I nodded. I knew. Nothing had been a coincidence from the moment Devlin first entered my life. It had all been choreographed, and I was simply following the steps of a dance someone else led. “I’ll be okay,” I promised, though I didn’t completely believe it. It was so much easier to hate Devlin, to expect the worst from him, to see the worst in him. But he never failed to win me over when it came to the music. That truly was his stock and trade. And he was, without doubt, a master at it.
I knew he was going to be a major success.
I drained a glass before I straightened my dress and walked across the bar. His eyes met mine as I approached, which nearly made me trip over my own two feet. He excused himself from Vanni and Andy before he met me halfway. “Hello, Coralie.”
Even the way he said my name made my nerve endings vibrate. “Devlin,” I greeted with a nod of my head. He motioned to the bartender for a couple of drinks before he turned back to me.
“What did you think of the movie?”
“Another winner,” I said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you were nominated for an Oscar.”
He chuckled softly. “They don’t give out awards for best covers, darlin.’ Jordi has that one locked.”
I studied him thoughtfully. “Maybe the next one, then.”
He chuckled softly. “Maybe.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Dev?”
“Tell you what?”
“That you didn’t get the money from Suzanne to buy the house. That you’ve been working with Graham on your music. That you didn’t go back to…,” I trailed off before lowering my voice, “your old job.”
“People see what they want to see,” he answered simply. “I may not tell you everything, but what I do say is usually always honest. I can’t help it if you fill in the blanks with things that aren’t true.”
I thought back to New Year’s Eve, when he said he was ‘working.’ He had arrived with the producer’s daughters, and that comment was probably completely accurate. He hadn’t specified how he was working or what he was doing. I had jumped to my own conclusions.
Still… “You knew what I thought and never corrected any of it. In fact, if I remember right, you encouraged me to believe you had gone back to fucking people for a living.”
The bartender returned with two drinks, and Devlin chortled softly as he picked up the glasses from the bar, handing me one. “In one way or another, aren’t we all?”
“Touché,” I grumbled as I threw back the drink.
His eyes glittered as they roamed over me. “You look beautiful, Coralie.”
“But not as beautiful as Andy Carnevale, I suppose.”
He glanced at the other woman in question. “She is quite lovely, isn’t she? Reminds me of someone I met a long time ago.”
“Ha, ha,” I remarked as I put my empty glass on the bar and signaled for another. “So where’s Suzanne this evening? Can’t be bothered to celebrate your big night?”
“Suzanne and Harvey are on the campaign trail. Only a few weeks left before the primaries open, which will take up most of her time until the convention. If current polls are to be believed, they’re on the road to the White House after that.”
“That should free up a lot of your time until November,” I commented.
“Indeed,” he confirmed with a slight nod. “Care to spend some of it with me?”
I could only hope he didn’t see me shudder. “Would it matter if I did? You’ll always go back to her whenever she comes calling.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I wouldn’t think a First Lady, surrounded by a horde of secret service men, would have a whole lot of free time to gallivant with anyone other than her husband or heads of state.”
“But she’s Suzanne Everhart. She’s all-powerful, right? She always gets what she wants one way or the other.”
He sighed as he, too, finished his drink. “I’m glad you enjoyed the movie,” he said as he withdrew his wallet to pay for the drinks. “And I hope you enjoyed the song. It always belonged to you.” He tossed some bills on the bar before he turned to leave. This surprised me more than anything.
“What? You’re not going to try and get me to go home with you?”
He turned only slightly. “Not tonight. But I’ll see you on Wednesday.”
He left me sputtering and speechless behind him as he exited the club, all by himself.
I was quiet and painfully sober as I returned to Caz. “What’d he say?”
I sighed. “What he always says. Nothing at all.”
Caz wrapped an arm around me. “Come on, pussycat. Let’s go home.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
There really wasn’t a question of whether I would go to Devlin’s that Wednesday. I had a lot of questions, and this was my opportunity to see if he would answer at least one. So I took a little more care dressing that morning for work, which these days consisted of fielding interviews and press commitments. Thanks to the well-publicized premiere of A Journey to Remember, where most of the women present, including fabulous, famous full-figured beauties, had worn our clothes, there were a lot more requests to juggle. This included an opportunity to appear on Dixie’s talk show, which both Father and Oliver thought I should do, though I really didn’t want anything to do with it.
All of that came a distant second on my list of priorities the minute I walked into my office, which was full of roses. This time, however, they were not dark red. Instead they were a deep coral color, one I had never seen before, and yet miraculously Devlin had managed to find dozens of them to fill the room. I took one of the silky petals between my fingers as I recalled our first night together in Vegas¸ where Devlin had taught me about the significance of color when it bestowing these coveted flowers as a gift.
“Clearly you don’t know the language of roses.”
“I didn’t know they spoke.”
“They say everything,”
Immediately I got online to research what coral roses might say. I gulped hard when I found the information I sought. Coral roses signified enthusiasm and desire, usually sent to someone one is excited to get to know.
