Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
The sadness nearly overwhelmed me, making my legs weak.
It was definitely time to leave.
“If you need anything further, just ask the staff to find us,” Mother ordered.
“We’ll be fine,” Jamie told her.
“Of course,” she murmured, wrapped her fingers around my forearm and guided me to the door.
I couldn’t control the urge to look over my shoulder at him as we made our way to the door.
Thank you, he mouthed when I caught his gaze.
I’m so sorry, I mouthed in return.
He shook his head in a defeated manner that made rage—actual rage—boil inside of me.
I feared I didn’t hide it, and this fear came from the fact Jamie’s eyes widened in surprise as I experienced it.
Thus, it was fortunate, with Mother’s hand on my arm inexorably guiding my way out of the loo, the door closed between us.
Several days later…
I arrived home with my Bergdorf shopping bags, Nanny with me, pushing Allegra in her stroller, only to be confronted by my husband in the foyer.
I stopped dead at witnessing the murderous look on his face.
I felt my cheeks flush with ire when he commanded Nanny, “Take our daughter to the nursery.”
Nanny, not having missed his mood, quickly moved to heed his command.
But I said, “Allegra and I—”
“You are coming with me,” Roland decreed.
He then turned on his Italian loafer and stormed out of the foyer.
I glared after him.
My husband and I had a…shall we say, unusual relationship.
However, I’d sought that purposefully.
Make no mistake, the quiet, genteel manner in which my mother and father regarded each other with respect, graciousness and only minor and rare gestures of affection was lovely, in its way.
But witnessing that until adulthood, then witnessing my mother losing it upon my father’s passing and going on with her life as if my father had never been in it, hiding her grief, even from her children, I didn’t want that.
I wanted adventure. I wanted passion. I wanted my lipstick smudging my husband’s collar, telling anyone who would see it I couldn’t keep my mouth off him. I wanted heated glances across the table that informed everyone around us they were gratuitous to our world, and we couldn’t wait to be free of them so we could go at each other.
What I didn’t want was every day to be the same. I didn’t want the love I had with the man I decided to spend the rest of my life with only to be expressed behind closed doors.
And with the single-minded determination I began to show around the age of two (if the stories about myself I was told were true), I found that.
However, I was also finding there were downsides to getting what you wanted.
Taking in a steadying breath, I followed Roland to our living room.
I barely made it over the threshold before he hurled a large, exquisite crystal vase filled with glorious, long-stemmed yellow roses across the room. The vase hit the wall. The crystal shattered. The water splashed. The roses scattered.
“What the devil?” I demanded.
Roland whirled on me. “Explain to me…precisely…why Jamie Oakley is sending you roses?”
My stomach dropped, and it was far from an unpleasant sensation. Sadly, as a married woman—a married woman, I reminded myself, who was in love with her husband, no matter how exasperating he could be—the kind of sensation it was, was not one I should be experiencing.
“And thanking you,” Roland continued. “Thanking you for what, Nora?” he asked. “Sucking his hillbilly Texas dick?”
Oh no.
Automatically, my chin lifted.
“You did not just speak those words to me,” I declared, each syllable frosted with a layer of chill.
“Why is that man sending my wife flowers?” he bellowed.
“Calm yourself,” I snapped.
“How would you feel if a woman sent me a gift?” he asked acidly.
“Exactly how I feel when you force me to watch you flirt with every blonde with fake breasts in your vicinity,” I retorted.
“And what?” He threw out his hands. “This is some kind of revenge for my harmless flirting, you fucking Jamie Oakley?”
I’d argue the “harmless” part of that, but I decided to do that later.
“I do not know Jamie Oakley,” I sniffed. “There was a situation with his wife having food poisoning at the leukemia gala that Mother and I dealt with, so I met him, of a sort. However, he was so busy seeing to his wife, he barely knew we were there.”
Yes, I was lying to my husband, but you see, when Eleanor Ellington demanded you keep a secret, you did. Even from your husband.
Regardless that Mother demanded it, Roland had a big mouth and a competitive streak. If he held the knowledge that Belinda Oakley had a rather alarming drinking problem, he would find a way to use it.
So…yes.
To wit, I was protecting Jamie, not to mention Belinda, from my husband.
“He knew you were there enough to send you flowers,” Roland pointed out.