Lily Rose

by Deborah Robinson

  “I’m never at my apartment downtown,” he said. “Let’s find a place of our own. Maybe we could even get a pet. You’re always talking about dogs and cats.”

  As much as Lily loved the idea of them living together and getting a dog and cat, she remembered Aunt Martha’s advice. “It’s not that I don’t want to with you,” she replied. “I just don’t want to live with anyone until I’m engaged.”

  “I see,” Peyton merely said, as if the very idea was a novel one.

  Lily wondered if she had scared him off. But a few months later, on Valentine’s Day, Peyton took her to one of New York’s most romantic restaurants on the East River. After dessert, he excused himself and Lily sat in her chair, looking at the couples around her. She thought about which of them were married or just dating, and if the latter, which ones were living together. Maybe it didn’t matter whether you lived together before you were married. Maybe Aunt Martha’s advice was old fashioned and outdated. Why shouldn’t she live with Peyton? But she didn’t want to leave her Upper East Side apartment, which she’d lived in since she’d moved to the city and which meant so much to her. Perhaps she should ask Peyton to formally move in. But that was assuming he still wanted to live with her anyway.

  These thoughts occupied so much of her mind that she only then noticed that Peyton had returned to the table with a huge bouquet of red roses, each huge bloom round and perfect.

  “Oh, Pey,” Lily breathed. “These are beautiful.”

  “Not as much as you.”

  Before Lily’s disbelieving eyes, Peyton got down on one knee. From his pocket he produced a small, red velvet box and opened it to reveal a family heirloom ring that sparkled up at her. Passed down from Peyton’s great-grandmother, it was a perfect stone set in a miner cut, surrounded by tiny emeralds and diamonds. It nearly took Lily’s breath away.

  “Lily Rose Long, will you marry me?”

  Lily looked down into his dark, earnest eyes and said, “Yes, Peyton. Of course, I’ll marry you.”

  Now all the other couples were staring at them, but Lily didn’t care. So what if this made it into the papers the next day? DEPARTMENT STORE HEIR TO WED EMPLOYEE. Who cared? Overjoyed, Peyton immediately called his parents to tell them the good news. From his side of the conversation, it sounded like they were pleased. He put Lily briefly on the phone with them, too. “Welcome to the family, my dear,” Richard Reynolds boomed, and behind him called Lisa’s fainter voice: “I’m so happy for you two.”

  Of course, Lily had no family on her side to inform, but later she called Catherine, who said, “At least I didn’t have to say, ‘I told you so.’ Honestly, Lily, this isn’t where I thought the two of you would end up, but it doesn’t matter. You’re going to be the envy of every socialite in town for taking away their most eligible bachelor.”

  Lily soon discovered that she had no idea what getting married to someone like Peyton Reynolds meant. When she suggested having the wedding at Red Rose Farm, he said, “Of course not. Can you imagine my parents’ friends on a horse farm? We’re getting married in Palm Beach.” While Lily had told Peyton about inheriting the farm, he didn’t seem particularly interested in her “little hobby” and had never talked about visiting it with her. So while it would have meant a great deal to Lily to get married with her family surrounding her in memory, if not in the flesh, she acquiesced to Peyton’s decision, thinking he knew best.

  She also agreed with Peyton that there should be no prenuptial agreement. While she was aware that unions between someone of comparatively less means, such as herself, with someone who was set to inherit an entire corporate legacy usually included a prenup, she was swept away by Peyton’s declaration that they were so much in love that they were going to stay together forever. And if there was any pressure on Peyton’s side from his parents about this, she was unaware of it. Perhaps in the beginning Richard and Lisa Reynolds had looked askance at the willowy blond, aqua-eyed girl that their only son had brought home to meet them, but as Lily proved herself over and over again at work, Richard certainly appeared to look favorably upon her. She felt less sure of herself with Lisa, who had been married to Richard for more than thirty years with a prenup, so it wouldn’t be surprising if Lisa thought her fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants son had literally given away the store. But Lisa would come around, too, Lily thought, when there were grandbabies in the picture.

