by Wendy Wax
She turned and lifted the hair off her neck. The pearls were cool and solid against her skin as he hooked the clasp then turned her to face him.
“Ready?” Jonathan asked her when the front desk buzzed up to announce their guests’ arrival.
“As I’ll ever be.” Samantha smoothed a hand down the side of her black cocktail dress.
“How was lunch?” he asked.
“Fine.” She dropped her eyes to double-check the drinks cart. She tried to be honest with Jonathan, but she was also careful not to criticize his mother—that was Jonathan’s prerogative. She lied only to keep the peace or avoid giving offense. But those lies were small and white.
“I hope you’re not letting her push you around . . .”
She’d been no match for her mother-in-law when she was twenty-one and had lost tons of skirmishes and a good number of battles. The only reason Cynthia hadn’t won the war she’d waged to dislodge the unsuitable and unwanted daughter-in-law was that Samantha couldn’t even consider defeat because she wasn’t fighting for creature comforts for herself as her mother-in-law had believed, but for a life and some version of family for her sister and brother.
“Who, me?” Samantha teased looking up into her husband’s blue eyes, which could be harsh and commanding like Cynthia’s but which could also be far kinder and gentler. His blond hair was sun streaked from the long summer days out at the lake house and the hours on the golf course. His nose was long and aristocratic. A flare of the finely wrought nostrils served as an early warning sign of displeasure. Right now at the end of summer a light smattering of freckles banded the bridge of his nose. She liked the look; it made him so much more approachable. “Not a chance. Well, maybe just enough to keep her happy.”
His eyes darkened as he looked down her décolleté. “Maybe the elevator will get caught between floors. Or they’ll decide that they’d rather go back to their hotel and have sex than have dinner with us.”
She laughed nervously. Despite twenty-five years of sleeping with this man she was still surprised by the visceral reaction his desire caused in her. But then he was the first and only man she’d ever actually had sex with and she supposed it had become a Pavlovian response. “I thought you said they were in their seventies.”
“And your point is?” he asked.
The doorbell rang.
As it turned out seventy was apparently not too old at all.
Victoria and Andrew Martin were tall, lean midwesterners with a plainspoken manner and a shared sense of humor. Andrew had made a fortune in newspapers and radio stations and been smart enough to sell his most profitable holdings at the peak, before the new technologies began to supplant the old.
“Have to make way for the new,” he said with a smile as they drank cocktails and nibbled on passed hors d’oeuvres. “But I must admit I’m very relieved that I can just enjoy all the new without having to compete with it.”
“Andrew’s always had impeccable timing,” his wife said in an amused, but loving, tone. “He was smart enough to swoop in and convince me to marry him right before he went to Vietnam.”
“You have to know when to swoop,” Andrew said. “Been married fifty-one years now. When you know something’s right you can’t waste time dillydallying.” Andrew Martin looked at Jonathan. “It seems like you knew the right woman when you met her, too. How long have you two been married?”
“Twenty-five years,” Jonathan said.
Samantha shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She suspected their courting and resulting marriage would be a severe disappointment to the Martins, who never seemed to move too far from each other. Even now they were holding hands on the sofa.
“Not everyone’s lucky enough to fall in love for a lifetime at such a young age,” Victoria said.
“No.” Samantha smiled but was careful not to look at Jonathan. “Not everyone’s that lucky.”
“Well, I know it’s an old-fashioned notion.” He addressed himself to Samantha. “But I like doing business with people who understand long-term commitments and partnerships. I’ve been with my old lawyer almost as long as I’ve been with Vicky.” He said his wife’s name as if she were still a young girl he couldn’t believe his good fortune in snaring. “But the old coot up and died on me. Wasn’t all that impressed with his son; the boy’s had way too much handed to him. A friend of mine here in Atlanta told me about your husband.” He smiled. “I’m glad we found a time for the four of us to get together. I trust Vicky’s people instincts. After all, she had the smarts to pick me, right?” He laughed heartily. Vicky rolled her eyes. Samantha wasn’t sure she’d ever seen someone in their seventies do that. She tried to picture her mother-in-law doing it and failed miserably.
“Yep. Still can’t believe she said yes,” Andrew said. “Why, the first time I told her I loved her I was shaking in my boots so hard I was afraid she’d hear my knees knocking. I wasn’t absolutely sure that she felt the same way about me.”
Jonathan laughed. She watched his face as he shared a story about shaking in his boots the first time he had to argue a case in court and neatly changed the subject. He didn’t look at all like what he was: a man who had married someone out of pity and gentlemanliness and without any talk of love at all.
It wasn’t that the word had never been used in the ensuing twenty-five years, but it was a word that they used with extreme caution in public and on important birthdates and holidays. Or conversely with no caution; as in right before, during, or after an orgasm, which Samantha suspected shouldn’t count at all.
The meal was one of the more pleasant business dinners Samantha could remember. They lingered over coffee and dessert, talking easily. When brandy was poured she found herself remembering how the men at Downton Abbey withdrew from the ladies to go enjoy their brandy and cigars. She could just imagine Victoria Martin’s eye roll if anyone in the room were to suggest such a thing.
