The Millionaire Claims His Wife

by Sandra Marton

  “Not for me.” He put a hand against his flat belly. “The last dozen cups are still gurgling around in my stomach.”

  “Maybe you’d rather have something else. Hot chocolate?”

  Chase’s brows lifted. “Well, yeah, that might be—”

  “Hemlock, perhaps. A nice, big cup.”

  “There’s no need to behave like that, Annie.”

  “No?”

  “No.” He stood up, went to the refrigerator and opened it. “Isn’t there any beer?”

  “There is not.” Annie slid under his arm and slammed the fridge door shut. “I,” she said self-righteously, “do not drink beer.”

  Chase looked at her. “I’ll just bet the poetry pansy doesn’t drink it, either.”

  “The...?” Annie flushed. “If you mean Milton—”

  “How about some diet Coke? Or is that beneath you, too?”

  Annie shot him an angry glare. Then she stalked to the pantry door and pulled it open.

  “Here,” she said, jamming the can of soda at him. “Have a Coke, even though it’s only six in the morning. Maybe it’ll clear your head enough so you can come up with a plan that’ll work.”

  “I already did.” Chase yanked the pull tab on the can and made a face as he downed a mouthful of warm soda. “I told you,” he said, as he took a tray of ice cubes from the freezer, dumped some into a glass and added the Coke. “When the kids come back from their honeymoon, I’ll tell them that we stretched the truth a little for their own good.”

  “We?” Annie said, in an ominously soft voice.

  “Okay. Me. I did it. I stretched the truth.”

  “You’re stretching it now, Chase. Say it. You lied.”

  Chase took a long drink, then put the cold glass against his forehead.

  “I lied. All right? Does that make you feel better?”

  “Yes.” Annie frowned. “No.” She looked at him for a long minute. Then she turned and stared at the coffee, dripping slowly from the filter basket into the carafe. “You lied, and what did I do?”

  “Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish here, Annie, but we just went around with this, remember? I was the black-hearted horse’s whatever-you-called-me that started us on this path into the pits of hell.” He sighed, then laid the hand clutching the glass of Coke over his heart. “You want me to swear I’ll come clean? I will. You want my word I’ll make it crystal clear you didn’t do anything? I’ll do that, too.”

  Annie folded her arms over her chest. “But I did.”

  “Did what? God, I have been up for more hours than there are in a day, and my brain is starting to whimper. What’s wrong now? I said I’d tell Dawn it was all my idea. I can’t do any more than that, babe, can I?”

  Annie plunked herself onto a stool. “Don’t call me that,” she said, but without her usual fire. She sighed deeply. “You can’t tell her I’m not part of it because the truth is that I was.”

  “Was what?” Chase said, trying to keep his patience. He looked at his half-filled glass of soda, and wondered if there was more caffeine in it or in a cup of coffee. “I’m tired,” he muttered. “I need to lie down, Annie. I’m worse than tired. I could have sworn I heard you say—”

  “I did.” Annie put her elbows on the counter and scrubbed her face with her hands. “I said, I’m as responsible for this mess as you are.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I was the one who lied.”

  “At least you’re admitting that it was a lie.” She sighed, scrubbed her face again and then looked up at him and folded her hands neatly on the countertop. “Dawn’s going to ask me why, if I knew you were lying, I didn’t say anything.”

  “Well, you’ll tell her the truth.”

  “Which is?”

  “Which is...” Chase frowned. “I don’t know what we’re talking about anymore! The truth is the truth.”

  “The truth isn’t the truth. Not exactly. I mean, I heard you tell her that we’re thinking about a reconciliation. I could have said ‘That isn’t so, Dawn. Your father’s making it up.’”

  Chase felt a tightening in his chest.

  “But you didn’t,” he said.

  “I didn’t.” Annie looked at him, then at her hands, still folded before her. “I kept quiet.”

  “Why?” Her hair had fallen forward, curling around her face. He fought the urge to reach out and touch the soft, shining locks.

  Annie sighed. “You’ll call me crazy.”

