The Millionaire's Marriage

by Catherine Spencer

  of his aftershave: Davidoff’s Cool Water—a fitting choice for a man who was, above all, coolly contained on the outside regardless of whatever demons haunted him within.

  “I might as well,” she’d replied, covertly watching as he crossed the room again to the tray on his valet where he kept his wallet and other small personal items. He looked utterly beautiful, utterly masculine. And utterly re mote. “I’ve got a ten week overseas assignment coming up, starting in Tokyo next Wednesday, and I like to leave myself a couple of days to catch up with the time change.”

  “Sounds like a brutal schedule.”

  “I’ll be at my usual hotel in Paris by the end of September, but if you need to get in touch with me before then, my agent—”

  “I know how to reach you, should something come up. What I was going to say is, if you want to hang out here an extra day to catch your breath, you’re welcome to do so.”

  “Thank you, but there’s nothing to be gained in my staying. I’ll put everything back the way I found it and be out of your hair by Monday at the latest.”

  He picked up his watch, the same stainless-steel Rolex he’d worn since before he met her. For all his millions, he was not an ostentatious man and though he was often generous to a fault with others, his personal tastes ran along rather austere lines.

  His next words illustrated the point with chilling ac curacy. “I was going to talk to you about that,” he’d said, snapping the bracelet closed around his wrist. “You ought to arrange to have all that stuff you left behind the first time you took off shipped to your place in Rome. It’s yours anyway, and you probably have more use for it than

  I ever will. In fact, I don’t know why you haven’t claimed it before now.”

  She could have told him the reason, if she’d thought he was the least bit interested in hearing her say, Because I secretly hoped we’d find our way back 10 each other, and enjoy it together.

  But he’d laid to rest any chance of that happening when he’d turned away from her question the night before. 1 fail to see where love comes into the picture, he’d replied, and the emotional distance he’d put between them since bore out the sincerity of his belief.

  “I’ll arrange to have it removed as soon as possible,” she said, and turned her face away before he saw the misery she knew must be obvious even to the most casual observer.

  I will remember this moment for the rest of my ljfe, she’d thought, closing her eyes but unable to shut out the picture emblazoned in her mind of the sun spearing the room to burnish his shoulders, and highlight his profile in such a way that his lashes formed dusky shadows on his cheeks.

  Sublimely indifferent to her misery, he’d strolled into his dressing room—a respite she gravely needed—and re turned a couple of minutes later wearing dark gray trou sers and a white dress shirt. “Would you like to take your folks out for their last night here?” he asked, sliding a burgundy-and-blue silk tie under the shirt collar. “I’ll be happy to reserve a table somewhere.” -

  “No,” she said hurriedly. She’d had enough of being in the public eye for one week, on top of which she’d seen how her parents’ energy, particularly her father’s, faded by the end of the day. “I’m sure they’d prefer to spend a quiet evening here with just us before they un dertake the long journey home tomorrow, but I’ll under-

  stand if you’d find that too difficult and prefer to stay away.”

  He’d fixed her in a somber gaze. “I have no quarrel with your parents, Gabriella. I like and respect them both, and I’m no more interested in upsetting them than you are. If a quiet evening with just the four of us is what you think they’d like, that’s what they’ll get.”

  “Thank you.”

  Her mouth had been trembling so hard, she’d barely been able to articulate the words. Noticing, he’d given the Windsor knot in his tie a final inspection, then hooked his hands on his hips and blown out a breath. “I like you, ‘too, you know, and for what it’s worth, I’m disappointed we weren’t able to work things out.”

  “Gabriella?” With a start, she realized her mother was observing her with all the wisdom that came of having weathered seventy-odd years of more turmoil and heart ache than any one person should be asked to bear.

  • “How do you do it, Mama?” she asked, struggling to keep her emotions under control. “How is it that you’ve never lost faith in yourself? How have you managed to get up and face another day, when so often you must have thought you had nothing left worth living for?”

