Текст книги "Ain't She Sweet? "

Автор книги: Сьюзен Филлипс

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

He took in her white bra, black thong, and the cowboy boots. “I’m dumbstruck.”

She trailed the tip of her thumb down her belly. “And you haven’t even seen the good stuff.”

“You couldn’t be more mistaken.” The corner of his mouth quirked, and in three long strides, he’d covered the distance between them. “Although I’ll admit I’m more than a little anxious to see the rest.”

“Okay, but I get to keep my job.”

“Shut up, will you?” He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her off the step, hard against him. The toes of her cowboy boots banged against his calves as she looked down at him. She dipped her head, his lips parted, their mouths met, and he kissed her with a thoroughness that should have been foreign to such an elegant man.

Without breaking their kiss, he walked her backward to the couch. His arm reached behind her, and he tugged open her bra. “You are magnificent,” he whispered as he tossed it aside.

“I know.”

He chuckled and massaged her breasts, then kissed her again with that same thoroughness. As good as it felt, she wanted more. She wanted his mouth on her breasts, his tongue there, too, his teeth—

Gordon barked.

And she wanted privacy.

“Get rid of him,” she groaned.

“He’s a dog.” Colin nibbled at her lip. “He won’t tell.”

“He’ll watch.”

Colin cursed and shot Gordon a commanding look. “Stay.”

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her up the stairs to her bedroom, the dog following along. When Colin kicked the door shut, Gordon began to howl. Despite her need, Sugar Beth smiled, then laughed out loud at the vaguely murderous look on Colin’s face. “Don’t you move,” he snarled as he shot back out the door.

Still smiling, she sank down on the side of the unmade bed and pulled off her boots. Colin either found a doggie treat or some rat poison because things stayed quiet when he let himself back in. She looked up at him.

“Lovely,” he said, taking her in.

She wore only her thong and a pair of purple socks with a Powerpuff Girl on each side. She’d bought them for Delilah, who hadn’t liked them because she was going through a pink phase. “I do know my lingerie.”

“No argument there.” He stood in the center of the faded old floral rug and began tossing aside his clothes. When only his jeans were left, she rose and walked toward him. “Let me.” She hooked a finger over the fastener and began toying with it.

“Need help?” His voice caught in a husky rasp.

“No, thanks.” His skin warmed the backs of her fingers. She trailed her thumb over his zipper. He was thick, hard, and—another of his surprises—very large. Nose. Hands. Feet. She should have been prepared.

Her need was as urgent as his, but she couldn’t bear the idea of having this over too quickly . . . or of making it too important. “You should never have given me a D on my Charlotte Brontë paper.”

He expelled his breath in a warm hiss against her neck. “Perhaps we could discuss this later.”

“I don’t think so.” She fiddled with his zipper tab. “I worked real hard on that paper.”

“And turned it in a week late, I’m sure.”

She lowered the zipper half an inch, then stopped to pout. “Still . . .”

“I’ll change it to a C. I promise.”

She released the tab. Ignoring the sweet lethargy in her limbs, she took a step back and regarded him sulkily. “I want an A.”

She wasn’t the only person in the room who knew how to play games.

“That you’ll have to earn.” He gestured toward her feet. “Give me one of those socks.”

“Only one?”

“I’m nothing if not reasonable.”

“I guess.” She propped her foot on the edge of the bed and leaned slowly over her thigh. She drew the Powerpuff sock off as if it were a fishnet stocking, then stuck it in the waistband of his jeans.

“Very nice, indeed. I’ll take that thong now.”

“An A plus.”

“For your body alone.”

That was nice, especially since they both knew she was too thin and her thighs hadn’t been near a StairMaster in forever. Still, long legs counted for a lot with men. “Only if you kiss me first.”

“My pleasure, indeed.”

This kiss was even slower than the others, more intense, world-class. He tunneled his fingers in her hair. His jeans abraded her flesh. She could feel herself reaching the breaking point even before he hooked his thumbs in her thong, pushed it down, and went on his knees.

