“I mean, so what if she was a model? It doesn’t mean she isn’t . . .” Peyton smiled at her as if he’d just realized he was starting to ramble. “Never mind. I’ll see you when I get back home tonight. We have our anniversary to celebrate. Oh, by the way,” he added before they parted, “your assistant told me that you’re having trouble finding the right models for your fall photo shoot.”
“And?” Lily said, arching a brow. “You know anyone?” Once upon a time this would have struck a raw nerve, but now that those days were long gone, she could joke about it.
Peyton grinned. “No, but my mother might. She still keeps in touch with some casting agents.”
Lily nodded, thinking Lisa Reynolds probably didn’t have any idea who the top booking agents were now, but if it would make Peyton feel better about his mother, she was willing to take anyone into consideration.
* * *
A week later, Peyton arrived at Gracie’s door, tired and aggravated. He’d spent all morning in his father’s office for the photo shoot, mostly waiting as the hairstylists and wardrobe fussed around Lily. Although he knew she had been in magazines before, even on the cover of Couture, he had to admit that she was born for the camera. When she posed, she radiated a self-confidence that would light up any room. His father was his usual, forthright self, and as for Peyton . . . he felt like an imposter. All these months he had toiled to make it back into his father’s good graces, and for the most part it had worked. True to his word, his father had turned over the presidency to him, but Peyton sensed that he had done so begrudgingly, even suspiciously, with the unspoken warning that he would be watched very carefully. So what could be wrong? He had everything he’d ever wanted—including a loving wife and a red-hot girlfriend. So why did he feel like it could all be taken away from him in an instant?
Peyton had no idea how the magazine cover would turn out, and right now he didn’t care. He just wanted an outlet for his frustration, and he knew Gracie would be obliging. Usually he saw her during his lunch hour, sometimes after work or on the weekend, but he didn’t want to do anything that would make Lily suspicious. He felt he covered his tracks well enough, not going out with Gracie where they could be seen together, or allowing her to call him. He liked that they moved within their own special world, enclosed by the four white walls of her apartment. He especially enjoyed the fact that the space was so small she couldn’t get a drink, or even get dressed, without him being able to watch her.
Gracie, however, was getting impatient. She was tired of waiting around for him, and the fact was that she had been in New York for three months and hadn’t booked a single modeling gig. Where were the jobs he had promised her? How did he expect her to plan her days around when she would see him? She felt like she was back in rehab, except at least in rehab she was able to meet other people! Maybe she should meet someone else, someone who wasn’t married and who could take her out properly.
It was enough to make Peyton want to stomp out of the apartment. He’d taken a mistress so he could get away from all the pressures of home and work, not to replicate them. That was why he’d suggested to Lily that she look at other models for the fall fashion campaign, to get Gracie off his back. He’d handed her booking assistant a number of comp cards, including Gracie’s, and it just so happened that Lily was searching for a natural redhead to model a couple of sweaters. The job was pretty much guaranteed at this point, and Peyton imagined just how grateful Gracie would be and what she’d be willing to do to reward him.
But he didn’t tell her right away. When she let him into her apartment, he sat down, poured himself a big glass of red wine, and allowed her to go through her usual litany of complaints about how bored she was, how she needed to see him more often, how he should have gotten her a bigger place.
“Do you know how I spent this morning?” he said, abruptly cutting her off.
“I don’t know, and I don’t care about playing your little guessing games.” She glared at him, pushing up the sleeves of her sweatshirt. After the first month or so, she no longer bothered to dress up for him when he came over, reverting to the jeans and sweats she had preferred during her early rehab days. What was the point, she said, when they didn’t go out anyway?
Peyton tossed back the rest of his glass. He never drank that much at Gracie’s, just enough to remind himself how good it felt. “I was pretending to be someone else.”
“Huh?” A puzzled look creased Gracie’s face.
“I was at a photo shoot.”
“Oh. For what?”