  ‘Never lost faith?” Her mother smiled. “Oh, my dar ling, if you only knew how many times I was ready to give up! When your brother was killed, I wished I had

  •died with him. I blamed your father for not having taken us to a safer place until the troubles were over. But he wouldn’t desert his country and when it came right down to it, I couldn’t desert him. I loved him too much, just as you love your Max. And in the end, I ‘was rewarded. I was blessed with you—a beautiful daughter when I thought my child-bearing years were behind me. It’s true that good things come to those who wait, Gabriella. The

  secret lies in not giving up the fight, and trusting in the healing power of love.”

  She spoke with such calm assurance that Gabriella was almost persuaded to believe her. A whole weekend alone with Max stretched ahead: two full days and two long nights. Only a week or so ago, when they’d finally dared let down their defenses, they’d found their way back to each other in less than an hour. Surely, if she put her whole heart and soul into it, she could pull off another such miracle?

  But not without Max’s cooperation and that, she dis covered, was not forthcoming.

  “I hoped I’d be able to take the morning off and drive you to the airport tomorrow,” he told her parents, that night at dinner, “but I just got word that clients I’ve been expecting are flying in from Geneva tonight and it looks as if I’m going to be completely tied up with them for the next couple of days.”

  “We can order a taxi,” Gabriella said, doing her best to swallow this latest blow to her hopes.

  “No need. You can take my car instead. It’ll be more convenient, especially with all the errands you have to run between now and Monday.”

  Good grief, he could hardly wait to be rid of her! “But if you’re entertaining clients,” she said, “surely you’ll need it yourself?”

  “No.” Impervious to the pain his words inflicted, he calmly helped himself to more salad. “I’ve chartered a helicopter to fly us to Whistler for a few days of golf.”

  “When do you plan to leave?” she asked him, after they were in bed.

  He yawned and stretched, then clasped his hands be hind his head and closed his eyes. “Tomorrow, as soon as the morning meetings are over.”

  So much for a weekend ‘of miracles! “Does that mean I won’t see you again after tonight?”

  “Not if you take off on Monday as planned.”

  “Andif ‘

  His eyes opened a crack: “I thought you had .to be in

  Tokyo by Wednesday?” H

  “There’s a lot to do here, between now and then. I could always wait an extra day.” -

  “Why, Gabriella?” he’ said, slewing a weary glance her way. “What would be the point?”

  - Stung, she said tartly, “I know you’re glad this entire charade is into its final act, but you might at least try to pretend ‘a little regret that it’s not ending as well as we’d hoped!” -

  “Regret, like guilt, is a waste of energy.”

  She wanted to shake him! “How can you lie there so passively with our marriage in its final death throes, and not feel something?”

  His chest rose in a massive sigh. “What do you want me to say? We gave it our best shot and still managed to screw up big-time, :and I refuse to keep on doing it—to me or to you. I feel like a big enough fool, as it is.”

  “No more than I do!” she retorted, deeply angered by his’attitude. “I must have been crazy to believe you ever intend
ed to make a serious effort to reconcile. Why would you, when you have Willow waiting to fIll my shoes? She’s obviously so much better suited to the job of cater ing to your needs than I ever was.”

  “Crazy?” he echoed mockingly. “Add jealous and suspicious to the list, and you’re finally coming close to discovering what I’ve suspected all along—you’re the over-the-top star in your own tragic soap opera!”

  “An I, Max? Or is it more that I’m coming too close to the truth for your comfort? Because the fact remains

  that you shut me out when I tried to be a wife to you, but you let her in.”

  “You didn’t stick around long enough to learn the first thing about being a wife! We never took the time to get to know each other at the start, to find out what, if any thing, we shared in common—besides good sex, that is— and we’re still making the same mistake now. And whether you believe it or not, at least I know Willow well enough to recognize she’s not what I want. Whereas with you—!”

