The Sparkling One

by Susan Mallery

  The question raced through her like electricity. Her skin seemed to shrink a size and it was hard to breathe.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because a child means a whole new set of legal complications. Are you pregnant?”

  “No.”

  She pressed her lips together to maintain control, but it was useless. Tears spilled from her eyes.

  She jumped to her feet and circled around the desk. A box of tissue sat in a bottom drawer. She pulled out the box and returned to her seat.

  “Sorry,” she said, her voice throaty.

  “No problem. I take it this is a sore subject.”

  “Yeah.” She sniffed and wiped away her tears. “I wanted kids, Jeff kept saying we had to wait. Wait until he was done with medical school, then wait until he finished his internship. Then wait until he had his own practice. I was working eighty hours a week, so it’s not like I had time to brood or anything, but God.” She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. “I wanted kids.”

  She still did. The difference was now she didn’t have a husband. No husband, no babies. Her heart twisted.

  “Any prenuptial agreement?”

  She straightened and stared at him. “No. We never discussed it.”

  “Did either of you bring any money into the relationship?”

  She laughed humorously. “No. Jeff brought plenty of debt, though. Student loans from college. Those just got bigger as time wore on.”

  “So basically you supported him through his medical training and paid for debt he’d incurred before the marriage.”

  “You got it.”

  “Did he work also? Part-time or summer jobs?”

  “No. He studied. We agreed that was his job.” Because she’d been so damn stupid, she thought grimly. Being the perfect, supportive, loving wife had been all she’d aspired to. If that meant two jobs and no free time, hey, she was married. She’d walked away from her family, from the vineyards, and for what?

  She balled up the tissue she held. “He didn’t do anything. I worked, I cooked, I cleaned, I picked up his dry cleaning.” Just talking about it made her furious. She rose to her feet and crossed to the window. “I can’t believe it. All these years of my life given over to him, and I have nothing to show for it. I certainly didn’t go to college. I have no education, nothing. I have no life, except for being his wife.” She spun to face Zach. “I gave him my entire being and this is my reward.”

  “You loved him.”

  “I was a fool.” She rubbed her temples. “I can’t believe I put my husband through medical school and now he’s left me for a younger woman. That wasn’t supposed to happen for at least another ten years.”

  Zach didn’t respond. Brenna knew there wasn’t anything he could say. Instead he asked, “What do you want from Jeff?”

  “Blood,” she said flatly. “I want him to pay. He used me and he cast me aside.” Worse, he’d hurt her, but she wasn’t about to say that. The irony of the situation didn’t escape her. Jeff was a cardiologist—he’d known exactly how to break her heart.

  “Are you sure there’s no chance of a reconciliation?”

  She tried to laugh. “He’s not interested. He’s already moved on. I’m not interested, either. He screwed some bimbo—probably in my bed. Let her have him.”

  “He could change his mind.”

  “I don’t think so. I think the chances of him leaving his bimbo for an old, used wife are pretty remote.”

  “What about you? What if he came to his senses and realized he was an idiot. What if he begged you to let him come back? Would you let him?”

  Brenna considered the question. This morning when Jeff had casually announced that their marriage was over, that he had filed for divorce, and oh, by the way, would she please leave the dry-cleaning ticket on the table when she left, she had felt as if a meteor had destroyed her world. She’d been crushed—broken into a million pieces with no hopes of ever being whole again. In that moment she would have done anything to have her life restored.

  Since then she’d been on a roller coaster of emotion, up and down, turning at breakneck speed until she didn’t know what she wanted or where she was going to end up. But she did know one thing with complete certainty.

  “I don’t want him back,” she said with a conviction that came from the very depths of her being. “It’s not only the infidelity that I can’t forgive. It’s that he wasn’t even willing to try. I didn’t get a vote or a hearing. He decided it was over, so he filed for divorce. I would never trust him again. What’s been broken can’t be fixed.” She leveled her gaze and stared at Zach. “I want him punished.”

  Zach nodded. “I can do that. It’s something I do very well.”

  8

  The printer spit out page after page. Mia glanced at David, who looked just as lost as she felt. The perfectly dressed woman in the bridal registry department smiled as she tore off what looked like an endless list.

  “Now, these are just some ideas. Obviously you don’t need to register for everything on the list.”

  Mia took the offered papers. “Okay. Great. We’ll, um, just look around?”

  “Exactly. Write down your choices as you make them. I’ll be right here if you have any questions.” She smiled again, her perfectly made-up features barely moving. “Do you need a pencil?”

  Mia patted the small purse she’d slung over her shoulder. “Got one, thanks.” Then she grabbed David by the arm and hurried away.

  “She’s scary,” Mia muttered when they were out of earshot. “Aren’t people’s faces supposed to move when they talk?”

  But David wasn’t paying attention. Instead he stared at a large display of china with all the enthusiasm of a vegetarian facing a steak dinner.

  “So we have to pick one?” he asked, desperation tinting his words.

  “That’s the basic idea.” She scanned the list. “My God. Just the dish section—which they call china—is broken down into sections. Plates, bowls, side plates, dessert plates, fruit nappies.”