It was nearly eleven when the door closed behind the Martins.
“I think that went pretty well.” The arm Jonathan had slipped around Samantha’s waist tightened.
“Yes,” she agreed.
He turned her so that he could slip both arms around her waist and draw her closer. His face lowered to hers. “You look great in that dress,” he said softly. “But I happen to know you look even better without it.”
She felt a tingle go up her spine as he pulled her up against him and reached his hands down to cup her buttocks.
There was the clatter of pots and pans. Voices rose from the kitchen.
“I need to go check on the caterer,” she said. “It sounds as if they’ve packed up. I’m sure he must be ready to go.”
He leaned down and brushed his lips across her ear. “To be continued then,” he said, sending a shiver over her bare skin. “If you’re up for it.”
As if she’d ever refuse the prince who’d scaled the tower, slayed the twin dragons of debt and despair, and carried Samantha and her loved ones to safety. Or ever even wanted to.
She sighed when he pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck before straightening.
“I’ll be looking forward to it.”
CHAPTER TEN
BROOKE HELD A CHILD’S HAND IN EACH OF HERS and Darcy’s leash looped around her wrist as they raced toward the Alexander. Everyone but Darcy, who would have clung to each bush and tree if she’d had hands and who had dawdled outside shamelessly, was in dire need of a bathroom.
“Hurry, Mommy!” Natalie cried as they speed walked down Peachtree.
“We’re almost there. Hold on!” Brooke moved faster, slightly afraid that Ava’s feet were no longer touching the sidewalk. One last tug had Darcy breaking into a trot. Brooke ignored the startled looks of passersby. There were plenty of dogs being walked in Midtown. Young children were more of a rarity, which was something she’d tried to point out to Zachary when he’d fallen in love with the Alexander. “Look! There’s Daddy!”
Brooke looked up, surprised. Zachary lounged next to the BMW,
which he’d somehow managed to park directly in front of the building. His hair was windblown and his face was sun-kissed. He looked as if he’d just stepped off a golf course, which he probably had.
As she watched Sarah Grant came out of the building. She hesitated for a moment under the awning, her face ashen. There was a large wet spot on the shirt of her golf ensemble—as if she’d tried to blot or remove a stain. When she spotted Brooke and the girls she moved quickly to Zachary’s side. Together Zach and his girlfriend looked like On the Links Barbie and Ken.
She wondered when Zachary had started playing golf on weekdays. As soon as he’d moved out and no longer had to be home for dinner or pretend he was paying attention to his family?
With the smallest of nods to Sarah, Brooke let go of Natalie’s hand long enough to thrust Darcy’s leash at Zach. “Potty emergency. We’ll be right back.”
In the lobby they rushed past the security desk and sped toward the restrooms. “We gotted back just in time.” Ava looked up at her seriously while Brooke helped her wash her hands. “I almost had a acc’dent.”
“I know,” Brooke said. “Me, too.” She remembered triangulating the distance to the nearest bathroom when they’d been potty training and didn’t miss the mental exercise, but she appreciated the lobby restroom almost as much as the beautiful water feature.
“Mommies don’t pee in their pants,” Natalie chided.
“Well, we try not to,” Brooke said. “But everybody has an accident now and then. Nobody’s perfect.” Unless you were Zach Mackenzie, she thought. Or one of his patients.
She took a minute to finger comb both girls’ heavy red hair, which was just as useless as trying to wrest control of her own. Once upon a time Zachary had thought the springy waves of red hair were exotic, but over the years it, like her, had become something that needed to be controlled. “Let’s go get your bag at the concierge desk. I’ll pick you up tomorrow after school for ballet class. Okay?”
At the desk the young Isabella pulled out their overnight bag and handed it to Brooke. “’Ow’s it goin’ then, m’lady?” she asked Brooke with an unservantlike grin. “I’m workin’ on me accent in case I gets to ’elp out on Sunday night again.”
“Yes, very . . . good,” Brooke said. The young woman’s earnestness made laughing out of the question.
“I asked the guhv’nor if I should wear the maid’s costume more regular-like to get into me character, but he said no.”
“Really?” Brooke smiled. She could only imagine the other residents’ surprise if Isabella began to show up for her shift dressed like an English house servant of a hundred years ago.
There was a “woof” and the sound of footsteps approaching. Zachary accepted a hug from each of the girls, but his gaze was fixed on Brooke. “I wanted to let you know that I’m going to start taking the girls on Sunday nights.” He was not asking.
“But you’re supposed to have them every other weekend for the whole weekend.”
“Sundays are better for me,” he said.
And Sarah, Brooke thought even as she swallowed the words. She did not want to argue with him in front of Natalie and Ava. Taking them every Sunday was better than not taking them for two whole weekends a month. The main thing was that the girls spent time with their father.
“Fine,” she said. “Did you bring the maintenance check?” It was as always embarrassingly overdue.
