by Mary Campisi
Okay, he guessed he deserved the gazillion questions, the frowns, the sighs, and the eye rolling. He’d learned his lesson big time: don’t keep secrets from your wife, especially ones involving an ex-girlfriend. After two more re-tellings, during which time Nicki stopped him with more questions, she finally nodded and gave him one last sigh.
“Thank you.”
It was his turn to sigh. “You’re welcome. So...we’re good?”
She smiled. “We’re good.”
He glanced at the clock, calculated how much time they had left before they picked up the girls. “I can have the kitchen cleaned up in ten minutes...”
Her smile spread. “I think I can guess where this is going.”
“Bed?”
“Exactly.” She slid off the stool, moved toward him and eased her arms around his neck. “Thank you for our talk. I know you aren’t big on overanalyzing emotions or going over and over a situation, but it was important to me and I appreciate it.”
Jameson kissed the tip of her nose, untied the belt on her pink bathrobe, and slid his hands beneath the fabric, reaching for bare skin. “Sure.” He trailed his tongue along her collarbone, worked a path to her breast...
She stepped back, out of reach. “Jameson, please, there’s something I have to tell you.”
Chapter 12
It was the look on his wife’s face that said she was serious. He straightened, his entire body alert and focused. “What’s going on?”
“You’re not the only one withholding information. I did it, too, and I wish I hadn’t but there’s nothing I can do to change it.” Her eyes grew bright, her voice soft. “What’s done is done. Now there’s only moving past it and getting our lives back. I hope you’ll understand why I did what I did.” She blinked, cleared her throat. “People can be persuasive and make us forget what we know, what we believe and stand for... We grow afraid and vulnerable and that makes us act in ways we never would have if we weren’t afraid of losing something we couldn’t afford to lose.” Her voice wobbled, cracked open. “Like the person we love.”
“Nicki, what are you talking about? You aren’t going to lose me.” Jameson brushed a lock of hair from her face, leaned close. “Ever.”
“I don’t want to... I don’t think I’d survive it.”
“Well, you won’t have to because I’m not going anywhere.” He clasped her hand, led her to the living room and the couch. “Let’s sit down and you can tell me what’s got you so worked up.” He had an idea or two, but they weren’t worth losing sleep over or time they could be making love. “Did you buy those fancy shoes you were talking about and want to tell me before the credit card statement comes in?” His wife had left behind a lot of her high-end city ways, but she could not resist what she called “killer shoes” or a “must-have outfit.” And while she’d adapted to life in Reunion Gap and ran a business that taught others to dress within their budget, sometimes she couldn’t do it. “How much is this going to cost us? Just tell me now before the credit card comes in. We’ll call it an early Christmas gift.” His voice dipped and he brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead. “Right about now, I’m willing to give you whatever you want.”
She bit her bottom lip. “It’s not shoes.”
“Okay, is it a coat? The kind you showed me in the magazine last month? Or a dress? I know it’s got to be clothing or shoes...maybe boots. Whatever it is, I’m fine with it.”
More lip biting. “It’s none of those, Jameson. I wish it were.”
He grew still. “If it’s not clothes or shoes, what is it?” The look on her face made him wish she’d ordered a whole catalog of clothes and shoes. That, he could handle...but this was something else and it was going to be much worse.
“I hated you leaving even though I supported you. It was such a great opportunity for you and for us. How could I tell you a month was too long?” She lifted a shoulder, sighed. “I figured we’d get through it and stay busy enough so the month would fly by.” Pause, a long breath. “And then I found out Giselle was there.”
What? “You found out? How would you find out?” How would she possibly know? Unless…
“I hired an investigator.” Her words fell out in a rush, stumbled over one another. “I’m sorry… I was so confused and unsure about what was happening… I needed assurances. Aren’t you the one who said you can deal with facts? Well, I needed facts.” She sat up straight, clasped her hands in her lap. “It was the only way to know for sure.”
“You spied on me? Hired an investigator? For what?” Jameson stared at the woman he thought he knew. Seconds passed before she offered an explanation that might or might not be true.
“I found out about Giselle and my mind went crazy with imagining all sorts of things, none of them good. I waited for you to tell me about her and why she’d suddenly appeared, but you said nothing. Can you imagine what it’s like to know the person you love is keeping a secret from you? It creates all sorts of disastrous consequences. I waited every night for your calls, and each time I thought...hoped...you’d tell me. But you didn’t. I began to dissect our conversations, to listen to your tone, what you said and what you left out. It drove me crazy. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t think. When Camille recommended a private investigator, I was so desperate, I agreed.”
Camille Alexander. Of course. “Good old Camille. She wouldn’t know a decent relationship if it landed in her lap. You listened to the woman whose ex-husband prided himself on keeping a girlfriend and a wife? That’s the woman who gave you advice?” He didn’t know if he should laugh or call her ten kinds of a fool. Maybe both. Anger simmered in his gut, shot to his throat and spilled in a rush of disbelief “How could you?”
