Wanted: Wife (32 page)

She cocked her brow in an unspoken
touché
, reaching to a silver box on the table to pull out a cigarette. “I don’t really smoke anymore, maybe once or twice a month. But at times like this it seems appropriate. Do you mind?”

“Of course not,” I said, as all former smokers usually did. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you.” She flicked a lighter then drew in delicately, her eyes never leaving mine. “Did you ever wonder how a man could reach forty years of age and never marry? Gay, was the old exception, but that’s not even true anymore.” She inhaled, exhaled. “Didn’t you ever think it odd in Andy?”

“No.” I affected my best imitation Gallic shrug. “He’d been waiting for me.”

That irritated her and her cheek twitched; another affectation cutting too close to the bone. “He’d been waiting for no one. His heart is too cold to let anyone in. And proof of that is you,
ma chère
. As far as he’s concerned, you were just a prop.

“What was it I heard from Marcel, who I understand you’ve had the pleasure of meeting? Seems he mentioned something about a bet between he and André which, most unfortunately, involved you.”

“Yes,” I said, the anger rising again. “About who could stay married the longest.”

She uttered a derisive sigh, distinctly French and so like Andy I winced. “Well, I can assure you, if André did make such a bet, it wasn’t to win or lose it, but to simply get Marcel to play.” She inhaled once more then crushed the cigarette into her plate.

“But, the game’s over, Ms. Knott, and both my sons have come out winners. Marcel takes control of the company, and André goes back to the life he lived before—a pretty man flitting about with no commitments.
Ma chère
,” she said, her voice softening, “I am telling you this as one woman to the other, and not to make things more difficult for you. But I know my son—he can’t commit to anyone. Believe me . . .” Her face stiffened with a faraway anger. “He first proved it to me. I only want to prepare you for the eventuality and save you the heartbreak.” Her eyes narrowed. “Especially if you’re intending to enlighten him with your bit of news anytime soon.”

I don’t know how she did, but she knew. “What news?”

“Ms. Knott—please. I’m a mother twice over. You get to know the signs.” She dropped her gaze to my belly, my hands idly over it. “Mostly it’s the hands. They’re always protecting it. Did you know the doctors told him the likelihood of his ever having a child was slim?”

“I assure you most definitely it’s his.”

“Well then.” Her mouth curved into a brittle smile. “You’ve proved them wrong, haven’t you?”

The butler stepped into the doorway. “Madam, it’s time.”

“Yes,
merci
.” She stood. “I’m truly sorry, Ms. Knott, but I must go. The ship leaves in an hour.” She smiled again. “Well, then. Do pay attention to what I told you, and although you may not believe me, I do only have your best intentions in mind.” She held her hand out. “
Au revoir,
Ms. Knott.”

I stood, staring at her hand thrust in the spirit of fidelity. Except right then, with Andy so close and so far away, I wasn’t feeling especially felicitous. I looked up, squaring my gaze into hers.

“First off,
ma chère belle mère
, the name’s Mrs. Devine, and if Andy’s out to break my heart, I’d rather have him do it in person and not by proxy. Although I do thank you for your selfless concern.” I grabbed my purse.

Her eyes flared like two bolts of blue lightning. “You have no idea what you’re setting yourself up for—he
will
disappoint you!”

“I’ll take my chances,” I said, walking out.

I rode back to the station in a fog of anger and indecision. There was no story to file, so I recycled an old one, and in a burst of panic I called Andy’s number, letting it ring once before I quickly hung up. I fled the studio and walked home in a daze.

I went to bed, only to wake up near midnight. I needed to think, and I knew there was really only one place I could go, rummaging through a wooden box on my dresser until I found the key. I shoved it in my pocket and jumped into my clothes. The only thing I needed now was a car. I ran outside and, hailing a cab, went straight to the airport. Forty minutes later, I was on my way.

Funny how I didn’t know how to get there, then suddenly I did. I crossed one bridge, traversed the Pines, then crossed another, going east until I couldn’t go any further. I made a right then traveled nearly the length of the island, ending up where we really began. I sunk the key into the cottage’s lock and stepping inside, found a blanket then went straight to the back porch.

