by Anita Hughes
“How could you have been engaged and never have been in love before?” She looked up, and her eyes were huge. “And why didn’t you tell me?”
“In Sardinia, men are not supposed to show their weaknesses,” he began saying. “Poppy arrived on a yacht last summer. She was very pretty, and we swam and went horseback riding.
“She was on the Emerald Coast because she had just broken off an engagement. Everything had been arranged: the ceremony at St. James Church and the reception at the Pierre. She was afraid if she returned to America, she would be convinced to go through with it.
“Somehow I thought the best solution was to marry her. You couldn’t help but be dazzled by Poppy, she was like bubbles in champagne. We went shopping for a ring and planned to elope.” He paused. “A week later, her fiancé, Grant, appeared. Poppy hadn’t told me the correct story. Grant had gotten cold feet and called off the engagement.
“Poppy wanted to make him jealous. She sent him photos of the engagement ring, and Grant arrived on the next plane. Poppy returned my ring and said she hoped we could still be friends.
“I was too proud to tell you,” he finished. “What woman would want a man who has been discarded by someone else?”
“I wouldn’t have cared,” she said. “You should have told me the truth.”
“There are many things I have to learn about love, but I would never hurt you,” he pleaded. “Will you forgive me?”
Ricky pulled her close and kissed her. She kissed him back, and the dock seemed to spin. If she let him go, would she ever feel this way again?
“I forgive you,” she whispered and felt like her heart would explode.
Ricky grabbed her hand, and his face broke into a smile. He opened the door of the red convertible, and she slid into the passenger seat.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Somewhere completely private.” He jumped in beside her.
They drove into the hills and stopped in front of a stone villa. There was a fountain, and there were green trellises.
“It’s a little sparse inside.” He opened her car door. “My sister offered to furnish it, but I want to do it myself. “
Lily followed him into a tile entryway. The living room had rounded plaster walls and a patterned rug. There was a low white sofa with scattered cushions.
“The villa belonged to an American artist. At first, he couldn’t convince me to buy it. The bathroom doesn’t have a tub, and the stove only works if you blow in it. But then he brought me out here.” He led her to the patio. “I was like all the visitors who arrive on the Emerald Coast and never want to leave. I told him he could have every penny in my bank account, as long as he sold me this house.”
Lily inhaled the scent of myrtle and gasped. The view was of the whole coastline, and the sky was filled with a thousand stars. Yachts gleamed in the harbor, and she could see the lights of Porto Cervo.
“It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.” She nodded.
“Before it was beautiful.” He touched her cheek. “With you, it is a slice of heaven.”
Ricky’s hand fumbled under her dress, and she wondered if they were rushing into things. But if she asked to go home, they might not get another chance. She was a divorced woman on the brink of a love affair; she couldn’t stop now.
“I’m terribly thirsty.” She hesitated. “I’d give anything for another glass of champagne.”
Ricky found a bottle of champagne and two glasses and brought them into the living room. They sat on the sofa and talked about the Aga Khan’s yacht and Ricky’s store.
“When Louisa was born, Oliver smuggled champagne into the hospital. I wasn’t supposed to drink, but he said one glass wouldn’t hurt. And it was perfect! I wasn’t nervous about being a new mother.” She stopped and flushed. “I shouldn’t be talking about Oliver. I would understand if you wanted to take me home.”
“On the contrary, I think you and I feel the same,” he said.
“The same?” She looked up.
“We’re both nervous about what’s going to happen next. But we don’t want to miss out.”
Ricky gathered her in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. There was a king-sized bed and a dresser with a vase of sunflowers.
He unzipped her dress, and it fell to the floor. Lily turned and unbuttoned his shirt.
“I’m falling in love with you,” Ricky whispered and drew her onto the bed.
“I’m falling in love with you too,” Lily murmured.
His fingers made circles around the small of her back and her body tightened. She pulled him on top of her, and he gasped. She’d forgotten what it was like to be with a new man. The sheets were crisp against her skin, and she felt almost electric. He pushed inside her, and she savored his weight and then the exquisite opening.