  “Try me.”

  “Because, in my heart, I knew it was the only way to get her to stop comparing herself and Nick to us. It was a foolish thing for her to be doing. Just because you and I—because we fell out of love, doesn’t mean they will, too.” She looked up, her expression one of defiance. “Welt?”

  Something indefinable swept through him. Relief, he told himself. Hell, what else could it be?

  “I won’t call you crazy.” He smiled. “But you’ve got to admit, you’re up to your backside in the murky waters of what’s a lie and what’s a fib, the same as me.”

  Annie nodded. “Well then, when they get back, we both admit that we fudged the truth and hope for the best.”

  “I suppose.”

  Annie’s mouth trembled. “Dawn’s going to be hurt. And angry.”

  “She’ll get over it.”

  “We never lied to her about anything, Chase. Even when—when we finally decided to end our marriage, we told her the truth.”

  Chase looked at his ex-wife.

  “Well,” he said carefully, “perhaps there’s another way.” He watched as Annie wiped her hands over her eyes. “I mean...” He forced his lips into a tight smile. “I mean, we could agree to go ahead with a reconciliation.”

  “What?”

  “Not a real one, of course,” he said quickly. “A pretend one. You know, spend some time together. Go out for dinner, talk. That kind of thing.”

  Annie stared at him. Her eyes were wide and very dark. “Pretend?”

  “Well, sure.” Chase spoke briskly, almost gruffly. “Just so we could look the kids straight in the eye and say yeah, we tried...”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  Annie shook her head. “I—I couldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Annie struggled to find an answer. Why not, indeed? What would it take, for her to spend the week of Dawn’s honeymoon dating—pretending to date—her former husband? They could avoid pushing the buttons that stirred up old animosities and pain. They could shake hands, as if this were a business deal, and pretend, for their daughter’s happiness.

  But she couldn’t do it. A week, seeing Chase? Seven days, smiling at him over dinner? Seeing his face, hearing his voice? Walking at his side? No. It would be too—too—

  “It would be wrong,” she said brusquely.

  “Annie...”

  “There’s no reason to compound one lie with another.” She rose, picked up the coffeepot and dumped the contents into the sink. “You were right. One more mouthful of caffeine and I’m going to start twitching.”

  “Annie...”

  “What?” She swung around and faced him. “It wouldn’t work,” she said flatly. “Not for you, not for me—not for anybody else.”

  “Who else? Nobody’d need to know.”

  Annie drew herself up. “What about your fiancée?”

  “My...?”

  “Janet Pendleton. How would you explain it to her?”

  Chase frowned. Another lie, coming back to bite him in the tail. “Well,” he said, “well, I’d just tell her—I’d say...” His eyes focused on Annie’s. “I’ll tell her whatever it is you’d tell your pansy poet.”

  Annie flushed. “That’s one thing about you, Chase Cooper. You always did have a way with words. I thought I told you, Milton is a professor at the college.”

  “He’s a limp-wristed twit, and I’ll bet anything you’re taking one of his dumb courses. What is it this time? How To Speak Sixteenth-Century English In A
Twenty-First Century World? Fifty Ways To Turn Simple Thoughts Into Total Obfuscation?”

  “Obfuscation,” Annie said, batting her lashes. “I’m impressed.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not. How can you be so gullible? Flocking to dumb courses given by jerks with too many initials after their names...”

  “You have a lot of initials after your name, Mr. Cooper. But, of course, you’re not a jerk.”

  “You’re damn right, I’m not. At least I’ve got some calluses on my hands. I know the meaning of honest labor.”

  “Sorry, Chase. You’ve lost the right to use that word. ‘Honest’ does not apply, after the whopper you told our daughter.”

  “Is that how you met him?”

  “Who?”

  “Hoffman. Am I right? Did you take a course he taught?”

  “Milton is a Shakespearean scholar with an outstanding reputation.”

  “In what? Seducing married women?”

