Park Avenue Secrets: Marriage, Manhattan Style. Barbara Dunlop
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on colorful towels on the sun-warmed sand.
“It’s stunning,” she said, turning in a circle to view carved wall panels, antique furnishings, rich draperies and crystal chandeliers hanging from twenty-foot ceilings.
After a minute, she grew still, facing him. A wariness shadowed the joy in her eyes.
There was definitely some work to do on their relationship. He wasn’t exactly sure where to begin. Elizabeth had misunderstood the blonde hanging all over him at Alexander’s. And, he admitted, he could see how that could have happened.
But it was obviously a misunderstanding, easily explained away. And he wasn’t sure what he’d done to warrant her suspicion in the first place. Every step he took in life was designed to protect her, to make her life easier and happier. But, for some reason, that wasn’t enough.
From what he could tell, this had all started with her crazy idea to get a job. Although why a woman with an unlimited bank account would need a job, he couldn’t figure out. Was she bored? Lonely?
He would love to spend more time with her. He’d also love to give her a baby. And he was doing the very best he could on both of those fronts. But he couldn’t force a pregnancy, and that unlimited bank account didn’t magically regenerate itself. And, lately, the world seemed to throw down challenges as fast as he could rise to meet them.
He felt frustration building within him, but he couldn’t give in to the luxury of that emotion. For some reason, Elizabeth was unhappy. And, as her husband, it was up to him to fix the problem—whether it made any sense or not.
“Are you tired?” he asked gently. “Would you like to take a nap?”
“Could we walk instead?” she asked, turning her attention back to the windows. “Along the shore?”
“Of course,” he agreed easily.
She smiled at that, and the frustration eased inside him.
While Elizabeth went upstairs to change into comfortable shoes and a sweater, Reed consulted with the chef on the menu. Jean-Louis also showed Reed a romantic, little dining alcove on the second floor. With a view of the lighthouse and the yachts in the harbor, it would be a perfect location for dinner.
When Elizabeth returned, Reed took her hand, leading her through the wide turret that was the foyer and out to the porch, down a cobblestone path and a short staircase to the beach walkway.
She turned in circles, gazing at the rolling waves and the rock promontories. “This is absolutely gorgeous.”
“I think the town center is that way.” Reed pointed south to the vintage, stone buildings and the international hotels.
“Let’s check it out.” Her hand tightened on his as they started to walk.
As they passed other tourists, she asked, “Did you know we have ten bedrooms in the chateau?”
“You counted?”
“I counted.”
“It was hard to find a place on short notice.” His travel agent had given them a choice of very high end or very low end. High end easily won.
“It seems like we should invite some friends to join us.”
“Not a chance.” This was their getaway. Theirs and theirs alone.
They came upon a shop with merchandise displayed on the stone sidewalk. Elizabeth ran her hand through a row of colorful silk scarves.
“Would you like one?” he asked, eyeing a bright purple and blue design.
She chose a lemon yellow, so he bought them both.
The next shop sold beachwear.
Elizabeth sorted through a rack of sundresses. “I had the strangest conversation with Heather the other day.”
“Uh-huh.” Reed checked out a white bikini and matching wrap, wondering if he’d convince her to wear it.
“They know we’re trying to get pregnant.”
Reed switched his attention from the bikini to Elizabeth, surprised by the revelation. “Did you tell them?”
She shook her head. “Brandon said it was in my eyes when I looked at Lucas and in my voice when I talked about him.”
Reed nodded, his happiness dimming a notch. Suddenly, the scarves in the little bag seemed frivolous and inconsequential.
He took her hand and they moved on together in silence.
“Heather …” said Elizabeth, shifting tight against him as they maneuvered around a family of four. Then she took a deep breath and eased away. “Heather offered to be a surrogate mother.”
Reed stopped in the middle of the walkway, and his chest contracted painfully. Did Elizabeth know something he didn’t? Had there been bad news from Dr. Wendell? Was that what all this job and infidelity nonsense stemmed from?
“Why?” he demanded in a hoarse voice.
Elizabeth urged him to the edge of the path, out of the crowds, where a cliff dropped down to the crashing waves below.
“Were there more tests?” he probed. “Did you find out—” He couldn’t voice the question.
“No more tests,” she said quietly. “But it’s been three years.”
Reed braced his hands against the waist-high rock wall, clenching his fists and pressing his knuckles against the rough stone. Sure, it had been three years. But the first eighteen months or so, they weren’t really trying for a baby, they simply weren’t trying not to have a baby.
He’d assumed it would happen naturally. Thousands of women got pregnant every day of the year. Many of them weren’t even trying; some were actively trying to prevent it.
And then there was him and Elizabeth, both with above-average intelligence, both healthy, both hardworking. Both of whom would be stellar parents. Yet they had to contend with charts and graphs and invasive tests, and still nothing happened. And now their family members were beginning to speculate.
“I hate this.” He fixed his stare on the endless ocean. “It’s none of Brandon’s business. It’s none of Heather’s business. There are way too many people in our bed.”
Elizabeth placed a hand on his tense forearm. “She was only trying to—”
“I don’t care,” Reed ground out. “I want it to stop. I want you and only you. I want it the way it used to be, with you purring and perspiring—”
“Reed.”
“—arching and moaning—”
“Reed!” She pasted him with a censorious look, glancing meaningfully around at the families out shopping.
He swallowed.
“I miss you.” “I miss you, too,” she whispered, leaning against his arm, a sheen coming over her eyes.
“I don’t want us to be self-conscious about making love.”
“I know.”
“My parents—” He stopped himself. Elizabeth didn’t need to know his parents were also waiting with baited breath for any sign of pregnancy.
“They may not be crazy about my pedigree,” she continued his train of thought. “But they definitely want you to procreate.”
“My parents are snobs.”
“You think?”
He chuckled at the tone of her voice, turning to brush a few stray hairs from her soft cheek.
Her skin was flushed, her smile wide, and the sunshine off the Atlantic highlighted her green eyes. “Can we talk some more about sweating and moaning?”
Arousal