  In the weeks leading up to the wedding, she couldn’t wait to gain a new father-in-law and mother-in-law. And she couldn’t wait for her and Peyton to start a family of their own.

  * * *

  In the Little White Chapel by the Sea in Palm Beach, Lily Rose Long said “I do” to Richard “Peyton” Reynolds III. She was wearing a dove-white dress covered with crystals and pearls, looking like a princess. In a black tux and white waistcoat, Peyton was every inch her Prince Charming. After the ceremony, they headed back to the hotel to change before the reception, which they had decided was going to be one big lavish celebration on the beach—a time to celebrate with all their New York and international friends.

  Lily had planned everything to perfection. On one secluded area of the beach, there were tents covered with flowing white gauze with chandeliers sparkling inside, each one waving gently in the seaside breeze. Inside this tented wonderland, tables covered in white gauze were adorned with lush garden arrangements of Lily’s signature fuchsia-pink roses mixed with hydrangeas. Crystal pendants hung from the ceiling at different lengths, catching the candlelight and creating the enchanting atmosphere of a brightly lit palace. Each of the ladies had received a rose-pink sarong and matching pink blouse, and each gentleman a loose-fitting, white linen shirt and a pair of khakis, to change into. The guests were served pink grapefruit martinis as soon as they arrived.

  Occasionally, Lily felt pangs of regret that she had no one from her family present. But she had Catherine as her maid-of-honor, and Richard Reynolds danced with her during the father of the bride dance. As soon as the song ended, Lisa Reynolds came and pulled him away, but Lily wasn’t aware of it. She and Peyton didn’t notice his parents much that night; they were far too much in love with each other. They danced late into the night with their friends, throwing roses and lilies out into sea all night long.

  The next morning a private jet whisked them off for a blissful, two-week honeymoon in the Virgin Gorda, part of the British Virgin Islands. While Lily Rose continued to miss her own family, she reminded herself that this was her new beginning. As Peyton swam in the ocean, she rested on the white beach, daydreaming about what their children would look like: a little, flaxen-haired Lily and a tiny, brown-haired Pey frolicking in the sand together. She reasoned that she was only twenty-five, and she had years ahead of her to make this dream happen. Years later, she would remember this trip as one of the happiest times of her life.

  Chapter 11

  LILY ROSE STOOD AT THE window of her Upper East Side apartment, looking down into the wide boulevard of Park Avenue. Although it was almost midnight on a weekday, a few people could be seen walking back late from a bar or the gym or wherever they went to relieve stress after work. She wondered if from this distance she could spot Peyton heading toward their building, coming home from yet another late night at the office—or so he said.

  It had been five years since Lily and Peyton had said “I do” on the white sands of Palm Beach, and since then, Lily’s star had risen fast. Not only was she the fashion director and spokesperson at R. R. Peyton’s, but Richard Reynolds was giving her her very own boutique within the department store. “The World of Lily Rose” was scheduled to open in just a few months, and Lily spent every waking moment preparing for it. Sometimes she wondered if Richard had given her the boutique because he thought it was a sound business investment, or because he was sorry for the fact that she and Peyton were still unable to conceive. She didn’t know how much Peyton confided in his parents, but she was sure they knew something was wrong by now.

  Lily had wanted to start trying to ha
ve a baby right away, since she’d always dreamed of having six kids. But Peyton insisted they wait, reasoning that they were young and that their careers must come first. “We have so much time ahead of us,” he’d said, and so instead they’d done the next best thing and adopted a dog and a cat—a Siberian Husky named Sable and a Himalayan cat named Hollywood, both of whom provided Lily with much comfort as she waited for Peyton to come around. They started trying the previous year, when Lily turned twenty-nine. She was sure that they’d get pregnant immediately—after all, they’d had plenty of practice, and their attraction to each other was as strong as ever—but every month the pregnancy test came up negative. Lily’s doctor had told her not to worry, that if they weren’t pregnant after a year of trying, then they would look into it. Well, that year mark was coming up soon, and Lily wanted answers. She was beginning to suspect that maybe she wasn’t the problem, but Peyton. But of course she could never bring that up to him herself.

