“You’re refusing any option I’ve put on the table.”
“Your options are terrible.”
“And you came to that conclusion in the two seconds it took you to interrupt me?”
Valeria flushed. “I’m responsible for the children.”
“They’re my children too.”
“You’re never around!”
He froze, as if she had struck him. “I…” What could he say? It was the truth. He frequently left for work before the children woke up and returned after they had gone to bed. He was home on the weekends, of course, but even then, a lot of his time was spent in his study, working.
But life wasn’t cheap.
The house. The cars. The private school. The books and toys. The enrichment classes and private coaches.
They all cost money. Someone had to pay for them, and that was his job. Valeria, Diego, and Marlena were his responsibility. He couldn’t slack off. Not when they were counting on him and on the money.
“I love our children. I know I’m not around much.” He swallowed the sigh. “But I’ll do better.”
Her eyebrows drew together, but she said nothing.
“All I’m asking for is one night,” he said.
He waited for a sign from her, anything at all that might have hinted at a softening in her stance, but her arms remained folded across her chest. Her jaw was tight with tension.
Gabriel ground his teeth. He had done all he could do. The ball was in her court, but she refused to play along. He said nothing else as he walked out of the bedroom to spend the night on the sofa bed in his study.
All I’m asking for is one night.
One night!
Valeria’s hands closed around the stem of the wine glass. She would have flung the glass at his head except that the action would have been too blatantly crude, like a profane word screamed aloud in church.
One night?
Cherish’s words rang through her head. Remember, you’re the one who has sacrificed everything… How dared he behave so self-righteously as if he were a man wronged? Was one night all he wanted from her?
What about all the other nights in the year—all 364 of them—when she fed the children dinner on her own, when she cuddled and read bedtime stories on her own, when she kissed the children good night on her own?
What about all the other nights in the year—all 364 of them—when she waited up, listening for his car in the driveway, wondering if he would come up to talk to her or retreat into his study? What portion of nights had she fallen asleep, waiting in vain?
Didn’t those nights count as nights she had given him so that he could remain in the sanctuary of his perfect career, never having to emerge out into the real world, the messy world of a wife and children, of their smiling faces and play-stained hands? Their bossy demands for cuddles and hushed whispers of I love you?
The ache in her chest squeezed tears from her eyes. How could he not want any of his beautiful, loving children? How could he not want any of her?
Chapter 3
The next morning, Valeria pulled her dark blue BMW into an empty spot next to the curb, fed quarters into the parking meter, and double-checked the address Brett had given her. Yes, she had arrived at the right place—a shabby brownstone townhouse that had been converted into three apartments, one on each floor. According to the file, Peter lived on the third floor with his parents, an older brother, and two younger sisters.
Peter’s father was not in, but Margie Brown, a thin and careworn African-American woman, let Valeria into the apartment. “Peter’s in the living room. Why don’t you go and talk to him? I’ll be over in a few minutes, as soon as I get breakfast for the other two.
Eight-year-old Peter, a wisp of a boy, offered Valeria a huge grin. “Are you from the Make A Wish Foundation?” he asked in a wheezy voice.
“Yes, I am. I’m Valeria Cruz. And I hear that you want to be a judge.”
“Yes. It is the most awesome job ever,” he said. It shouldn’t have been possible, but his grin widened further.
Valeria relaxed into a matching smile. She could hear echoes of Diego’s natural enthusiasm resounding in Peter’s voice. “Tell me what you think you’d like most about being a judge.”
He warbled on, and she took notes. At some point in the conversation, Margie came in, carrying an infant, and sat across from Valeria. She listened to her son speak of his dreams—dreams that might never come to pass—and a sad smile etched her lips.
With increasing frequency, Peter lapsed into body-wracking coughs. One coughing fit was so severe that Margie scurried to her son’s side. Awkwardly, she shifted her baby as she tried to tend to Peter. “Maybe you should lie down and rest for a few minutes.”
Valeria stood up and held her arms out for the infant. “I’ll take the baby. Peter needs you.”
“Thank you.” With a grateful smile, Margie handed the child over and then carried Peter away.
Valeria settled in a chair and rocked the wide-eyed infant who stared at her. “You’re a cutie.” She stroked the chubby cheek as she hummed a song; the baby cooed and snuggled closer.
By the time Margie came back out fifteen minutes later, the baby was fast asleep in Valeria’s arms. Margie smiled. “You have quite a knack with little ones,” she whispered.
“I have two of my own. Eight and five.” Valeria’s tone was no louder than Margie’s as she continued to rock the baby. “How is Peter?”
“Resting as comfortably as he can manage. So, is the foundation going to grant him his wish?”
“We think so. I’ll be working on it; you should feel free to call me up at any time to check on it.”
“Oh, thank you.” Margie’s smile was as effusive as Peter’s. “It’s going to mean so much to him, after everything that he’s had to go through.”
“And how are things here?” Valeria asked.
