Planning for Love

by Christi Barth

  Daphne tapped on Ivy’s shoulder. “You ready to give the toast?” she whispered in her ear, crouching down next to her chair.

  “Not a great time,” Ivy whispered back. Ben’s lips were pursed, white around the edges. One hand toyed with the stem of his wine glass, tilting it this way and that, and his eyes were locked onto his plate. She needed to extricate Ben from her well-meaning but incredibly pushy parents ASAP.

  Again, Daphne tapped on her shoulder, this time more insistently. “You asked me to coordinate tonight, and according to the timetable, you wanted to make the speech before dessert. They’re already clearing some of the tables. We’re not running late. Not on my watch.” Gib stood behind her, ready to pass over the microphone in his hand.

  “Bigger problems right now than sticking to the schedule, Daph.” Ivy tuned back in to the conversation right as her mother dropped the conversational grenade in Ben’s lap.

  “How would you like to come to our cabin for Columbus Day weekend? We’ll go to a fish boil. As authentically Wisconsin as beer and brats, but better for you.”

  “I can’t.”

  Samantha doled out an indulgent smile. “Oh, I see the problem. Don’t worry, we’re all adults. We won’t make you and Ivy sleep in separate rooms.”

  “Sorry, but I can’t,” he repeated.

  Sam elbowed him in the ribs. “What’s the matter, got a better offer?”

  Ever so slowly, those storm-cloud eyes rose to meet Ivy’s. “I’ll be in Darfur in October.”

  Ivy felt like she was in one of those action movies, where the minute the bomb explodes, everything switches into slow motion. Her parents looked mildly surprised. Gib and Sam, who had a better grasp of what his words meant, looked stunned. Ivy reached down and grabbed Daphne’s hand for support. Although petrified of the answer, she forced herself to ask the logical question in a calm voice. “Seems like an odd place to film Planning for Love. Why Darfur?”

  “It’s not for PFL. It’s not for RealTV at all. After I called in that tip about Senator Newsome last week, people were grateful. Figured maybe I still had a nose for news and an eye for the right shots. I got the call this afternoon. I’m going to film a documentary about the ongoing conflict in Sudan.” Ben paused for a second, as if giving a moment for the weight of his words to truly sink in. He took a swig of water, and when Ivy didn’t respond, he cleared his throat.

  “We start shooting in September, right after Labor Day, go for maybe five months. This kind of in-depth story, representing the humanitarian crisis and genocide on a daily basis, hasn’t been done before. It’ll bring awareness of their plight to the world in a whole new way.”

  Deep down, Ivy realized the enormity of this offer. It meant his colleagues had restored faith in his abilities. It meant validation. But, given that he’d been a coward and waited to spring the news in front of a crowd, she was pretty sure it also meant they were over. “You’re leaving.”

  “Yes.”

  She tightened her grip on Daphne. “You’re leaving me.”

  Ben dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I planned to tell you later tonight. I didn’t want to spoil the party.”

  “Great plan,” Daphne scoffed, sarcasm as deep as Lake Michigan. “How’s it working out so far? Everyone still full of the romantic celebration vibe?”

  “Stay out of it,” Gib warned in a low voice. “Ivy and Ben have enough trouble right now without interference from onlookers.”

  Ivy reminded herself not to leap to conclusions, not to fall into a full-blown panic. By its very nature, Ben’s job was transient. But jetting off to San Diego for a week was one thing. It was another thing entirely to disappear for five months into a country so dangerous he might not survive.

  In a tone that surprised her with its steadiness, she asked, “Am I supposed to wait for you?”

  Ben’s gaze slowly roamed the room in a full circuit. When it finally landed on her, his eyes had darkened to the indigo of a fresh bruise. Just like the one blossoming on her heart. “No.”

  “Why don’t we go take a turn around the dance floor?” David suggested.

  “No.” Ivy cracked out the response like a whip. Damned if she’d let him hide her in a corner like an embarrassment, or worse yet, just walk out on her. “Ben, you’re the one who decided this special occasion filled with my friends and family would be the appropriate place to break your big news. So you might as well finish it here. Saves me the trouble of re-telling the story to everyone later.”