  Neither did she want to confront him about the latest rumors in the tabloids. Supposedly, while she’d been away on a buying trip for the boutique this past week, Peyton had been seen out having dinner with a gaggle of high-profile models, and had left the restaurant with one particularly delicious supermodel hanging on his arm. Reports from the scene also stated that a white powder and one-hundred-dollar bills were in abundance on the table. The only person Lily could talk about this with was Catherine, who cautiously acknowledged that she knew who the model was, and that the girl had a certain reputation with married men.

  “So you think it’s true?” Lily asked.

  “Lily,” Catherine replied, “nine times out of ten, what you read in the tabloids isn’t true. But it’s the tenth time that counts. Why don’t you ask Peyton about it?”

  “I can’t,” Lily confessed. “I’d rather not know. Maybe nothing happened . . . or maybe it was just this one time.”

  Catherine sighed. “You knew who Peyton was when you married him.”

  Lily thought she knew, and she thought she knew what her values were, but now she was finding herself nervously waiting for her husband to come home, not sure how she should confront him about his debauchery—his alleged debauchery, she kept telling herself.

  When she heard the key in the lock, and Peyton’s step in the hallway, she turned around slowly to face him. He looked exhausted; his eyes bloodshot, his shirt soaked with sweat. For a moment her heart went out to him and how hard it must be to work under his exacting father, but then she remembered the rumors about the supermodel—she was barely twenty-two!—and she hardened her grip on the edge of the chair next to her.

  “How was your day?” she asked, following him into the kitchen where he barely looked at the roast chicken and salad she’d prepared and left out for him on the counter.

  “Long,” he simply replied, disappearing into their bedroom.

  After he’d come back, having changed into a T-shirt and sweatpants that accentuated the lean lines of his body, she said in the same, bright tone, “I have some good news to tell you.”

  “Oh?” He sat down at the counter, giving Sable an absentminded pat.

  “You know how Couture magazine is planning to do a cover story on the boutique? They’ve managed to get an amazing photographer for the shoot—”

  “When is that shoot again?” Peyton interrupted.

  “Next week.”

  “Good, because I’ll be in town then.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Peyton looked at her as if she were dense. “They’re going to want me to be in the shoot, right? As the heir to R. R. Peyton’s? Not to mention, your husband. If it weren’t for me, the World of Lily Rose wouldn’t exist.”

  “Actually, Pey,” Lily gently corrected, “your father is the one who gave me the boutique.”

  At the sound of his fist slamming down on the counter, Lily jumped, and Sable gave a small yelp. “The reason you’re where you are at all is because you’re married to me, Lily,” Peyton growled. “And don’t you forget it.”

  Unable to answer him, Lily looked down, her face pale but her entire being burning with resentment. She had worked too hard for these past seven years, sacrificed too much of herself, to take this slight from anyone, even her husband. When Peyton reached out to her, she recoiled from his touch.

  Sighing, he lowered his hand to his side and said, “I’m sorry, Lily. I’ve been under a lot of pressure at work.”

  Her head snapped up. “So much pressure that you’ve been able to go out to restaurants with models?”

  To her surprise, he started to laugh. “You’re upset about that? Lily, I was entertaining a client. Luis Montenegro. You’ve heard what he’s like.”

  Indeed, Lily had heard stories about the head of one of Europe’s most notable fashion houses and his appetites. “What about the supermodel you left with?” she asked, unable to suppress the quiver in her voice.

  “She’s hardly a supermodel. The poor girl could hardly stand up straight by the end of the night. I had to walk her to the corner to get a cab or else Luis would have gotten his paws on her.”

  “How chivalrous of you,” Lily commented with a sniff, but the lines of her body were beginning to relax.

