Aaron blanched as he unscrewed the cap of the Pellegrino. “I could really use some help.”
“Of course,” I said gently. “But about what, specifically?”
He sighed and took a sip of water. “To be honest, Catherine, I’m having some difficulty moving on after a breakup.”
“Oh?” I said. “Were you married?”
“Yes, but that’s not the woman I’m having trouble getting over, which is sad, given that my ex-wife and I were married for twenty years before we split. And I’ve dated a smattering of women, some of them seriously, since then too, so it isn’t that I’m a fool for love. But recently, I split from a woman I was absolutely mad for, and I’m having a hard time getting over her.”
“How long were you two together?”
“Six months.”
My brow rose in surprise. “Only six months?”
“I know it seems like too short a time to develop any real feelings for a person, but I did develop feelings. Deep feelings. I’d planned to propose, and I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.”
“So, what happened between the two of you to cause the breakup?”
“I have no idea,” Aaron said, with a sigh and a shake of his head. “One day we were mad for each other, and the next she wouldn’t answer my calls or texts or the door when I went to check on her. It was bizarre.”
“She ghosted you,” I said.
Aaron’s brow knit in confusion. “No, she’s still alive.”
I held back a grin and explained, “‘Ghosting someone’ means ‘to cut off all contact, as if they never existed.’ It’s a cruel way to end a relationship, but it’s becoming more and more common, I’m afraid.”
“Oh,” he said, his shoulders drooping. “Well then, yes, she ghosted me.”
“Could there have been someone else?” I asked carefully.
“Not that I was aware of when we were together. Frankly, I don’t know how the woman could’ve had time for another lover. We were always together, inseparable, in fact. We acted as one unit for most of our relationship.”
“Ah,” I said. “So, her abrupt departure from your life is part of the problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” I began, trying to choose my words delicately. “If you two were always together, your life as an individual morphed into your life as part of a couple. And I understand that you were very happy in your relationship with her, but when it ended so abruptly without closure or even an explanation, I can see how it would’ve left you feeling set adrift, without benefit of a life preserver or any way back to her.”
Aaron pursed his lips, and to my surprise, his eyes watered, then leaked a tear or two. He wiped them away self-consciously. “I’m shattered,” he whispered.
I inched forward to the edge of my seat in order to reach out and squeeze his hand. Behind Aaron, I heard a loud sniffle, and my gaze momentarily darted to Gilley, who was dabbing at his own eyes. He caught the look of disapproval on my face—he wasn’t supposed to listen in on these private conversations with my clients—and he quickly grabbed his headphones and shoved them on to let me know he understood my look of disapproval.
Focusing back on Aaron, who thankfully seemed not to have noticed Gilley’s eavesdropping, I said, “Aaron, I understand how heartbreaking this must be for you, and what I think you need is some time to ease back into your old identity as a single man with a lot to offer the world.”
Aaron nodded, but his eyes were still welling up. I had to fight against my own emotions, because it was difficult to watch such an elegant, regal man be brought to tears over the insensitive, cruel, and abrupt dismissal from a woman he’d clearly loved.
“Listen,” I said softly. “I know exactly what you’re going through. Three years ago, my own heart was broken when I discovered the affair my husband was having with another woman. I was devastated, but after a time . . . I got through it and realized that I could have a wonderfully happy life without him. Right now, you’re in the worst part, the swamp—the place where every step forward feels a little like you’re also sinking into the muck—but you’ve also already taken the bravest and hardest step. You’ve come to me for help. I’m so proud of you for that, Aaron, and I promise, you won’t have to move forward alone. I will help you take every step forward through the muck until you’re on safe and solid ground again.”
Aaron lifted his gaze then to meet mine, and the smallest hint of relief played across his expression. “Thank you, Catherine.”
A bit later, Gilley came over to stand next to me as I watched Aaron cross the street after he’d left my office. “He’s sweet,” he said.
“He really is, the poor man. It’s hard to see such a nice person get his heart stomped on by someone so callous.”
“There are always two sides to every story, Cat,” Gilley reminded me. “Right now, we know only his.”
I pointed to Aaron’s retreating form. “Agreed, but no one deserves to be simply cut off like that, Gilley. Without any explanation or even a formal goodbye. What she did was cruel, and even in the small amount of time I’ve spent with Aaron, I can tell you he likely didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”
Gilley sighed. “True,” he said.
At that point Aaron had reached the side of a silver Bentley, and after unlocking it, he got in.
“Wow,” Gil said next. “Aaron comes from money.”
“And did you catch that accent?” I asked.
“It sounded Danish to me,” Gilley said.
Gilley had traveled extensively across Europe, so I trusted that he was probably right.
He then moved back over to his laptop, lifted the lid, and began typing.
Aaron had pulled away by now, and I turned my attention to Gil. “Whatcha working on?”
“A little sleuthing.”
My brow furrowed with curiosity. “Oh? What are we sleuthing?”
“I’m curious about him,” he said.
“Aaron?”
“Yes,” Gilley said, squinting at the screen. His eyes then widened, and he looked at me in surprise.
“What?” I asked.
“He’s a count.”
