So it was up to her. She gazed at his cold, forbidding — and no doubt terrified — features, and felt her love for him swell.
"I should have told you before," she said. "It's just that I was waiting — " She shook her head. No use telling him what she'd been waiting for. She raised her chin and looked Dean straight in the eye. "I love you, Dean. I want to stay in the marriage. I want it to be a real marriage, for good."
He just stared at her. Kelly saw something move, behind his attempt at impassivity. He wasn't as unaffected as he wanted to appear. She waited, sure then that he was going to soften. He was going to say how glad he was, maybe even say that he loved her, too.
Instead he seemed to pull into himself. She could practically see the walls going up. "I see," he said. "Yes. But that doesn't answer my question."
"What?"
"How long?" Dean repeated. "I understand it would be difficult to name a specific date, but I'm sure you could give me a general time frame."
"What? "
He pushed back from the table. "Yes, I know we've been...close these past few weeks. But that was only because — Never mind. The important thing is that I'm over it now. I'm back to reality again."
"Reality?" Kelly couldn't believe this was happening, that he was saying this sort of thing — now.
Dean drew himself up. "It's not that I'm implying you're lying. I think you do believe you love me, whatever that means. But this isn't going to last. It couldn't." He gave a strange, dry laugh. "Especially not considering the way it started."
Kelly felt light-headed. They shouldn't be arguing. She'd just given her all, surrendered. Hadn't that meant anything? "You don't even know how it started," she had enough presence of mind to point out.
"No." Dean smiled. "You don't know how it started."
Kelly's brows drew down.
Dean tapped his index finger on the table top. "It started," he said, "with Troy's hypnotic suggestion."
The hairs rose on the back of Kelly's neck. "You never told me what was Troy's suggestion."
"True." Dean looked to the side. "And he warned me, told me you needed to know."
Despite herself, Kelly felt chill. "So, what was it?"
"Troy told me to do what I wanted for forty-eight hours. To do what I wanted, instead of what I should."
Kelly felt ice all the way through. She wasn't even sure why. So, Dean coming on to her, courting and marrying her, had been something he wanted to do. What was bad about that? That was...good, and certainly better than having been compelled to do something against his will.
But Dean laughed harshly. "I did what I wanted, without considering the consequences, without thinking about the future. Acted unlike myself." He paused. "I acted, in fact, just like my father."
Kelly felt herself trembling. She stared at his hard, inaccessible features. "No," she said. "You can't believe that. It wasn't that way."
Dean's fingertips rested on the tabletop. "No? I think it was. I know it was. Because I've been acting exactly the same these past few weeks. I've been doing what I wanted, and not bothering with the consequences."
"But — "
Dean laughed again. "Come on, Kelly. How long could a marriage between us last? Eventually you'll have to meet my peers, the social throng. Nor would I pass muster, I suspect, with your crowd, all of whom, by the way, you've left behind. Where will you find new friends?" His head cocked. "Among the wives of my executives? Or maybe you think Robby and Troy and I are enough for you?"
"You're talking details."
"Important details."
Kelly felt the air rush in and out of her lungs. "We could work through that, manage, if we loved each other."
"Love." Dean sighed. "Kelly, let's be honest."
Honest? She'd given him everything, all she had to give — and he couldn't even accept it. He had to make up this — this fantasy that their marriage was like one of his father's shallow affairs. "Right," she said. "Honest." The ice inside of her was closing around her chest.
"Feelings don't last," Dean went on. "As soon as the sexual part cools down we'll see where we really stand."
"So you're not asking me," Kelly said. "You're telling me."
Dean inclined his head. "Just trying to be honest."
Kelly made herself breathe. He was trying to push her away. She saw that, clear as crystal. He couldn't believe she would stick by him, probably because his father had taunted him, saying something to make him doubt himself. Now he was reaching for excuses.
