You Belong To Me (6 page)

Read You Belong To Me Online

Authors: Patricia Sargeant

BOOK: You Belong To Me
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“No, thank you. I'm not in the mood for a movie.”
“You could use a distraction, Nicky.”
Nicole's mouth tipped in an ironic smile. “I don't need any more distractions. I just need some time to think.”
“About what?” Malcolm changed gears again.
The half-smile returned. “Everything. Really, Malcolm, I'll see you Monday. Thanks for the coffee.”
She led the way out and held open the door. Malcolm had no choice but to follow her. He covered the hand Nicole rested on the doorknob with his own.
“I'll see you Monday. If not before,” he said.
Nicole arched a brow. “Monday.”
Malcolm crossed the threshold and listened to the door close behind him.
 
Sunday was Nicole's day to pamper herself and clear her mind in preparation for the week ahead. Or at least Sunday used to be a pampering day. Over the past few months, she'd become almost overwhelmed with worry for her cousin, which had brought on her writer's block. Now she could add Malcolm Bryant to her list of concerns. He'd unwittingly awakened the insecurities that had lain dormant since the publication of her first book. Her inner critic was back, assuring her she was not good enough—for anything or anyone. Unless she silenced the voice soon, Nicole feared she would never be able to get rid of it.
She closed the magazine she'd been unable to read and got up from the sofa. The clock on the wall nudged the morning along. Derrick was coming over for brunch before they left to visit Simone. Nicole padded into the kitchen, thinking a cup of tea would comfort her. She didn't want Simone to pick up on her tension.
She was waiting for the water to boil and planning the brunch menu when the phone rang. In the past, Nicole would have ignored the summons. But she'd become wary of doing that while Simone was in the hospital.
“Hello,” she answered.
“What's going on? Give me an update.”
Denise's thousand-watt personality lifted Nicole's mood. She felt a grin spread across her face and couldn't resist the urge to tease.
“Hello, Denise,” she drawled. “How are you?”
Forced to put a brake on her rapid-fire monologue, Denise sighed into the phone. “I'm fine, thank you, Nicky. How are you?”
“Fine, thanks,” she replied with perky good cheer.
“Good. Are you done now?” Denise forged ahead. “Why didn't you call me Friday to let me know how your lunch with Malcolm went?”
“There wasn't anything to report. We're meeting with you Monday. Tyrone will be waiting for us to fax the contract to him so he can sign it and fax it back.”
“Yes, yes,” Denise said. “I figured all of that. What I want to know is whether the two of you talked.”
Nicole frowned. “About what?”
Denise's sigh conveyed exasperation this time. “About your divorce.”
Nicole's bubble of good cheer burst. “No, we didn't. There's nothing to talk about, Denise.”
“Well, that's too bad. If you don't discuss whatever it was that ruined your marriage, you'll never be able to let go of that man.”
Nicole took a deep breath to ease the pain Denise's words unintentionally caused. “What do you mean?”
“Look at the way you reacted when you found out he co-owned Celestial Productions. And you didn't even want to have lunch with him Friday.”
“I did have lunch with him Friday. And coffee with him yesterday.” Nicole regretted the childish “nah-nah” tone of her voice.
“You did? What did you talk about?”
“Denise—”
“Okay. Never mind.”
Nicole pictured her agent drumming her nails on her desk and absently wondered what nail polish color Denise had chosen for today.
“Thanks for telling him where I live, by the way.”
“You're welcome,” Denise replied, Nicole's sarcasm wasted on her. “I still can't believe you were married. You never even said anything.”
Nicole rolled her neck to ease the gathering tension. “I don't like to dwell on unpleasant memories.”
“They couldn't all be unpleasant; otherwise you wouldn't still be so upset about the divorce.”
Nicole's heart clenched in an echo of the hurt. “No, they weren't all unpleasant.”
“So, are you going to talk to him?”
“We don't need to talk.” Nicole grew increasingly agitated with the conversation, but she couldn't think of a way to stop it. “I already know why he divorced me. He didn't want to be married to me anymore.”
“I think you should ask him why he didn't want to be married to you anymore. I think you should tell him how it made you feel, and tell him how you feel now.”
“There's no point to that.” Nicole filled the kettle with cold tap water and set it on the stove to boil.
“Yes, there is,” Denise insisted. “Talk to him. Yell at him. Sleep with him. But you need to do something with him so you can move on with your life.”
“I am not. Going to sleep. With Malcolm Bryant,” Nicole enunciated. “And I have moved on with my life.”
“No, you haven't,” Denise refuted. “That's why you're reacting so violently toward him. And that's why you haven't been able to form any other serious relationships.”
“I'm perfectly happy with my life.” Nicole took a mug out of a cupboard. She opened another cabinet and examined its contents. Perhaps she expended more energy than necessary in selecting an herbal tea.
“You mean your half-life,” Denise clarified. “Why are you afraid to confront him?”
That question caught her full attention. Maybe it would be easier to talk about it over the phone. Her friend wouldn't see her pain, and she wouldn't see her friend's pity. Nicole carried the cordless phone to the dining room and dropped her trembling body into a chair.
“I don't have to ask him, Denise. I know why he left.” Nicole sensed her friend grow still at her somber tone.
“Why'd he leave?” Denise finally asked.
Nicole drew a deep breath. “Because I had a miscarriage. I lost our baby.”
Denise gasped. “Oh, Nicky. I'm so very sorry. When did this happen?”
Nicole steeled herself against the memory of pain, both physical and emotional. “About six years ago. A couple of years into our marriage.”
The words were harder to say than she'd thought. She hadn't talked about the miscarriage in almost six years. She'd never forgotten, though. She'd wanted Malcolm's child so badly. Had her baby lived, she would have been a little older than Lynnie. Nicole rubbed the ache over her heart with her free hand.
“And the bastard just left you after that?” Denise seemed outraged.
Nicole hesitated, past images rolling through her mind. The blood. The frantic race to the hospital. Malcolm's empty eyes watching her silently. “No. But we weren't able to find our way back to where we'd been before our baby died.”
“What happened?” her agent asked.
Nicole shrugged restlessly. “While I was pregnant, I continued to work full time.” When the kettle began to whistle, she returned to the kitchen and turned off the stove. “Things got really hectic. The stress was too much. And then I lost our baby.”
“He didn't blame you, did he?” Denise's voice crackled with righteous anger.
Nicole remembered the uncomfortable silences. The loneliness. The guilt. How many nights had she slept on the sofa—when she'd been able to sleep at all?
“He said he didn't. Every time I asked him, he said it wasn't my fault.” She brewed her tea. “It wasn't anyone's fault.”
Nicole heard Denise's pensive silence.
“But you blame yourself, don't you?” Her friend guessed correctly. When Nicole didn't answer, Denise continued. “Grief and guilt are normal reactions, but Malcolm is right. A miscarriage isn't anyone's fault. Did you two talk at all afterward?”
“No,” she whispered. “Not really.”
Her agent hummed noncommittally. “Are you going to talk now?”
Nicole picked up her mug with restless hands and turned from the stove. “I don't want to go there, Denise. Our baby's gone. Our marriage is long over. What would be the point in bringing up the past?”
“What indeed?” Denise asked.
 