He moved faster, and she dug her fingers into his back. Her body shuddered, and all she could feel was the deep throbbing and the warmth exploding inside her
“Love is a very good thing,” Ricky moaned and pulled her close.
“I agree,” Lily breathed and tucked herself against his chest.
* * *
Lily stood at the window and smoothed her hair. Ricky was asleep, but suddenly she was thirsty. She padded into the kitchen and poured a glass of sparkling water.
She moved through the living room and noticed a wooden coffee table. There was a stack of envelopes on it and a bowl of fruit.
She picked up a peach and remembered when Oliver had given her a peach at the train station. She had been certain they would be in love forever. Now she was standing in a strange man’s living room on the Emerald Coast.
She waited to become anxious, but all she felt was a giddy excitement. She climbed into the bed beside Ricky and closed her eyes.
Chapter Twelve
OLIVER STRAIGHTENED HIS COLLAR AND sighed. It was ridiculous to worry about what to wear to visit a jewelry store. But if he wore his usual T-shirt and shorts, the salesgirl would think he wasn’t worth her time. If he put on his Tom Ford blazer, she’d lead him to the biggest diamonds. He finally settled on a Brooks Brothers shirt and a pair of slacks. His hair was freshly washed, and his cheeks were clean shaven.
He had spent the morning deciding how to propose to Angela. At first he thought he’d litter the suite with rose petals and have a candlelit dinner. But Angela was a florist; she saw engagements like that all the time. And he never understood why couples got engaged at expensive restaurants. The other diners cheered, and it was like being at a children’s birthday party.
The concierge suggested he rent a catamaran and sail around the bay. There would be a basket of scampi and strawberries with fresh cream. Oliver pictured Angela in a striped bikini and thought nothing could be more perfect.
Now he entered Floris Coroneo and glanced around the space. A woman wearing a linen dress sat behind a mahogany desk. There was a yellow orchid in a crystal vase and a silver vault.
“May I help you?” The saleswoman looked up. Her hair was pulled into a chignon and she had long eyelashes.
“I’m looking for an engagement ring.” He approached the desk.
“What did you have in mind?” she asked.
“My fiancée is a florist in Manhattan,” he began. “She’s quite stunning. I want something she’d be proud to wear.”
“I have the perfect ring.” The woman stood up and opened the vault.
Oliver’s eyes adjusted to the dark, and he gasped. Glass cases were filled with diamonds the size of small birds. There was a row of sapphires and a pink stone that deserved its own armed guard.
“The right ring reflects not only the woman wearing it but the man who gave it to her.” She handed him a baguette-cut diamond flanked by emeralds. “This is from our Extremely Piaget collection. The stones are chosen for their vibrant color and ability to catch the light.”
Oliver glanced at the price tag. “I don’t need Extremely Piaget. Simple Piaget will do.”
“Th
e ring is the most important purchase in a marriage.” She pursed her lips. “Price shouldn’t be a concern.”
“That’s fine unless you live in a Manhattan apartment that costs more than those villages in France they try to sell you over the Internet.” He sighed. “I can spend two thousand euros.”
“We have key chains for that price.” She raised her eyebrow.
“I know the brochures say the marriage is only as good as the ring. But you can buy a piece of tin, and the marriage can last forever. Or you can splurge on a five-carat diamond and have it end up at a pawn shop in Las Vegas,” Oliver said. “I want something elegant that won’t empty my bank account.”
The woman opened a drawer and pulled out a velvet pouch. She handed Oliver a platinum band set with an oval diamond. “This is from our friendship ring collection. I suppose it could be an engagement ring.”
“I’ll take it,” he said after checking the price tag and handing her his credit card. “If I pay extra, could you put it an Extremely Piaget box?”
