by Day Leclaire
“Morning,” he greeted with a warm intimate smile. Striding over, he enveloped her in a tight hug.
She held her breath, bracing for his kiss. Traitor! Hypocrite! Deceiver! She trembled. He felt it.
A single brow quirked upward. “You all right?”
“Sure.” She cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m fine. The coffee’s poured.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Okay.” He took the hint and, with a tolerant smile, took a seat at the kitchen table. He leaned back in the chair, his long legs stretched in front of him. “So, what’s up?”
“I have to talk to you.”
“Okay.” He snatched a quick gulp of coffee. “Talk.”
“I’ve sold Constantine’s.”
His mug hit the table, the hot liquid sloshing over the rim and onto his hand. He didn’t say a word. Certainly not the words she expected. He didn’t ask her to repeat the bald statement. He didn’t rant and rave. He didn’t even ask the all important question, why?
Instead a cold smile touched his mouth, reflecting the wintry coolness of his gaze. “Brilliant move,” he acknowledged. “One I didn’t anticipate. Stupid of me, wasn’t it?”
She shook her head. “No! You say that as though I’d planned to sell from the beginning. You’re wrong.” She didn’t know why she bothered with the denial. He didn’t believe her. Not for one tiny second.
He grunted. “Yeah, right. Whatever you say.”
“Something unexpected came up and I was forced to sell,” she offered feebly. Pride kept her from telling him about the bank loan—line of credit, she amended. Pride, and the fact he didn’t care enough to ask.
“Who?” At her momentary confusion, he elaborated, “Who did you sell to?”
“Jack Maxwell.”
Thor nodded. “I know him.” He smiled cynically. “Should I even bother asking about the Milano account?”
“It goes with Constantine’s.” She wished she’d obtained the means to make it up to him, so she could offer something in its place. But with nothing definite, she was forced to remain silent. She couldn’t give him what she didn’t have.
“That’s it, then.” He took another gulp of coffee and stood. “I have work to do.”
Don’t you dare cry ! she ordered sternly. Don’t you dare. “Wait.” She shrank from the look in his eyes. “We have one or two other matters to settle. Our marriage, for one.”
He laughed then. She almost covered her ears at the sound, but didn’t quite have the nerve. “What marriage? You’ve decided everything without consulting me. I’m sure you’ve decided how to handle that minor detail, as well.”
“We married because of the business . . .” she began.
His lips twisted. “And we’ll divorce because of it, too.”
So, their marriage ended. No discussion. No explanations. No angry exchanges. She slipped her wedding band from her finger and stared at it for a long time, tears blurring her eyes. With loving care, she placed it gently on the kitchen table.
“I guess there’s nothing more to be said,” she whispered.
“Not another word,” he concurred.
She tried to swallow and couldn’t. “It’ll only take me a minute to pack,” she offered. “Then I’ll go.”
Her voice almost broke. She couldn’t risk speaking again. Nor could she look at him. She was too much a coward to face the fury and disgust and condemnation in his eyes. It took every ounce of strength to move from the table and walk down the hallway to their room. Correction, his room.
She packed. The entire time, Thor stayed in the kitchen. Once done, she didn’t seek him out. There wasn’t any point. She hesitated by the front door.
Explain it to him! Tell him why you did it. He’ll understand. Tell him you love him. Maybe it will make a difference.
She turned the doorknob. He didn’t want her love. He wanted the one thing she couldn’t— wouldn’t —offer. Her business. She squared her shoulders and walked through the door and out of his life.
H e waited until he heard the front door close behind her. Then he heaved his coffee mug across the room with all the strength he possessed. It crashed against the wall and shattered, a thousand and one pieces raining onto the floor to mingle with the black flood of coffee.
A muscle worked in his cheek. Five jerky steps carried him to the kitchen table. He picked up her ring. Slowly his fingers closed around it, crushing it in his fist. The edges cut deep into his skin, but he didn’t flinch. This pain was nothing. Nothing at all.
Had she ever taken off his ring? He opened his fingers and stared at the shiny piece of gold. His thumb stroked the delicate braiding. Had she ever guessed at the symbolism behind the braid, why he’d chosen that over a bland exterior? Had she ever noticed the words he’d had inscribed inside the band? He ran his index finger over the graceful flowing script.
Først kjærlighet . . .
He slipped off his own ring and read the rest of the phrase.
. . . deretter arbeid.
He’d been wrong to choose those words. His gaze grew bleak. Very wrong.
W ith nowhere else to go, Andrea returned to Constantine’s. Knowing the loft was padlocked, she ordered Marco to bring bolt cutters. She climbed the stairs above the offices, and her head salesman followed, resembling nothing more than a whipped puppy.
Seconds later, the lock dropped to the ground with a thud, and she pushed open the door, stepping inside. Someone had stripped the room clean. Nothing remained, not even a single prism. She closed her eyes. Her prisms. Gone, like her hope for the future.
With her arrogance and her pride, she’d taken the best thing in her life and thrown it away. Oh, her reasons were sound enough, but they made for a very cold bedfellow. She’d gambled and lost everything—her father’s business, her husband, and her future.
