What a Girl Wants (14 page)

“She’s gaining you,” Lara said, watching him.

He flashed a rueful smile. “I’m not convinced that’s what she wants either.”

Except when they kissed. When Ariana kissed him, he knew without a doubt that she didn’t want to be anywhere but in his arms.

Very confusing. He shook his head again.

“Tell me about Ariana,” Lara said with her usual astuteness.

“She’s lovely, outside, but especially inside,” he said without hesitation. “She’s passionate about what she does, and she loves her family.”

“Even her father, who’s pushing her?”

“Especially him. But she’s no pushover. She won’t acquiesce to his wishes just to win his approval. She stands her ground, but at the same time she’s got this fear of letting him down.” Sebastian rubbed his chin. “I don’t understand the sudden about-face. I’m not convinced she really wants to be on the show.”

“You like her,” Lara summed up.

“Hadley James?” he replied, being deliberately obtuse.

Lara rolled her eyes. “Sebastian, if I thought you like women of a certain age, I’d have tapped that by now.”

He laughed in shock. “Why, Ms. Taylor! You shock me. How do you know what that means?”

“Really, darling. I know Urban Dictionary exists.” She tucked the blanket around her feet. “Anson and I have been on Hadley’s show a few times. Let me contact our publicist to see if she knows who to talk to.”

He got up and kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”

“I want you to be happy, darling.”

“But you barely know me,” he said, somber.

She cupped his cheek. “And yet you’re in my heart.”

He could tell she meant it—it was there, laid open in her expression, shining from her bright eyes. He felt the honor of it clog his throat, and he bent to kiss her other cheek. “You’re in my heart, too,” he told her softly.

‡

E
dward stood in front of the painting in the gallery.

Not just any painting—one his wife did.

It was glorious, too. Vivid and colorful. Passionate. Everything she was.

Except for when she was around him.

“This is a local artist we just picked up,” a woman said, sidling up to him with a reserved smile. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he murmured, unable to take his eyes from the canvas. It was like looking into a part of his wife’s soul that he’d been locked out of.

“Lillian Redmond is an artist to keep an eye on.”

He glanced at the placard to the right—he’d seen “Lillian” and hadn’t looked further. Now he read it in shock. “Lillian Redmond.”

The gallery representative nodded, gesturing to the painting. “That’s the artist’s name.”

That was Lillian’s maiden name. If she meant to slap him across the face, she couldn’t have been more effective.

He took the salesperson’s card and left the gallery. He walked aimlessly downtown, stopped at the Tadich Grill for a mid-afternoon martini, and then went home.

His mind was too full to talk to Lillian, so he called Ariana instead.

It went directly to voicemail, but that was probably just as well. He didn’t want to accidentally slip up and confess that Lillian and he were having problems. He left a brief message, ending it with an
I love you
.

Sebastian, however, answered his phone. “Edward, you were on my list to call. I have a strategy meeting with Ariana later and got distracted preparing for it.”

“Strategy?” he said, barely understanding any of the words.

“Consistent messaging, that sort of thing. What to say to the media. We’re going to Los Angeles next week. She has a spot on a morning show.”

His gut cringed. “What morning show?” he asked, afraid he already knew.

“
The Hadley James Show
.”

“Of course.” Edward scrubbed a hand over his face.

“You don’t sound as thrilled about it as I’d have expected. Is everything okay?”

“I’m just surprised.”

“I was, too. I was sure aliens had abducted Ariana when she told me she wanted to go on the show.”

Obviously the man didn’t know what was going on. Ariana, for all her carefree attitude, was a private person. She’d never been the type to air her troubles to anyone. She got that from him. “When is she scheduled to go on the show? So I can watch.”

Sebastian gave him the date and time.

Lillian was not going to be happy. He dropped his head into his hand. When had it all gotten so out of hand?

“Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” Sebastian asked, concern in his voice.

Everything. He shook his head and replied something noncommittal, because none of this was Sebastian’s fault. It was no one’s fault but his own.

And he didn’t know what to do about it.

He’d just hung up when Lillian appeared in the doorway of his office. She hovered in the threshold, twisting her wedding ring, worry etched alongside her mouth. “I knew we should have told Ariana.”

Edward closed his laptop and looked at Lillian, standing in the doorway as if he’d conjured her. Except if he had, she would have looked happier to see him.

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure this wasn’t her happy expression.

She stepped into his office, her eyes chilly. “Ariana won’t talk to me. I call her, and she sends it directly to voicemail.”

He rubbed his eyes. She was doing the same with his calls, and God knew it frustrated the hell out of him. It must be a hundred times worse for Lillian.

The irony in all this was that Ariana was so much more like Lillian than anyone. “She’ll come around,” he assured her. “She’s not the sort to hold a grudge. She just needs to come to terms with it.”

“She’s not going to.” His wife crossed her arms and glared at him.

How many times had he seen Ariana with the same expression? “What do you want me to do?” he asked, trying to be patient.

“I want you to care about this.”

He frowned. “Of course I care.”

“You have a strange way of showing it,” she said, her voice tart. “All you do is sit in here doing who knows what. Have you even tried calling her? Or maybe you’re happy that this happened.”

