Read The Millionaire Claims His Wife Online

Authors: Sandra Marton

The Millionaire Claims His Wife (17 page)

BOOK: The Millionaire Claims His Wife
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“And can the innocent act.” Deb slipped another piece of pizza from the box. “Nobody could be as busy as you claim to be, not unless you've given up eating and sleeping. You've turned into the ‘no' girl. No, you don't want to go to the movies, not even when Liam Neeson's on the screen. No, you don't want to go to the mall, even if Lord and Taylor's got a fifty percent clearance.”
“I'm sorry, Deb. Really, I am, but as I said, I've been—”
“And.” Deb said, stealing a slice of pepperoni from the pizza still in the box, “instead of sharing the good stuff with me, which is the duty of a true-blue friend, you let me find it out all on my own.”
Annie's smile stiffened. Nobody knew what had happened on that island. Nobody even knew she'd gone away with Chase, except for Dawn and Nick.
“What ‘good stuff'?”
“You know.”
“I don't, or I wouldn't be asking. Come on, Deb. What are you talking about?”
Deb shoved aside her plate and pulled the tab on her can of soda.
“Well, for openers, when were you going to tell me you gave Milton Hoffman the old heave-ho?”
“Oh. That.”
“Yeah. That. Not that I wasn't happy to hear it. Milton's a nice guy, but he's not for you.”
“Where did you hear—”
“I bumped into him at the Stop And Shop the other day.” Deb leaned closer. “Did you know that he eats low-fat granola?”
I'm not surprised,
Annie said to herself, then scowled for thinking something so unkind.
“Well, so what?” she said staunchly. “That doesn't make him a bad person. Besides, if you wanted to know if I was still seeing him or not, you could have just asked me. You didn't have to buttonhole poor Milton.”
“I did not buttonhole poor Milton! He was standing in front of the cereal display, looking unhappy, and I wheeled my cart up to his and said he might want to try the oatmeal, or maybe the All-Bran, depending on his needs. I mean, who knows what's going on under that shiny suit? And he gave me this look that reminded me of a basset hound I once had... Did I know you then? He was the dearest little dog, but—”
“Dammit, Deb, what did Milton say?”
“He just asked if I'd seen you around lately. And I said well, I'd gone to lunch with you a few weeks back. And he said that was more than he'd done. And I said—”
“Whoa.” Annie held up her hands. “Let me simplify things, okay? Milton's a lovely man. A delightful man. But...”
“But?”
“But, we're just friends.”
“He seemed to think you'd once been something more.” Deb picked up another piece of pizza. “Like, you'd maybe had serious plans.”
“No! We never...” Annie put her hands over her face. “Oh gosh. I feel terrible.”
Deb gave a delicate burp. “The pizza's a killer, I admit, but it's not
that
bad.”
“Not the pizza. Milton.”
“You led him on,” Deb said, clucking her tongue.
“No. Yes. Damn! I suppose I did,” Annie said, and told Deb about what had happened at the wedding, and how she'd put on an act for Chase's benefit. “But I cleared things up the next week,” she added quickly. “I explained that—that I'd said some things I hadn't really meant and—and...”
“You broke his little heart,” Deb said solemnly, and then she grinned and lightly punched Annie in the arm. “Don't look like that! I'm exaggerating. Milton looked absolutely fine. Happier than I've ever seen him, to tell the truth, and halfway through our chat a woman came waltzing over from the produce aisle and looped her arm through his. Her name's Molly Something-or-other, she's new in the English department and it didn't take a genius to figure out what's happening between them when she dropped her head of cabbage into the cart next to his box of granola.”
Annie sighed with relief. “I'm glad.”
“Milton said to say hi if I saw you, so here I am, saying hi.”
“Honestly, Deb—”
“Honestly, Annie, why didn't you tell me you went off and spent the weekend after the wedding with your gorgeous ex?”
Annie turned bright red to the roots of her hair. “What are you talking about?”
“Dawn told me.” Deb reached for a piece of pizza, bit into it and chewed thoughtfully. “I met her in the detergent aisle.”
“Have you ever considered changing supermarkets?” Annie said sweetly. “What else did my darling daughter tell you?”
“Only that you and Chase went out of town in hopes of a reconciliation, and that it didn't work out. Is that about it?”
“Yes,” Annie said. “That's about it.”
Deb, who was nobody's fool, eyed her best friend narrowly.
“Maybe your baby girl bought that story,” she said, “but I have a few years of observing the human condition on her.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, you want to tell me what really hap pened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“Annie,” Deb said.
The doorbell rang. Annie sent up a silent prayer of thanks.
“Don't think you're off the hook,” Deb called as Annie hurried from the kitchen. “I have every intention of picking up the inquisition as soon as you get back.” Her voice rose. “You hear?”
Annie rolled her eyes. “I hear,” she said, as she flung the door open.
A boy stood on the porch. Rain glittered on his hair and shoulders, and on the yellow panel truck in the driveway.
“Mrs. Annie Cooper?”
Annie looked at the long white box clutched in his arms.
“Ms.
Annie Cooper,” she said. “And I don't want them.”
The boy frowned and looked at the tag clipped to the box.
“This is 126 Spruce Street, isn't it?”
“It is, and you're to take those flowers right back where they came from.”
“They're roses, ma'am. Long-stemmed, red—”
“I know what they are, and I do not want them.” Annie reached behind her and took her pocketbook from the hall table.
“But—”
“Here,” she said, handing the boy a ten-dollar bill. “I'm sorry you had to come out in such miserable weather.”
