* * *
Matthew wasn’t feeling too good. In fact, he was feeling downright miserable—and he knew why.
“I’m never going to forgive her for this,” he vowed, exiting his private bathroom. Despite his black mood, he finally managed to pull himself together and leave his dressing room.
“There you are!” Cookie approached, wearing a wide smile. “Everyone is waiting for you.” Studying his face, the intern frowned. “Are you all right? You don’t look so well.”
“Fine.” Matthew flashed a smile but proceeded to take tiny steps toward the stage. “Never better.” He stopped and closed his eyes as another wave of nausea threatened to send him back to the toilet.
Cookie stopped, fearful that whatever he had was contagious.
After a few seconds, Matthew sighed in relief when his stomach settled and he continued his slow journey to the stage.
“Love Doctor! Love Doctor!” the crowd chanted.
“There he is!” a spectator shouted from the crowd, and the studio thundered with applause.
Matthew smiled, waved and hit his mark in front of the cameras. However, the moment he opened his mouth his stomach dropped to his knees and his nausea was no longer ripples but huge tidal waves.
“Hello, everyone,” he greeted, struggling to remain professional. Yet, the moment the stage lights turned up, he literally felt beads of sweat pop up along his forehead. “Thanks for coming...and good night.” Matthew turned and bolted off the stage, praying that he would make it back to his private bathroom.
* * *
“What type of conference is this again?” Chanté asked Edie for the third time as they perused the shoe aisles. “And why do both Matt and I have to attend?”
“It’s a relationship conference and you’re going because it’s an excellent promotional opportunity. A lot of press is covering this thing so you and Matt need to be on your best behavior.”
Chanté sighed and rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, Edie. I sort of need a break from Matthew—especially after last night’s fiasco. I wanted to kill that damn dog...and him.” She hesitated and then cast a sidelong glance over at her friend.
“What?”
Chanté debated on whether she should tell everything that had happened. “I went to Matthew’s bedroom last night.”
Edie’s eyes lit up. “You did? Well, good for you!” She gave her a strong hug and noticed Chanté’s lack of response. “Not good?”
“I’d rather have played Scrabble.”
Edie grimaced.
“No kissing. No foreplay. No nothing,” Chanté whispered angrily. “He just tossed me back onto the bed, pumped like an Olympic record was on the line...and then rolled over and went to sleep.”
“Ouch.”
“Damn right. I wanted to kill him.” She stopped there, not confessing to tampering with Matthew’s breakfast. No need to paint herself in a bad light. “I just don’t get it,” Chanté complained. “He wasn’t always like this. I remember a time— Ooh, girl. The earth moved, angels flew down from heaven and I thought I’d need physical therapy in order to walk again. Now? It’s wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am and, by the way, where is the baby?”
Edie fell silent as she cocked her head in sympathy.
“I used to think we were just in some kind of rut. You know, stress from the jobs, the pressure to try and beat my biological clock. Before I knew it, long lovemaking sessions were downgraded to quickies and we’ve been stuck in that same gear ever since.”
“I’m sorry.” Edie draped an arm around her friend’s shoulders. Now she was convinced more than ever that she was doing the right thing in tricking Chanté and Matthew into sex therapy. “Look, go to this conference. When you get back, I’ll make sure you get a break. I’ll talk to Julia in the publicity department and arrange a book tour for you. That’ll keep you out of the house for a little while.”
“True.” Chanté sighed, but then perked up. “Ooh. These are nice.” She picked up a pair of leather pumps.
“Don’t you already have a pair like that?”
“No. It doesn’t have this cute little buckle on the side. I’m going to try them on.”
Edie just shook her head as she followed her friend to a nearby chair where she asked a saleswoman for the correct size. “No offense, but how many shoes can one woman own?”
“Hey, when I was growing up, I never owned more than two pairs of shoes at a time.”
“And now you have a whole department store in your closet.”
“All right, I admit it. I love shoes. Sue me.”
Edie continued to shake her head. “So what do you say? Will you do the conference?”
“Separate hotel rooms?”
“C’mon. How will that look at a relationship conference?”
“Like we’re trying to preserve our sanity.”
“Chanté.”
“All right. All right.” She held up her hands.
“You’ll do it?” Her editor perked up.
Chanté drew a deep breath and tried to figure out just how long she and Matthew could share a hotel room without a homicide detective showing up.
“Please?” Edie folded her hands in mock prayer.
“All right. I’ll do it,” she huffed. “Just make sure the room is stocked with enough alcohol to dull my pain.”
Edie smiled smugly behind Chanté’s back. One down, one to go.
Chapter 9
“I’m not going anywhere with that psycho!” Matthew spat to Seth and then ducked his head back over the toilet bowl. “If you haven’t noticed, she damn near tried to kill me this morning.”
“Am I to believe that you did nothing to provoke her attempted murder this time?”
“No,” he lied, coming up for air again. “Well...not exactly.”
“Uh-huh.” Seth finished wringing cold water from a face towel and then tossed it to his client. “What exactly did you do? It wouldn’t happen to have involved a four-legged friend I told you not to take home?”