  Frustrated, he jerked half upright, yanked his pillow from behind his head and dealt it a savage punch, then stuffed it under his shoulder and angled himself away from her.

  “What about me?” Furious herself, she glared at his back. “Come on, Max, you’re so fixated on spitting out the truth at all costs, so speak your piece. After all, it might be your last chance ever to tell me exactly what you think of me!”

  “Never mind,” he said, gazing stubbornly at the win dow. “I won’t be part of this anymore. I’m tired of trying to separate fact from fiction, truth from fantasy. And I’m tired of rehashing history. This isn’t yesterday, or two years ago. This is now—and it’s about us. About how we haven’t learned a damned thing from past mistakes, and just keep repeating them. And I take full responsibility for it. If I’d followed my instincts and turfed you out of my room that first night, we wouldn’t be in this mess now.”

  “How noble of you—and how hypocritical!”

  She sensed rather than saw the indignation sweep over him. “What the devil’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Your instinct was to take what I was so willing to give, and no questions asked! You welcomed me with open arms.”

  He bolted up from the bed. “You took me by sur prise!”

  “And you simply took me! Very willingly, I might add.”

  “You’re a lovely, passionate woman, Gabriella, and hard to resist when you put your mind to it,” he said, slumping back against the pillows. “I’ve never denied that, anymore than I have that, physically at least, we’re ideally suited. Too bad that’s all we have going for us, because by itself it’s not enough to float a successful mar riage, and any doubts we might have entertained on that score have been laid to rest with a vengeance in the last twenty-four hours.”

  “Really?” she taunted him. “I think it has more to do with the fact that there might be a great deal more to our relationship than you’re willing to admit, because that would involve your looking honestly into your heart, and you’re afraid of what you might find. And you know what? That sets me free to go forward without you.’

  “I see.” He half turned and regarded hercoidly. “And the point of your little homily is?”

  She swallowed the tears that suddenly threatened be cause he was right: regret was useless, and guilt a burden she didn’t deserve. She’d done penance enough for past sins. “That I’m accepting failure—mine and yours!— and I’m ready to close the book on us. I’ll begin divorce pro ceedings as soon as possible. You’ll never have to see me again after tomorrow morning.”

  If she’d hoped that might shock him into realizing he was throwing away something precious, he quickly dis abused her of the idea. “At least you have the decency to be up front about leaving this time, instead of leaving anote.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m no longer that insecure, home-

  sick little bride trying to adjust to a new life in a new country and desperate to win her husband’s approval at any cost. I’ve grown up, Max, and I think it’s time you did the same.”

  “Huh?”

  If she hadn’t been toc emotionally battered to feel any thing but a blessed numbness, she’d have found his thun derstruck expression -comical. “You heard,” she said. “Instead of lecturing me about letting go of the past, try practicing what you preach. Stop hanging on to old re sentments and using them to justify your present choices. Maybe if you can learn to do that, you’ll find sharing your life with someone isn’t such a burdensome undertaking, after all.” She pulled the sheet up to her chin and edged closer to her side of the bed to give him as wide a berth as possible. “Who knows? You might even learn to be truly happy one day.”

  “You speak from personal experience, no doubt!”

  She flinched at the biting sarcasm. “Not yet, but I’m not giving up. I’m willing to try again, and the next time, I’ll choose more wisely and get it right.”

  “I wish you luck.”

  “Luck doesn’t enter into it. I’ve done my best’to right all the wrongs that caused so muàh trouble and damage to our marriage, and whether or not you believe it I’ve learned from the experience.”

  “Have you really, Gabriella?” he sneered. “And what is it, exactly, that you’ve learned?”

  She gazed at the reflection of the pool shimmering on the ceiling and thought a moment before saying calmly, “Mostly that it takes twO to make a couple. One person can’t do it on her own, no matter how hard she tries; In our case, I want to be happily married, but you’don’t. So, I’m cutting my losses and moving on in the hope that,

  someday, I’ll find a man willing to share more than just his bed with me.” i

  Brave words spoken with commendable assurance, but so difficult to abide by the next morning as she stood in the penthouse foyer, watching as Max made his farewells to her parents and knowing that, when he finally turned to her, it would be for another last goodbye.