At the same time, how much was a girl supposed to take? She'd been so patient with him, waiting, and not asking for anything back. Then she'd given him her heart. But it hadn't meant a thing. God, she could see herself years from now, still giving her all, still requiring nothing back from Dean, a doormat.
"I see," she told Dean. "I understand." And she did, at last. Even now, she could feel sympathy for the man, and for his weakness. Oh yes, and in sympathy she could easily follow past history here, never stick up for herself, never demand what was only her due. "And I appreciate your honesty. Really, I do."
Dean tilted his head.
Kelly smiled, though her heart was breaking in two. She loved him, but no love should lead to self-destructiveness. It had taken her a long time to understand this, and now she had to act on it. "I have to agree with you," she told him. "Yes, I do."
Dean lifted his brows.
Kelly hung onto her smile. "This marriage is not going to last. You're absolutely right."
Something happened to Dean's superior demeanor, like a ripple under calm water. He'd probably expected her to put up more of a fight. But he blustered past it. "I'm glad you see reason."
Kelly nodded. "It takes me awhile but I get there eventually."
His brows drew down, ever so slightly.
Kelly took a step back. "Now, if you don't mind, I want to say goodbye to Robby." She had to get out of there, before she fell apart.
"Oh yes. Yes, of course." Dean leaned his palms on the table. "And Kelly? I'm glad we had this talk, got everything straight."
"Yes." Kelly nodded. "So am I."
###
"I'll give you two weeks pay, of course." Dean was on the phone with Aaron Schneider, Robby's tutor. "It's inconvenient, I understand, but can't be helped. Robby's father wanted to take him." Dean paused. "If it's at all possible, we'd like you back in September."
Schneider gave a lukewarm assent and Dean rang off. He stared at his hand as it remained on the handset. September. So he'd made his own estimate of the length of his marriage. He had until September. Kirk would be bringing Robby back by then, and Kelly would be leaving.
As Dean lifted his hand from the telephone, he saw that his fingers were shaking. All right, seeing Robby off that morning had been more painful than he'd imagined. And the conversation with Kelly hadn't been easy either. Excruciating, actually. But he was relieved they'd had it out. It was a conversation that had been long overdue. They owed it to themselves to stop fantasizing and look at the truth. There was no such thing as a fairy tale ending.
And to think, this had all come about due to Kirk. Yes, Kirk had done something responsible for once in his life. He'd made Dean look at the facts. Feelings didn't last, even the best of them. Dean had learned this at an early age, he just hadn't wanted to remember it. Things had been going so well with Kelly, he hadn't wanted to face that one day it was going to be over. One day Kelly would look at Dean and she just wouldn't care any more.
Dean released a laughing sigh. For a crazy little while there, he'd actually imagined it could be different. Permanent.
Well yes, he had been crazy.
A banging, clunking sound in the hall caught Dean's attention. The sound moved toward the front door.
"What the — ?" Dean got up, strode to the study door, and opened it.
Kelly was struggling toward the front entry, pushing one beat-up suitcase ahead of her and dragging two other, mismatched suitcases behind her.
"What
the — ?" Dean repeated. He stalked out of the study and down the hall. "What are you doing?"
Kelly paused in her travail and turned. "No problem. My taxi should be here any minute."
Dean halted. "Your taxi?"
Kelly drew herself up. "You made yourself clear, Dean, crystal clear."
"Oh?" He felt stiff as ice. Her taxi?
She adjusted her purse strap over her shoulder. "This marriage isn't going to last. In point of fact, it shouldn't."
Dean tried, but couldn't, incline his head to agree. Of course it wasn't going to last. That was a given.
But he hadn't meant she should leave now.
"The trial period is over, for all intents and purposes." Kelly laughed. "I think we know each other as well as we're ever going to."
Again, Dean couldn't move, couldn't utter a word in reply. She was talking about leaving now. When he'd thought he had until September.
But he heard the sound of tires, a car pulling up in the front driveway. The taxi? There was a peremptory honk.
