Park Avenue Secrets: Marriage, Manhattan Style. Barbara Dunlop
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“Of course.”
Her throat closed in, and her voice rose an octave. “I don’t know what the hell you and Kendrick were doing for four hours with those supermodels, but it sure as hell didn’t look innocent to me.”
Reed drew back, his eyes going wide. “Whoa.”
“Who were they, Reed? Or do you even remember their names? A month ago, I would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that you were a faithful husband. And then I thought it was one woman. And now I don’t know how the hell many. How long? How long have you been living a lie?”
“Elizabeth!” Arms outstretched, he took two steps forward.
She looped around the end of the sofa. “You stay away from me.”
“I swear, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Swear all you want, Reed. Because I know how well you lie.”
“I’ve been completely faithful.” His expression was earnest. If she didn’t know better, she’d believe him without question.
“Is that why you wouldn’t make love with me? Was it because of her?”
“There is no her. I didn’t make love with you because you cringed at my touch. Then I was working, and then you were passed out drunk. I want a baby as much as you do, but I’m not making love to an unconscious wife.”
“Then maybe you should have one with someone else.” She finished the statement on a sob, realizing how very much the thought of Reed having a baby with someone else hurt her. She loved him. Even through all of this, she still loved him.
It was pathetic.
“Who else?” he demanded, and she could see he was growing angry.
Well, so was she. “I don’t know. Take your pick. Maybe that blonde who was hanging all over you in the restaurant, or maybe the—”
“I don’t know what people told you. But my meeting with the senator was—”
“Told me?” She laughed again, slightly shrill, slightly hysterical. “Nobody had to tell me anything. I was there, Reed. I saw you. I saw her.”
“How—”
“My driver. Or should I say my bodyguard. Joe from Resolute Charter. The finest protection money can buy. Did you know he had a gun? Wait. How silly of me. Of course he had a gun. Is he protecting me from irate girlfriends?”
“The blond woman was nobody. I didn’t even know her name. She was with the senator—”
“Quit lying to me!”
Reed took a giant step forward, wrapping his big hands around her upper arms. He didn’t squeeze. He wasn’t hurting her, but she also knew he wasn’t about to let go.
“I am not lying about the blonde. I saw her for twenty minutes tops. Call and check with Collin if you want.
“Yes, I hired a bodyguard. But he’s also a driver. You want to go out in the city? You want to drink with Hanna? You want to hunt for jobs? Fine. But you’re going to be safe while you do it.
“I’m under investigation, Elizabeth. I swear to God I’m innocent, and nobody’s going to prove otherwise. But the court of public opinion is an entirely different matter. You could be accosted by reporters or self-righteous citizens, or by anybody else on the street. Joe will keep you safe.”
A little of the fight went out of Elizabeth. Was there some logic to that rant? He seemed sincere, offended that his morals had been called into question. And he had conceded on the job front.
“You’re okay with me finding a job?”
“Not in the least. But if you’re going to do it, you’re going to do it. You’re not my prisoner, Elizabeth. Although some days I wish you were.”
Elizabeth suddenly felt exhausted. Sad and exhausted. What was the truth? What were lies? How was she ever going to recognize the difference?
“How can I believe you?” she asked.
“Can I prove I’ve never slept with another woman?”
She found herself praying he could. She loved him. She loved him so much.
“No man can prove that,” said Reed with a sad shake of his head. “But there’s nobody on the planet who can prove I have. I swear to God I’ve been faithful to you. I love you, Elizabeth.” His hands loosened on her arms, and he pulled her into a hug.
Tears dampened her cheeks. “I’m so afraid.”
He stroked his palm over her hair. “I’ll keep you safe.”
“I’m afraid of you, afraid of us, afraid that we’re just not going to make it. I want to believe you, Reed. I so want to believe you.”
He pulled back and cupped her face. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? What’s really going on?”
“I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.”
He looked puzzled. “You know me better than anyone.”
“And you don’t know me.” She gave a strangled laugh. “Not that there’s much to know. I’m nothing. I’m fading.”
His tone was heartfelt as he searched her eyes. “You’re everything to me.”
“But I need to be everything to me. I need to have my own life, my own identity.”
His voice went flat then. “So it’ll be easier to leave me?”
“Do you want to leave me?” she asked.
“Never.”
But there was still the gorgeous blonde, and there was still the scent of coconut embedded in her brain. “Now would be the time to tell me,” she continued. “I won’t hold it against—”
“Never,” he repeated.
She tried to trust him, tried with all her heart and soul to trust him, but it wouldn’t quite come.
“Let’s go away,” he suggested. “Just you and me. We’ll take a trip. We’ll reconnect. We’ll make love anytime, anywhere, as often as we want. Forget the stupid thermometer.”
It was a tempting offer.
Away from New York, she’d have him all to herself. And if he was having an affair, would he be so willing to leave? Maybe, just maybe, there was hope after all.
“We’ve already blown this month anyway,” she ventured, half to herself.
He smiled. His expression relaxed, and when she looked deep enough into his eyes, she caught a glimpse of the man she’d first fallen in love with.
“Paris,” he said, dipping forward. “Or Marseille. We’ll rent a chateau and lock out the world.”
His lips met hers in a familiar kiss. Her body quickened, and she longed to wrap her arms around him and bury her fears in his strength.
But she couldn’t let herself do that. Not this soon. And not this time. They had things to work through besides lovemaking.
She drew back. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. I’ll book the jet.”
Reed had found a chateau for rent in the little town of Biarritz in southern France. It overlooked the craggy beaches, bleached castles and stone walkways of the Atlantic coast. They had their choice of ten bedrooms, the chef came highly recommended and, best of all, there wasn’t a blackmailer or SEC investigator within four thousand miles.
He watched while Elizabeth gazed around the arched great room, taking in the bank of French doors and paned windows that revealed a stone veranda. The veranda