She let her head fall back as he buried his face. He inhaled her in the way good men did. And bad ones, too, for that matter, but no need to worry about that when she was the only sinner in the room. He pushed open her thighs. One of his hands cupped her bottom.

He devoured her.

Her legs lost their strength, but he held her in place with his massive palm, keeping her right where he wanted, open and accessible.

Her orgasm caught her by surprise. She let out a strangled cry.

He stayed with her through the waves, then laid her on the bed as if she were a doll. He got tangled in his jeans, and his unusual clumsiness made her lips curve in a slumberous smile. He’d come prepared, she noticed, as he dragged a thoughtful, but unnecessary, condom from his pocket.

Finally naked, he pushed her to her back and trailed his mouth from nipple to belly and then below. Who could have predicted such earthy generosity from so fastidious a man? She dug her hands into his thick hair, rough silk under her fingers. He toyed with her, bringing her to the brink again, but never quite letting her tumble over. She rolled to her side to return the favor.

Drunk on sensation they explored—touching and tasting, trading sweet smut and breathy groans, making themselves crazier and crazier. She tried to close her legs so she could torture him more, but he would have none of it.

“Don’t even think about it.”

He caught an ankle, the one still wearing the sock, and pressed it high on the bed. Then he clasped her opposite knee, pushed it wide, and thrust himself deep inside her, not being brutal about it—he was too big for that—but not being all that careful either. Just as if he could read her mind.

She wrapped her legs around him, and their bodies locked in the rhythm of longtime lovers. The muscles in his back quivered beneath her hands. He angled his hips, cupped her bottom, found a new spot to please her.

She arched, cried out. Their gazes locked. For one startling moment, a shock of recognition passed between them, something soul deep and very important. But before it could find a name, the cataclysm swept them away.

“I declare, I could kill Vidal! It is so unthinking of him to ravish honest girls . . .”

G

EORGETTE

H

EYER

,

Devil’s Cub

CHAPTER TWELVE

Sugar Beth rolled to her side. “I’m done with you. You can go.”

His breathing hadn’t yet returned to normal, so she was probably rushing him, but she was a lot more shaken by what had just happened than she intended to let him see. Meaningless sex was allowed to feel good, but it wasn’t allowed to feel important, and that’s what might have happened if she hadn’t kept up her guard.

She felt Colin watching her as she walked naked across the room. She remembered his threat to fire her and told herself not to entertain even the possibility that he’d stick to his guns.

“That was only a warm-up, my dear,” he said, in his royal family drawl. “I’m definitely not done with you.”

“No man ever is. But I have things to do, and, alas, none of them involves you.”

“Is that so?”

Just looking at him propped against her pillow, chest damp with sweat, that dramatic dark hair even more rumpled than usual, made her want to climb right back in and let him work his magic all over again. But she needed to get her barricades back in place, so she picked up his jeans and tossed them on the bed. “You were fabulous. Inspired, even. Go home and recuperate. I’ll see you in the morning.”

His languor faded, and he raised one knee beneath the sheet that had fallen low on his hips. “I believe we already discussed this.”

“Don’t make me bargain for my job with more sex. You’ll only feel tawdry.”

“God, you’re full of it.”

He was right about that, but before he could drive his point home, she tried to make a dash for the bathroom only to have him catch her long before she got to the door and drag her back to bed. “Not so fast. There’s an interesting perversion I stumbled across in my research recently.”

“What kind of perversion?”

He slipped his hand between her legs, and the way his fingers moved made her forget that she didn’t have her defenses back in place. “I’m sure it would be too much for you.”

She nipped at his shoulder. “Maybe if you’re extra gentle?”

“Or maybe not.”

And that was the last either of them said for a very long time.

Much later, when she emerged from her second bath of the morning, her bed held only a disgruntled basset hound. The time she’d spent in the tub had sobered her, and she sank down on the edge of the mattress. Gordon inched over and propped his head on her thigh. One long, floppy ear fell across her knee.