Peyton shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Speaking of photo shoots, what if I told you that I got you a modeling job?”
“Really? Where?” Gracie whipped her head around as if she expected a photo shoot set to materialize before her.
“Where do you think?”
It took her a second to understand. “Your department store? Thank you! Thank you!” she squealed. “That’s just the push I need to get myself out there. After that, I know things will just fall into place for me.”
She wanted to jump into his arms, but Peyton drew back so he could look at her face, shining with a joy and optimism that had long since been drained from himself. It was the hope of someone who still believed they had a chance at getting what they wanted, what they deserved. Was he what she deserved? She was so young and pure and guileless; he needed that in his life. But did she need him?
A sudden sadness overcame him. Gracie was getting playful, tugging at his belt, wanting to get things moving. Rather than the usual way he treated her, which was to rip off her clothes and fuck her on whatever piece of furniture was closest, before moving to the bed for a second helping, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bathroom. He turned on the shower, and before she could protest, set her down gently in the pouring water. She stood there, too shocked to do anything, as he tenderly began to remove her clothes, kissing each part of her body as it was revealed. Her ribs weren’t as prominent as before, her hipbones not as sharp, but she still possessed the fragility that he so cherished. As he moved down her body, the look on her face was uncertain; how should she react? Was this a new kink? What did he want from her? She thought she knew how to satisfy his every need, but this came from somewhere deeper.
When she was completely undressed, he wrapped her in a fluffy white towel and carried her to the bed. Surely he would fuck her now, but instead he tucked her underneath the sheets, pressed his lips against her forehead, and without saying another word, left the apartment.
* * *
The end result of the legacy photo shoot was better than anyone could have hoped for, Lily thought as she glanced at the latest cover of the New York Tribune magazine. In the photo, Richard sat behind his desk, looking powerful and patrician, framed by a spectacular green view of Central Park. To his left stood Peyton in a well-cut suit, one hand on his father’s shoulder. And to her father-in-law’s right, sitting on his desk, was Lily in a chic couture dress as a nod to her role in the fashion industry. Across the top, against the rich, dark, wood-paneled walls of Richard’s office, marched the words: “The Once and Future Rulers of R. R. Peyton’s,” and then in smaller print on the side, “A Peek Inside the World of Department Store Royalty.” She hoped Peyton would be pleased by it. At the photo shoot she could tell that he was uncomfortable, although she didn’t know what was bothering him.
“Lily,” an assistant called. “They’re ready for you.”
At the moment, Lily had another photo shoot to worry about. The fall campaign for R. R. Peyton’s involved dozens of models and several different locations in and around the city. Usually Lily did no more than approve decisions from her desk, but on this particular day one of the senior coordinators was absent, so she had taken it upon herself to oversee the photo shoot at a location upstate. She put the magazine away and walked onto the outdoor set, where a model in a Fair Isle sweater was lounging against a stone wall. Lily recalled her as being a last-minute addition; she was inexperienced
and a bit older than what Lily had had in mind, but her looks were certainly stunning, her golden-red hair contrasting with her lightly freckled complexion and piercing green eyes.
“You’re Mrs. Reynolds, right?” the model asked.
“Yes,” Lily responded, disturbed by the brazen way in which the model looked her up and down. “Can I help you with something?”
Indicating the band of diamonds on Lily’s right-hand ring finger, she observed, “That’s a nice ring.”
“It’s an eternity ring.” When the model looked puzzled, Lily explained, “My husband gave it to me to celebrate being married for ten years.”
She snorted. “I guess eternity doesn’t mean much to him, then.”
“Excuse me?”
“We’re talking about the same person, aren’t we? Mr. Peyton Reynolds?”
Lily narrowed her eyes. “What do you know about him?”
“I know quite a lot. Like how he used to do coke every night, and how it made him feel. How he has a mole on his lower back. You want to know how I know that?”
