Delilah sighed. “I think you should pick whoever makes you happy, Mar. Here we are.”
It was a pat answer. And perhaps Delilah was trying not to pick a fight with her when they would be confined to the car for another hour drive back home. It was probably a good thing they arrived at the gallery when they did. Otherwise, they would have a full blown argument and the drive back would be excruciatingly silent.
“Let’s get this over with,” Delilah said as she cut the engine.
Marion wasn’t sure if she meant buying the painting or getting the entire ordeal done.
Silence still between them, they entered the gallery. They seemed to be the only customers and were greeted cheerfully by a young, smartly dressed woman.
“Good morning. How can I help you ladies?”
“Hi,” Marion said. She glanced at Delilah, who stood with her arms folded across her chest, looking bored and annoyed. “Um, I was at Graeme Butler’s opening the other night. I’d like to purchase one of the paintings.”
“Wonderful! Which one were you interested in?” She gestured toward the exhibit room.
“Black-Eyed Girl,” Marion said.
“Hm,” she said, looking thoughtful. “I’m not familiar with that one. Let me look it up.”
“It’s different from his other work.” She trailed after the girl as she headed toward a large desk.
“He’s a great artist, isn’t he?” The girl’s fingers tapped on a computer. “We sold a lot of his work, but I certainly don’t recall seeing this one.”
“It’s rather…unusual.” The entire time she stood waiting, her heart pounded fiercely in her chest.
“Ah, yes. Here we are. I’ll just get it ready for you.”
“Thanks.”
Relief flooded her.
Unfortunately, it was short-lived. She could hear Delilah’s heels clicking a fast cadence as she headed toward her, a worried look on her face.
“Um, Mar—”
But that was as far as she got because Graeme and a man she didn’t know rounded a corner. The stranger was tall, good-looking and deeply tanned. There was something about him that exuded money and European classiness .
Her heart hadn’t had time to recover from her fear of not being able to buy the painting. Now it was throbbing painfully in her chest. Sweat broke out all over her, even her palms. And there was nowhere to hide. She stood in the middle of the gallery. Trapped.
Graeme made eye contact with her. The last person on the planet she wanted to lay eyes on was Graeme. Now would be an excellent time for a black chasm to open up and swallow her whole.
But he didn’t stop talking with the man. In fact, he never paused as he continued to walk through the gallery and into the exhibit hall where his paintings hung.
She was stunned. He had made eye contact with her the entire time he walked through the room, but instead, he refused to even acknowledge she was there. He didn’t stop to say hello or even really acknowledge her. He didn’t even look happy to see her.
“That son of a bitch,” Delilah said, standing next to her.
She couldn’t have said it better. Her shock quickly went to humiliation. Tears clogged in her throat and she knew any second now she was going to cry. That painting didn’t matter so much anymore.
“Come on, Del. Let’s get out of here.”
Chapter Fifteen
Marion was in a serious quandary. She never thought she would be in a position to decide about Ethan. Even after what happened with Graeme in the gallery, she knew she shouldn’t give the man a second chance. Why should she? He broke her heart. He left her at the altar. Even if his claims that he’s changed were true, could she ever really trust him again?
Calling Graeme crossed her mind numerous times. But the way he had looked at her in the gallery that day had kept her hand firmly away from the phone.
On the drive back to their side of town, Delilah had ranted about him. She called him all sorts of names she could think of—some were creative inventions. Marion had never quite heard a few of those expletives put together. Their earlier feud forgotten, she was clearly disenchanted with the painter. Delilah and angry didn’t mix.
“I can’t believe he walked right by you without even stopping to say one word,” she’d said. “What an asshole. And that look he gave you!” She thumped the steering wheel out of aggravation.
“Yeah, I saw,” Marion had said.
“I hope that bastard misses you for the rest of his miserable life.”
Marion somehow managed to keep the tears at bay, agreeing with her friend about the wrongfulness of the situation. And even though she didn’t want to agree, the thought of Graeme missing her eased her pain.
And because Graeme had dismissed her so coldly, she decided to meet with Ethan and put her plan into action. She picked up the phone several times but quickly hung up before the call could go through. Ethan had seemed so sincere, as if he meant everything he said. Like he really was willing to give it another shot.
He would never be expecting the blow she’d hand him.
So that Saturday morning, nearly a week after the fateful day in the gallery, Marion came to terms with the men in her life. Graeme would be no more. And as for Ethan…she would dismiss him once and for all.
She didn’t love Ethan. Maybe she never did. Maybe she wanted that fantasy of a happy home with the white picket fence and she thought he could give it to her. He had promised her that and more. He had told her he would give her anything. A shopping spree at Neiman Marcus anytime. Any kind of car she wanted. A house in any high-brow neighborhood she wanted.
She should have known he was trying to buy her love with the nearly three carat diamond ring, which now resided in the black velvet box, shoved into the bottom of one of her dresser drawers. She couldn’t stop thinking about sitting down to a dinner with him, alone. Not to reconcile, but to end her suffering.
It would mean closure. She could finally put those feelings aside and move on with her life. With or without Graeme.
As she reached for the phone to call him, it rang. She dare not look at the Caller ID because if it was Graeme then she might chicken out. So she took a deep breath and answered.
“Hello, Marion, dear.”
“Mom. Hi.” She released a pent-up breath.
S made it a habit to not call her mother on a consistent basis. In fact, she had avoided her for a month or two after that day that won’t be mentioned. It was what her mother called it.
“How are you? You haven’t called in a while.”
“I’m great. Never better.” The less information she gave her mom, the better.
They continued the small talk for another fifteen minutes. Her mother asked how things were at the gym, her painting classes.
“Any new beaus?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, Mom.”
“It’s been six months since that day I won’t mention. I know it’s been difficult—”
“Yes, Mom, it has.”
And despite her efforts not to mention the day, her mother always managed to bring it up. Marion sighed.
“Have you spoken to Ethan?” She paused and Marion twisted the phone cord around her forefinger, wondering what was up her sleeve.
If she didn’t know any better, she could swear she heard hesitation in her mother’s voice. “Why do you ask?”
“Well…I thought since it’s been only six months…that maybe there was some hope of you two reconciling.”
“Mother…” she said on a sigh.
“He’s such a nice boy,” she continued. “And he comes from such a nice family.”
And such nice money. She knew that was why her mother pushed for the match in the first place. And she had blindly gone along with it. “He cheated on me, Mom. Or did you forget?”
“Oh, honey. Mistakes happen.”
“Mistakes?” she repeated. “You think me finding him naked with some other girl was a mistake?”
There was a long pause and she k
new she offended her. She bit her lip to keep from going on the rant. There were so many things she wanted to say but didn’t. Things she wanted to tell her about Ethan and his women.
“I think you should talk to him,” she said.
“I have an idea. You talk to him.”
“Actually, dear…I have.”
Her heart lurched. She should have seen that coming and she wondered if Ethan’s sudden urge to get back together had anything to do with Amanda Parker and her meddling ways.
“I ran into his mother at the country club a few weeks ago and…”
Marion stopped listening and mentally kicked herself for allowing this conversation to go any further.
“Mom—”
“And she mentioned to me how forlorn he’s been. She said he mopes around like he’s lost his best friend. And he has. He’s devastated without you.”
“Devastated, Mom?”
She found that hard to believe, especially after the display of his newest squeeze in front of the coffee house. What was her name? Stacy? Stephanie? Starr…that was it. What a ridiculous name.
“That’s what Mrs. Baxter said. I really think you two should try to get back together.”
Her mother was a Southern girl, through and through. So calling Ethan’s mother Mrs. