One of These Nights (30 page)

That was good, because between the fresh haircut and the suit, not to mention the absence of a cast or crutches, she was quite interested in continuing the celebration of the night back at her house. And he'd be so much easier to spirit away now.

She just wished she knew what had been his problem in the first place. She started to turn her head and scan the room during a lull in Evan's story when she was pulled into someone's arms, lifted off her feet, and spun around.

Zoe yelped, then laughed when she saw who it was.

“Vane! Put me down!”

He obliged, but not before she received a noisy kiss on the cheek. She feigned irritation and wiped her cheek. “I see you haven't changed.” He hadn't, either. Tall and attractive, with short hair shaded silver and steel, Vane Duvall looked as though he'd just stepped out of an ad for designer suits. He was lightly tanned, the lines at the corners of his eyes the only indication that he wasn't simply a thirty-year-old who'd gone prematurely gray. She'd known him since she'd interned with his art brokerage over a summer in college, when she'd thought that might be the right direction for her. She'd decided against that particular career path but gained both a friend and an invaluable contact.

Zoe was glad to see him not just because she enjoyed him, but also because his presence was a very good omen for Aaron. Vane worked with buyers whose names would have made even Evan Marcel's jaw drop.

“I
have
changed. I've improved with age. So have you, over the last . . . what's it been, three years? That's right, because you didn't make it to the wedding. You missed a hell of a party.”

“I know I did. I was trying to get this place ready to open, and going anywhere, much less St. Maarten, was pretty well out of the question.” The man did tend to forget that not all of his friends had quite the same means he did. Vane looked around, blue-gray eyes taking in the gallery. Zoe watched him closely, curious about what he'd make of what she'd built. He smiled.

“You still have a great eye. I'll have to—” He stopped and frowned, his eyes anchored to a spot somewhere behind her. Zoe began to turn, puzzled.

“What's the matter?”

“Ah, it looks like it's fine. Just a little awkward. Sara's ex,” he explained. It didn't register for a moment, but when it did, Zoe's eyes widened. She scanned the room with purpose this time, and when she saw Jason's tall, broad-shouldered figure over by the bar, this time she noted the small blond woman speaking with him, nearly obscured because of the way they were turned.

“Oh,” Zoe said, and it was more of an exhalation than a word. Of all the things she might have expected tonight, Jason's ex-wife showing up was somewhere near the bottom, well under “Big Al removes pants, ruins evening.” And his ex was married to her old friend. . . .

It was as though all the tension Jason seemed to have let go of materialized just to sink into her own muscles.
This couldn't have been why he's been so tense about the show. He would have mentioned something this big if he'd known. He . . . wouldn't he?
Suddenly, she wasn't sure.

“Hell. He's the last person I would have expected to see here. When I met Sara he seemed like he'd rather be anywhere than in a gallery. Like out chopping down trees, maybe.”

Vane's voice took a moment to register. All Zoe could see was the pretty blonde, the way she looked up at Jason tentatively, then offered a smile when he said something. Jason ran a hand through his hair and dropped his head, a sweet, self-conscious gesture she'd come to find very endearing. Right this second, though, most of what she felt was ugly, ugly jealousy with a twist of righteous fury and a dash of deeply hurt feelings. If he'd known, or even suspected, that Sara would be here, why couldn't he have warned her? Why couldn't he have said
something
to her about it, instead of letting it land on her like a ton of bricks?

Zoe wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. But looking back, it was almost impossible.
No. He knew. It's why he was going to stay away.

The only spark of positivity she could find was that for some reason, Jason had decided to come anyway. She wanted to think he'd come for her. She thought he had. But all her pleasure drained away as she watched the two of them and the sort of questions she'd kept at bay until now began to poke at her insistently.
What if he's still carrying a torch? What if she burned him so badly he'll never get married again? What if he didn't tell me because he thought either of those things was a possibility? . . . What if . . .

“Do you know him?” Vane asked, pulling Zoe back into the conversation. He didn't seem particularly concerned anymore, though he was keeping an eye on things, she noted. “Jason, his name is. Jason—”

“Evans. I know,” Zoe interjected.