An involuntary shudder ran through my body as I realized that was what these dates were effectively doing. Unlike the months we spent actually married to one another and living with one another, virtual strangers because he wouldn’t let me know what was going on, these Wednesday rendezvous had the sole purpose of uncovering things about each other. Ever so slowly we were revealing things about each other, learning things about each other.
And the roses were absolutely, 100-percent correct: I was excited to get to know him, so much so I left work early just because I couldn’t stand the wait.
My hands literally shook as I parked my car in Devlin’s driveway that evening. I took a deep breath before I swung out of the driver’s seat and walked to the front door, which Griselda opened for me.
I could hear the piano from the doorway. Devlin played another classical piece, Maurice Ravel’s “Jeux d’eau,” which I recognized immediately. He had played it for me in those early days of our marriage, after I had mentioned that I loved Paris when it rained.
I walked the remaining few steps to the formal living room, where Dev’s beloved piano was. Instead of sitting on his bench naked, like he had once upon a time, he wore jeans and a soft knit T-shirt. His feet were bare and his eyes were closed as he played, lost in the complicated music that swelled throughout the living room.
It was a living room I now knew his music had paid for, which made it all even more remarkable to listen to him play the dramatic piece of music.
Our eyes met as I entered the room. He kept me locked in his gaze as I sat on the sofa across from the baby grand. Only candles lit the room, which was filled with even more coral roses. I was transfixed by the music as he played, as I always had been. Finally the notes died away and he sipped champagne from a crystal flute sitting on a small table next to him.
“That was lovely, Dev,” I praised genuinely.
>
He caressed the keys with a loving hand. “It’s always better with an audience,” he toasted.
I knew better than to ask him to play another one. So I didn’t ask. “Play me another.”
A slow smile broke apart his face before he returned his glass to the table and his fingers braced over the keys. While he knew all sorts of music, and could play all sorts of music, he really shined whenever he tackled a classical piece. It was like he transported to somewhere else entirely, a conduit to the timeless music that spilled from his fingertips. He was mesmerizing to watch as his eyes closed and his head tilted to the side, leaning into the music that he commanded with every confident stroke of the keys, which he would alternately caress and conquer.
That he played one of my favorite pieces, Debussy’s Prelude Book 2 No. 5 “Bruyeres,” only made the performance more compelling, something I suspected he knew when he chose it.
Griselda unobtrusively brought in a plate of hor d'oeuvres into the living room, pouring me a glass of champagne as well. How lucky she was, I thought, to hear this heavenly music all the time. I instantly regretted that he hadn’t played for me more. There, in that beautiful house, drinking my family wine, staring at the Monet that hung above the roaring fireplace while watching the candles cast dancing shadows on the wall, listening to Devlin play such lovely music was a sensual experience on every level. I closed my eyes and lost myself to it.
I was sorry that the song only lasted mere minutes. I could have listened to it for hours.
My eyes opened as the music faded away. Devlin stood, fetching his glass of champagne before joining me on the sofa.
“My favorite,” I smiled as he sat across from me.
“I know,” he smiled in return.
I studied his face, which was relaxed, content and fulfilled, like it always had been when he played. And now this was his life. “Graham was right. You don’t belong in a stuffy boardroom. You need to do that for millions of people all over the world.”
He swirled his champagne around in his glass. “That’s the plan.”
Is it? I wondered. But of course I couldn’t ask. “Tell me your plans, Dev.”
He grinned. “Such a smart girl,” he murmured. “You already know how to get around the provision of one question, one answer.”
I toasted him. “And you still know how to deflect and redirect better than anyone I know.”
Dev chuckled. “Occupational hazard,” he dismissed.
“Not anymore,” I reminded.
He conceded my point with a slight nod of his head. “My video comes out on Friday, same as the movie. They’ve used it on some of the trailers, and Graham says that people are eager to hear the whole song. The pre-orders are apparently doing very well.”
I had to smile at his false modesty. I already knew how well those pre-orders were selling. He was skyrocketing towards number one.
“Your life is about to change,” I commented, and he nodded.
“Again,” he murmured.
“Are you happy, Dev?” I asked at last. His eyes met mine.
“Is that your question, Coralie?”
I sighed. No, that wasn’t my question. Well, it wasn’t my only question. “One of,” I finally said.
“So ask,” he commanded softly.
I stared into those mesmerizing green eyes. This was how it always should have been. Drinking wine together as we chatted about the future, sitting on our sofa, in our living room, where he’d play for me and we’d be happy. The only real question that mattered was why had he ruined it all and made it an impossible dream? “Why did you fuck Suzanne after you claimed to fall in love with me?”
He studied me for a moment. “I claimed nothing,” he said softly. “I did fall in love with you. I am still in love with you.”
“Then why?” I asked again, softer and more insistent, hoping this time he’d actually have the balls to answer me.
“Because I had to,” he finally said.
His candor shocked me. I expected more hemming and hawing. It was out of my mouth before I could stop it. “Why?”
His voice was soft as velvet. “One question. One answer.”
I sighed. “Right.” I placed my glass upon the coffee table before I rose to my feet.
“Where are you going?” he asked in that same soft voice.