She dropped her head and fought back the tears. All morning she’d tried not to think about Emmett, but the ghosts could only be kept at bay for so long. She’d just severed another tie with him. Which was the thing about watching a loved one die a slow death. There was no clean break, no single moment of overwhelming grief, just an endless strand of losses. She rubbed Gordon’s head. Clasped her knees.

Being with Colin had felt too good. But she couldn’t blame herself for what she’d done, not after going for so long without a man’s touch. At the same time, she had to make certain her old needy habits didn’t come creeping back. She’d never let herself depend on another man for her happiness, and definitely not anyone as emotionally aloof as Colin Byrne.

The clock chimed downstairs, and she remembered this was Sunday. Colin was going to the concert, and she’d told Gigi she could visit this afternoon. She was in no shape for an angst-ridden teenager, but she could hardly ring Gigi up and tell her not to come, so she blew her nose, pulled on her jeans, fixed her makeup, then headed downstairs to clean up the breakfast mess.

Colin’s kiss-off check lay on the counter. She picked it up. Two thousand dollars. His guilt ran deep, and she tore it up. She thought of Delilah. Once again, she considered the possibility of having her stepdaughter live with her, and once again she rejected it. Delilah enjoyed their shopping expeditions and restaurant lunches together, but after a few hours away from Brookdale she got agitated and begged to go home.

She was staring at the wall when Gigi arrived, wearing another of the ratty, oversize outfits that must be giving her parents fits. She bent down to give Gordon the attention he demanded. When she rose, she looked awkward and nervous. “I was supposed to go to the concert with them this afternoon, but I talked back to my dad.”

“How convenient.”

“Do you . . . uh . . . want to make some cookies or something?” She flushed, deciding too late that her big-city aunt was too worldly for cookie baking. Sugar Beth repressed a sigh. She couldn’t deal with her own insecurities, let alone this child’s.

“No flour,” she said.

“That’s okay. Making cookies is lame.”

“Think so?” Sugar Beth could have told her she loved baking cookies nearly as much as she loved eating them, but she didn’t want to encourage any more bonding.

“Maybe you could show me how you do your eye makeup? It’s pretty cool.”

Sugar Beth took in her baggy cords and faded T-shirt. “Aren’t you afraid it’ll clash with that trendy outfit?”

“I don’t always dress like this.”

“No?”

Gigi examined her thumbnail. “It’s better this way.”

“Better for who?”

A shrug.

Sugar Beth didn’t have the energy to probe deeper. Eye makeup was safe. And it would be better for Gigi to learn makeup tricks from Sugar Beth than from her stick of a mother, or, God forbid, Merylinn, although Merylinn did have a nice touch with lip liner. She started to lead Gigi upstairs, then remembered the sex-rumpled sheets. “I’ll bring the stuff down here. The light’s better.”

“Okay. And then I sort of have a list.”

“Of what?” Sugar Beth asked warily.

“Some questions I want to ask you.”

Her head began to throb. She abandoned the eye makeup plan and made a beeline for the kitchen. “I need coffee.”

“I drink coffee.”

“Sure you do.”

“I do!”

Fine. Let Ryan worry about caffeine addiction. She set up the coffeemaker, flicked the switch, and turned to see that Gigi had seated herself at the table and was dredging a piece of paper and a pencil stub from her pocket, all ready to take notes. “First, do you think it’s better to be smart or popular? I think popular.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“They are in Parrish.”

“Not even in Parrish.”

“You were smart,” Gigi said, “but you got crappy grades, and it made you popular.”

“I hate to disillusion you, but I got crappy grades because I had my priorities screwed up. And I would have been popular even if I got good grades.”

“How?” Gigi abandoned her notes. “That’s what I don’t understand. How did you do it? You were rich like me. Didn’t all the kids hate you for it?”