He sat up, hands on the desk. “That’s absolutely ridiculous. I don’t want Ariana to feel anything short of fulfilled and happy. You know I hate that we hurt her.”

“We?” Lillian raised her brows.

Her one-worded knife struck him right on target: in his heart. For a moment, he couldn’t say anything for the hopelessness and disappointment. Then he managed to say, “We both agreed at the time that not telling Ariana about Harriet was the best decision.”

She tightened her arms around herself. “You agreed, and you talked me into it.”

“That’s not true. You know what a happy, well-adjusted child she was. We both wanted her to stay that way. We agreed to let Ariana be happy and secure.”

“She’s not happy now, and neither am I.” Lillian’s stony expression broke, her lip quivering. “I miss her.”

Don’t say it, he told himself. Only then he opened his mouth and heard himself blurt out, “Too bad you don’t miss me that way.”

Lillian stiffened. “I’ve gotten used to you being absent.”

He stood. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Really?” She arched her brow. “I’m surprised you even know who I am anymore, though sometimes I wonder if you confuse me for a housekeeper.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Then you’re more a fool than I thought,” she said before she stormed out.

He watched her leave, wincing when he heard a door slam. Sinking into his chair, he sat with his head in his hands for a minute.

His plan was working in reverse: instead of getting closer to Lillian, he seemed to be pushing her further and further away. For the first time in his life, he was afraid he was going to fail.

He didn’t know what to do, so he picked up the phone on his desk and called Diane.

“Why are you calling me, Edward?” Diane asked the second she answered the phone, the background noisy as if she was in a bar.

He cleared his throat. “I need help.”

There was a rustling, and then sudden silence on the other end of the line. “Okay, tell me what you’ve done.”

It hadn’t been his intent, but he ended up telling Diane all of it—from the botched attempts to romance his wife to finding out she had a separate, thriving life that didn’t include him.

When he finally finished, Diane waited two beats before she said, “You’re such a fool.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“The problem here is that you want to be fawned over and told how great you are. But you’ve had years of that already. It’s not your time anymore, it’s Lillian’s time.
She
needs that, and you’re going to have to give it to her.”

“But I’ve tried.”

Diane chortled a mocking laugh. “Do you really think a half-assed attempt to shove flowers at her is going to make her fall to your feet and declare undying love?”

“How can I give it to her?” he exclaimed, raking a hand through his hair. “She won’t even spend any time with me.”

“Then
make
her.
Make
her pay attention to you. If she won’t go to dinner, bring dinner to her.”

Something clicked, so much so it was a sound in his ear.
Bring dinner to her
. Edward sat up. He could do that.

“Kisses and romance are important, Edward, but listening is sexy. You’re good at it, too, when you want to be.” Diane sighed. “It’s very hot, really. I get turned on just thinking about it.”

He’d never considered that. “You think so?”

“Yes. Do it. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.” She hung up without another word.

Pondering what she said, he kept the receiver to his ear. He wasn’t sure it’d work, but nothing he’d tried so far had worked either. He had nothing to lose. He hung up and began to reinforce his plan to win his wife back.

‡

S
omeone put a key in her door and began to unlock it.

Ariana pulled the covers up over her head. Maybe if she was still enough, no one would notice that she was there.

She heard the door swing open. Whoever it was paused in the threshold.

Go away
, she urged silently, trying not to even breathe. Only a handful of people had her key, and she didn’t want to see anyone—especially her mom.

Lillian, she corrected, because she wasn’t her biological mother. Tears flooded her eyes and she wanted to puke all over again.

The footsteps headed purposefully straight toward her futon.

Aw hell. She knew those booted footsteps.

The covers were yanked off her and she winced in the extreme light of day. Blinking, frowning, she squinted up at George. “Go away,” she croaked.

George leaned down, her mermaid eyes large in her field of vision. “Are you dying?”

“Maybe.” She tugged on the covers. “Give them back.”

“Do you know how many times you’ve missed giving me coffee in the morning since you moved in up here?”

Ariana groaned and turned her head into the pillow. “Why are you plaguing me? I’m hungover.”

“You don’t drink.”

“I had champagne at Bronwyn’s.”

George rolled her eyes loud enough that Ariana heard it even though she wasn’t looking. Then she heard the footsteps as George walked away.

She relaxed, pulling the covers back up.

Then she heard her coffee grinder.

Shoving the covers back, she gazed at George in the tiny kitchen. “What are you doing?”

“Making coffee since you seem incapable.” George made a face at the press pot, jiggling the plunger in the air. “Is this supposed to be this way?”

“Stop. You win, I’m up.” She hopped out of bed, pausing when her head began to swim, and then went to save her coffee implements. “Give me that,” she said, holding her hand out.

George happily handed it over, looking smug. “I knew the thought of me making coffee would resurrect you.”

“You don’t make coffee. You make sludge.” She gave the process more thought than she usually did, so she wouldn’t think about how her mom had been the one who showed her how to make the best coffee.

She stopped, trying to figure out what she was feeling. “You know that off-kilter feeling like you’ve just been through the worst earthquake ever, like the ground’s shifted from under you and the earth swallowed you whole?”