The moon, nearly full, was high, lighting a path from the rumpled sand to the horizon, the stars pocking the sky with pinpoints of light. It was cold but the salt air tempered it, and wrapping the blanket around me, I tucked myself into the porch’s wicker loveseat. With my hand on my belly, I cast my hope across the water, and drifted off to sleep.

I
OPENED MY
eyes. It was light, but it was the footsteps that woke me. I shivered awake, turning toward them.

“Julie?
Julie!
”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Ship to Shore

“R
ICHARD!”
I
CRIED,
bolting upright. “What in hell are you doing here!”

He flapped the collar of his jacket, tightening it around his throat. “A better question would be why you’re sleeping outside in February. It’s cold as
balls
out here!”

What the
fuck
was he doing here? “How did you find me?”

“Well, it’s simple,” he said wryly. “Your Twitter feed.”

“
What?
I don’t
have
a Twitter feed!”

“Oh yes you do. I feed it for you. And I got this from one of your contacts who works there.” He whipped out his phone, showing me the tweet.
Why is JK at the airport Rent-a-Wreck at one AM?
“So me being curious, I went there.” He lifted a brow. “Who would think those bombs have a GPS in them?”

I grabbed his phone. “What the hell! Now you’re spying on me?”

“Well, someone has to.” He grabbed back his phone. “Since you’re lying to me.”

“What?” I cried, flabbergasted.

“I’m doing everything I can to launch your career into the stratosphere, where it should’ve been a long time ago, and you’re still fighting me every step. You don’t tweet, you don’t Facebook,” he ticked off on his fingers. “You’re ignoring your blog, you didn’t show up for the drive time interview you had at WMMR yesterday—”

“Oh shit.” When I was at the Ritz-Carlton. “I totally forgot about that.”

“And it wasn’t because you were out on a shoot, either, because for some goddamned reason you recycled a story that was just on last month. Now, how the hell can we run that on ‘Joe’ on Friday?”

“I’m shooting this afternoon. I’ll send them that.”

“You know damn well they need a two-day lead. You’d never make it.” He waved his hand dismissively. “But that’s not what’s got to me. What’s
really
killing me is right
there
.” He threw open my blanket, jabbing his finger toward my belly. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

My mouth dropped. I tried to answer, but nothing came out.

“Yeah, I thought so. Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

I gaped at him, wrapping the blanket back around me. “How—how—?”

“It’s why you ran away from me last summer. It’s why you passed out on Thanksgiving. And it’s why I saw you coming out of that gynecologist’s office yesterday, isn’t it?”

I think I’m going to be sick.
“I would’ve told you sooner or later.”

“You should’ve told me right from the jump.” He paced the porch, looking so bruised I nearly felt chastised, until he leaned against the railing to face me. “All right, look—it might even be to your advantage. Baby bumps are hot right now. We’ll get you working that whole smokin’ mama thing, and I’m sure we could shoot some killer spots around it. And after we’re married—”

“Married!” Again he floored me. “You want to
marry
me?”

“I’ve always wanted to marry you,” he said, as if obvious. “Just because I had a bout of temporary insanity doesn’t mean I never would. You knew I’d come back.”

“I did? You threw me out on the street!”

“Oh, that was just Annika having a hissy fit. She told me just the other day how sorry she is about it.”

That got me standing. “You’re still
talking
to her?”

“Purely as a client. Don’t worry, we’re so over even the crack of dawn can’t get past us. I already told her, next week’s opening is the last one I’m going to.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh Richard, you truly are predictable. Go to the opening. I really don’t care.”

“Julie, listen to me.” He grasped me by this shoulder. “You’re thinking I’m the same Richard who screwed you over last year, but believe me, I’m not. If it takes the rest of my life, I’m going to make it up to you. I’ve changed, really I have, but one thing hasn’t: I love you. I’ve always loved you. And I do want to marry you.” He reached in his pocket, bringing out the engagement ring I had thrown at him six months earlier. “Julie, will you marry me?”

I looked at him, same handsome face, same slick delivery, and I thought:
if this were six months ago, I would’ve fallen at his feet.
He said he loved me. But how could I really be sure? Did the proof lie in what he said? Or was the real test in what he did? Or was it more in how he made me feel? Did I
feel
loved? And would I feel it even without him telling me? The answer came to me, almost instinctively.