Sugar Beth was tired of letting the world watch her bleed, and she didn’t want to talk about this now. Or ever, for that matter. But Gigi deserved an answer. “I was born with a false sense of superiority,” she said slowly, “and I managed to manipulate everybody so they bought into it. It was great short-term, but you might have noticed it hasn’t done zip for me long-term.”

Gigi hadn’t gotten the answer she wanted. “How exactly did you manipulate them?”

Sugar Beth glanced longingly toward the coffeemaker, but it hadn’t finished brewing. She needed caffeine now, and she grabbed a Coke from the refrigerator. “Want one?”

“No, thanks. I prefer coffee.”

“Of course you do.” She popped the top. Gigi waited, all big eyes and eager ears. Sugar Beth tried to think of what to say that would make sense to a thirteen-year-old, or even to herself. “The goal isn’t to be popular, Gigi. The goal is to be strong.”

“I don’t feel strong,” she said miserably.

Welcome to the club, kiddo. “Nobody does when they’re thirteen. But thirteen is a great time to start accumulating power. The right kind.”

Gigi’s face lit with interest. “That’s what I want. I want to be powerful.”

“But you want to be powerful right now, which isn’t going to happen.”

“You were powerful when you were thirteen.”

Sugar Beth repressed a bitter laugh. “My power was an illusion. All the tricks I used to acquire it ended up backfiring on me as I got older. You want power that lasts. And you don’t get it by being less than you are.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“In your case it means pretending you’re poor by disappearing inside ugly clothes, then blowing off schoolwork and hanging out with the wrong kind of kids.”

Gigi looked outraged. “Just because Chelsea isn’t rich . . .”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with money. It has to do with brains, and from what you told me, Chelsea wasn’t blessed with a full set. You, on the other hand, have more than your fair share, but you don’t seem to be taking advantage of them.”

“I’m not hanging out with geeks like Gwen Lu and Jenny Berry, if that’s what you mean.”

Sugar Beth remembered Winnie trying to make herself invisible as she walked down the school hallways. “Because you don’t like them, or because you’re afraid the other kids will make fun of you if you do?”

Gigi waited too long to respond. “Because I don’t like them.”

“Do you want real power or not?” Even as she asked the question, Sugar Beth wondered how she could pretend to have an answer.

“Oh, yes,” Gigi said with a wistful sigh. And then her face clouded. “You’re going to tell me to study, aren’t you? And be nice to Gwen and Jenny.”

“Respecting other people and trying to understand how they feel about the world gives you power.” Sugar Beth hoped that was true. “It also makes you kinder. And people are drawn to kindness. That doesn’t mean you forget to stand up for yourself. But you don’t do it by trampling on other people, unless they need to be trampled on, in which case you do it in an up-front manner, with no snotty remarks about being fat.”

Gigi slouched into her chair and looked sullen.

Sugar Beth rolled the Coke can between her palms. She unconsciously waited for the click of her wedding ring, but she’d made herself take it off last month. Gigi gazed up at her. She was going to be a real beauty before long, but Sugar Beth hoped with all her heart it didn’t happen too soon. Beauty at too young an age got in the way of developing character.

She drew a deep, unsteady breath and tried to think of how to say what Gigi needed to hear. “Maybe it’s time you came up with a plan for your life. A really ambitious plan. Without holding back. Even if it means deciding to be president of the United States. Your plan will probably change as you get older, but that might be even better, because, while you’re preparing yourself for one goal, you’ll be learning things that help you meet another goal. That’s what real power means—not spending your time being bitchy because you’re worrying about what somebody might be saying behind your back.” She was shocked by the rush of anger that hit her. Why couldn’t Diddie have said something like this when Sugar Beth was thirteen? But her mother had been incapable of thinking beyond the boundaries of her own narrow vision.