“How could I?” She balled her hands into fists, shot him a look that matched his anger. “How could I? The woman who tried to ruin my life, the one you were almost engaged to, suddenly re-appears in your life and offers you a deal you can’t refuse. And you want me to be happy? You want me to go along with blind faith because you say so? Because you would never lie to me? You lied by keeping quiet and letting me imagine all sorts of things.”
He hadn’t thought about how Nicki might feel if she knew Giselle were in California because he hadn’t planned on her finding out until he was home again. Then he’d tell her, and he’d make sure she knew how much he loved her, how much he didn’t care about Giselle. But no, he’d lost the opportunity because of a busybody like Camille Alexander. Damn her! “Did you ever think I was trying to spare you until I got back home where we could talk about it in person?”
“No, I didn’t consider that because I never thought my husband would keep anything from me.” Those lips he loved pinched into a flat line, spat out words filled with accusation. “You said nothing. And then the phone call came and so did the sleepless nights and the disbelief.”
“Who told you? Did your spy report that?”
She shook her head, nostrils flared, jaw twitching. “It wasn’t him.”
Jameson rubbed his jaw, considered the possibilities of the snitch. “Did Giselle contact you?” He couldn’t rule out the woman’s devious nature and desire to annihilate Jameson’s marriage.
“No, Miss Perfect and Pretentious didn’t contact me though I’m surprised because that sounds like something from her playbook.”
No doubt it might have been had Jameson not shut the whole damn thing down. He’d stood in the kitchen of that restaurant and sworn his love and commitment to his wife, and she’d been spying on him. “Well then? Are you going to tell me who contacted you or should I keep guessing?”
“It doesn’t matter, does it? I found out and while I should have trusted you enough not to hire an investigator, the truth is, I didn’t.” Her voice dipped, lost its anger. “What does that say about us?”
He stared at her, trying to find an answer. “I have no idea. None at all.”
It was only a matter of time before Jameson confronted Camille about her involvement in his personal
life. Damn the woman and her need to interfere. What did she know about what constituted a marriage? Not a damn thing.
He stood in the foyer of the mansion she’d once shared with her ex-husband and waited for the butler to return. Either Camille would agree to see him or have the butler send him away. Didn’t matter because one way or the other, he and Camille Alexander were going to have a conversation, one she probably wasn’t going to like.
“Jameson, how lovely to see you back in Reunion Gap.”
The woman who’d earned his wife’s friendship and trust stood ten feet away dressed in a pink sweater and white slacks that must have cost more than his car payment. He hadn’t missed the condescending tone in her voice that said, You’re finally back where you belong, fool. And if he delved a little deeper, he could imagine her saying, You never should have left, and now you’re paying for it, aren’t you? “Camille.”
“Let’s head into the living room where we can relax. Care for a drink?” She ushered him into a room the size of his entire first floor, arched a brow and waited for his response.
“Sure. Scotch neat.”
“Of course.” She smiled, motioned for him to have a seat on the fancy couch.
Jameson shrugged out of his jacket, sank onto the couch, and studied the woman who was no doubt behind his current dilemma. Petite, red-haired, opinionated. Why did all of the Alexanders except Tate feel it was their obligation and right to butt into other people’s affairs? Tate Alexander was the one exception. If not for him, Jameson might still be wondering about the identity of the person who told Nicki that Giselle was in California.
“Scotch neat. Top shelf.” Camille handed him his drink, perched on the edge of the couch a few feet away—a safe distance from him.
Smart woman. Jameson sipped his drink, felt the burn and wished he had three more. “I want you to stop filling my wife’s head with lies and nonsense.”
She stared at him as though trying to decide whether to scold him or laugh at him. “Me? What have I done other than be a friend to Nicki?”
Was she serious? The expression on her face said she was. “Do friends try to ruin other friends’ marriages? Do they instill doubt regarding the other person’s whereabouts and intentions?” He clutched the glass, willed himself to remain calm.
“True friends say what needs said, no matter the repercussions.” Those blue eyes pierced him. “I care about Nicki very much and consider her a good friend, like a daughter. You weren’t here to see the despair, witness the tears when she spoke of you and that woman.”
“That woman? You mean Giselle Robard, my ex, the woman who surprised me? Did anyone stop to think that maybe I was sparing Nicki until we could have a face-to-face conversation about the woman we both detest? Did anyone give me the benefit of any doubt that I love my wife, love my daughters, and would never do anything to jeopardize that love? My own mother questioned my fidelity!” Memories of Thomasina’s interrogation clung to him, made him sick to his stomach. Did no one believe he was capable of love and commitment?
She lifted a slender shoulder, stared at her glass. “Perhaps I was a bit hasty when I suggested an investigator, but I felt it was better for her to know...one way or the other.”
“Oh, you did, did you? Nobody thought to confront me, ask why I kept Giselle’s presence a secret. You just assumed I was having an affair with her, didn’t you?” When the woman didn’t answer or look him in the eye, he said, “Of course you did. Why would you believe in love and trust when you’ve had so little of it in your own marriage?”
She shot him a look, spat out, “I did what I had to do.”