Matthew placed the towel over his face, in part to cool his forehead and in part to hide his guilt while he reviewed last night’s major disasters...and one mind-blowing sex dream.
“If it’s taking you that long to answer the question, I don’t think I want to know what happened.”
“That’s probably best.” He paused and then added, “I think my, uh, streak ended last night.”
Seth’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but then quickly crash-landed. “You think? I take it since the porcelain god is your best friend today that it didn’t go too well?”
“Horrible,” Matthew groaned. “I was drunk and it had been so long...I grew too excited...and was a little quick on the trigger.” He glanced up at Seth. “And that’s not the worst part.”
“You didn’t.”
He nodded. “I did. I fell asleep...and then this morning I wasn’t sure if I’d dreamed the whole thing. When I asked Chanté about it, she said that it never happened, but I don’t know.”
It was Seth’s turn to groan.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Matthew said defensively. “It just did. And then this morning when she was cooking breakfast I started to apologize...and I couldn’t quite get the words out. Me! King of the talk shows couldn’t find the words to apologize to my wife. How pathetic is that?”
“No wonder she tried to kill you.”
“Nothing excuses that.”
“And what excuse is there for taking a chainsaw to someone’s car?”
“Hey! Just whose side are you on?”
“No one’s side since you’re both crazy as hell.” Seth folded his arms as he leaned back against the sink. “C’mon, Matt. About this conference—it’s going to be great for you publicly. A few of the other top relationship gurus are going to be there.”
“Dr. Phil?”
“If I’m not mistaken,” Seth lied smoothly. “It’s just for a couple of days. Surely you and Chanté can put your differences aside for a couple of days
to pose as the perfect couple?”
Matthew groaned his doubt, especially since his mind was already churning for his next payback for being damn near poisoned. “I don’t know, Seth. I think what we need is a vacation from one another. Maybe you can set me up with a book tour or something. Get me out of the house before I make America’s Most Wanted list.”
“All right. You do this conference and when you get back, I’ll get you your tour.”
* * *
After hosting another long night of The Open Heart Forum, Chanté broke her promise and issued Thad yet another rain check. Mostly, she didn’t feel like hosting another pity party. What good would it do?
“Piss or get off the pot.” How many women had she told that to over the years? If you’re not happy, why stick around?
“And the hypocrisy award goes to...me.”
At two a.m., she turned the rental car into the driveway, but sat behind the wheel long after she shut off the engine. To be honest, she was afraid to go inside. Matthew was not likely to let a little thing like spiking his food go unavenged. Of course it was harmless—at most he was nauseous for a couple of hours—at worst he spent the day hugging the toilet.
Like always—she had options. Grab a hotel room for the night, sleep in the car or brave out Matthew’s next chess move. In the end, her curiosity was too strong to back down.
Opening the front door, Chanté peered cautiously inside. The first clue that something was up was that all the lights in the house were turned off. Matthew was giving the appearance that he hadn’t waited up for her.
She didn’t buy it for a minute.
Chanté inched across the threshold with bated breath and her ears strained to catch the slightest sound. Closing the door, she effectively stamped out the only light resource she had. She knew the layout of the house by heart and rushed across the foyer to take the stairs two at a time. If she could just make it to her bedroom, she’d be safe.
But once in her bedroom, she discovered Matthew’s revenge.
The scream she released was more bloodcurdling than all the horror movie scream queens put together. There, strung from the ceiling like party favors, were hundreds of her precious shoes: Prada, Gucci, Ferragamos and even her $14,000 Manolo Blahnik alligator boots, with all their heels severed.
Her shoes. Her babies.
She screamed until she realized this was not a dream or, better yet, a nightmare. “I’m going to kill him,” she seethed. Glancing around, Chanté looked for a weapon—any weapon.
“Payback is a bitch,” Matthew drawled from behind.
She spun around and launched at him.
Matthew never imagined his wife could move so quickly. Before he could think to block the attack she was already on him like white on rice. After she landed a few blows upside his head, he lost his balance and toppled onto the floor where they rolled around like seasoned wrestlers.
“I hate you! I hate you!” Chanté shouted at the top of her lungs. “How could you do such a thing?”
Because you tried to kill me, he tried to say, but the moment he opened his mouth, she socked him in it.
“Chanté, it’s never okay to hit,” he managed to scowl.
“Screw you!”
They continued to grapple. She took the top position, then it was his turn, and then her turn again.
“Goddamn it, Matthew. You’ve gone too far this time.”
“Me?” he thundered incredulously. “I could have ended up in the hospital over that stunt you pulled this morning.”
“If only I could be so lucky,” she snapped.
The rush of small padded paws rushed across the hardwood floor and Chanté glanced up in time to see the short squat bulldog barreling and barking toward her. She jumped just as Matthew shoved and flew back, and smacked her head with a loud thump on the corner of the bedroom’s doorframe.
“Chanté!” Matthew sat up. “Are you all right?”
“Oww.” She sucked in a deep breath and rubbed at the instant knot on the back of her head. “That hurt.” As Buddy continued to bark at full volume, Chanté had an evil image of skewering the dog and roasting him over an open pit.