She’d always believed in tomorrow offering new beginnings and new chances. She’d always tried to look for the bright side in the gloomiest of disasters. Why should today be any different? She groaned. She knew why. Because Thor was no longer a part of her life. And without him, it would be a very dull, gray life indeed.
“Anything else I can do for you, Mrs. Thorsen?”
She caught her breath, her eyes widening. Mrs. Thorsen, he’d said. Not Andrea. Not Ms. Constantine. But Mrs. Thorsen.
Her mouth firmed. She needed that reminder. Wasn’t her goal to stand on her own and not be dependent on Thor? Hadn’t she also wanted to take their relationship off a professional footing and put it squarely on a personal one? There’d been a reason for that. She’d wanted to eliminate Constantine’s as a thorn in their side. She’d hoped to work by her husband’s side as his equal, not as another burden. She’d achieved her independence, a little more thoroughly than she liked, true. So what should she do with it?
Fight for what she wanted or give up?
“Andrea?” Marco prompted in an undertone.
“Yes,” she murmured. “There’s something else you can do for me.” She turned and pinned him with a determined gaze. “I’d like you to uncover everything you can regarding a certain gentleman at my reception . . . .”
“ H ow you do this to him, huh? How you leave and say nothing? You lose another marble?”
“Undoubtedly. Could we forget my marriage for a minute? I’m tired of talking about it.”
“I,” Joe Milano informed her arrogantly, “am not.”
“You still haven’t answered my question,” she said, intent on regaining control of their conversation. “Can you prepare it for me on a regular basis?”
“No problem.” He finished checking his garlic supply and moved on to the tomatoes. “I make the cannoli with my eyes closed.”
Andrea grinned, vaguely surprised her mouth remembered the movement. “I’d feel better if you did it with them
open.”
“They are wide open for now.” He glanced pointedly at her left hand. “What you do with your ring? I not see it for the seven days.”
She glared at him, jamming her hand in her pocket. “I lost it, not that it’s any of your business. Drop the subject, or I’m going to drop something on you.”
“Yes?” He looked intrigued. “Tell me how you do this, please.”
“The cannoli,” she tried again. “What sort of notice do you require to get it ready?”
He shrugged. “A couple hours. Who is this for, anyway? Your husband, maybe? You forget to say.”
She hadn’t forgotten, she’d purposefully neglected to mention it. “Not Thor. Someone else. You met him at our reception,” she said, deliberately vague.
His eyes narrowed. “I meet lots of people. Which is this one?”
“The big guy.” She cleared her throat. “With the big appetite.”
“What, you nuts or something?” he demanded, heaving carrot tops at the garbage pail. “That crazy man stole all my best pastry. Forget it. He is pig.”
“Actually he’s very nice. And he loves your cooking.”
“Cooking?” he roared. A carrot hit her instead of the trash. “You call what I do cooking?”
“All right, cheffing,” she roared back. “He loves your cheffing.”
“Okay, this is better.”
“Then you’ll do it?”
“No.”
“Damn it, Joe. I need your help.”
He eyed her sternly. “Your mouth, it is gonna get you in big trouble. And I not help you win another man when you got a good one already.”
“I don’t want him for myself,” she admitted, desperate. “It’s for Thor. I’m trying to woo a client for him.”
“Ah, this I understand. A client for your husband.”
She bowed her head. “If you don’t do this for me, he won’t be my husband for long.” She peeked at Joe from beneath lowered lashes.
“You lie very bad, cara,” he muttered. “You not deserve Thorsen. He is a good man. I like him.”
“I like him, too,” she agreed contritely. “And you’re right. I don’t deserve him.”
Joe heaved a martyred sigh. “I do this and maybe it help you find your lost ring?”
“Yes.” Lord, she hoped so!
“Okay. It is done.” He glared at her, shaking a carrot beneath her nose. “But you get the ring back soon, capito?”
She grinned. “Boy, do I capisco.”
“ I ’d say the camps are evenly divided. For the last ten days, Rainer’s talked of nothing but killing you. Alaric and Sonja have taken your side. And Thor . . .” Jordan deliberately refrained from finishing her sentence, her eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Did you invite me over to tease, or are you going to tell me what he said?”
“Thor hasn’t said a word.”
Andrea sighed, not surprised. She’d expected as much. “And you?”
Jordan shifted in her chair and grimaced. “Honestly, I could just scream! How could you sell the business like that, without even warning him?”
“I—”
“I thought you loved him.”
“I do—”
“If you’d sold Constantine’s and turned over the Milano account to him, it would be one thing. But did you? No.”
Andrea sighed. “No.”
“So why?” her friend wailed. “Why did you do it?”
She wanted to explain to Jordan. She’d like just one person to understand what she’d done and the reasons behind it. “I owed the bank a lot of money. It came due,” she said simply, giving the excuse in a cool, emotionless voice. “The only way I could pay it off was to sell Constantine’s. Without throwing in the Milano account, I couldn’t sell the business for enough to cover the bank note.”
Jordan stared at her in disbelief, a protective hand splayed across her belly. “Good heavens. Does Thor know?”
