Marriage In Name Only

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “He who dies with the most toys wins,” Ann said softly, glancing around her.

  Heath shot her a look as he turned off the motor. “What is that supposed to mean?” he said.

  “Has all this shiny machinery made you happy, Heath?” Ann inquired.

  “It hasn’t made me unhappy, which is more than I can say for you,” he replied.

  “Still a Harley man, I see,” she said, deciding to ignore the riposte.

  “Always,” he replied, and got out of the car, coming around to open the door for her before leading her into the house.

  The garage entered into the kitchen, and Ann paused on the threshold, struck by the transformation the house had undergone since she had last seen it.

  Heath had gutted the place, eliminated walls and raised the roof, introducing a Native American motif that carried through the newly enlarged, now airy rooms. She walked across the tiled floor, passing the gleaming appliances and double refrigerator, through the dining area, with its varicolored Seminole rug on the wall and carved oak chairs. She moved into the living room, where the modern furniture centered around another rug of Native American design spread on the pegged pine floor. She looked around in reverential silence for a few moments and then said, “This is gorgeous, Heath.”

  He said nothing. The sincerity of her remark was obvious.

  “But where are the people?” Ann added.

  He looked at her.

  “You’ve created an appropriate setting, but you’re alone here. This house looks like a museum.”

  “I’m never here,” he said stiffly. “In the past I’ve stayed mostly at my town house in Miami.”

  “Then why buy this place here? To prove to the townies that you could?” Ann asked.

  “I do as I damn well please—I don’t have to justify myself to you,” he replied, not looking at her.

  “Who takes care of this place?”

  “I employ a couple who live in the guest house out back. I gave them the week off when I knew we were getting married.”

  “Didn’t want any witnesses to the torture?” Ann said. “Afraid Amnesty International would come after you?”

  He walked over to the liquor trolley by the bay window and poured himself two fingers of Scotch.

  “You’ve changed, Princess. You never used to indulge in self-pity,” he said.

  The telephone rang.

  “Does anybody know we’re here?” Ann asked.

  “I left word at my office that we would be stopping off at the house. You might want to check in the den to the left of the front hall—I had your boxes put in there when they arrived from New York. See if everything you need is there.”

  Heath went to the kitchen to answer the phone and Ann walked out of the living room and into the hall, which was floored with terra-cotta terrazzo tiles and filled with tall, standing plants. Sunlight flooded in through the floor-to-ceiling windows and reflected off the Seminole shields on the walls. She got the same feeling here as in the rest of the house; it was beautiful and perfectly assembled, but cold. Had Heath changed so much that an environment like this one was now acceptable, even desirable?

  She moved into the den and slit the tape on the boxes with a brass letter opener she found on the desk. It didn’t take her long to determine that her neighbor had sent the clothes and personal effects she had requested, including her computer disks, but the specially packed computer box had not arrived.

  “Everything there?” Heath said from the doorway.

  “Everything except my computer. I need it to work.”

  “Do you have the disks?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then buy another computer.” He took out his wallet and extracted a credit card from it, tossing the card onto the desk. “There’s a computer store on Big Palm. We’ll be going there, anyway, so you can stop off and get whatever you need.”

  “Why will we be going to Big Palm?” Ann asked.

  “The honeymoon’s over, Princess. Something’s come up. I have to be at a meeting tomorrow so the trip to Caneel Bay is off.”

  Ann didn’t even try to disguise the relief she felt.

  “You don’t seem devastated by this piece of information,” he said dryly.

  “I’m not.”

  “Why?”

  “I wasn’t exactly up for Honeymoon Heaven. To have to be with other people obviously in love, when we’re...”

  “In hate?” he suggested. “I’ve booked the bridal suite at the Imperial Plaza for tonight,” he said, smiling at her change of expression. “We’ll stay there until Daniela and Victor return.”

  “Why can’t we stay here?” Ann said wearily.

  “There’s no food in the house, nobody to cook it if there were,” he replied.

  “I’m not helpless, Heath. I can go to a store and operate a stove, and for that matter—”

  “No,” he said quietly.

  Ann subsided. If he was determined to play out this charade there was little she could do but go along with it.

  “Do you want to pack some of your things?” he asked. “There’s a suitcase in the bedroom.”

  Ann followed him down the hall to what was obviously his room. By stark contrast with the rest of the house, it was an almost Spartan chamber lined with bookshelves and featuring a king-size bed covered with a plain, striped quilt.

  “There’s a dressing room through there,” he said, pointing. “You can use the closet and chest of drawers. This bed, of course, you will be sharing with me.”

  Ann felt her scalp tingle at his dispassionate description of their connubial bliss. She went into the dressing room and found the valise sitting on a chair.

  He had, apparently, thought of everything.

  When she returned he had discarded his tie and was carrying an overnight bag in his hand.

  “Ready?” he said.

  Ann nodded. She didn’t feel ready, but then for what he had in mind she never would.

  As he backed the car out of the garage Heath said to her, “Didn’t it strike you as odd that I didn’t have you sign a prenuptial agreement? I’m worth quite a bit of money, you know.”