Sugar Beth leaned back in the chair and dredged up what she hadn’t, until that moment, realized she understood. “People will always try to steal your power. When you do well, they’ll say it’s only because you’re rich and your parents are big shots. People who care about you will try to steal your power, too, but they’ll go about it differently. When you fail at something, they’ll try to make you feel better by saying that nobody’s good at everything, and you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. They might tell you not to feel bad about screwing up a math test because math’s hard for girls. Or they’ll say you shouldn’t worry so much about injustice in the world because you’re only one person. And even though they mean well, they’ll be making you less than what you can be.” Her chest felt tight, and she tried to ease it with another breath. “One way to grab your power is to learn when you need to step up to the plate and admit you’re wrong, and when you need to dig in your heels because it’s the right thing to do.”

“How do you tell the difference?”

Sugar Beth shrugged. “Figuring that out is what life’s all about.”

“Have you? Figured it out?”

Only a thirteen-year-old could ask such a question. “Not yet. But I’m working on it.”

Gigi nodded, as if she were thinking it all over, then planted her elbow on the table. “Let’s talk about sex now.”

Sugar Beth had no intention of being dragged into that discussion, but she welcomed the change of subject. “Coffee’s ready.” She hopped up from the table.

“I mean, how do you know when you’re ready to have sex?”

She thought about the rumpled sheets upstairs. “Unless this is a pressing issue, which I sincerely hope it’s not, why don’t we postpone that discussion for another time?”

“Okay.” Gigi’s satisfied smile made Sugar Beth suspect she’d been manipulated into agreeing to another visit. “Could we do makeup now?”

“Why not?”

Sugar Beth’s headache eased as they experimented with the contents of her cosmetic case. They talked about avoiding mascara smudges, obtaining power, setting goals. Sometimes Sugar Beth felt like a hypocrite, but not always, and as she contoured Gigi’s eyelids, she wondered if she’d acquired at least a smattering of wisdom to pass on to the next generation.

Gigi said her parents were due back around four, and a little before three-thirty, she reluctantly headed to the door. “You don’t have to come with me,” she said as Sugar Beth followed her outside, leaving an unhappy Gordon behind. “I’m not a baby.”

“And you’re not climbing up that railing unless I’m there to make sure you get to the top.”

“Like that’s a big challenge.”

“Sarcasm steals your personal power.”

“You’re sarcastic.”

“Which is how I know this.”

Gigi giggled.

Sugar Beth smiled at her. “We’re all works in progress, honey. And believe me when I tell you that I’ve had to work harder than most.”

“I think you’ve done a good job.”

Sugar Beth shouldn’t have felt so good about winning the approval of a thirteen-year-old, but she did.

As they neared the Galantine house, she ducked into the strip of woods at the side so she could watch Gigi climb the rail. Before she made it to the top, she started to goof around, leaning back and waving her arms and legs, deliberately trying to give Sugar Beth a heart attack and not doing a bad job of it. Sugar Beth forced herself to spoil the fun by turning away.

A branch cracked. Something moved in the woods in front of her, and Ryan stepped out of the trees.

He looked as shocked to see her as she was to see him and no happier about it. He was dressed in a navy sports coat, light blue dress shirt, and muted tie, an outfit she couldn’t imagine anyone, except maybe Colin, wearing for a walk in the woods. “Sugar Beth? What—”

His head jerked as he caught sight of Gigi doing her acrobatics on the balcony post. “Gigi!” He rushed toward the house. “Get down from there right now!”

Gigi grabbed the post. Even from across the yard, Sugar Beth could see that she looked stricken. In a rush of memory, Sugar Beth recalled too well what a father’s disapproval felt like. Gigi inched down the railing, moving as slowly as she dared, but not slowly enough for her father’s anger to cool because the moment her feet hit the ground, he grabbed her arm and gave her a little shake. Sugar Beth instinctively rushed forward, but by the time she’d reached them, he’d let her go.

“What are you doing outside? And where have you been? Your mother and I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“I took a walk,” Gigi said stubbornly. “You weren’t supposed to be back yet.”