* * *
Oliver stepped onto the cobblestones and wiped his brow. Getting married was exhausting. First you had to propose and then you had to plan the wedding. By the time you slipped into the back of a Bentley, you felt as if you’d completed an obstacle course.
It had been worth it with Lily, of course. They’d had so many good years: their first apartment in San Francisco where they hung the laundry on the fire escape; buying a dining room table so they could give proper dinner parties. But you’d think if you went to so much trouble to get married, it would be harder to undo. All it took was a visit to an attorney, and it unraveled like a stray thread on his shirt.
He thought about the first time he had returned to the farmhouse after he moved out. Suddenly, somewhere that was so familiar had seemed brand-new.
* * *
Oliver perched on a sofa in the farmhouse’s living room and fiddled with his glass. He had only been gone a month, but he didn’t recognize the silk cushions or the ceramic vase filled with tulips. Lily had replaced their wedding photo with a picture of Louisa at summer camp, and there was an unopened bottle of sherry on the side table.
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” Lily stood in the hallway. She wore slacks and a wool sweater. “I was showing the new handyman around the barn.”
“You shouldn’t be home alone with a strange man,” Oliver said.
“George is a retired war veteran.” She smiled. “He’s perfectly harmless.”
“How harmless can he be if he held an M16 for a living?” he grumbled. “And we didn’t need a handyman when I lived here.”
“Well, now I do,” she answered. “He’s already replaced the furnace filters and caulked the windows.”
“I see you’re entertaining.” He pointed to the bottle of sherry.
“That’s cooking sherry. Even if I was dating, I wouldn’t dream of bringing a man to the house.” She paused. “Honestly, Oliver, I thought it was a good idea to divide the furniture together. If you’re going to behave like a home inspector, we can have the attorney do it.”
“I didn’t think everything would look so … changed,” he said. Even Lily looked different. Her lipstick was a new color, and her hair was brushed in a different style.
“I brought in a few accessories from the store to freshen things up.” She shrugged. “I’d like to keep the floral sofa, but you’re welcome to whatever you like.”
“I’d like to move my things out of that overpriced West Village apartment and back into my closet.”
“We both wanted a divorce,” she reminded him. “It was the only solution.”
“You suggested it, and I couldn’t think of a reason not to.” He looked at Lily. “But if you give me some time, I will.”
“We tried for months, and it only got worse.” She shook her head. “And it wasn’t fair to Louisa. She never knew if her parents would be sharing a slice of cheesecake or throwing darts at each other.”
“We never threw anything,” Oliver said. “Except the surprise thirtieth birthday party you threw for me at Per Se. It was one of the best nights of my life.”
She picked up a pen and a pad of paper. “Would you like our bedroom set or the daybed in the guest room?”
“I don’t want to sleep in a bed we shared.” He shuddered. “And you need the daybed for Louisa’s friends. I would like the desk in the library. We bought it because we thought I might turn my reviews into a book,” he mused. “We imagined it hitting number one on the New York Times Best Seller List. We even made an invitation list for the launch party: Gordon Ramsay and Rachael Ray and Anthony Bourdain.”
“We had been drinking too much champagne.” She laughed. “We didn’t think those people would come.”
“I thought so.” His eyes flickered. “Together we could accomplish anything.”
“I have to pick Louisa up from ballet. Make a list of everything you want, and I’ll check it when I return.” She slipped a ring off her finger. “I want you to have my engagement ring.”
“You can’t give back the ring!” he protested. “It’s been on your finger for ten years. That’s like cutting off an arm or a leg.”
“You don’t expect me to wear it?” she asked. “You should keep it, in case you get married again.”
“You can at least save it for Louisa,” he suggested.
“She’ll inherit my mother’s ring.” She pressed it into his hand. “I remember when you bought it. I told you not to spend any money, but you gave Guido’s cousin everything under your mattress.”
“I don’t want it,” Oliver snapped. “And I’m never getting married again. I have my career and Louisa. Maybe I’ll travel. We never made it to Greece.”