  His eyes softened with regret. “Ivy, don’t.”

  “Don’t what? Don’t make a scene? Don’t care? Don’t wonder what made you decide to turn your back on an amazing relationship?” Oh, she’d make a scene, all right. Certainly not in the place of her choosing, but the man of her dreams wouldn’t walk out on her without providing some answers, and she’d do whatever it took to shake them loose.

  “We could never have a real, lasting relationship. I’m Mr. Right Now, not Mr. Right. Look at all this.” He flung out his arms, waved at Samantha and David, then at her grandparents seated at the next table. “I could never live up to your expectations for a relationship. I’m not built that way. This is why I left you back in April. This is why I said on that rooftop in Greektown, plain as day, we should enjoy ourselves for six weeks. Don’t act surprised—I told you flat out that I’m not a long-term kind of guy. I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m not capable of being the man you deserve.”

  Did he really think she was that stupid? Ivy stood and stalked over to stand in front of him. “That’s a gussied-up version of it’s not you, it’s me. You are not laying that trite line on me. You don’t get to disappear halfway around the world with nothing more than it’s not you, it’s me.”

  He sighed. Did the whole finger-under-the-collar, lapel-smoothing thing again to give himself a minute to regroup. “Look, this job is a once in a lifetime opportunity. The second chance I never thought I’d get. A do-over that could completely change my life. You know how important my job is to me.”

  Did he even realize how his subconscious took over that last sentence? She doubted it. She doubted Ben realized anything except how easy running away would be, compared to staying put.

  “Correction. I know how important your news job was to you. Not one week ago you told me how much you enjoy your current job. The one where you have artistic freedom, and yet don’t have to stare death in the eye on a daily basis. I know you’re passionate about politics and world events. The world needs more people in it who give a damn as much as you do. But come on, Ben. Five months in the Sudan? There probably isn’t a more dangerous assignment on the planet. Is getting back into the news worth risking your life? Or is it that you’d rather shadow murderous tribesmen than stay with me?” She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. Ivy wouldn’t let him leave until she damn well knew why. No way would she spend the next few weeks sobbing her eyes out without knowing the reason. “Have enough respect to at least be honest, with yourself and with me.”

  “Fine.” Ben shoved back from the table and stood as well. “I’ve been upfront about this from the beginning. You represent everything I can’t have—security, family, the perfect home behind a picket fence. Seeing what you have shows me what I’ll fail at without even making an attempt.”

  “Or you could make the attempt, and surprise yourself. You work so hard, make such a point of not caring about anything. You’re more scared to let yourself truly feel than anyone I’ve ever met.” The harsh words flew out of her mouth. She’d harbored these thoughts since that weekend in April with him, but foolishly hoped he would change. And had feared pushing his self-reflection too far would end up pushing him away. No reason to shy away from confronting him with the truth now, though. “You’re not just afraid of commitment—you’re afraid of emotion.”

  “Sure, I’ll cop to that.” Ben shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “Safer that way. These statistics are outside your comfort zone, but do you know the divorce ra
te? Somewhere just short of astronomical. Hell, not even marriage. Do you know how many ugly, squabbling couples I see at weddings? Bitter, angry people who are so miserable together, they can’t keep from fighting at their friend’s big event? People who get more scarred and bitter with each failed relationship? I can’t get hurt if I don’t open myself up in the first place.”

  Yup. Bottom line—he was scared stiff. This man who’d traveled the world staring death in the face was nothing more than a yellow-bellied, emotional coward. “Please. Go back to filming floods, famine, a daily dose of death. You think that won’t hurt? Won’t eat away at your soul? You can’t escape pain—but you can embrace joy to temper it. Where’s your joy, Ben?” Ivy poked her finger into the center of his chest to drive home the question. Tried not to think about how it could be the very last time she touched that wonderful, muscled chest, even if in anger.

  “The higher you fly, the farther and harder you fall. Joy’s an aspiration I don’t seek. My family’s chased it for years, and never got within two miles of it. I got too damn close to it here in Chicago. Should’ve known the shit was about to hit the fan.”