  “Yes, Heath, I know. You’ve made that very clear.”

  “Well?”

  “I’m sure you have it covered,” Ann said wearily.

  “That’s right, I do. So don’t get any ideas about ditching me after a few months and walking away with a fortune, you’ll find that my lawyers can make that very difficult. You can understand my concern, since ditching me was one of your areas of expertise, as I recall.”

  Ann ignored him, staring out the window as they drove across the causeway. She tried to imagine that she was with Heath under pleasant circumstances, anticipating an evening that would end with them going home together like a normal couple. The contrast with reality was too painful and she gave up the fantasy, turning to look at him as he drove with the single-minded attention she remembered him giving to mending boat engines when they were younger.

  His profile was grim, but clean as a coin’s, his mouth firm, his nose arched and strong, his lush hair spilling onto his forehead. Just the sight of him made her heart beat faster. Why couldn’t he be less desirable? she wondered. Why couldn’t he have gotten fat or bald or somehow less attractive, so she could just close her eyes and think of England, like those Victorian ladies with portly husbands who did their British duty? But she still wanted Heath too much, still thrilled whenever he touched her. It was going to be hard work not to fall desperately in love with him all over again no matter how badly he treated her. She couldn’t help thinking that the real Heath was still in there somewhere. The passionate, headstrong Heath she had known, was hiding behind the facade of this sarcastic, bloodless millionaire.

  He turned and caught her staring at him.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked sharply.

  “Just that you haven’t changed very much.”

  “You’re wrong there. I have.”

  “I meant physically.
”

  “Neither have you. A little skinnier, maybe.”

  Ann let that pass.

  “Do you enjoy what you do?” he asked suddenly.

  “What?”

  “The writing. Do you enjoy it?”

  “Yes. Very much.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, the research takes me away. It’s almost like living in the time and place I’m studying when I’m preparing the work. And then writing the story is like...” she hesitated.

  “Dreaming on paper?” he suggested.

  Ann smiled. “Yes, exactly. Dreaming on paper.”

  “That should suit you just fine. You always had your head in the clouds,” he said. “Your brother couldn’t have shipped ScriptSoft out from under you if you had been paying the slightest bit of attention to what he was doing.”

  “I never cared what he did with the company, Heath.”

  “Why not? It was your money he was throwing away, too, wasn’t it?”

  “I didn’t want to be reminded of my life in Florida, of my father, of any of it.”

  “Or of me.”

  “I never forgot you,” Ann said softly. “How could I?”

  “I don’t know, Annie, my phone wasn’t ringing. Seems like you forgot me easily enough.”

  “I went to see your father when I came home from school that Christmas,” Ann said, wondering why she was still trying to convince him when his mind was obviously closed on this subject. “He wouldn’t talk to me.”

  “Couldn’t is more like it. I assume that he was dead drunk at the time?”

  “He seemed—” She stopped.

  “Sloshed?” Heath supplied.

  “I guess so.”

  “And abusive.”

  “Yes.”

  Heath sighed. “Yes, that was dear old dad. He finally died of cirrhosis while I was in the navy. I sent Elsie a check from my service pay to bury him.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Heath shrugged. “Nothing to be sorry about, he’d been killing himself for years with the booze.”

  “It’s an illness, Heath.”

  “If s a weakness. You’ll never see me go that way.”

  “There are all different forms of weakness, Heath. Maybe your father’s was just more obvious than some others.”

  “On the soapbox again? Don’t defend him to me, you didn’t know him.”

  “I saw enough of him that day to imagine what your childhood with him was like.”

  “Even your writer’s imagination isn’t that good,” he said flatly, and Ann dropped the subject.

  When Heath pulled into the circle in front of the Imperial Plaza two uniformed valets shot over to the car as if magnetized. The doors swung open and their minimal luggage vanished as the taller man said to Heath, “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Bodine. Will you be staying with us long?”

  “A few days.”

  The valet glanced at Ann curiously as Heath said, “This is Mrs. Bodine.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” the valet said as Ann tried to adjust to hearing herself introduced that way.

  The second man returned from depositing their bags on the steps and looked into Ann’s face for the first time as he closed her door.

  “Miss Talbot?” he said in astonishment.

  Ann paused for a moment and gazed back at him. He looked vaguely familiar.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “Don’t you remember me? Carlos Sanchez, Luisa’s nephew. I used to drop her off at work at your house sometimes.”

  “Oh, yes, Carlos. Of course. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? How are you?”

  “I’m fine. Though my Aunt Luisa died a few years ago.”

  “Yes, I know. I heard. I’m very sorry.”

  “Thanks. What are you doing back in the Keys? Nobody’s seen you around here for the longest time.”

  “She came here to get married,” Heath said, walking around the car and joining them. “Ann is my wife.”

  Carlos stared at Heath and then smiled slowly. “So you two got together, anyway,” he said.

  “Anyway?” Heath inquired.

  “Aunt Luisa used to talk about how Henry Talbot was trying to break up your romance.”