“Of course you’ll get married,” she countered. “You’re young and handsome and successful.”
“If I’m so eligible, why don’t we stay married?” he demanded.
“Because if someone mentions Roger’s name, you go through the roof. And if I see Mirabelle in the street, I’ll run in the other direction.” She paused. “We can’t look at each other without causing ourselves pain. And we’ve stopped making each other happy.”
“Maybe a little pain is better than nothing at all,” he murmured.
“It’s not, Oliver, trust me.” She gathered her purse. “I have to go. I’ll see you later.”
Lily’s car drove away, and Oliver glanced around the room. The only thing he wanted was to have everything back the way it was: he would arrive home from the train, and Lily would greet him with a martini and a bowl of pistachio nuts. But she was right; it hadn’t been like that for months.
He dropped the engagement ring on the table and finished his drink. He grabbed the bowl of nuts and walked out the door.
* * *
Oliver strolled along the marina and stuffed his hands into his pockets. Lily had predicted he would get married again; she knew him better than he knew himself. He was glad he’d told her he was going to propose to Angela. He didn’t want her finding out when Louisa announced there was a new woman in Daddy’s bed.
He had considered telling her Angela was pregnant and changed his mind. He didn’t want Lily to think it was a shotgun wedding. No one was forcing him to marry Angela; he’d made the decision himself.
A familiar woman stood inside a boutique, and he froze. Her bronze hair was hidden by a wide hat, and she wore a knit dress. She was talking to a man with dark hair and tan cheeks.
He looked closer and realized it was Angela. And the man she was talking to was Ricky! What on earth was she doing in Ricky’s store? He remembered when they’d all eaten dinner at the Yacht Club. Surely Angela and Ricky hadn’t formed a friendship?
He was being ridiculous. Angela visited every clothing store in Porto Cervo. They were probably discussing a line of swimsuits or whether she could wear red with her hair.
He could walk in and say hello, but the engagement ring was in his pocket. What if Angela asked where he had been? He was a t
errible liar and he didn’t want to ruin the surprise. He would go back to the suite and make sure the champagne bottle was chilled.
The horizon was a brilliant green, and Oliver adjusted his sunglasses. The jewelry box jiggled in his pocket, and he couldn’t believe his good fortune. He was gazing at the most spectacular coastline in the world and about to propose to a beautiful woman.
* * *
Oliver paced around the suite and tossed a piece of paper into the garbage. He wanted to propose with a poem, but he couldn’t find the right words. He clicked through photos of Angela for inspiration. There were pictures of Angela jogging and doing yoga. He studied a photo he’d taken at the hotel pool and a warmth spread through his chest. God, she was stunning, with her flaming hair and high breasts.
Marrying Angela really was a good idea; they would have fabulous-looking children. And she was so ambitious. Last night, she’d disappeared for hours because a celebrity-wedding planner was interested in her designs. She returned at midnight with stories of Eva Longoria’s wedding to José Bastón in Mexico and John Legend and Chrissy Teigen’s three-day event on Lake Como.
He retrieved the paper and thought he was being too hard on himself. It didn’t have to be Shakespeare; it was about the sentiment. The garbage can fell over, and a wad of tissue paper fell out. He bent down to pick it up and noticed a purple stick.
Angela’s pregnancy test! He remembered when Lily had come flying out of the bathroom in their San Francisco apartment, waving the stick in her hand. Her pregnancy had been a surprise, and they’d both felt like they’d won at blackjack without putting money on the table.
Lily kept the stick in her drawer for a week to make sure the two lines were still there. It was only when she got morning sickness and couldn’t get out of bed without eating saltines that she tossed it in the garbage.
Now he picked up the stick and frowned. Why was there only one line? He’d seen enough commercials to know that a positive result always had two pink lines.
Angela wouldn’t lie about her pregnancy; it didn’t make sense. She hadn’t even insisted they get married; she was content to raise the baby herself. But why did she wrap the stick in tissue paper unless she didn’t want him to see it?