  “Oh, right. Chicago’s treated you so horribly. You’ve made a circle of friends, have a rewarding job, and you get to be with a woman who loves you. Nobody is pulling the plug on that life but you!”

  “Ivy, you don’t love me. You’re in love with love itself.”

  All the burning pain and anger within her iced over. She lifted her chin. “Do not dismiss my feelings. You don’t have to return them, but you certainly don’t get to judge them.”

  “I don’t buy this off-hand declaration of love. You’re just spouting off in the heat of the moment. A last-ditch effort to make me stay. If you really were in love with me, you would’ve said so. Hell, you would’ve shouted it from the rooftops. You’re physically incapable of keeping that emotion a secret.”

  He thought he knew her so well. She’d wipe that supercilious smirk right off his face. “I hadn’t told you yet because I didn’t want to scare you. The plan was always to wait until after you told me you loved me. After we made love, I’d tell you. The culmination of the perfect plan.” Whoops. She hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud. Even to her ears, it sounded a bit absurd. Her profession had taught her over and over again that there was no such thing as a perfect plan. Which is why she usually had contingency plans and back-ups for those. Except this time, when it mattered most, Ivy had no backup. No way to fix the yawning chasm between her and Ben, growing wider every second.

  “A plan? You had a plan for our relationship?” Ben choked out a laugh, a harsh, scornful sound. Looked up at the ceiling, then drove his fingers through his hair. “Of course you did. Now I realize why you’ve been such a tease, why we haven’t made it back to the bedroom after all these weeks.”

  His voice rose to a near shout. The musicians sputtered to a stop. Twelve tables of guests swiveled their heads to watch the action. “Well, what you call a plan? I call a trap. I’m not a puppet for you to manipulate. My life is my own, my choices my own. You can’t plan for love, Ms. Rhodes. And you’re sure as hell not going to get it from me.”

  Ivy stared, motionless, while the man she loved turned his back on her and stalked out of the ballroom. She watched his lithe, lionlike grace, his hair burnished the gold of ancient Roman coins by the crystal chandeliers. One last glimpse of his profile, those generous lips she adored locked down into a thin, grim line. Then he was gone. Forever.

  Hand flailing, she reached out to grab the nearest wine glass and lifted it high in the air. “Since I’m quite sure I have everyone’s attention, I’ll take this opportunity to make my toast. Congratulations to my parents, Samantha and David Rhodes. They’ve stayed happy together for forty years. I think we’ve all just had a glimpse of what a rare, amazing accomplishment that is.” Sheer willpower kept her tears at bay. Her parents deserved nothing but joy this night, and she’d already contributed too much sorrow to the evening. “They are a remarkable couple who make each other happy every single day. Thank you for being an inspiration to all of us, and wonderful parents to me. Here’s to forty more blissful years.”

  As the entire room cheered and clinked glasses, Ivy kissed each of her parents on the cheek. Then the twisting, clawing knot in her stomach reached up through her throat. She tamped it back down by draining her glass. She wouldn’t let Ben ruin her enjoyment of excellent champagne. No, she’d kick up her heels, dance with her father, and Sam, and Gib. Gib especially, since he was a whiz on the dance floor thanks to his fancy schools back in England. Yes, Ivy would stay to the end of this party, to have one last happy night before the empty string of tear-laden nights alone began. She’d just lost her best shot at happily ever after. Worst of all, it was her own fault. Her brilliant plan had backfired in a way she’d never anticipated.

  Chapter Twenty

  The proper basis for a marriage is mutual misunderstanding.

  —Oscar Wilde

  Ben hated mornings. On the best of days, with the ferocity of a rabid tiger, the sun had a way of getting its claws into you and shaking until your head pounded and you wanted to beg for mercy. This morning proved to be a fresh level of hell.

  After leaving the party, he’d hunkered down at a dark, squalid dive bar. Half a dozen shots and as many beers later, he concluded the answer to his problems didn’t lie at the bottom of a glass. Staring sleeplessly at the ceiling for four hours hadn’t exactly improved his filthy mood. Now his stomach turned over from the drinks, and his head throbbed from…well, everything else. Especially squinting at his laptop while firing off emails to get him the hell out of town.