Feeling like the world was falling away from her, Lily placed her hand against the stone wall to steady herself. Who was this girl? Sure, she was aware that Peyton knew many models from years ago—had probably cheated on her with some of them, if she was being honest—but this girl was new. And she spoke about Peyton in a way that suggested she was recently involved with him. Perhaps still involved with him.
Remembering herself and who she was, Lily straightened her spine. Pointing at the redhead, she told her assistant, “Fire her,” and stormed away from the set, the model’s laughter still ringing in her ears.
The fifty-minute ride in the town car back to the city felt twice as long to Lily. Her head was clearer now, and she had moments of calmness, only to be overridden seconds later with a wave of terror. Knowing a panic attack was imminent, she fished in her purse for a pill. After swallowing it and waiting for it to take effect, she stared at the New York Tribune magazine cover. She hardly recognized the woman sitting on the desk, businesslike and poised, her head held high. Her gaze moved to Peyton, handsome, self-assured, his hair brushed back. Could he have been with that girl then? That very day? She crumpled the magazine and tossed it onto the floor of the car.
At the department store, she got into the elevator and rode straight up to the executive floor. Striding past Peyton’s assistant, she went straight into his office and closed the door.
“Who is she?”
If Peyton had looked confused, or even acted like he didn’t know what she was talking about, she might have held onto some hope. But her heart sank when he stared back at her with no pretense in his dark eyes.
“Her name is Gracie. I met her when I was in rehab in California. When I came back to New York, I got her an apartment.”
“And a modeling job through me.”
“I wanted to make her happy.”
Trembling, Lily felt like she was at a crossroads again, like the night she’d gone, battered and bruised, to Richard and Lisa Reynolds’ apartment on Park Avenue. She had wondered if she’d made the right decision then, and she didn’t know if she would make it now. All she knew was that she desperately wanted to forget that she knew about Peyton’s affair, that things would go back to the way they were—to the way they had been over the short but transformative months since Peyton had successfully completed rehab. Or had his rehab been just another sham?
“Peyton,” she pleaded. “Tell me you’re done with her. Tell me you’ll never see her again.”
“I’ve tried. I haven’t seen her since the day of the photo shoot, last month. But, I can’t give her up. She’s the one I want to be with.” Tears formed in Peyton’s eyes. “Lily, I want a new life with her. I want to start over.”
Lily couldn’t bear to look at his face. If she did, she would know that he meant what he said, that there was no hope for their marriage any longer. A rage gathered in her unlike any she’d ever felt before. It was as if all of the hurt and confusion and despair she’d felt since learning about her husband’s mistress had coalesced into a single arrow that needed to be released.
Her eyes landed on a silver-framed photograph of herself on Peyton’s desk. She grabbed it and flung it against the priceless Georgia O’Keeffe painting on the wall behind him, where it made an angry black mark against the abstract red. Peyton shouted for her to stop, but she never heard him. Next, a paperweight shattered the glass top of his desk. Papers scattered all over the floor, chairs overturned. At what point Peyton had snuck out of the room, Lily didn’t know. When she was done, his office looked like a hurricane had passed through it.
Catching her breath, she smoothed her hair and straightened her clothes, then walked out past Peyton’s terrified assistant. When the elevator doors closed behind her, she knew she would never be back there again.
Chapter 17
LILY FELT NUMB AS SHE walked out of Peyton’s office that day. The rage that was draining out of her body was being replaced with deep sorrow that felt like it would submerge her. A dark memory passed over her, of another time she had left Peyton, her body battered and bruised. She had gone to Richard and Lisa Reynolds then, but now that course was impossible. Perhaps there was still a chance that Richard might find a way to fix things, but she suspected in this matter they would take their son’s side.
She needed to go somewhere else. As her hands and body started to tremble, she instinctively walked up Madison Avenue to the stone church she’d attended for years. She prayed that Clifton Thomas, her minister, would be home working on next week’s sermon.