“Shut him up!”
Matthew scooped Buddy up and jogged him back to his room. By the time he returned, Chanté managed to pull herself up off the floor and limp to the bed.
“Are you all right?” he asked again.
“Of course.” She didn’t attempt to look in his direction. “Don’t I look all right?”
Matthew crossed the room to her bed. “Mind if I take a look?”
His gruff baritone held a warmth she recognized from years long past and she was surprised by a sudden flutter in the pit of her stomach. She jumped when his hand gently touched the back of her head.
“Be still. I promise I won’t hurt you...this time.”
Why in the hell did she smile? Had he finally knocked the rest of her marbles loose?
Tilting her head, Chanté’s sanity was again called into question when her husband’s fingers combed through her hair and her heartbeat quickened.
It had to be a trick of the mind when time crawled at a snail’s pace during her examination. Sitting still and trying not to make any additional contact, she noticed for the first time his change in cologne. For years his signature scent was the sandalwood-based Hugo by Hugo Boss. She had been the one to introduce the fragrance to him as a Christmas gift back in ’96. He loved it because she loved it and he’d worn it ever since.
Now this tangy scent reeked as being a gift from another woman. Chanté sucked in a breath from the sudden conclusion and she pulled away.
Misinterpreting her reaction, Matthew held up his hands and backed away. “Looks like you’ll live.”
Chanté eyed him suspiciously, looking to see if there were any other clues that hinted that there was another woman in the picture. She found none, but once the thought escaped Pandora’s box, she couldn’t force it back inside.
“I want a divorce,” she said in a croaked whisper.
Matthew sighed.
“I mean it this time,” she added as tears gathered in her eyes. “We can’t keep living this way.” Standing from the bed, her head bumped against a pair of Jimmy Choos. “It’s time we let go.”
Her words skillfully carved Matthew’s heart out of his chest. It was probably the millionth time she’d asked for a divorce and probably the first time he knew that she meant it.
And it was the first time he was truly scared.
“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” he said, almost failing to get the words out of his constricting throat.
“I’m not going to change my mind,” she informed him softly. Her eyes swam in a pool of tears. “The only reason we’re still together is because of our careers. How pathetic is that?”
Chanté reached up and began pulling the shoes down from the ceiling. Fat tears rolled like boulders down her face.
“I went too far—”
“We both did,” she said sadly. “I, uh, did promise Edie we would attend some big conference coming up.”
“Yeah. Seth asked me about it today.”
“I think I can manage one last happy face for the public. How about you?”
“Piece of cake.”
She nodded and wiped her face dry. “When we return, I’m seeing my lawyer.”
Matthew clenched his jaw at the sound of the final nail being hammered into their marriage’s coffin and turned to leave before his tears fell.
Chapter 10
For three days, the Valentines’ household had transformed into a multimillion-dollar tomb. Even Buddy seemed to take on his owner’s melancholy and gave up barking.
At seeing the short, stout mongrel following her to the kitchen, Chanté couldn’t bring herself to get angry with him for having escaped his crate again. Especially not with him looking up at her the way he did. His wide-eyed stare seemed to urge her to tell him her problems.
More than once, she found herself doing
just that—usually when she found herself filling his dog bowl with kibble.
“I just don’t know if I can handle four days pretending to be happy when I’m not,” she told Buddy. “And I don’t know what I’m going to say when the divorce becomes public.”
Buddy whined as he put his head down on the cold kitchen floor.
“I know,” she whispered, retrieving a box of cereal. “I still can’t believe it’s over.” She filled a glass with water, took her morning pills and then finished fixing her breakfast. She settled on a stool at the breakfast bar. In her head, she scrolled through a list of questions she usually asked her callers who were at the end of a relationship.
Have you exhausted all avenues for reconciliation?
Before she lied to herself, Edie’s voice floated around her head. Maybe you and Matt should seek counseling.
Like before, she scoffed at the idea, but then looking around her kitchen and imagining what it would truly be like when Matthew moved out, she reconsidered.
* * *
The moment her morning meeting with the marketing department was over, Edie raced back to her cluttered office ready to dive into a stack of unread manuscripts, but instead was surprised to see her handsome husband waiting for her.
“Baby, what are you doing here?” She eased into his arms and delivered a quick smooch against his smooth-shaved skin.
“Came to see if I could take my favorite girl to lunch...and to see if you have those fake itineraries printed up. I’m running by the studio this afternoon and I promised Matthew I’d bring them to him.”
“Got them right here on my desk.” She moved to her in-box and then handed him a glossy folder.
“The Marriage Quest conference,” he read aloud. “Catchy.”
“Why, thank you.” Edie’s smile beamed as she rocked on her heels. “I can’t take all the credit. Julia in Publicity helped.”
“The Tree of Life Spa and Resort,” he continued reading. “Sounds interesting.”
“Oh, it is. The tree of life is a part of the map of the seven chakras.”
“The what?”
“Chakras. They are energy centers that represent the dynamic flow of cosmic energy within the human body.”
Valentine's Fantasy: When Valentines CollideTo Love Again Page 6