  Ollie could shoot without him for a few days until RealTV sent a replacement. He didn’t care if they docked his pay, but he’d be damned if he’d show up at Aisle Bound with a camera on his shoulder. It took some serious web-surfing to snag any flight, thanks to a day’s worth of backups from some East Coast hurricane. Now, with only one day left in Chicago, he could at least try to calm his stomach by laying down a layer of sugar and grease from Lyons Bakery’s epic donuts.

  He pushed through the door just shy of dawn, then paused at the threshold when he saw Sam loading the bakery case. Too late to cut and run, thanks to the damn tinkling bell on the door. Sam locked eyes with him, then jerked a chin toward a table at the back. Ben paused in front of the donuts.

  “Does a condemned man still get one last meal? Because I don’t think I can do this without a cruller or ten. And a vat of coffee.”

  Sam gave a nod, wiped his hands on his apron. “I’ll set you up. We’ve got a special cherry fritter this morning that’ll turn your world upside down. Take a seat.”

  Looked like Sam didn’t plan on decking him anytime soon, and the prospect of a cherry fritter to top it off? There was a god after all. Ben rested the heels of his hands against his eyes. Whatever Sam dished out, he could take it. Couldn’t be any worse than what Ivy served up last night.

  “You look rough around the edges. Tough night?” Sam slid a plate onto the table, then deposited two giant mugs of coffee.

  “One time in Afghanistan we spent the night with an Army battalion pinned down between two groups of rebels who didn’t realize they were on the same side. No food or water. Our radio got shot, so we couldn’t call for help. The lieutenant had a fractured leg, which meant running like hell wasn’t an option.” Ben took a long, life-giving gulp of coffee. “That night was a cakewalk compared to last night.”

  “Good to know you’re keeping everything in perspective.”

  Here we go. “Let me lay it out for you. I only came here because Ivy told me you never work the early shift. I don’t want to cause any trouble, and I don’t want to rehash what should be a private matter between me and Ivy.”

  Sam did a spit take with his coffee, spraying it onto the floor. “Private? Buddy, stripping naked at center court at a Bulls game is more private than that show you and Ivy put on for all of us. So many people know about it t
here’s probably a review in the Tribune. But I’m not going to bust your balls.”

  Another quick peek around the room confirmed Ben’s suspicions. They were all alone. “Crap. No witnesses. You are going to beat me up, aren’t you? Is Gib all lined up to swing by in half an hour to help you dump my body in the Chicago River?”

  “We didn’t have a formal schedule laid out, but…” Sam’s voice trailed off, then after a second he burst out laughing and clapped Ben hard on the arm. “Don’t be an idiot. Ivy didn’t put a hit out on you. We’re sure as hell not going to work you over. We’re friends. Aren’t we?”

  He’d wondered all along if everyone accepted him because of Ivy, or if he’d made genuine friendships. Assumed, after last night’s debacle, that the whole crowd would take Ivy’s side without question. Throw a parade as soon as his plane took off from O’Hare tomorrow, waving Good Riddance placards. “Yeah, I guess we are. Does this mean I can eat my donuts in peace?”

  “Nope. But on the bright side, I have no intention of talking about Ivy—”

  “Great.” Ben whooshed out a sigh of relief. The entire day loomed ahead of him, and he didn’t have a damn thing to do, except avoid everyone connected to Aisle Bound. If he wasn’t going to get the third degree, he’d stay. Hanging out with Sam wouldn’t be a bad way to pass the morning. Most importantly, it’d distract him from second guessing his decision about Darfur.

  “—or what an incredible tool you were to her parents. Timing is not your strong suit.”

  “Hey, I didn’t intend to ruin the party. Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes kept yammering at me about the future, trying to lock me down. You were there—you heard them. How else could I shut them up?”

  “Not getting into it. But I do want to talk to you, as a friend, about your career.”

  Ben bit into a fritter, then bit back a moan. The cherry goodness exploded in his mouth, and lifted an ounce of the multi-ton lid of darkness currently suffocating his heart. “You want to tag along? I’m sure we could find room for a guy who knows his way around a camp stove.”