Margie’s gaze flicked across the room. She sighed. “Tight, and getting tighter every day. I don’t know if you know our situation, but I had to quit my job to take care of Peter after it became clear that Peter could no longer go to school. Then my Pete—my husband, Pete Sr.—lost his job. He’s found another one since, but it pays a lot less, and the benefits aren’t as good. The insurance company…” Her shoulders heaved. “The insurance company is refusing to pay—”
Valeria frowned. “What do you mean they’re refusing to pay? How can they do that?”
“Our coverage lapsed when Pete was between jobs, and now, they say Peter’s cancer is a preexisting condition. They’re refusing to pay.”
“That’s crazy. They can’t do that.”
“Who’s going to fight them? I’m on the phone with them every day. Nothing I say seems to make any difference. They say they’re going to work out a payment plan for us, but it doesn’t mean anything if we can’t pay it regardless. We barely make the rent as it is.” Her voice broke. “That’s why this wish is so important for Peter. We’re so afraid that, at some point, the hospitals will stop treating him when they realize they can’t get any money out of us.”
“I’m pretty sure they can’t do that.”
“I hope you’re right.” Margie’s hand trembled as she wiped moisture from her eyes. “I realize we could lose Peter to the cancer, but I never imagined it would be because we couldn’t pay for the doctors to help him fight back.”
Valeria’s arms were full of the baby, or she would have reached out to give the other woman a hug. What could she say? “It’s going to be all right” was a platitude, and offered false hope. “I’m so sorry” seemed to concede defeat. She realized painfully that there was nothing she could say that could make any difference to Margie.
The other woman’s questions and fears continued to plague Valeria when she returned to the car. Could the hospitals really decide to stop treating Peter if they realized he could not pay? Gabriel would know, of course, and she had to talk to him about Peter’s wish anyway. For the second time in as many days, Valeria found hers
elf driving to Gabriel’s workplace.
The labyrinth of fiberglass and steel suited him perfectly, the façade as sleek and cool as his professional demeanor. The glass doors slid apart to let her into the reception area of Brickstein and Felder, which occupied the fortieth floor of a business tower overlooking Central Park. An elegant young woman, her hair swept back in a chignon more suited to a night out at the opera, offered Valeria a trained smile. “May I help you?”
“I’d like to see Gabriel Cruz.”
“Do you have an appointment, ma’am?”
He’s worked in a small and elite professional firm for twelve years, and yet, none of his colleagues knows me. Had Gabriel hidden her away, or had she hidden herself away?
Did the semantics matter when the outcomes were the same?
She drew her poise around her like a shield. “I’m his wife.”
The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “I…will let him know you’re here. Please, have a seat.” She reached for the phone.
Valeria did not want to sit—her restless energy did not permit it—but there was a certain poise and appearance she felt compelled to maintain, so she took a seat, crossing her legs.
Not a moment later, the receptionist stepped around her desk. “Mrs. Cruz, if you would follow me, I’ll show you to his office.”
Valeria was conscious of the sharp click of her heels against the gleaming marble tiles. She nodded politely to the people she passed in the corridor, but all she received were openly curious glances in return. The atmosphere was cool to the point of being chilly. She was so put off by the lack of welcome that she practically barged into Gabriel’s office.
He stood up. “Val, are you all right?”
“Yes, yes. I just needed to talk to you.”
Gabriel looked past her and nodded to the receptionist. “Thank you, Rachel.”
Rachel’s eyes gleamed with interest, but she politely closed the door and departed.
He came around the desk and took Valeria by the arm. “You need to sit. You don’t look all right.”
“I…” In that moment, it was easier to accept his support and relax against the familiar warmth and strength of his body. She allowed him to lead her to a chair in the sitting area next to the large windows that overlooked Central Park.
“I’ll be back,” he promised.
She sank into the smooth leather and focused on regulating her breaths. Where had that near-panic attack come from? It was entirely uncharacteristic of her to be so deeply affected by the regard or disregard of others. Perhaps it was because she was in his domain, and the apparent disregard of his colleagues stung harder than the indifference of strangers.
She looked out of the window, her throat tight. The view, she acknowledged, was fantastic. Her appreciation of it, in that moment, however, was severely lacking.
Gabriel’s footsteps did not make any sound against the plush carpet. “Here. Be careful, it’s hot.”
Confused, she looked down at the steaming mug he had placed carefully on the table in front of her.
“Chamomile tea,” he said.
“Thank you,” she murmured. How did he know she only drank chamomile tea? A coincidence, surely.
His eyes were narrowed in his fine featured face. He sat across from her. “What brings you here?”
“I saw Peter Brown today.”
The lack of recognition in his face reminded her that she had given him no background information on her Make A Wish recipient.
“He’s an eight-year-old boy with cancer. The Make A Wish Foundation asked me to help source his wish. He wants to be a judge for a day, and I was wondering if you knew of any judges who work in environmental law.”
“I do.” His tone betrayed a faint hint of confusion.
“Can you ask if any of them might be willing to help out with this wish? The foundation will help cover any expenses.”
“I’ll reach out to them.” He paused. “Is this why you came?”