  David stared at her. “What the hell is a fruit nappy?”

  Mia giggled. “Don’t the British refer to diapers as nappies? Maybe it’s some weird kind of fruit diaper.”

  David rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right.”

  She continued to scan the list. “Serving pieces. Then we move into flatware. I think that’s like knives and forks. Oh, and there’s everyday china or stoneware, which I guess means we’re supposed to have two sets.” She thought about her postage-stamp-size kitchen. “I don’t think we’re going to have room for all this.”

  David grabbed the list. “Water glasses, wineglasses, highball glasses, tumblers. What’s a highball?”

  “A type of cocktail.” She drew in a deep breath. Somehow she had thought that shopping for future presents would be more fun. “Okay, let’s just start with the china. We don’t have room for one full set, let alone two, so we can find a pattern we like and use it all the time. Later, when we have a house or something, we’ll deal with two sets. How’s that?”

  “Great.” He eyed the wall displaying over a hundred different patterns. “What do you like?”

  Twenty minutes later Mia was ready to choke the life out of her intended. She liked flowers, he didn’t. She wanted color, he thought beige was enough color for anyone. Then he’d picked a pattern with three dimensional fruit that made her want to gag. They’d discovered that fruit nappies were basically cereal-size bowls, and that they both hated anything with a gold rim, but otherwise, they couldn’t come close to an agreement.

  Rather than shed blood right there in the middle of fine china, Mia suggested a compromise.

  “Let’s start with something different,” she said, refolding the list to the section entitled: “Stocking your kitchen.” “What about small appliances?”

  “Sounds good.”

  They headed for that department, passing flatware on the way. If they couldn’t pick out china, Mia figured they’d better
avoid any department with sharp knives.

  However, kitchenware had knives. It also had dozens of appliances she’d never seen before. Nor did she have any idea as to their purpose or usefulness. She stood in front of a multitiered device that was supposed to dry fruit.

  “Who eats dried fruit?” David asked.

  “I do.” Mia studied the machine. “Wouldn’t it just be easier to buy it?”

  “Or eat chips.” David poked at a massive box containing a pasta maker. “Dad never cooked much. I sure didn’t learn anything from him.”

  “Don’t look at me. The Grands have always done the cooking at our house.”

  He looped an arm around her and grinned. “You’re gonna be the wife, Mia. I guess you’ll have to learn.”

  She shrugged free of his embrace. “That is so not going to happen. Just because I’m the female here, don’t assume I’m going to be taking care of you. As far as I’m concerned, household chores will be split fifty-fifty, and that includes cooking.”

  Suddenly David wasn’t smiling. “I’m not going to learn to cook.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ll be busy with school.”

  “And I won’t? While you’re still trying to figure out your major, I’ll be applying to grad school, taking my regular classes, and working part-time at one of the consulates, assuming I get into that internship program.”

  “Mia, I’m a guy.”

  She eyed the selection of knives on a nearby wall. But as her father liked to say, violence was the refuge of the incompetent.

  “I guess if you don’t cook and I don’t cook, we’ll be buying a lot of take-out,” she said lightly.

  “Works for me.”

  “The good news is there are a ton of great places by campus. And when we’re in D.C., there will be all-new places to try.” She saw a display of coffeemakers. “Hey, I could use a new one of these. What do you think?”

  But David didn’t follow her to the display. Instead he stood in the center of the aisle, feet braced, hands in his pockets, an unruly lock of hair falling across his forehead.

  She turned to him. “What?”

  “You’re talking about Georgetown.”

  “Of course. I know I have to apply to other grad schools, but that’s the one I really want.” She frowned at his stern expression. “David, it’s not like this is news.”

  “Are you applying to UCLA?”

  She felt the ground turn into quicksand. Actually, she was not. Although she was enjoying her undergrad experience there, she wanted to attend a different school to continue her studies. Preferably somewhere on the East Coast.

  “I haven’t decided,” she hedged.

  “When you graduate, I’ll still have two years left there.”

  She shifted her weight from foot to foot, hating that she felt almost…guilty. “I know.” She had known. She just didn’t like to think about it.

  Then she reminded herself she had nothing to feel guilty about. This was her life, her dream, her career. She’d wanted to go into the State Department since she’d first learned what it was nearly six years ago. She’d already compromised. Wasn’t it his turn?

  “Look,” she said. “I wanted to take that Japanese language class in Japan, and you agreed it would be fun. We talked about it being our honeymoon. Then you changed your mind and didn’t want to go. So we switched to D.C. Now I’m taking the language class and you’re just going to hang out for six weeks. I’m okay with that. Why can’t you be okay with me not getting my master’s at UCLA?”

  “Because it means I have to change schools.”

  “Which you already said was fine with you.” She tried not to scream. “Is this all about you? You need a wife who can cook, and you need a wife who won’t study a foreign language in a foreign country, and you need a wife who has no dreams of her own, except you don’t have any dreams or plans, either. You don’t even have a fucking major.”

  They glared at each other. Mia refused to be the one who blinked first.

  David sighed, then shrugged. “I don’t know what I need, Mia. You’re the one with all the answers. Maybe you should tell me.”