Andrea shook her head. “He didn’t seem interested.”
“And you didn’t tell him. Andrea! The Thorsens would have helped. All you had to do was ask.”
Andrea’s lips formed a stubborn line. “I know.”
The petite brunette sighed. “That darned pride of yours. I always knew it would get you into trouble. Would it really have been so difficult to accept his help?”
“Yes, it would.” It all came pouring out. “Don’t you understand? That’s been the whole basis for our relationship, one business crisis after another, with Thor rescuing me from each one.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“I don’t want him to stay with me because of the business.” She closed her eyes, her hands clasped tightly together. “I want him to stay with me because he loves me.”
Jordan shot her a shrewd look. “You think it’s all business with him, don’t you? You think he married you because of Constantine’s.”
“I know he did.”
“I don’t believe it. I never have. I think he loves you. I think the trouble at Constantine’s provided him with a convenient excuse.”
How Andrea wished she could believe that. Unfortunately, the truth was far different. “I know he married me because of the Milano account. I didn’t like it, but I went into our marriage accepting that fact.”
“And now?” Jordan asked, shifting awkwardly in her chair.
“Now I realize I love him and I won’t have a marriage without love.” Emotion brought a husky note to Andrea’s voice. “If I ask Thor to help me with the financial problem at the bank, it means a long-term commitment. I can’t allow that. I won’t stay married just for business reasons.”
Jordan threw her hands in the air. “Pride. You’re choking on pride.”
“Call it what you will. If Thor wants a permanent marriage, it has to be because he loves me, not because he’s forced into it. I won’t use Constantine’s to hold on to a husband. Nor will I allow a business to define my marriage.”
A secret smile played around Jordan’s mouth. “Have you ever said this to Thor? You might be surprised by his response.”
Andrea shoved the curls from her face. “We did discuss it once. He said he wouldn’t have married me if not for Constantine’s. That’s plain enough, I’d say.”
Jordan appeared astounded. Then her brows drew together. “Your ring,” she said sharply, pressing a hand to her stomach. “Where’s your ring?”
“I left it with Thor.”
“Get it back,” she urged. “There’s something you don’t know—” She broke off with a small gasp.
Andrea ran to her friend, crouching beside her. “Jordan? Is it the baby?”
She gave a weak grin. “Did I happen to mention I’m in labor?”
“No. You didn’t.” Andrea fought for calm. “How long?”
“Most of the day. I thought I’d have plenty of time. Rainer had some business errands—” She winced and gave a self-deprecating shrug.
“And you didn’t want to bother him. Business. Always business first with this family,” Andrea muttered. “Come on. Let’s get to the hospital. Which one?”
“Northwest. Do you know the way?”
“I know it.”
“Call Rainer. He can meet us—” Jordan gasped again, cradling her stomach. “Your ring. Get your ring.”
Andrea put a supportive hand under her friend’s arm and helped her stand. “Why is everyone so worried about my ring? Forget the damn ring. First things first.”
Jordan pulled away. “Promise me you’ll get it or I won’t go.”
She’d always heard pregnant women were strange. She now had proof positive. “I promise.” Seeing the stubborn gleam in Jordan’s eyes, Andrea said with more conviction, “I promise. Can we go now?”
“Please. But hurry and get it, or I won’t win my grapefruit.”
>
“ I ’m sorry. Rainer Thorsen isn’t in right now. Thor Thorsen is available, or you could leave a message.”
“Put me through to Thor.” She’d been afraid to call his cell phone directly in case her name popped up on his caller ID and he refused to answer.
“Whom may I say is calling?”
“Tell him it’s a family emergency and get him on the line. Now!” A series of clicks sounded in her ear, and then she heard Thor’s reassuring voice. “It’s Andrea,” she said quickly. “I’m at the hospital.”
“Are you hurt? Which hospital? I’ll be right there.”
There was no mistaking his concern. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a resurgence of hope. “It’s Jordan. She’s gone into labor. Do you know where to find Rainer? He’s not answering his cell.”
“Yes. We’ll be right over.” He didn’t hang up, and after a brief pause, he asked, “Will you still be there?”
She laughed self-consciously. “Jordan made me promise I’d stay. I doubt your brother will be happy about it, though.”
“Let me worry about Rainer. Don’t move from that spot, you understand?”
Her smile turned wobbly. “I like it when you talk nasty.”
“Then you’re going to love our next conversation, sweetheart.”
He terminated the connection and Andrea leaned her head against the wall. At least they were talking. But for how long?
T he instant Thor hung up, his cell rang. “What is it?” he barked into the receiver.
“Same to you, and do I have some interesting news. I’d have called sooner, but the battery on my cell died. Wait’ll you hear.”
“Not now, Rainer.”
“Just listen to this—”
“Andrea phoned. She’s at the hospital with Jordan. Your wife’s in labor.”
“I’m on my way.”
“One thing first.” Thor’s tone hardened. “You say a single, unpleasant word to my wife, and your life won’t be worth dust in a high wind.”
Rainer chuckled. “No fear of that, big brother. No fear at all. See you soon. I’m gonna be a father!” he shouted, and hung up.