Vane snorted. “Big patron of the arts, is he? Or is he just here for the free bar? Sara said the locals around here are pretty . . . local.”

She just stared at him. “Vane. He's here for me.”

She saw the truth sink in, slowly at first, then all at once. To his credit, his cheeks turned several shades of red. “Oh.
Oh.
” He looked beyond her again and winced. “Oh. I'm sorry, Zoe, I didn't know. I . . .” He laughed nervously, a sound she wasn't used to from him. “What are the chances, right? God, I bet you've gotten an earful about me.”

Zoe shook her head slowly. “No. He hasn't mentioned you at all, actually. He's barely mentioned her. I didn't even realize the connection until just now.”

Vane's brows lifted. “Really? Huh. That's . . . unnecessarily awkward.”

“No kidding.”

He looked in his wife's direction again. “That looks pretty awkward, too. Should we butt in?”

Zoe shrugged, and Vane sighed. “Yeah, maybe not. I don't want to get punched.”

“He's not like that,” she said quickly, and she could hear the hard edge to her voice. Even angry at Jason—and she knew she had not yet begun to explore just how angry she was about this—she was ready to bare her teeth over him.

Vane blew out a breath and rocked on his heels. “Well, I guess we can safely say I know nothing about him. So . . .” He shook his head. “I'm sorry, Zoe. I can leave if this is going to be an issue.”

“Absolutely not,” Zoe said quickly. She stepped closer to Vane, took his hand, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You didn't know. I didn't know. And even if I had, I still would have wanted you to come. If no punches were thrown in the past, I'm sure none will be tonight. Jason looks tough, but he's pretty civilized. Besides, this was all years ago. He mentioned it wasn't an ugly divorce.”

“No.” Vane appeared to think that over, maybe remembering. “No,” he said again, “it was quick and easy, really. I didn't get the impression either of them was very happy. Not that I helped fix that.” His smile was rueful. “Sara and I both fell hard. He was collateral damage. I could apologize, but it wouldn't be entirely honest. And I doubt he wants it, anyway. Besides, he's clearly doing just fine. Impeccable taste in women—I'll say that for him.”

“Well. Obviously,” Zoe said, and Vane chuckled. She wished she felt like laughing, too, but she was afraid if she tried that it would just come out as a scream.
Of all the nights . . .

“Oh, here she comes,” Vane said, brightening further. There was more than a hint of uncertainty in his eyes, though, when he refocused on Zoe. “Would you, ah, like to meet my wife?”

She hated that it was even a question. The divorce seemed to have been slightly messier than she'd thought, but Jason hadn't exactly been forthcoming, either. And Vane, for any faults he might have, had always been a friend. Right now, she had to separate out the pieces of her life and deal with them individually. If she didn't, the rest of the night would turn into the kind of howling mess she'd had nightmares about for weeks. She hadn't had time to process any of this.
Thanks, Jason, for trusting me with this very important info. I might have enjoyed having it before it was hitting me in the head.

“Of course I want to meet her,” Zoe said. “You're as happy as I've seen you, Vane. I'm guessing she's responsible.”

“She is,” Vane said, smiling.

The petite blonde joined them, and Zoe got her first good look at the woman who'd once been married to the man she loved. She wasn't much bigger than Zoe, with honey-colored hair that fell in a chic bob, big blue eyes, and china-doll features. She was everything Zoe had hoped she wouldn't be, and though she knew it was ridiculous to be jealous, she couldn't quite help the knot that formed in the pit of her stomach.

“Sara, this is Zoe Watson.” He winked at Zoe. “I've told her all about you,” he said.

“Oh Lord,” Zoe replied, and hoped she looked at least a little amused.

“Hi. I've heard about nothing but you for two days. Vane was so excited to come,” Sara said. The tentative way she spoke, her eyes flickering between her and her husband, told Zoe that this woman already knew about her and Jason. What had he said? She wanted to stalk off, grab him by the collar, and ask, but if anything would kill the party, it was that.

“Anything bad or illegal he told you isn't true,” Zoe said. “Mostly.”