"I, uh — " Kelly looked away from Dean, toward the front door. "I meant what I said earlier, in the morning room."
Dean's head was spinning. Her suitcases were in the hallway. There was a taxi outside. And she was asking him to remember what she'd said in the morning room? For the love of —
There was another honk from the taxi outside. Kelly turned to look at Dean. For a moment the defensive defiance in her eyes fell away. She seemed to open toward him, waiting. Dean felt a spike of hope. He could prevent this, stop her exit — if he only knew what she was waiting for.
Kelly's lashes fell over her eyes. She gave a short shake of her head. "No," she said. "I didn't think you would."
I will, Dean wanted to roar. Whatever she wanted. But he didn't. How could he? There were her suitcases and a taxi was waiting outside. How was he supposed to stop this progress of events?
Kelly sighed, then opened the front door. She shouted out to the cabdriver, "I have some things. Could you lend a hand?"
Yes, Dean thought, ice inside. She was leaving. There was nothing a man could do to stop a woman who wanted to leave. He'd learned that long ago. He could only watch numbly as the burly cab driver shuffled into the house and began gathering Kelly's bags.
Kelly turned to Dean. "Goodbye," she said. She smiled, she waved, and then she went out the door.
Dean's ears were ringing. He felt dizzy. The cabdriver managed to gather all of Kelly's bags at once. Grunting, the man followed Kelly. A wide slice of sunlight spilled into the entry. The driver had left the door open.
Dean could only stand there like a fence post. He heard the trunk slam, then a car door, followed by the sound of spitting gravel as the cab pulled away. Still he stood there, staring at the swathe of sunlight. Of course he'd known this day was coming. He'd just this morning told Kelly all about it, enunciated the truth she hadn't wanted to face. But still, he felt as if his legs had just been cut from under him.
She'd left him, gone. It was over.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Kelly was in a daze during most of the flight to Las Vegas. She could hardly believe her own actions. She'd walked out. She'd really and truly done it.
For once in her life she'd taken charge in a relationship.
Kelly got off the plane at McCarran airport in Las Vegas and wondered why her self-assertiveness wasn't making her feel any better. As she trudged through the bustling airport, she wondered if she felt bad because in fact she'd done the wrong thing.
God, maybe she had. Surely it was a mistake to walk away from the most loyal, most honest — and incidentally wealthiest — man she'd ever been involved with. And only because he hadn't believed their marriage would last, when it would have. If left alone, it would have.
Perhaps she was crazy.
Out on the smog-scented concourse, Kelly got a cab. She gazed dully out the car's window on the drive home. No, she concluded. She wasn't crazy. The marriage would not have lasted. Dean didn't trust her. He couldn't believe that she loved him.
She couldn't have lived with that. If she'd tried, she would have ended up desperately unhappy. And Dean would have been unhappy, too.
The cab pulled up outside Kelly's apartment building. She looked at the familiar faded lemon siding. It was a far cry from Dean's mansion outside of Boston but it was home. Yes, home, where she belonged.
###
The morning after Kelly left him, Dean went to work the same as any other day. Why not? He was fine. Nothing unusual or unexpected had occurred, after all. At work, he even paid attention and accomplished something. At the end of the day he came home. No one jogged along the winding entrance drive in her sweat suit. No one played video games in the entertainment room. And no one to came down to the dining room for dinner.
Dean took his usual seat at the head of the table and waited for Roberto to bring in the soup. Not even Troy showed up. Dean's cousin was probably off having a good time with one of his thousand friends.
Alone then, Dean looked down at his soup. He was fine, he had to be fine. Nothing unusual or unexpected had occurred. But that soup wasn't going to go down his throat. His stomach rebelled at the very idea. Dean pushed his chair back from the table. All right, then, no soup. No food at all. But he was fine, perfectly fine. He was simply...on a diet. In fact, instead of eating, he'd go work out.
