accepted the letters.

  “Paris had to sign for the thing from the hospital,” he explained, then told her how Paris had found him and asked him to take the mail home to her.

  “Oh.” He heard the slightest intake of her breath, then she smiled at him. “Thanks. I’m going to go up. I’m tired.”

  “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

  She hugged Justine, then him, then disappeared upstairs.

  Justine, newly excited about her win after being surrounded by loyal support all evening, seemed full of ideas about what to do with her future. Gideon walked her into the inn on the chance there was a problem with Bruno, but he’d already left for home and Jackie had saved the room.

  Gideon returned home to find the downstairs darkened and quiet, except that the porch light had been left on for him. And a wall lamp at the top of the stairs left a small puddle of light to guide his way up.

  He was happy to see Prue curled into herself on her side of the bed, though she appeared to be asleep, Drifter on his spot on the sofa bed. She’d seemed unlike herself tonight, and it had worried him. That was what came of lying, he told himself judiciously. He now found himself wondering if she’d find out that he’d orchestrated this cohabiting thing, and if it would make a difference to their reignited relationship.

  He changed quickly out of his clothes, leaving on his briefs and T-shirt, and climbed into bed, careful not to wake her.

  He was completely surprised when she turned toward him and settled into his shoulder. “Hi,” she said sleepily, throwing the corner of the blanket over him.