“A what?”
Gil swiveled the screen toward me. “I was right. Aaron is from Denmark, and he’s a count from the royal house of Rosen-borg.”
“But his last name is Nassau.”
“I know, but he’s still a member of the Danish royal family, currently sixteenth in line for the throne.”
“Whoa,” I said. I’d never met a royal before, much less sat with one for an intimate conversation.
Gilley then looked up at me with a perplexed expression. “Who would dump a count?”
I shrugged. “Maybe she didn’t know.”
Gilley scoffed. “She knew,” he said. “You’re the only person left on earth that doesn’t immediately Google a prospective romantic partner.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s rude to snoop into someone’s personal life before actually getting to know them.”
“It’s rude only if you get caught,” Gil replied.
I sighed. On that note we’d have to disagree, and I changed the subject. “What’s a Danish count doing in the Hamptons?”
Gilley shrugged, but then he said, “There’s money here, so he’d be among his own kind, and a certain anonymity. I’d imagine that the members of the royal family are well known among their countrymen. Especially if they’re eligible bachelors.”
I tapped my lip thoughtfully. “Which, to your point, makes it odd that this ex of Aaron’s would dump him without so much as an ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ speech. If you knew your boyfriend was connected to royalty and all kinds of influence, would you really want to cut ties so succinctly?”
“What do we know about the girlfriend?” Gilley asked. “I mean, it’s hard to imagine someone not caring about those kinds of connections, unless she herself was even better positioned.”
It was my turn to shrug. “We know n
othing about her,” I admitted. “I didn’t think to ask.”
Gilley closed the lid to his laptop and stood up. “It’s probably not relevant to helping, anyway, so maybe we’re better off not knowing.”
I nodded. “Agreed.” Changing the subject, I asked, “What’s next on my schedule?”
Gilley offered me a slow blink. “You’ve already hit the highlight of your workday, sugar.”
“Nothing?” I asked. “No calls? No emails to return?”
“Zippo,” he replied.
I sighed. Launching a life-coaching business had proven to be a much more arduously slow endeavor than I’d ever expected, and while I now typically had a few clients on the books, it still wasn’t enough to fill a full workday.
What was truly frustrating was that I knew that there were so many people out there in need of a little reassurance and life advice, but it was hard to get any of them to reach out to me for help. Thus, my client list was still relatively small and far less needy than I’d hoped.
“What shall we do with the rest of the workday?” I asked with a hint of exasperation.
Gilley scooted his chair in. “Let’s go look at puppies,” he said.
I laughed, thinking he was joking. Then I realized he was serious. “Where are we going to look at puppies, exactly?”
“The Southampton Animal Shelter, duh,” he said.
I thought about telling Gilley to temper his enthusiasm until he’d had a chance to talk to his husband about bringing a dog into their lives, but then I decided there was no harm in looking. “Okay,” I said.
Gilley clapped his hands happily and came around the desk to offer me his arm. I took it, and out the door we went.
* * *
Several hours later, as I was slipping into my dress, I heard the front door open and Gilley call out for me. “Yoo-hoo! Cat? Where you at?”
“Up here!” I called back.
Quick footsteps up the stairs suggested that Gilley hadn’t lost any of the enthusiasm he’d arrived home with.
I pulled my dress up over my shoulders and settled it around me before he came through the doorway.
“Hey!” he said, slightly out of breath.
“Hey, yourself,” I replied. Then I turned my back to him and said, “Would you help me with the zipper?”
Gilley obliged, and I could feel his hot breath on the back of my neck. I doubted the run up the stairs was totally to blame. “You seem excited,” I said.
“I just finished the paperwork,” Gilley said. I turned around and saw his face flush with happiness.
I reached out and grabbed his hands. “Congratulations, Papa. When does the little tyke come home?”
“Hopefully soon! Like, maybe tomorrow or the day after, which, I suppose, is okay, because it’ll give me time to buy everything I need to welcome him home.”
Gilley’s face was aglow with happiness, and I knew exactly how magical the trip to the shelter had been for him. I was still trying to wrap my own mind around the kismet moment when, after walking up and down the aisle of adoptable dogs, Gilley had come to a pen where a small dark silver Staffordshire terrier with gorgeous blue eyes sat. The dog had immediately started wagging his tail and gazing up at Gilley while wearing—swear to God—a huge smile. Gil had stopped in his tracks and squatted down to the dog’s level. There was something that passed between them in that moment, some sort of knowing, which caused goose bumps all up and down my arms. It was a sort of acknowledgment, like Gilley and the pup were destined for each other, and now that they were face-to-face, the pup actually seemed to recognize Gilley as his new human.
“This one,” Gilley whispered, and that was when the pup walked forward to lick at Gilley’s hands through the steel-mesh door of the pen.
The woman who’d been escorting us through the area came a little closer to gaze at Gilley and the pup. With a chuckle, she said, “You won’t find a more lovable dog than Spooks.”
Gilley and I turned to look at the woman, with mouths agape.
“What’d you say his name was?” I asked.