  Annie’s eyes flashed. “I am not a married woman. Yes, I took a course he taught and yes, he writes poetry. Beautiful poetry, which I’m sure is beyond your comprehension. Unfortunately, since I know it’ll disappoint you to hear this, Milton is not gay.”

  Chase folded his arms over his chest. “I suppose you speak from personal experience,” he said, and felt his stomach clench.

  Annie barely hesitated. Why worry about telling a lie to the master of the art? “Of course,” she said, with a little smile.

  Chase’s jaw tightened. This was a moment for some cleverly sarcastic remark. Unfortunately, his mind was a blank. No, that wasn’t true. It had filled with an image of Annie in Hoffman’s arms, of his fist connecting with Hoffman’s narrow jaw.

  “How nice for you both,” he said coldly.

  Annie tossed her head. “We think so.”

  “So, when’s the big day?”

  “What big...?” She swallowed. “You mean, the wedding?” She shrugged and mentally crossed her fingers. “We, ah, we haven’t set an actual date yet. And you?”

  “And me, what?”

  “When are you and Janet tying the knot?”

  Knot was right. Chase could feel the noose, slipping around his throat.

  “Soon.”

  “This summer?”

  “It depends. I’ve got this project starting in Seattle.”

  “And, of course, that comes first.”

  “It’s an important job, Annie.”

  “I’m sure it is. And I’m sure Janet understands that.”

  “She does, yes. She knows it takes twenty hours out of a twenty-four-hour day to take a firm like the one my old man left me to the top.”

  “Better her than me.”

  “You’re damned right!”

  They glared at each other, both of them remembering—just in case it had slipped their minds—how glad they were not to be living with each other anymore, and then Chase turned away.

  “I’ve got a plane to catch,” he said.

  “That’s it. Just take off. Turn your back on the mess you made.”

  “Dammit, what would you like me to do? I’m due in Seattle for a site inspection tomorrow afternoon. Hell, what am I talking about?” Frowning, he pushed back the sleeve of his sweater and checked his watch. “It’s this afternoon.”

  “Run away,” Annie said coldly, folding her arms, “before we’ve even finished talking or found a solution to the problem you created.”

  “Fine. You want to talk? You can drive me to my hotel so I can pick up my things. Then you can drive me to the airport.”

  Fifteen minutes to his hotel, Annie thought, eyeing him narrowly, and then forty more to Bradley Airport. One hour, more or less. Surely she could survive that much time in his company if it meant they might come up with a plan.

  “All right,” she said, then hesitated. Maybe she should go upstairs and change...? No. What for? Chase deserved to be driven to the airport by a woman in an Oscar the Grouch sweatshirt.

  “Well?” she said impatiently, sweeping her car keys from a hook on the wall. “What are you waiting for, Chase? Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Annie waited in her car while Chase collected his suitcase from his hotel room.

  Offering to drive him to the airport hadn’t been such a great idea.

  They hadn’t come up with one single good idea during the time it had taken them to get here. And sitting so close to Chase in the bucket seats of her little Honda made her, well, uncomfortable. He was too big for the car. His thigh was right there, an inch from her own. His shoulder brushed hers, on a tight turn, and his aftershave wafted in the air.

  The sooner she got rid of him, the better.

  “Okay,” she said, once he was seated beside her again, “what airline?”

  “West Coast. Something like that.” He dug into his pocket as she pulled the car into traffic. “Here’s the ticket. West Coast Air, that’s it.”

  “How original,” Annie said with a tight smile. “Must be new. What terminal is it at? A or B?”

  “What do you mean, A or B?”

  “Bradley’s got two terminals,” she said patiently. “One’s A. One’s B. I need to know which we’re going to.”

  “We’re not going to Bradley.”

  Annie looked at him. “We’re not?”

  “I’m flying out of Logan. In Boston. I thought you understood that.”

  Boston. A two-hour drive, instead of forty minutes. Annie’s hands felt sweaty on the steering wheel.

  “Boston,” she said faintly. “I don’t think...”