When she knocked on the parsonage’s heavy oak door, Cliff Thomas opened the door. He wore a gray Yale sweatshirt and jeans, looking more like a former quarterback than a doctor of divinity. Lily had eagerly listened to his inspiring sermons over the years, as well as his funny jokes. He and his wife, Helen, had warmly embraced her into the fold of the church and included her in friendly meals, especially when Peyton was in rehab. Her minister was like a beacon of light in those days, when she felt she was left in the darkest depths of stormy waters.
Cliff took one look at the tears that left long, black streaks of mascara on Lily’s pale, drawn face and immediately led her into the living room. “Come,” he said gently, almost paternally. Helen was playing the piano but stopped and quickly came to her husband’s side.
Putting his arm gently around her, Cliff asked, “Lily, what is it?”
Lily started to sob, repeating over and over, “Pey left me, he’s gone. They’re all gone.”
“Who’s all gone, Lily?” Helen asked.
“My family.” Lily could barely choke the words out. “The Reynolds. My parents. Aunt Martha and Uncle Grant. They’re all gone.”
Cliff and Helen exchanged a look of concern over Lily’s head at her rambling. They made her sit down between them on the sofa and tried to piece together what had happened. Having heard about most of Lily’s marital troubles, from issues with infidelity and infertility, to Peyton’s physical and emotional abuse that had culminated in his being sent to rehab, they knew that something even more distressing must have happened for her to be completely falling apart this way. After more questioning, they found out that Peyton had a mistress and was leaving Lily for good.
“Help me, help me,” Lily entreated, and it wasn’t clear whether she meant them, or a higher power.
Both Cliff and Helen put their arms around Lily, embracing her between them as the late afternoon sun streamed through the parsonage’s windows. After she had calmed down somewhat, they escorted her back to her apartment, put her to bed, and promised they would return with others who would look out for her.
For the next week, Lily lay in bed. She had no idea of the passing time; the curtains remained drawn over the windows and her surroundings were enshrouded in a perpetual dusk. Since the day she’d left his office in ruins, Peyton hadn’t been back to the apartment. Lily didn’t know if she would have had the strength to engage w
ith him if he had. Her only physical comfort were her pets, her dog Sable and her cat Hollywood, who stayed by her side. She’d buried her face in their fur, felt their warm, beating hearts under her hands. If it weren’t for them, she was sure that she would be tempted to let go completely.
As she lay in a crumpled mess of sheets and pillows, her mind circled around the many tragedies in her life. The death of her beloved parents when she was only thirteen. The passing away of her uncle and aunt when she was in college and shortly thereafter. So many of her many family members had been taken away from her prematurely. Was the Reynolds family going to abandon her too? While she had never been close to her mother-in-law, Richard had been like a father to her, and she’d even shown him Red Rose Farm, the place that meant more to her than any other in the world. As much as it hurt her to lose Peyton, this wound also cut deep.
And then there was the promise of starting a new family, a hope that had almost nearly been extinguished by her fertility treatments over the past few years. Still, she had hoped to start trying for a baby again when Peyton had come home from rehab. But that woman Gracie had changed everything; her red hair and piercing green eyes haunted Lily in her dreams. Gracie had wanted her life with Peyton and had taken it. Without Peyton, without the family behind him, Lily was not strong enough to fight for her future alone. Perhaps this death of her hopes was the hardest of all to accept, because she knew that the pain from this loss would remain fresh for the rest of her life.
During the week she stayed in her bed, Lily was dimly aware that other people passed in and out of the apartment: her friends, Cliff and Helen, and, in particular, two people from her church who were more acquaintances than close friends. She knew Cliff must have shared her situation with them. They took shifts so that someone was with her day and night, hovering around her like ministering spirits. They took care of her pets and encouraged her to take sustenance, as much as she was able. They talked to her, tried to encourage her to go to the window and enjoy the sight of the summer leaves turning hues of red and yellow. Yet Lily remained in bed, hopelessly held in fear and deep depression.
Lily Rose Page 18