“We left the reception early, and you were told not to leave the house.”

“I was suffocating,” she cried, with all the drama of a soap star.

Ryan turned back to Sugar Beth, his expression hard. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I don’t ever want you around my daughter again.”

It shouldn’t have hurt so badly, but this was Ryan, and they’d watched Scooby-Doo together.

“Sugar Beth didn’t do anything!” Gigi exclaimed. “I ran into her while I was walking. It was an accident. We didn’t even talk. I don’t even know her.”

It had been a long time since anybody had tried to protect her, and Sugar Beth was touched. She gave Gigi a wry smile. “I’m afraid the jig’s up.”

“No, it’s not! It’s—”

“Ryan?” Winnie rushed around from the front of the house. Like her husband, she was dressed up, but her hair was windblown, her expression tense. “Ryan, what—” She froze. Her gaze flew from her daughter to Sugar Beth, then to her husband.

“Get inside right now,” he snapped at Gigi.

In the kind of blatant miscalculation only a thirteen-year-old could make, she turned mulish. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Ryan’s face flushed with anger, and Sugar Beth took a quick step forward. “Gigi . . .”

“Get inside!” he roared. “Go to your room. And stay there, do you hear me?”

Gigi turned on her parents, her hands in fists, eyes flooding with tears. “I knew this would happen. You’re stealing my power! Just like Sugar Beth said you would!”

Oh, boy . . . Sugar Beth winced.

Winnie looked ashen, Ryan furious, but Gigi wasn’t done. “I’m not going to let you! I’m not letting anybody steal my power.”

Ryan’s fist punched the air. “Get inside right now.”

Gigi gave Sugar Beth a beseeching glance, but there wasn’t a thing Sugar Beth could do that wouldn’t make the situation worse.

Gigi stomped off toward the front door. A moment later, Sugar Beth heard it slam. She wished she could go to her room, too. She braced herself for Winnie’s attack, but Winnie focused only on Ryan, who was looking at Sugar Beth as if he hated her. “She’s only a kid,” he said. “How could you have done this? You know we don’t want you around her.”

Gigi was in too much trouble already for Sugar Beth to rat on her. “She’s my niece. I was curious.”

Winnie came out of her daze. “Don’t you ever come near her again. Do you hear me? I won’t have it.”

Sugar Beth ignored her to concentrate on Ryan. “Exactly what do you think I’m going to do to her?”

“We don’t care to find out,” he said pompously.

“You can’t protect her from life.”

“We can protect her from you.”

Sugar Beth couldn’t bear his self-righteousness and her temper flared. “You’re too late. I already told her everything I know. How to smoke a joint. Steal money from her dad’s wallet. Get laid in the back of a Camaro.” It was a low blow, and Sugar Beth was ashamed of herself. Or at least she would be soon. “Go to hell, both of you.”

Winnie watched numbly as Sugar Beth strode away from them, moving with her familiar long-limbed grace. Panic welled inside her. What if Sugar Beth stole it all? Her husband and her daughter?

“If we hadn’t left the reception early—” Ryan broke off. “I’d bet this was Gigi’s doing. She’s been curious about Sugar Beth for weeks.”

He was going to defend his old lover. Heartsick, Winnie turned away and headed back into the house.

Upstairs, they had the predictable scene with Gigi, who stood in the corner of her room, an ink-stained Laura Ashley pillow clutched to her chest, and proceeded to blame Winnie for everything. “I needed somebody I could really talk to. Sugar Beth listens to me. She understands me.”

“I’m your mother, Gigi. I understand you. And you can talk to me whenever you want.”

“No, I can’t! You just want me to do everything your way.”

Winnie found herself wondering who this demon child was living inside her precious daughter’s body. “That’s not true.”

“At least Dad listens sometimes!”

Ryan stepped in. “This isn’t about your mother. This is about you. And you gave away something precious today. You gave away our trust.”

Gigi tucked the pillow under her chin.

