What a Girl Wants (21 page)

Hadley James now. She’d always been ambitious, with dreams that extended far into the future. Apparently she’d found a way to achieve them. On TV she looked like a plastic representation of her past self. Flawless. Like she’d been preserved over the years into her current incarnation.

Botox was an amazing invention.

A generous man would have been happy for her. He wasn’t inclined to give her any generosity—not after withholding Ariana from him for almost a year and then abandoning her.

If she’d been desperate, he could understand it. But she never asked for help, and she hadn’t inquired about Ariana since. That was unforgivable in his mind.

Which made him a hypocrite, because once she was gone and not coming back, he’d have been happy if she’d stayed out of their lives completely.

He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. If only he hadn’t blown it.

The show came on, and Hadley’s face filled the screen, zooming out until it showed the entire stage, including Ariana sitting in the seat next to hers.

He studied his daughter’s face. Anyone else would have thought she looked poised and lovely, a competent businesswoman. Only because he knew her so well did he know that she was miserable, not to mention that she looked nothing like herself. He hadn’t wanted her to change. He’d just wanted her to grow.

He returned his scrutiny to the woman he’d had a brief fling with. He supposed she looked tense, too. He fisted his hands, wanting to rush down there and protect Ariana from whatever had transpired.

The moment their interview started Edward knew Ariana had talked to Hadley about who she was. Their exchange was brief and barbed, though he was proud of the way Ariana handled herself.

When it was over, he turned off the TV and called Ariana, but of course she didn’t answer. What good was modern technology if you didn’t use it?

He needed a drink.

Going into the kitchen to get a beer, he walked in on Lillian, still sitting in front of the small flat screen in there. She glanced over her shoulder when he walked in and then reached for the remote to turn it off.

“Did you watch it?” she asked.

“Yes.” They should have watched it together. He opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a beer, trying not to feel bitter. “Ariana looked good.”

“She wore all black.” Lillian twisted her rings. “And she was tense.”

“She was on TV, in front of millions of people,” he replied, even though he knew what Lillian was saying.

“She was in front of the woman who left her, and we weren’t there to shield her.” She worried her lip. “She’s not answering her phone.”

“Ariana’s a grown woman. She’s fine,” he said, though he didn’t believe it. He sipped the cold beer to wash down his worry, vowing to try calling her again.

Lillian stood and pointed a finger at him. “You think just because you don’t need anyone the rest of us are the same way.”

“I never said I didn’t need anyone.”

“You act it.” His wife of thirty-five years glared at him.

He didn’t need a translator to know what she was saying. “You’re picking a fight with me because you still blame me for Ariana finding out.”

“It is your fault.” Her glare was cutting. “Why did you have that picture out? Why did you even keep it?”

“I didn’t know I had it.” It was an unfortunate mistake. Ariana would have said it was a sign—he shouldn’t have been looking for Diane’s number. But he had, and this had happened.

“But you did,” Lillian echoed his thoughts.

“Because I was desperate,” he shouted, slamming his beer bottle on the counter. “You drove me to it.”

“Classy.” Lillian put her hands on her hips. “Blame me for your mistake. Next thing you’ll blame me for your affair.”

He froze. “What?”

His wife’s gaze narrowed. “Are you going to deny it? I heard you on the phone with her.”

He shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Let me jog your memory.” She waved her hand in the air, as though she didn’t have a care in the world. “Oh, Edward,” she said in a fake voice, “listening is
so sexy
. I get
so
turned on.”

Damn it all. He pressed his fingertips to his eyes.
Diane.

“That’s what I thought,” Lillian said in a flat voice.

“It wasn’t like that. I never cheated,” he said firmly. “I couldn’t.”

She just stared at him disbelievingly.

“I was trying to get advice on how to win you back,” he exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air. “I was doing it for
you
.”

“I’m supposed to believe that?”

“
Yes
. You’re supposed to believe in me.” He glared at her. “And what about you?”

“Me?” She put a hand to her chest.

“Yes. And that.” He pointed to her ankle.

She bent over to look. “What? My anklet?”

“No one wears something like that if they aren’t trying to attract attention to their legs.”

Lillian shook her head. “You sound ridiculous, Edward.”

“And you used to call me Eddie.” Pointing it out caused a piercing in his chest. “When did you stop caring? When did you stop using my name?”

“I—”

“I saw your paintings, Lillian,” he interrupted. “I know you use your maiden name.”

She closed her mouth abruptly. Then she shook her head. “That’s just business.”

“It’s more than business, and we both know it.” He rubbed his neck. “You know, partly this
is
your fault. I’ve been trying to get closer and you’re pulling away. No matter how hard I try, you don’t cooperate.”

She snorted. “Like what have you done? Brought me flowers? Invited me to dinner?”

“
Yes.
”

Folding her arms, she shook her head. “If you think that after all this time that you’ve neglected me that two half-assed attempts at romance are going to work, you’re more clueless than I thought. And, let me tell you, I think you’re pretty clueless.”

He wouldn’t acknowledge that Diane had said the same things to him. “Instead of helping me when you know what I’m trying to do, you just sit back and don’t care.”

“I don’t think you know enough about me these days to know what I care about and what I don’t,” she said in a frosty tone.

“Whose fault is it that I don’t know you?”
Mine
, his conscience pointed out. But he silenced it and continued, needing to get the anger out of his chest. “You don’t want to do anything I suggest. You don’t want to talk to me. I don’t even know what you do every day even though we’re here together.”

“Do you care? I don’t think so.” She pointed at him. “You know, you never actually
asked
me to do anything. Commands via text don’t count. You might as well have an assistant texting me to arrange dinner.”