“I…” She drew a deep breath and reached for her tea. She sipped slowly and allowed the fragrance to fill her nostrils, and the warmth to infuse her lungs. Through it all, she was painfully aware that her husband was staring at her as if she were a stranger and that she was taking up Gabriel’s precious time. “When I spoke to Peter’s mother, she said that she was worried that the hospitals would stop treating Peter if they found out that they couldn’t pay. Can the hospitals do that?”
“No, they can’t,” Gabriel said firmly. “Don’t the Browns have insurance?”
“Yes, but it’s with a new company when Peter’s father got a new job after a lapse in coverage. Apparently, the insurance said they wouldn’t pay because they said it was a preexisting condition.”
Gabriel frowned, but said nothing.
“They’re just out to rip off those who can’t defend themselves.” Valeria sighed.
A soft knock sounded on the door.
Gabriel looked up. “Come in.”
The door opened, and a petite young woman looked in. “I have the urgent reports you wanted, Gabe. Shall I put them on your desk?”
“Yes, please, Josie. Thanks.”
Josie stepped across the room, her sultry gait set off by the swaying of her hips. She tossed her blond hair back over her shoulder.
Every nerve in Valeria snapped to high alert. Valeria glanced at her husband, who was browsing on his smartphone. He may not have been focused on Josie, but there was no question that Josie was trying to attract his attention. The backward glances Josie cast in his direction and the faint, cloying smile on her lips confirmed it.
Valeria fought down the swirl of nausea in her stomach as Josie excused herself and left the office. “Who is she?” Valeria asked, trying to keep her voice casual.
“Who?” Gabriel looked up and glanced around. “Oh, that was Josie. She’s a summer intern and helps Susan, my paralegal, with legal research.”
If he was interested in Josie, Valeria could not hear it in his voice. Either Gabriel was not even aware of Josie’s flirtations or he was a practiced liar.
Valeria released her breath in a shuddering sigh. Gabriel was a lawyer. All evidence pointed to him being a practiced liar.
Gabriel looked at Valeria. “Did you have any time to consider possible options for the trip?”
She glared at him. “I thought I made it clear that I wasn’t going.”
“Look, Val.” He leaned forward in his seat and reached for her hand. She pulled it out of his grasp. Hurt flicked across his face but vanished quickly into his cultivated aplomb. “All I’m asking for is this one weekend. Making partner is what we always wanted.”
“What you always wanted, Gabriel,” she said.
“And what did you want?” he asked, his voice quiet.
“I don’t know.” She shot to her feet to pace the breadth of his office. “If I knew, don’t you think I’d be doing it now? I just know that this isn’t enough.”
“You wanted time away together.”
“With the kids.”
“And we will go away with the kids. But I want time with you too.”
She laughed, the sound bitter. “Don’t make it sound nobler than it is. It’s a partners’ retreat. What you want is a woman on your arm.”
“Not any woman. I want you on my arm. We did this together, Val. Don’t you see? This is our celebration, our milestone—”
“You’re so good at twisting the words, making me come out as the bad guy. The person who isn’t a team player. Just because I have sense enough to realize that our kids need us and we can’t just leave them to go off gallivanting for the weekend doesn’t make me the bad guy.”
“No.” He frowned. “That’s not what I’m saying. Damn it, Val.” His temper snapped. “All I’m saying is that we can probably find a way to spend a couple of hours in Napa Valley without the kids.”
“You go. I’ll stay.”
“But—”
“What the hell is your problem? I’m not getting in the way of you
r promotion. I’m not getting in the way of your retreat. Why can’t you just respect the fact that I just don’t want to go?”
Gabriel stiffened. “It’s not the children, then. They’re just an excuse. It’s me.”
She retreated, recoiling into herself and looking away. “And what if it is?”
The words on the card flashed through his mind.
Happy anniversary. I want a divorce.
Of course, Valeria had been upset the night of their anniversary, the night he had failed to return early enough to spend time with her. What had he been supposed to tell her—that he had been on his way out the door when the hospital called to tell him that his client, Lily Herald, had been admitted to the emergency room? She had been shot by her husband whom she was divorcing. Lily had no family or close friends in the New York area; hell, he was just her lawyer, but he was the closest thing Lily had to a friend. It had fallen to him to rush to the hospital to console Lily’s distraught two-year-old toddler until Lily’s parents arrived from Boston five hours later to take the child.
He should have called Valeria, but in the panic of the moment, it had completely escaped his mind. All he could do after that was salvage the situation. He thought he had talked her off the ledge with the use of obvious logic. Hadn’t they agreed on the vacation as something they would do together? Hadn’t she promised that she would talk to him if she were unhappy?
But there it was again. He had seen it happen time and time again with his clients—the emotional withdrawal and the corresponding physical reaction. She was barricading herself. She was cutting him out of her life.
Oh, God, I can’t lose her.
He stared at her. She met his gaze, her chin lifted. The uncertain woman he had talked away from the ledge two nights earlier was now a confident and defiant woman. She met his eyes without flinching.
I’ve already lost her.
He replayed the trailing end of their conversation, praying that he had misheard, that he had misinterpreted her somehow.
Desired: A Love Letters Novel Page 4