“But, ma'am...”
“Good night.”
Annie shut the door. She sighed, leaned back against it and closed her eyes.
“What was that about?”
Her eyes flew open. Deb was standing in the hall, staring.
“Nothing. It was a—a mix-up. A delivery of something or other, but the kid had the wrong—”
“I heard the whole thing, Annie. He had the right house and the right woman. He also had a humongous box of roses, and you told him to take them away.”
Annie's chin lifted. “I certainly did,” she said, marching past Deb into the kitchen. “You want a glass for that Coke, and some ice?”
“I want to know if I'm going crazy. Somebody sends you long-stemmed roses and you don't even want to take a look? You don't even want to ask who they're from?”
Annie took two glasses from the cabinet over the sink and slammed them down on the counter.
“Chase,” she said grimly.
“Chase what?”
“Chase sent the roses.”
“How do you know? You didn't even—”
“He's been doing it for weeks.”
“Your ex has been sending you roses for weeks?”
“Yes. And I've been refusing them.” Annie sat down at the counter and picked up her slice of pizza. “Your pizza's going to get cold, if you don't eat it pretty soon.”
Deb looked down at her plate, then at Annie.
“Let me get this straight. You went away with your ex, he's been sending you roses ever since, and you really expect me to believe nothing happened between You?”
“That's exactly what I expect you to believe,” Annie said, and she burst into tears.
* * *
Half an hour later, the pizza had been forgotten, the diet Cokes had been replaced by a bottle of Chianti, Annie's eyes and nose were pink and Deb had heard the whole story.
“The bastard,” she said grimly.
“Uh-huh,” Annie said, blowing her nose into a paper towel.
“The skunk!”
“That's what he is, all right. Taking me to bed and then telling me how terrific it was—”
“Was it?”
Annie blushed. “Sex was never our problem. Well, not until the very end, when I was so hurt and angry at him for never coming home....”
“Other women, huh?”
“No.” Annie blew her nose again. “I mean, not then. At the end, there was somebody, even though Chase said there wasn't.”
“Yeah,” Deb said, “that's what they always say. So, if it wasn't some foxy broad, why didn't the oaf come home nights?”
“Oh, he came home. Late, that's all. He took all these courses, see, so he could learn the things he needed to build up the business he'd inherited from his father. He worked crazy hours, too. Most days, he'd leave before sunrise and not get back until seven, eight at night.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And then, when things took off and the company really began to grow, he went to all these parties. Chamber of Commerce things. You know, the sort of stuff you read about in the paper.”
“And he left you home. God, the nerve of the man!”
“No. I mean, he took me with him. And then I decided I didn't want to go to these things anymore.”
“I can imagine the rest. The jerk went by himself and that's when he began to fool around. He met this society type with a pedigree and a face like an ice sculpture and she was lots more appealing than the house mouse he'd left at home, right?”
“Well—well, no. He didn't meet anybody. Although, eventually, he—he got involved with his secretary.”
“How disgustingly trite. His secretary! Will men never learn?”
“He said it wasn't what it seemed to be, but I knew.”
“Of course, you knew. Lipstick on his collar, receipts from motels you'd never been to in his pockets, charge account statements for flowers and candy and perfume...”
“No.”
“No?”
Annie shook her head. “Well, bills for flowers and candy and perfume, yes. For my birthday, or Christmas, or sometimes just for no reason at all.”
“Really,” Deb said, arching an eyebrow.
“I'd never have known, except I just—I showed up at his office when he didn't expect me and there she was, wound around him like—like a morning glory vine on a fence post.”
“And Chase said he was just taking a speck of dust out of her eye,” Deb said, shaking her head.
Annie looked up, her mouth trembling. “Chase said it wasn't what it looked like. His secretary said it, too. She cried and begged me to believe her, she said Chase had never even looked at her cross-eyed but I—”
“But you?”
“But I knew. That he—that she... Because, you know, I'd stopped turning to him in bed, when he reached for me. I couldn't help it.” A sob ripped from Annie's throat. “I loved him so much, Deb. So terribly much!”
“Oh, Annie, you poor soul,” Deb said, “you still do.”
“I don't,” Annie said, and she began to weep uncontrollably.
Deb stood up, went to Annie's side and put her arm around her.
“Oh, honey, I never realized. You're crazy about the man.”
“No,” Annie said in a choked whisper, and then she pulled out of her friend's embrace and threw her arms into the air. “Yes,” she said, “and isn't that pathetic? It's true. I
am
crazy about him. I love him with all my heart. I'd even forgive him that fling with his secretary.”
“If there was a fling.” Annie shot her a look, and Deb shrugged. “Well, it's a possibility, isn't it? I mean, all those stories about bosses and their secretaries...if half of 'em were true, the American economy would grind to a halt. Anyway, why would she have put up such a denial?”
“I don't know. I don't know anything, anymore, only that somewhere along the line, Chase and I lost each other. And I know now that it wasn't all his fault. We were so young when we got married, Deb. I thought marriage was just a fairy tale, you know, the prince rides off with the maiden and they live happily ever after. But it isn't like that. You have to work at a marriage, talk about your goals and your problems.”
BOOK: The Millionaire Claims His Wife
9.51Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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