That earned her a more earnest smile, and Zoe sighed inwardly at the fact that the woman was lovely. Because of course she was. Not that it really mattered, she reminded herself.
Obsessed with toile,
she thought. And though it was unkind, it made her feel a little better. She would bet that Vane had . . . developed . . . her taste since then. She couldn't picture the man's big, modern apartment done up in pastoral prints. Zoe turned her head to see where Jason had gone, but he'd vanished from where he'd been standing. She had to fight the urge to stomp her foot.

“He, um, said to tell you he'd call you afterward,” Sara said, and her tone was apologetic. “I'm really sorry. I never expected to see him at something like—”

“Something like this, yes, I know,” Zoe interrupted, irritated. “Being underestimated is one of his special talents, seems like.”
Right along with being evasive.

“That's true,” Sara replied, surprising her. Zoe looked at her sharply, but the woman seemed to be dead serious. Vane looped his arm around his wife's waist, and in that instant they were a unit, a matched set. Zoe couldn't picture this woman with Jason . . . and that was just as well.

“He seems a lot happier,” Sara said. She looked quickly at her husband, but Vane looked unfazed. He would be, Zoe knew. The man was hard to ruffle, and if he was to Sara's taste, then no wonder Jason hadn't been. The two were like night and day. “I hope it's all right to say, but I'm glad he seems so much happier. He's a good guy. He deserves some happiness.”

Zoe knew immediately that Sara was talking about his family, and oh, how she would have loved to compare notes on that. But this was neither the time nor the place, and she had wanted to try to catch him before he pulled a Batman and vanished into the shadows.

So all she said was, “It's definitely all right. I think so, too. It's wonderful to meet you, Sara. If you two can just excuse me for a second, I need to—”

“Understood,” Vane said. “Good luck. We'll be here. Still proud of you, Zoe. This is really something.”

Touched, she tucked the compliment away to take out and cherish later. “Thanks,” she said, and hurried off, dodging guests and hurrying out the front door into the cold air. It was a shock against her bare legs and arms, but the shock lasted only a moment. She saw Jason's rapidly retreating figure heading down the sidewalk, no doubt to where his truck was parked farther down on the square.

The door shut behind her.

“Jason,” she said, not a shout but loud enough for him to hear. He wasn't moving fast yet, fortunately. He stopped short, not turning around to look at her, and she gritted her teeth. Her heels clicked on the pavers as she headed up the walk and out the little gate. Just being this close finally brought the anger on, mixed with hurt into a toxic brew of emotion. She only really had one question.

“Why?”

He did turn then, slowly, and she could see he was battling some anger of his own. “I knew it would have been better if I didn't come tonight. And I see you know Vane Duvall.”

Zoe's mouth dropped open. “Are you kidding me? Vane's been a friend for years.”

“Sure. He's a popular guy.”

Jason's voice had taken on the low, growly quality it did when he was angry, and Zoe found herself taking up the old stance—arms crossed, legs slightly apart, chin up—that she'd used so many times with Jason in the gallery. He responded in kind, stiffening and glaring down at her.

“No,” Zoe said. “You don't get to be mad. I'm not the one who didn't trust you enough to tell you that my ex-wife was going to be at your biggest event
ever
. Do you know how much easier this would have been if you'd just
told
me?”

“I wasn't sure she'd be here,” Jason hedged, glowering at her. “Why would I make a big deal out of something I wasn't even sure about?”

“Oh, you had a pretty good idea,” Zoe said, “or you wouldn't have been acting so weird about this. So much for
those just aren't my people, I won't fit in
—”

“I don't,” he snapped. “I'm no Aaron Maclean or Vane Duvall. I'm just a guy who likes to clear brush and drag dirt around on his boots. You knew that going in. Trying to make me into something I'm not—”

Zoe's eyes widened. “I'm what, now?” She threw up her hands, utterly exasperated. He had the mulish glint in his eye he got when he was digging into a position, and she had neither the time nor the energy to wade through this right now. Not on what was supposed to be a good night. “Let me get this straight. You've made the leap from not giving me a heads-up on your ex-wife situation to me wanting to change you. Well, you know what, Jason? That's not you coming out of your mouth. That's your mother.”