“Did you? Were you a friend or were you preparing her for the worst, letting her believe that sooner or later all men cheat?” He leaned back against the couch, studied her. “Bet you had a good divorce attorney lined up, too, didn’t you? Just in case.” When she didn’t respond, he knew the answer. “You had no right, Camille. I might have been wrong to withhold information, but you had no right to fill my wife’s head with doubt. Good friends hold onto hope. Have you ever seen me look at another woman since I met Nicki? Ever heard that I’ve given her any reason to doubt my love and fidelity? Answer me, damn it.”
She shook her head, murmured, “No.”
“And your niece? Meredith, the save-the-world do-gooder who believes in helping others and not offering judgment? What about her? Was she a true friend to Nicki? Was there not a better way?”
“I’m surprised Nicki told you about Meredith. She was adamant about keeping her identity private.”
“That isn’t an answer, and it wasn’t my wife who told me about Meredith. It was your nephew, Tate.” Oh, he didn’t miss the shock on her face, or was that a hint of worry? Word had it she idolized her nephew and never wanted to disappoint him. Well, if the conversation Jameson and Tate had was any indication of the man’s attitude at the moment, it was not going to go well for his sister or his aunt. I’m embarrassed by their behavior. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you. A husband committed to his wife knows what that looks like, and I know you’re committed to yours. Jameson would always be grateful for Tate’s phone call and his support.
“I wish my nephew hadn’t told you.”
“Why, because he’s the only Alexander who realizes what a mess his aunt and sister have created?”
Her lips pulled into a frown. “I should have known it was only a matter of time before it all came out.” Camille’s eyes grew bright, filled with tears. “I am so sorry, Jameson. I wish I’d kept my mouth shut and had more faith in you. I did let my own experiences cloud my judgment, and when I thought of your situation, all I could see was my ex-husband and his pregnant girlfriend and all the lies he told me. I couldn’t see the truth until it stared back at me in Lester Conroy’s report.” She swiped at her cheeks. “By then I realized it was too late and the damage was done. All we could hope for was that it could be repaired.”
The woman’s apology didn’t help, nor did her admission that she believed him and should have trusted him. Nothing mattered but getting back to the way he and Nicki were before he ever agreed to the California deal. He dragged a hand over his face, sighed. “It’s a big mess and we’re both sinking in it.”
“Please, don’t give up. You and Nicki belong together; everyone can see that.”
He met her gaze head on, spoke the truth lodged in his gut. “It doesn’t matter what everyone can see. It only matters what we can see. If we can’t get past this...if we can’t learn to trust one another again, there is no us.”
Chapter 13
Tate Alexander might be rich and he might have the best clothes in a five-hundred-mile radius, but he was a down-to-earth, decent guy. You had to look past the name and the air of authority to see the honesty, the kindheartedness. That said, he was all about doing the right thing and correcting the wrong ones. Whispers in town hinted he’d made it his personal mission to fix the countless misdeeds his father had committed against others. It was only a rumor, so it was difficult to say how much truth was in it, but Jameson could believe how a guy like Tate would go against someone bent on swindling and destruction—even if the man were his own father. It took a strong person with integrity and the desire to see right done, and Tate Alexander was that person.
Jameson’s beliefs about the man and the mystery behind him proved true the night Tate walked into The Oak Table, sat at the bar, and ordered a drink. He and his wife were regulars because Charlotte Donovan Alexander loved the chocolate lava cake and the man never wanted to disappoint her.
He set the scotch in front of Tate, raised a brow. “Where’s your wife? I’ve got a chocolate lava cake waiting for her.” He worked up a smile, watched a slow blush spread from Tate’s neck to his cheeks.
“She’s trying to drop a few pounds and has sworn off desserts.” He rubbed his jaw, let out a long sigh. “Why do women always think they don’t look good enough, no matter what we tell them? Who cares if those jeans are a little
snug? I don’t mind, but the second she asks if I’ve noticed, what am I supposed to say?” His brows pinched together, his lips pulled into a frown. “If I tell the truth, she’ll snarl and accuse me of loving her less. If I don’t tell the truth, then I’m a liar.”
So, even a guy like Tate Alexander had relationship problems. Jameson couldn’t resist the question. “What did you do? Pretend you didn’t hear her?”
Tate sipped his scotch, shook his head. “There’s no ignoring my wife. She just repeats the question, louder and with more emotion. Charlotte is a very persistent woman.”
That was an understatement. Jameson remembered her from way back. “Yeah, I remember.”
“I tried the gentle approach, the one that said I’ll love you no matter what, but that didn’t work. Then I tried brutal honesty and told her that I had noticed the little extra around the hips. That landed me in the freeze zone for twenty-four hours. So, finally I had to sit down and tell her that she couldn’t ask me those questions. I said I’d support her no matter what, but I wasn’t answering questions about too big, too small, too anything.” He lifted his glass, saluted Jameson. “That’s how we ended up in the no-dessert-for-now zone.”
“Well, that’s a plan.” How was Charlotte ever going to walk away from a chocolate lava cake? Tate must have been thinking the same thing and his next words proved it.
“It won’t last, it can’t, not with her mother making blueberry pie, chocolate chip cookies, and cheesecake. Toss in your chocolate lava cake... That cake has history.” His voice dipped and his eyes sparked with a memory labeled private.