  He took her hands and for a long aching moment, looked into her eyes. “Well,” he said, his voice a little rough, perhaps even a little uncertain, as though the words were hard come by, “don’t let them work you too hard and stay safe, okay?”

  “Okay.” She must have seemed composed enough on the outside, because neither her mother nor her father ap peared to notice anything amiss, but inside she was dy ing—dying!-—-an inch at a time, in slow and torturous ag ony.

  “And start taking better care of yourself.” His thumbs

  • traced warm little circles over the backs of her hands. He bent his head, pressed a kiss to her forehead, smudged another to the corner of her mouth. “Make sure you eat properly. I hate to see you looking so thin.”

  For him to be killing her with kindness now was in supportable and she knew a swift and fervent urge to pun ish him. Before she lost courage, she threaded her fingers through his thick, black hair and kissed him back, a de liberately slow, intimate kiss full on the lips. One which dared him to rebuff her.

  She angled her face so that her lashes fluttered against his cheek, and let her eyes drift closed. She drank in the scent of him; the taste and texture of his beautiful, sexy mouth. She imprinted her body against his one last time,

  and had the small satisfaction of hearing the sharply in- drawn breath he wasn’t able to suppress.

  “Be good to yourself,” she whispered when at last she pulled away. Then, unable to bear seeing him leave, she turned and ran up the stairs. Once inside their bedroom, she leaned against the closed door and let the tears run free in silent, shuddering sobs.

  Four hours later, she was weeping again, this time as she watched her parents pass through the security gates at the airport. As she had several times in the previous two years, she would visit them whenever her work took her close to her native home, but right at that moment, she felt as if she was being abandoned by the only people left in the world who cared whether she lived or died.

  As if he knew it, too, her father had almost broken down when it came to their parting. “Remember we l
ove you and that, however much other circumstances might change, you will always be our daughter,” he’d muttered, enveloping her in a bone-crushing hug. “Remember, too, that we are only a phone call away any time that you need us.,,

  Reliving the words in her mind as she drove out of the airport and merged with the heavy traffic heading toward downtown Vancouver, she thought it unlikely that he’d been taken in for a moment by the lengths to which she’d gone to portray a happily married woman. Instead, he’d simply played the game, along with everyone else.

  Would he accept news of her divorce with equal for bearance? she wondered. Would her mother? Or would they be disappointed to learn she lacked the tenacity with which they’d clung to their ideals and dreams?

  Perhaps if she’d been less involved in her thoughts and more tuned in to her surroundings, she’d have seen the

  commotion taking place outside the convenience store a few yards away from where she’d stopped for a red light. She’d have realized the danger before it was too late, and taken the simple precaution of hitting the automatic door and window lock buttons on the console.

  But by the time the car’s front passenger door was sud denly wrenched open and a body hurled itself inside, it was too late to do anything but stare in horrified fasci nation, first at the long, vicious blade of the knife resting in uncomfortable proximity to her neck, then at the sullen face of the young thug huddled next to her.

  “Out!” he snarled, both his tone and the gesture which went with it indicating she was expected to vacate Max’s sleek, expensive imported sedan and leave it to tender mercies of her uninvited passenger.

  A distant part of her mind told her she would be wise to obey; that even a life as miserable as hers was more valuable than a mere car. But the emotional paralysis which had gripped her ever since she’d realized her mar riage was over left her curiously indifferent to anything but the fact that, even though he didn’t love her, his car was one thing Max did prize highly.

  So, “I’m afraid I can’t possibly do that,” she said “It isn’t my car and my husband is already annoyed enough with me that I shudder to think how he’d react if I simply turned it over to the first person who asked.”