  “With her expert assistance,” Heath said humorlessly, staring at Carlos.

  “Yeah, well, she was very devoted to Mr. Talbot,” Carlos said, looking from one to the other nervously.

  “Yes, she was,” Ann said, shooting Heath a look. “And my father appreciated it very much. It was wonderful to see you again, Carlos, but it’s been a long day and I’m very tired. Do you think we could go up to our room now?”

  “Sure, sure,” Carlos said, happy to extricate himself from what had quickly become an uncomfortable situation. He and the other valet preceded Heath and Ann up the wide stairs of the hotel and into the spacious, marble-floored lobby. It was tastefully decorated in Florida pastels and open to the air on all four sides behind floor-to-ceiling glass doors.

  “Mr. Bodine!” the desk clerk said with a broad smile. “It’s delightful to have you staying with us again. And this must be your wife. What a lovely lady, you have excellent taste. Mrs. Bodine, how do you do?”

  Ann shook his hand and then watched as he bustled over to get the room key.

  “These people all greet you like a long-lost relative,” she said to Heath.

  “I spend a lot of time in hotels,” he replied shortly.

  When they reached the suite, Carlos was already setting their bags on the luggage rest in the foyer. Heath tipped him and Carlos flashed Ann a smile and said, “Good to see you back in Florida, Miss Talbot—I mean, Mrs. Bodine.”

  Heath slammed the door shut behind him. “Still bowing and scraping before you, aren’t they?” he said disgustedly.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Ann said.

  “Of course you do. You can’t resist playing lady of the manor with the underlings.”

  “I was just being polite to him, Heath. You should try it sometime.”

  “I seem to have done all right with my inadequate manners. We didn’t have too many finishing schools in Hispaniola.”

  “Why do you have such a chip on your shoulder? What was I supposed to do, Heath, ignore him? I knew him years ago—his aunt worked for my family a long time.”

  “His aunt was your father’s dupe! He thought of her as a convenience, somebody to wash his clothes and cook his food—a peasant from shantytown! She thought she was his friend and she ceased to exist for him the moment he could no longer use her.”

  “That isn’t true, Heath. My father left her enough money in his will to retire to a nice place in Miami. It wasn’t his fault that she didn’t live long enough to enjoy it.”

  “You’re justifying your father’s behavior to me now?” Heath said incredulously. They were standing in the suite’s foyer, arguing like two barristers.

  “I’m not defending him. I’m merely telling you that he repaid Luisa for her loyalty.”

  “King Henry doling out the royal favors,” Heath said sarcastically.

  “I have more reason to hate him than you do. I’m just trying to be fair.”

  “You’re just acting like a princess born to the purple. It must be true what they say—if s in the blood.”

  “It’s in the way you treat other people. You can’t buy—” She stopped.

  “What? Class, good breeding, refinement?” he said sneeringly. “Sure you can. I bought you, didn’t I?”

  Stung, Ann didn’t reply for a second, then said, “You bought my body, Heath. That’s all.”

  “That’s enough.” He tossed his jacket onto the foyer table and left the suite.

  Ann sagged against the wall, drained as if she had just run a marathon. How could they go on like this? They had been married only a couple of hours and already they were at each other’s throats.

  She walked desultorily into the parlor with its adjoining bedroom. The rooms were large and light, richly appointed and lushl
y carpeted, with a balcony overlooking the beach and an ornate bathroom. This was done in the same marble as the lobby floor, with a Jacuzzi tub and gilt fixtures. Ann paused in the doorway and looked around. His and her plush bathrobes hung on the back of the door and the vanity contained a tall glass jar filled with little soaps in the shapes of seashells. Everything was wrapped in paper, including the toilet. Stacks of thick towels filled the shelves next to the shower and a tray on the sink held miniature bottles of everything from herbal shampoo to mint hand lotion.

  Ann had never stayed at the Imperial, but she knew it had been one of her father’s favorites.

  She went back into the bedroom and hung the few things she had brought with her in the capacious closet. She had no idea where Heath had gone or when he would be back. So she went to the phone and called her brother to see how he’d been doing, her editor in New York, and Amy Horton. She stretched the conversations out as long as she could. Then, depressed by the events of the day and bone weary from the stress of containing her emotions, she undressed to her camisole and briefs and lay down on the embroidered bedspread.

  In minutes she was asleep.

  Ann was conscious of nothing for the next several hours. When she came to, the room was dark and Heath was sitting next to her on the bed, his hand on her shoulder.

  Ann knew it was Heath before she was even awake, before she remembered the wedding or their circumstances. She knew it instinctively, from his scent, his posture, the feel of his fingers. Without a word she turned into his arms.

  Heath held her loosely for a moment and she put her head on his shoulder. Then his grip tightened and his mouth came down hard and fast on hers.

  Ann’s mind spun out, reeling back to the summer they had shared. The kiss he had given her at their wedding was light, fleeting. This one recalled the passion of the two teenagers who had come together like a spark and tinder, never to be the same again.