“Why don’t you think about that?” he said, curling his fingers around Winnie’s arm. “And about how long it’s going to take you to get it back.”

He drew Winnie from the room and closed the door behind them. They heard the mattress squawk and Gigi’s sobs. She was Daddy’s little girl, and Ryan hesitated for a moment.

“Leave her,” Winnie said. “She needs time to think.”

They walked downstairs together and into the family room. Winnie felt sick to her stomach. Ryan tossed aside his sports coat and loosened his tie. “Sooner or later we’ll have our daughter back.” But he didn’t sound convinced.

Upstairs, rap began blaring from Gigi’s room. Winnie snatched up the sections of the Sunday paper he’d left everywhere. “When did I turn into the enemy? I have no idea. One morning I woke up, and there it was.”

“This isn’t about you. It’s about her.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.”

He unbuttoned his collar and slumped into the burgundy leather chair she’d bought at an estate auction. “I should have known she’d find a way to meet Sugar Beth. She gave me enough clues.”

“What do you mean?”

“She asked a lot of questions. I forbid Gigi to contact her, but she’s so damned hardheaded. I might as well have waved a green flag in front of her.”

“You didn’t say anything about this to me.”

“You’re not exactly rational where Sugar Beth is concerned.”

“And you are?”

He came out of the chair. “Don’t start this again.”

“Why not? Shoving it under the rug isn’t working.”

“You’re so completely out of line.”

“I don’t care. I’m sick of it.”

His lips thinned. “You know what I’m sick of? I’m sick of having to walk on eggs around you, afraid I’ll say the wrong thing and hurt your delicate feelings.”

“Then stop doing it.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. He reached for the remote. “You need to get hold of yourself.”

She knocked the remote from his hands and sent it skidding across the carpet. His eyes widened in shock. She turned on him. “You need to be honest! If you want Sugar Beth so badly, go get her!”

He looked stunned. “Is that what you think of me?”

“I’m tired of pretending.”

“I’ve been faithful to you for fourteen years.”

“Let me find a medal.”

“I married you, goddammit! I knew you’d gotten pregnant on purpose, but I never once threw it in your face.”

“You wouldn’t. You’re too decent for that. I was the liar.”

“You said it, not me.”

“Because you’ve never had the guts to.”

“You are not turning this back on me. It’s your guilt that’s making you overreact to everything. This is your problem, Winnie, not mine.”

Her fury turned to despair. She sank down on the edge of the couch. “I saw the way you looked at her last night.”

“You saw what your imagination created. You’re paranoid.”

An eerie sense of calm came over her. Her hands fell limply in her lap, and she pressed her fingers together. “I’m jealous. I’m so jealous I can’t see straight. But I’m not paranoid. After all these years, you still haven’t gotten over her.”

“That’s bullshit. For God’s sake, I married you.”

“You wouldn’t have if I hadn’t gotten pregnant.”

He hesitated for a moment too long. “Of course I would have.”

The pain cut deep.

“I would have,” he said, as if repeating the words would make them true.

She drew a deep, unsteady breath. “I don’t know who I am anymore. Maybe I never did. All I know is that I’ve worn myself out trying to be worthy of you.”

“That’s garbage.”

“I don’t think so.” She stood up, gazed around at the antiques she’d collected. She loved this room, this house. She loved being surrounded by objects that spoke of the past. “I’m going to move into the apartment over the shop for a while.” Her voice came from far away. She hadn’t planned this, hadn’t even thought of it until that very moment. But the idea beckoned like a shady grove.

His voice hit a low, dangerous note she’d never heard. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“We need some time.”

“You need counseling, not time.”

“I know you’re angry.”

“Anger doesn’t begin to describe what I’m feeling right now. What do you expect me to tell Gigi? That her mother has up and left her?”

“I don’t know what you’re going to tell her.”

“Just dump the whole thing on me, is that right?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, that’s right. For once, I’m dumping everything on you.” She rose from the couch, walked to the door.