  “Like I’ve told you before, Lily,” Peyton said, “you can’t let these tabloids dictate your life. You have to believe what’s in here.” Taking her hand in his own, he placed it over her heart, then drew her in for a lingering kiss. Despite herself, Lily could feel her body reacting to his, to the heat that penetrated the thin fabric separating them.

  “It’s too late—” she protested.

  “No, it isn’t,” he murmured against her hair.

  Still, something in Lily made her pull apart from him. Indicating the food on the counter, she said, “Let me put this away if you’re not hungry.”

  “Okay,” Peyton said, getting up from his seat to head to the bedroom. “Don’t be too long, though.” At the doorway, he turned around. “By the way, I’m glad to hear about the cover shoot. What did you say the photographer’s name was?”

  “Eric Langvin,” Lily replied as she began to clear the counter. “The magazine said we were very lucky to get him, because he usually only shoots celebrities. But he agreed to do it this one time.”

  * * *

  Sitting in the town car on the way to the Couture magazine photo shoot, Lily wondered what had convinced Eric Langvin to take the job. Like anyone in the fashion business, she had heard about his meteoric rise to fame twenty-five years ago, photographing portraits of famous people around the world. He was especially known for his uncanny ability to capture the essence of his subject in just a few frames. Not only had he done cover shoots for celebrities, but for those who would become celebrities. It was as if he had the Midas touch; if anyone caught in his transformative lens wasn’t already well known, they would be well on their way to stardom after.

  As for his personal life, not much was known about the mysterious Mr. Langvin. According to the few profiles about him, he had forsaken his wealthy family and Ivy League education for an artist’s life in New York and Rome during his twenties. Then, at the height of his fame, he had settled in rural Connecticut with his Italian wife and children, and in recent years had become a virtual recluse. Now, it was rare that his photos graced the top fashion and celebrity magazines, but when they did, the public took notice.

  Lily hoped he would be easy to work with. Lying in the back seat of the car next to her, head in her lap, was her red-and-white Siberian Husky, Sable. She’d decided at the last minute to take Sable with her, thinking that the husky would enjoy getting out of the city. The main reason, though, was that Lily wanted to have someone on her side. Having never been the subject of a photo shoot before, she was nervous about it and counted on Sable to help her relax.

  When the car pulled up to the location in Bedford, Connecticut, her mind was immediately set at ease. Before her was an idyllic old farmhouse surrounded by white fences that reminded her of the horse farms in
Kentucky. A crew member greeted her when she and Sable got out of the car, and led them into the gray stone kitchen. Lily was admiring the display of copper pots and pans on the rack overhead when Sable alerted her to someone else’s presence in the room. Tail wagging, the husky ran up to a tall man with thick, wavy blond hair who bent to ruffle her fur. When he looked up, Lily saw that his eyes were a remarkable, bright blue that reflected the depths of the ocean.

  “You must be Lily Rose Reynolds.” His voice was deep but kind, as if a smile was hidden somewhere inside.

  “Yes. Mr. Langvin?”

  “Please sit down. And please call me Eric.”

  He gestured to the table, and Lily sat, as did Sable at her feet. She couldn’t help but notice what an attractive older man Eric Langvin was, maybe close to fifty, but good-looking nonetheless. His was a rugged handsomeness, the lines on his face speaking to hours spent in the sun, enjoying the outdoors or searching for the perfect shot. And, of course, there were his magnetic eyes, the shade of which Lily had never seen before on another person. Strangers often commented on how unusual her own eyes were, but at this moment she supposed that they weren’t so unique after all. She realized she had actually seen Eric a couple of times before at charity events or galas, but only at a glance. With his presence he could have been a movie star instead of the person who photographed them, but she supposed that wouldn’t have interested him since he was so private.

  “I’m so glad we have this opportunity to work together,” he continued. “I hope you don’t mind the rustic location.”

  “Not at all, it’s beautiful,” Lily assured him. “It reminds me of where I grew up.”

  “And where was that?”

  “Kentucky, near Lexington. Have you ever been there?”