  Suddenly picking out items for their gift registry didn’t seem like such a good idea. She carefully folded the sheets of paper in half.

  “Look. I have a report I have to work on. You want to do this another time?”

  David shrugged. “Sure.”

  They headed for the escalator. Mia had the weirdest feeling that she couldn’t catch her breath. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, she thought frantically. Was it? She and David were engaged. Shouldn’t they be happy?

  The first time Katie had walked into Zach’s office, she’d been excited about the job offer of a lifetime. The second time she’d been dealing with post-humiliation repercussions. Now she had to wrestle with the fact that he was not only her client and a future in-law, but a man who had rocked her world with a simple kiss (annoying but true). He was also her sister’s divorce lawyer. If they got any more involved, they would become symbiotic beings.

  She was determined to make sure that didn’t happen. She would be wary, on guard, and completely professional. No visceral reactions allowed.

  Dora Preston sat outside of Zach’s office. She smiled when she saw Katie. “He’s waiting for you,” Dora said. “Go right in.”

  “Thanks.”

  Katie straightened her spine, tried her “You’re the best” mantra for good measure, and stepped into the shark’s lair.

  Zach rose when he saw her. And smiled. As she had yet to receive her Zach-smile vaccine, she found herself instantly melting.

  Stop! No melting, she told herself. No being excited to see him. Nada!

  “Katie, what a pleasure.”

  He walked around his desk and approached her. Instead of shaking her hand, he squeezed her upper arm and sounded genuinely pleased to see her. Uh-huh. Sure. Cool, she told herself. She was ice.

  “I come bearing paperwork,” she said calmly, holding up her stuffed briefcase. In her other hand she held a portable file box.

  Zach led her to the desk, then offered coffee, which she accepted. While he walked over to a small tea tray by his credenza and poured her a cup, she unloaded her briefcase and started on the file folder.

  “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Just black,” she said.

  By the time he returned to sit next to her, she had spread out several sample invitations.

  “We need to get the order into the printer,” she said. “I like this one.” She pointed to a thick paper invitation edged in black and gold.

  Zach laughed. “The last invitations I picked out had toy soldiers on them. I think it was for David’s eleventh birthday party. You go with what you like.”

  “I’m happy to pick, but do you want to run the selections by your partners?”

  “Not even on a bet.”

  She forgot herself for a second and smiled. “Okay. So you’re not party planners.”

  She pulled out her master list and noted the invitation number. “Now, before I can do anything, I will need one thing from you. And that’s budget approval.”

  The five-page document listed every possible expense, although some items, such as liquor, had to be estimated. Zach took the document and scanned it.

  “You’re very thorough,” he said after a minute.

  “I try to be. As I noted at the bottom, should there be an unexpected expense of more than three hundred dollars, I’ll send out written notice immediately.”

  “Fair enough.” He read a little more. “Goody bags for adults. Isn’t that a kid thing?”

  “Not at all. I’ll do a smaller, less expensive bag for the regular guests and a dynamite one for our high rollers.” She shrugged. “I can’t explain it, but there is a serious thrill in getting something for free. I practically shimmy in delight when my favorite makeup lady offers me a sample, even if it’s something I’ll never use. I thought a goody bag would be a fun way to leave our guests with w
arm fuzzies about the party.”

  He continued to study the budget. As he read, she watched him. There was something so sexy about his eyes, she thought. And of course, his smile. She also liked the way he seemed comfortable in his own skin all the time.

  She groaned silently. Damn. What happened to being ice? Ignore him. Which was easier said than done, considering how the man turned her on. Her resolve seemed to have all the tensile strength of potato chips.

  He tossed the budget down on the desk. “I’ll take it to my partners right away. When do you need to hear back?”

  “Within a week. The invitations need to be engraved. Some of the food has to be ordered well in advance, and I won’t even go into the trauma of picking out flowers.”

  “Please don’t.” He leaned back in his chair. “I guess this means I need to get my tux into the dry cleaner.”

  “Don’t complain to me about that,” she told him. “You know exactly what you’re going to wear, while I have the challenge of finding the perfect dress. I need to fit in, and yet not look like a guest.”

  He raised his dark eyebrows. “What about your date?”

  She hardly needed the pressure. “It’s a working night for me.”

  “No Mr. Right?”

  She couldn’t tell if he was making idle chitchat or trying to figure out if she was seeing someone. The possibility of the latter made her thighs tingle.

  “Not even a Mr. Adequate. And you? Who will you bring?”

  “I haven’t decided. How’s Brenna doing?” he asked.

  “She’s hanging in there. Her mood seems to swing between a strong desire to get revenge and feelings of devastation.”

  “The loss of a marriage is like a death. It takes time to move through the grieving process.”

  His insight surprised her until she reminded herself that this was what the man did for a living. Of course he would be familiar with the process.

  “Brenna said you won’t be meeting with her for a few weeks.”

  He nodded. “We’ll speak regularly, but there’s no need for a face-to-face. I’ve filed all the papers. We’re going to have to deal with the settlement, and that’s what’s going to take the planning.”