  “My flight leaves at noon. Will we make it? Maybe I should phone the airline. If there’s another flight in an hour or two, we could stop for a bite to eat first.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Annie glanced at the dashboard clock. “I’ll get you there in plenty of time,” she said, and jammed her foot to the floor.

  * * *

  They got to the airport with twenty minutes to spare.

  Annie stopped her car at a stretch of curb marked No Parking. Chase opened his door and got out.

  “Well,” he said, “thanks for the lift.”

  She nodded. “You’re welcome.”

  “Sorry we didn’t come up with a solution.”

  “Yes. Me, too.”

  “As soon as the kids get home...”

  “I’ll call you.”

  “We’ll figure out something, by then.”

  “Sure.”

  “Dawn’s a good kid. She’ll understand, if we decide to make a clean breast of things.”

  “Chase. Your plane.”

  “Oh. Right. Right.” Chase slammed the car door. “Well...”

  “Goodbye,” Annie said. She stepped on the gas and drove off.

  A block away, she pulled to the curb. Her heart was racing and her eyes felt grainy.

  Why had they quarreled over so many silly things? Why had they sniped at each other?

  “Because you’re mismatched,” she whispered, answering her own questions. “You were always mismatched. It’s just the sex that kept you from realizing the truth—”

  Annie frowned. What was that, on the floor in front of the passenger seat? She bent down and scooped a long white envelope from the floor.

  It was Chase’s airline ticket.

  “Damn,” she said, and threw the car into a rubber-burning U-turn.

  * * *

  He wasn’t in the terminal, or maybe he was. There were people milling around everywhere; how could she be certain?

  Annie raced to look at the Departures screen. Where had he said he was going? Seattle, that was it. On West Coast Air. There it was. Gate Six.

  She flew through the ticket area, through the lounge, toward the gate. She almost stopped at the security checkpoint when the guard asked to see her ticket, but then she remembered that was the reason she was here, that she had a ticket clutched in her hand, and she waved it at him and hurried through.

  Where was Chase?

  There! There he was! Her relief at
finding him diminished everything else, including how he’d managed to clear security without a ticket.

  “Chase,” she yelled, “Chase!”

  He turned at the sound of her voice. “Annie?” She saw his face light. “Annie,” he said again, and opened his arms.

  She told herself later that she hadn’t meant to run to him, that she’d simply been going too fast to stop. But the next thing Annie knew, she was locked in Chase’s embrace.

  “Annie,” he said softly, “baby.”

  And then her arms were around his neck and his hands were in her hair and they were kissing.

  “Chase,” she whispered shakily, “your ticket...”

  “It’s okay,” he said, against her lips. “Don’t talk. Just kiss me.”

  She did, and it was just the way it had always been. The sweetness of the kiss. The sheer joy of it, and then the rush of excitement that came of being in Chase’s arms...

  “Mom! Dad! Isn’t this incredible?”

  Annie and Chase sprang apart. Dawn and Nick were standing perhaps three feet away. Nick looked a little surprised, but Dawn’s face showed only absolute delight.

  Annie recovered first.

  “Dawn?” she said. “And Nick. What are you doing here?”

  “Yes.” Chase cleared his throat. “We thought you’d, ah, we thought you’d flown out hours ago.”

  “Well, there was a delay. Weather. Something like that. Nothing serious.”

  “Great,” Chase said heartily. “I mean, that’s too bad. I mean... Listen, I wish I could stay and talk to you guys, but my plane—”

  “We were just walking around to kill time. Are you on this flight to Seattle?”

  “Yes. And it’s going to be leaving in a couple of minutes, so—”

  “Sure.” Dawn came forward and gave them each a hug. “I think it’s wonderful,” she said, smiling at her parents. “You two, doing this.”

  “Dawn,” Annie said, “baby...”

  “Annie,” Chase said carefully.

  She looked at him. He was right. This was hardly the time to tell their daughter about their subterfuge.

  “What, Mom?”

  “Just—just keep an open mind, okay? About—about your father and me.”

  Dawn nodded and settled into the curve of her husband’s arm.

  “I will.”

  “Good. That’s good. Because—”