He didn’t know what to think. He threw his hands in the air. “The only thing I think is that the worst part of being retired is being around you all day.”

The moment the words spewed from his mouth, he wanted to take them back. They both froze, staring at each other.

Lillian recovered first. The frosty look in her eyes melted into sadness. “If it’s that bad, why do you stay?” she asked softly.

He opened his mouth. And then he held his hands out and shook his head. “I really don’t know.”

They didn’t say it, but the word
divorce
hung heavy in the air between them. Before he could explain himself or tell her he didn’t want that, she turned and walked away.

He walked away, too, to his office. Closing the door, he slumped at his desk, his mind blank.

Out of nowhere, he heard a sunny voice say,
Find the letter.
In his mind, that strange woman’s face popped up, her eerie pale eyes focused on him.

She’d been a fruitcake. He had no idea what letter she was talking about. A letter that was old, but still resonated—

He sat up. She couldn’t possibly know about the letter he’d written Lillian. That was impossible.

Rolling his chair to the right, he glanced at the wastebasket next to his desk. It didn’t matter if she was talking about that letter, he thought, staring into the empty bin. It was gone.

‡

A
riana thought she’d be relieved to be home, but she’d had trouble sleeping.

Her bed smelled like Sebastian.

“Don’t think about him right now,” she told herself, pouring water over a special blend of herbs guaranteed to calm her nerves. She needed it after yesterday and the disaster that was LA.

Her phone rang. Belle was calling her back finally. She answered it eagerly, needing to hear a friendly voice. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you and Mom all morning.”

“Mom looks like she’s been crying,” Belle whispered on the other end of the line.

Ariana stopped what she was doing. “What?”

“It’s freaking me out,” her sister said in a whisper-scream. “What do I do?”

“Where are you?”

“At their house.”

“Okay.” She shook her head. “I’ll call her.”

“And then what?”

“I don’t know.” She hung up and called her mom’s cell. “What are you doing right now, Mom?”

“I’m with Belle at home,” she said, sounding sad and listless.

Mom never sounded sad. Ariana held her breath, not sure what to do. Then she just improvised. “Come over. I, uh, need you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” she said, encouraged that her mom perked up. “I, uh, need to talk to you. About stuff,” she added. “Bring Belle.”

There was a pause, and then her mom acted true to herself. “We’ll be right over.”

“Great. Thanks.” She got off the phone and looked around. They needed something like wine if they were going to coax their mom to tell them what was bothering her. She grabbed her wallet and walked out of the studio to go see Bronwyn.

Her phone rang on the landing, but she didn’t recognize the number. She almost didn’t answer, but then what if it was important? “Hello?”

“Can I speak to Ariana Warren, please?”

The caller ID was blocked, and the voice on the other end wasn’t familiar, but this wasn’t unusual since her clients often referred people to her. “This is Ariana.”

“It’s Hadley James.”

Ariana froze. If Mother Teresa had called her from the great beyond she’d have been less shocked.

“Ariana is a much nicer name than Jane,” the talk show host said. She chuckled awkwardly. “Maybe I should have tried harder to name you.”

Ariana frowned. “Did you like the name Jane?”

“No, it was what the nurse suggested.” She cleared her throat. “I wanted to apologize for the other day. I reacted poorly. You took me by surprise.”

For a second, it sounded like blame, but she shook her head. Over the phone it was easy to misconstrue a person’s intent, especially someone you didn’t know. “It’s okay. I could have handled it better.”

“It was nice seeing you,” Hadley said, her tone hesitant. “You grew up pretty.”

“Thank you.” She frowned. “I don’t really understand why you’re calling.”

“Well, I thought since you found me, we should get to know each other.”

“Really?” she said doubtfully.

“Why not?” Hadley said with false cheer.

Because she hadn’t bothered to get to know her in the past thirty-four years? Because all this time, Hadley knew she was somewhere in the world and hadn’t found her?

Lillian would never have done that. Lillian would have fought to keep her close. She still was.

Hadley continued, oblivious. “I mean, as friends, of course. No one can know I have a daughter,” she added in a hushed voice.

And she didn’t want Hadley as a mother, because she already had a mom, she realized with sudden clarity. She still did want to know the woman—they were genetically linked. But Hadley wasn’t in their family tree; she was a separate flowering bush kind of close by.

Hadley must have taken Ariana’s silence as disapproving, because she worriedly said, “Not that I wouldn’t be proud to claim you, but it’d look bad if I suddenly had a grown daughter that I’ve never mentioned in all the years I’ve been in the public eye. Can you understand that?”

“I think being friends would be nice,” she said through a mix of emotions that was going to take some time to unravel.

“Great.” Hadley exhaled. “I’ll call you when I’m up north.”

“I’ll look forward to it.” As she hung up she wondered if it’d happen. She hoped it would.

But now wasn’t the time to worry about that. Her mom and Belle were coming over, and she needed to get down to the bottom of her mother’s malaise. She hurried down the rest of the stairs and outside, straight into the wine shop.

“I need a bottle of wine,” she said as she burst through the door.

“Who’s drinking it?” Bronwyn asked suspiciously.

“Me.”

Bronwyn raised her brow.

“My mom and sister are coming over.”

“In that case, maybe champagne. It’s good for celebrations or bitching, wherever the mood may take you.”

“That’s perfect.” She leaned on the counter, watching Bronwyn do her thing. “You wouldn’t have sold me a bottle if I wanted it for myself?”

“You hardly ever drink.”

“What if I wanted to start?”

Bronwyn looked at her like she was insane as she handed over the bagged bottle of champagne. “It’s on your tab. Have fun.”