Malcolm stepped off the elevator and onto Nicole's floor. He carried takeout he'd purchased from an Italian restaurant a few blocks away. He hoped Nicole liked the place. Breakfast hadn't worked for him yesterday. He was hoping lunch would be a better bet. He balanced the meals on his left forearm before knocking on her door, then waited for what he hoped would be a warmer greeting today.
“She's not home,” a lilting voice said behind him.
Malcolm turned, cradling his package in both arms. Mrs. Velasquez walked down the hall toward him, resplendent in her Sunday finery. Her hat was tipped rakishly above her twinkling bird eyes. A knowing smile quivered, ready to burst free.
“Good morning, Mrs. Velasquez. How was mass today?” Malcolm eased into the role of romantic hero in which Nicole's neighbor apparently had cast him.
“It was beautiful. Just beautiful.” Mrs. Velasquez beamed. “Nicky, she goes on Saturday so she can have a peaceful day on Sunday.”
“So where is she this Sunday?” Malcolm asked.
“Her brother, he took her to the hospital,” Mrs. Velasquez announced.
“What?” The bag almost slipped from his arms. He juggled it—tossing the containers of linguini and ziti—trying to reclaim his hold. “What hospital? Where is it?”
Mrs. Velasquez started to speak, then seemed to reconsider her words. “I will tell you where he took her and how you can get there.” She cocked an eyebrow. “You have a car?”
 
“Isn't that Malcolm Bryant?” her cousin Guy asked incredulously.
Nicole looked up and saw Malcolm striding across the parking lot toward them. His gray tweed winter coat flapped in the breeze. He seemed impervious to the cold that must have been weaving its way into his bulky maroon sweater.
“Yes,” Derrick replied. “What's he doing here?”
Nicole was aware of the men closing ranks around her like the Symplegades, the rocks from Greek mythology that smashed anything that tried to get past them. But her attention was on Malcolm's chiseled features and his long-legged stride that quickly closed the distance between them.
Malcolm stopped before her, his features tense, the look in his eyes urgent. “Are you all right?”
Nicole frowned. “Of course. Why?”
“Mrs. Velasquez told me Derrick had taken you to the hospital.” Malcolm nodded a greeting to her brother, then glanced at Guy.
Nicole could just imagine how the matchmaking Mrs. Velasquez had delivered that information. She sighed inwardly and considered her options. Malcolm would hound her until she confessed all about her hospital visit. Still, she was reluctant to tell him about Simone.
“Do you remember my cousin Guy?” Nicole asked.
“Hello,” Malcolm said.
“How're you doing?” Guy returned, clasping the hand Malcolm extended in greeting.
From the almost relieved expression on Malcolm's face, Nicole could tell he hadn't remembered Guy. She wasn't surprised. They hadn't seen each other that often when Malcolm had lived in New York. Guy probably recognized Malcolm from the wedding photos Aunt Rose refused to remove from her family album. Aunt Rose, a strict Catholic, didn't acknowledge Nicole's divorce.
“May I take you home?” Malcolm returned his attention to her.
She glanced at Derrick and Guy. Guy had offered to take them home before driving Aunt Rose to the hospital so she could sit with Simone while Guy took care of Lynnette. Nicole's going home with Malcolm would save Guy a trip, but was she ready to spend more time alone with the man tied to such painful memories of her past? Nicole already was drained emotionally from seeing Simone.
“Go ahead,” Derrick encouraged. He leveled a steady gaze at Malcolm. “Take care of her.”
“I will.” Malcolm took Nicole's elbow to guide her back to his car. “Nice to see you again, Guy.”
“Same here.” Her cousin gave her a worried look.
She tossed him a reassuring smile that felt wobbly around the edges.
Malcolm held open the car door for Nicole to slide into the rented Ford Fiesta, then took the driver's seat. He drove out of the lot and merged into traffic before he opened the conversation.

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