“Richard, I can’t marry you. And even if I could, it wouldn’t work out. You’re not the only one who’s changed, you know.”

“I know you’ve changed and I’m willing to accept that. I’m also willing to take it one day at a time. What have we got to lose? If we find out it’s not working, we can always split up later, but for now, we let’s give it a try. Marry me.”

Oh my, didn’t this sound familiar? So why now did I hear it so differently? “I’m sorry, but I still can’t marry you.”

“And
I’m
sorry,” he huffed, looking affronted, “but I won’t have my kid born a bastard. Call me old school, but there it is.”

“
Your
kid?” I laughed out loud. “Oh, sweetie, do I have a surprise for you.”

A car door slammed; a dog barked. Richard stiffened, incensed. “I don’t care what your surprise is, because I got a bigger one for you. You
are
going to marry me, so stop acting like a two-year-old and—”

The back door opened and Bucky barreled out, nearly knocking Richard down as he ran toward me. I fell to my knees and he leaped into my arms. “Bucky!” I cried, hugging his ruff. I looked past him; my heart clenched.
Andy!

“What the—?” Richard turned, eyeing him. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Andy Devine,” he said, looking straight at me, “and what I want is my wife.”

Richard sucked in a breath. “Your
wife
!” He whirled around and I stood up, gathering the blanket around me. “You’re already
married
? Then is he the—”

“Richard don’t!” I cried. “I haven’t—”

“
Richard . . .
?” Andy growled, as lethally as I’d ever heard him. He looked tired but magnificent, in a business suit and overcoat, his tie loosened yet very much the corporate intimidator. “So you’re
Richard
,” he said, smiling most malevolently.

“Yeah,” he said, thrusting his chin. “What the fuck is it to you?”

Andy’s eyes narrowed. “Less than you think, but just to keep things peaceful, you’d better leave.”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “We’re talking business here.”

“Talk it later,” Andy said. “I need to speak with my wife.”

Richard laughed. “Oh yeah? Well, you had plenty of chances to speak to her in the last few months, but I haven’t seen you around, have I? Seems to me you’ve lost your place in line, buddy.”

“Richard,” I said. “Don’t do this. Just go.”

He whirled around to me. “Hey! I’m not done with you yet! Just sit there and be quiet!”

I looked past him to Andy, that little muscle in his cheek thumping wildly. “Oh,
Je vais te casser la geule
. Come on,
putain
.” He tapped Richard’s shoulder. “Time to go.”

Richard spun around, shoving Andy back against the railing. “And I said beat it cheese eater! Get the fuck out of my face!”

Andy’s eyes flared and in a flash he was on him, grasping Richard under the chin until he was red and sputtering. “And yet, that’s exactly where am, aren’t I,
espèce de salaud
? Now, fly away like the little chicken you are before I wring your fucking neck.”

He flung him loose and Richard stumbled back, clutching his throat and gasping. “Yeah okay, hard case—big fucking man! See how big you are when you hear from my lawyers! We’ll see who’s fucking big then!”

Andy threw up his hands. “What is it with these guys? Always the lawyers! Come on,
femmelette
,” he taunted Richard. “You want to take me on? You want to finish this?” He slid his coat off. “Come on and finish it like a man you little shit—I’m ready.”

Richard blanched, lunging for the door. “Go fuck yourself,” he squeaked, bolting through it like a jackrabbit, Bucky snarling and hot on his heels.

“Ha!” Andy laughed. “Look at that! Shit stains right through to the front door!”

I nearly choked. “I-I guess he’s skipping the colonic today!” We laughed until we were nearly breathless, then it was just me and Andy and the great divide that gaped between us. His gaze, vividly liquid, settled on me.

“Julie . . .” he said.

I straightened my back against the arm of the loveseat, the blanket still firmly around me. “What brings you here, Andy? It’s certainly a surprise.”

“Why should it be?” he said. “After all, you called me.”

“I did?” I remembered dialing him from the studio, but . . . “You got that? But it only rang once and I hung up.”

“It was enough.”