“Home,” I told him as I rounded the sofa. He caught my wrist in his hand.
“You are home, Coralie.” He had to have felt the tremor in my hand when he said such things. Especially when he said, “Ask me again.”
His thumb brushed absently against my skin, which threw my senses into overdrive. My voice cracked when I repeated, “Why?”
He didn’t release my hand as he rose to his feet, to stand over me. “It had nothing to do with you.”
My mouth thinned into an angry line. “Yet I’m the one it destroyed.”
He lifted his hand to caress my cheek. “I know. And I’m sorry for that every single day.”
I turned away before I softened. I couldn’t afford to believe in anything anymore.
I nearly melted into the floor when he whispered my name, before pulling me into his arms. “Dance with me,” he commanded softly.
“There’s no music,” I offered feebly.
A small smile broke across his face. “How right you are, Mrs. Masters,” he murmured before he released me suddenly. He left the room, leaving me flabbergasted and speechless until he returned, carrying a small box covered in cheerful wrapping paper, which he handed to me.
“What is this?”
“Open it,” he instructed.
I sat back on the sofa to peel away the wrapping paper and pull open the cardboard box. There, nestled in between packing peanuts and bubble wrap, was a small wooden music box, painted cobalt blue with a colorful stained glass design on the lid, one that instantly reminded me of the chapel at my family chateau in France. “Dev,” I breathed as I opened the lid, and the Debussy tune he had just played for me, my favorite, spilled from the tiny box.
“I ordered it in August,” he supplied generously, without my having to ask. “After we made love in the chapel. I had it specially made. I had hoped that it would always remind us of the moment our child was conceived.”
I glanced up at him. His voice was soft, pained. It broke my heart all over again.
He wound the music box before he placed it on the coffee table. He took my hand in his as he and I didn’t protest as he took me into his arms and held me close for a dance. He molded me to his body, his hands in my hair as we swayed to the romantic swell of the music that he had somehow captured in that tiny box.
I felt his breath against my hair as he slid his one hand around my neck to pull me closer. His thumb brushed against my sensitive skin. My eyes fluttered closed. I think I forgot to breathe. Everything in me still reached for him, as if it had forgotten how much that had cost us the first time around.
In his arms time stood still. We weren’t touched by the pain of the past or the uncertainty of the future. His heart beat steady under my ear as I laid my head against his chest and prayed that the song would never end.
Yet it tapered off way before I was ready. Devlin took my face in his hands. His gaze landed on my mouth, making me lick my lips nervously. He groaned as he held me closer. “Oh, Coralie,” he murmured. “Have I ruined everything?”
I gulped hard. “Is that your question?”
“Yes,” he whispered and I couldn’t help but shudder against him.
“Devlin,” I started, but my voice was strangled in my throat as I stared up at him. I was lost the instant his mouth descended onto mine, covering my lips in a warm, earnest kiss that begged my compliance. I had to brace my hands on his strong shoulders before I wilted right to the floor. Despite it all, I couldn’t fight his control over me.
I didn’t want to.
When at last I submitted to his kiss, he lifted me up into his arms, his hands clasping fistfuls of my hair as he ravaged my mouth a
t last. “Stay with me tonight,” he pleaded yet again, this time with his talented mouth against my lips.
I shuddered hard. It was all I wanted… and all I knew I had to refuse. Nothing had changed. Yes, he had a vice-like grip on my soul, able to command me and control me with nothing more but the look in his eyes. That was never the question, nor, really, the problem.
The problem was that he was likewise controlled, by a woman he had just admitted that he had to sleep with, even if he had fallen in love with someone else. “I can’t,” I finally croaked as I tried once more to push away from that strong chest.
“Why?” he asked as he tried to pull me closer.
My eyes met his. “One question. One answer.”
His gaze darkened. “You never answered my question, Coralie.”
I stared into those eyes as long as I dared. “Didn’t I?” I finally said before I finally tugged away from him. I practically ran from the room while I still could.
Tears blinded me as I drove back to my father’s estate. I managed to keep it together until I parked my car in the garage, where I sat for long minutes gulping back each soul-wrenching sob. It just wasn’t fair. Though it made no logical sense, I still loved Devlin Masters. I still wanted him. I would have rather been in our home listening to him play the piano than anywhere else in the world, with anyone else in the world. I wanted that music box, and all the memories that went along with it, where we had made perfect love on the floor of a broken chapel. It should have brought forth new life, but it didn’t, and that was a disappointment that we both shared.
How different would our lives have been had I conceived our child that day? Or any other day that we’d spent, wrapped in each other’s arms in a holy fiery union that forged us as one? Without living, physical proof of it all, I felt alone and empty. Barren. Bereft. Adrift.
I was one of the most celebrated women in fashion these days, but the only thing I wanted was everything I had been denied–my husband, my home and my family.
It took about twenty minutes for me to compose myself so that I could face my new housemate. Caz blared music as he cooked dinner, as happy-go-lucky as ever as he plated our healthy meal, which he served at the dining room table.
Masters Forever (Masters #3) Page 8