But in the basement gym, Dean realized working out wasn't such a good idea, either. While lifting weights, he was left to stare at the treadmill, which had been Kelly's favorite. How many times had they come here to work out together and he'd lasciviously watched her trotting nowhere? Too many times, clearly. Dean got up from the bench seat.
In fact, he left the gym entirely and went upstairs. It was no surprise Kelly had left him, he reminded himself. There was no reason to have a big emotional response here. Wives left their husbands every day of the week. And Dean had known from the beginning his wife was more likely than most to be a leaver. Lord, she hadn't even married him, really. Not him.
In his bedroom again, Dean stripped and turned on the shower. He pressed his lips together because after he and Kelly had worked out together, they'd often taken a shower together, too. Those shared showers, not just sex, but fun...
Never mind. Forget it. Gone now. Dean stepped under the spray and washed quickly. He'd be fine. Sex and fun were all well and good, but they weren't necessary. A man could live without them.
He put on a sweat suit and went down to his study. The twenty-six inch television screen loomed at him as he sat behind his desk; Kelly's television, where she'd sat so many hours just wanting to keep him company. Dean drew in a deep breath, then another one. He told himself he was going to be all right. Suddenly he heard a loud, booming noise. The papers on his desk jumped and he felt a thudding pain in his hand. He looked down to find he'd slammed his fist onto the desk.
Dean stood up. He breathed hard. He was not going to break down. He was not.
The next second he was in his chair again and his head was in his hands. She'd left him. God, she'd left him, just as he'd always known she would. They all did, they all left, every last one of them, but Kelly, Kelly...
He lowered his head until the back of his hands hit the desk top. It seemed the pain was going to come, whether he wanted it to or not. He was crumbling inside, just disintegrating. Oh, God, it hurt.
He closed his eyes and wondered how he could have let this happen, when it was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid from the very beginning.
###
When Felicia got the second big check for the Boston Family Aid shelter, she knew she was going to have to bite the bullet and thank Troy. Emery Hunsington wasn't as much of a penny-pincher as Joe Esterley, but it was still an achievement, and brought her ten thousand dollars closer to a down payment for the expansion of the Family Aid shelter.
The easiest way to accomplish the thank-you gesture was to run into Troy at the Club. That way her acknowledgment could seem casual, spo
ntaneous, and without any personal nature. Felicia was determined this not become a romantic interlude. Troy was still who he was.
So on Saturday night Felicia, dressed in a deceptively simple green Versace, ambled with seeming aimlessness through the rooms of the refined country club. All the while she kept watch for a dark-haired, gypsy-eyed male.
It only took her about ten minutes to find him. He was sitting by himself, oddly enough, in a far corner of the bar lounge. His ankles were crossed on a hassock and a full martini glass was on an end table beside him. He held a copy of The Economist.
Felicia came to a frowning halt. She'd never imagined Troy reading anything so serious. Was this another aspect of his transformation, the transformation she didn't really believe was happening?
Then Troy closed the magazine and threw it to one side with a gesture that revealed he'd simply found it sitting on the chair and had picked it up out of idle curiosity.
Felicia took in a deep breath. Troy wasn't serious about anything. He was a devil-may-care man-about-town. He was not for her.
She took another deep breath and started toward him. With no magazine to hold his attention, he saw her immediately. He clearly tensed. Something brief passed over his face.
Fear? No. Felicia shook the idea aside. Troy had nothing to be afraid of. Oh, well, yes, he'd claimed he was in love with her, but surely that was an over-dramatization of some far more mundane emotions. He'd probably gotten over it by now.
So she smiled her best cool, elegant smile as she walked up to him. "Good evening, Troy."
With his gaze close on her, he dropped his feet from the hassock. "Hello, Felicia." Slowly, he stood.
Their eyes met and Felicia felt all the old prickliness crackling through the air between them. She now understood the prickles to be sexual electricity, and that it wasn't all manufactured by Troy. It was both of them. An unfortunate chemistry.
"How have you been?" she asked.
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