“I figured you’d already paid it and I’d reimburse you later.”
“I can’t, Zachary.” Her account had exactly three hundred dollars in it, not even enough for an emergency should it arrive. The only payments that happened regularly and on time were those that went through the court. Everything else depended on Zachary’s conscience, which seemed to have shriveled to the size of a pea. “I don’t have enough money to ‘front’ what you owe.”
“The condo is expensive to keep up, Brooke.” He said this as if this might be news to her.
“That didn’t seem to be a problem when you decided on this building. Or when you were living here.”
“I wasn’t running two establishments,” he replied.
This of course was not her problem, or shouldn’t be. “That was your choice, not mine,” she said as she had so many times before. She cast an eye down at the girls to try to gauge how intently they might be listening. “And there’s really nothing to discuss.” Her hand tightened on the leash. She did not want to have this conversation in front of the girls, had vowed she wouldn’t drag them into the middle of the discord between her and Zachary, but she couldn’t bear to let him twist everything this way. “I had two and three jobs at a time while I was putting you through medical school. Remember? That was one of the reasons the judge thought it was your turn now.” Brooke’s attorney had warned her that male judges were sometimes biased toward the husband in divorce proceedings. Judge Walton had been decisive and fair, but over the last six months, she’d learned that what you were awarded and what actually arrived each month were often different things.
“The settlement stipulates that the girls will continue to live in the home they know. The home you insisted they live in.” Her jaw was tight, her teeth clenched in an effort to stay calm.
“I know you never really wanted to live here, Brooke,” he said in a conciliatory tone that surprised her. “But I do. And so does Sarah.” He threw this last comment out as if it were incidental and not, as she was now beginning to realize, the whole reason they were having this conversation. “If I took over the condo, the girls would still have their own rooms.”
Brooke flushed with anger. This was going too far, even for Zachary.
“No,” she said clearly, and she hoped, calmly. The blood rushing to her head made it hard to tell for sure. “I’m not giving up the condo so that Natalie and Ava can come sleep in their rooms on those rare occasions when they actually get to visit you.”
“But you can’t really afford to stay in it, can you?” he asked again.
“I can if you do what you’re morally, ethically, and legally obligated to do,” she replied through still-clenched teeth. Her head began to throb. She still couldn’t believe that after all the years as the family breadwinner, when she had treated every penny she’d earned as “theirs” that Zachary now held on to every penny he was supposed to give her as if it were his last.
“I’d give you current fair market value for it,” Zach said. “Then you could buy a little house somewhere like you always said you wanted.”
She looked at this man whom she had once loved beyond all reason. And who had turned out to have the moral fiber of a gnat.
“I can’t believe you would even suggest this,” she said. “The real estate market here is nowhere near a recovery, as you’ve pointed out on endless occasions. Our unit is worth half of what it was when we bought it. And even if I wanted to sell, I’d never sell it to you and that Barbie doll you created. Never.” She would burn down the whole building before she let Sarah Grant live in their condo with Zachary. Better yet she’d go out and get a job to pay for maintenance fees and all the other things that Zachary used in order to manipulate her.
The click of heels on marble reminded her that they were in the middle of the lobby. She looked at her children’s faces and knew that although they might not have followed all that had been said, she shouldn’t have allowed them to overhear it.
“Oh, ’ello, Mrs. Davis, mu’m.” Isabella’s voice reached them from the other side of the lobby.
Brooke turned at Isabella’s greeting and saw Samantha Davis smile pleasantly at the girl as she breezed by the concierge desk. Brooke and Samantha’s eyes met and Brooke offered the closest thing to a polite smile she could muster, fully expecting the woman to offer a regal nod as she passed. Instead Samantha Davis walked over to them. “Hello, Brooke,” she said pleasantly. “How are you?”
“Um, fine. Thanks. How about you?”
“Good.”
There was an awkward silence. Beside her, Brooke could fee
l Zachary waiting to be introduced or at least noticed, but Samantha Davis had already turned her attention to the girls. She leaned down and put out a hand to Natalie. “I’m Samantha, what’s your name?”
“Natalie.” The seven-year-old’s chubby hand slipped into Samantha’s as she’d been taught.
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you,” Samantha replied shaking her hand. “Your mommy and I watched a movie together the other night.” Brooke was relieved there was no mention of their first meeting in the fitness room; something she was still trying to erase from her memory banks.
“I’m Ava.” Never one to be overlooked, Ava extended her hand toward Samantha Davis.
“Do you have any little girls for us to play with?”
The look that passed over Samantha Davis’s face was gone in an instant. “I’m afraid not. But I have a sister just like you do. Well, she’s a good thirty years or so older than you are now.” She turned to Natalie. “Big sisters need to look out for their little sisters.”
“Uh-huh.” Natalie nodded. “Except for when they’re being ’noxious.”
“Ah, but that’s when they need looking after the most,” Samantha said.
Natalie looked skeptical.
“You sound like you have some experience with that,” Brooke said, still unsure why Samantha Davis hadn’t departed as soon as she’d displayed her good manners.