The woman—Peg, according to her name tag—pointed to the pup and said, “That’s Spooks. His name when he came to the shelter was Ghost, but we changed it to Spooks because we thought it’d be cuter and make him more adoptable. Oh, but don’t worry. You can change it again to whatever name you’d like. He won’t mind.”
Gilley and I then exchanged a look of our own, and I shook my head in wonder. Gilley had spent more than a decade as a ghostbuster, and he and his partner M.J. had come to call the ghosts they hunted “spooks,” so finding such a perfect mascot seemed to be an incredibly magical thing.
“His name is perfect,” Gilley said as he got to his feet. Then he added, “And I definitely want to adopt him.”
We came home with a whole packet full of information, and a link to the online adoption forms. Peg had promised that as soon as Gilley filled out all the forms and submitted them, she’d make sure to process his application and check all his references quickly, in order to get Spooks to his new, “furever” home.
“It’ll be exciting to have a bundle of love around here,” I remarked as I reached for my wrap and clutch. “And I know you’ll feel less lonely while Michel is off on his photo shoots.”
Gilley bounced on his feet. “True, true,” he said, but then his expression changed, and I saw a hint of worry in the creases around his eyes.
“Gil?” I asked.
“Yeah?”
“You mentioned Spooks to Michel, didn’t you?”
“Not yet, but I will.”
My eyes widened. “You mean you haven’t even called or texted him?”
Gilley glanced down at his suit coat and pretended to pick a piece of lint off the lapel. “I need to figure out a gentle way of telling him.”
“A gentle way to tell him? Why? Does he not like dogs or something?”
Gilley cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Something like that.”
My jaw dropped. Michel was the gentlest of souls. If I could peg anyone for a dog lover, it would be Michel. “He doesn’t?” I asked.
Gilley shrugged. “He likes little dogs, but when he was ten, a Rottweiler bit him on the leg and cheek, and he had to have surgery. He still has the scars.”
I thought of Michel’s handsome face and recalled the very small divot to his left cheek.
“Yikes,” I said. Spooks was on the small side of medium for a dog, but his head was large. And while he certainly wasn’t Rottweiler size, as he weighed only about forty-five pounds or so, I could see how he could be a little intimidating to someone who’d had a terrifying experience as a child.
“What if Michel says no?” I said, hating that I had to ask Gilley the question I knew he was dreading Michel’s answer to.
“Spooks is my dog,” Gilley said firmly, and it wasn’t lost on me that he was already claiming ownership. And then his voice turned bitter. “Besides, he’s never here, so he doesn’t get a lot of say about it.”
I bit my lip. I’d been married for almost twenty years before my ex-husband began an affair that led to our divorce. In those two decades I’d learned that marriage sometimes meant depriving yourself of the things you needed to live your fullest, happiest life. It was a trade-off, really. On the one hand, you received love and support. On the other hand, you sometimes had to give up something that your heart really wanted, all to keep the delicate balance of the partnership intact.
So, I understood Gilley’s position, but I worried what that hard stance would do to a relationship that was already showing significant signs of strain.
I moved over to lay a hand on Gilley’s arm. “Listen,” I began. “I know you’ve already fallen hard for Spooks, and I will support wholeheartedly your efforts to claim him—even if it means adopting Spooks for you—but, Gilley, before you talk to Michel, just try to see it from his point of view. It might take him a minute or two to adjust to the idea, so give him that time before you dig in your heels, okay?”
Gilley sighed and nodded almost reluctantly. “The instant I saw him, Cat, I knew he was my dog. So, yeah, I’m a skosh concerned that Michel is going to give me a hard time about it.”
“Then say that to Michel,” I suggested. “Tell him about that immediate connection, and hopefully, he’ll understand.”
Gilley pushed a weak smile to his lips. “We should go,” he said.
“We should,” I agreed, feeling a bubble of excitement. “I’m so glad we’re doing this. I’ve been dying to see this show!”
Little did I know in that moment that someone else was about to die for the show too....
Chapter 3
We arrived at Guild Hall, home to the John Drew Theater, after a simply scrumptious meal and lively conversation. Gilley’s mood had been practically giddy by the time we arrived for dinner, and the maître d’ had complimented him on his choice of suit. The walk to our table had also turned a few heads, which Gilley had eaten up like free beer at a monster-truck rally. Our dinners had both been absolutely delicious, which had only added to the magic of the evening.
I had held off telling Gilley how good our seats were and delighted in his expression when the usher led us to the front-row-center seats at the foot of the stage. I felt so relieved and happy that Gilley was having such a wonderful day. He deserved it, and the change in him since that morning was readily apparent.
“I’m so excited to see the gorgeous Yelena Galanis giving it to the fat cats here in East Hampton,” he gushed. “Practically everywhere I go, people are talking about who they think the twelve are.”
“I wonder who we’ll recognize,” I said.
Neither Gilley nor I ran in any of the same social circles that many of my socialite peers did. I didn’t exactly care for the “high-society” crowd, often finding them excruciatingly dull, materialistic, and shallow.
I did have a few friends in the area, of course, including Sunny and Shepherd, but most of my friends kept to the outskirts of the Hamptons’ “in” crowd.
Coached in the Act Page 3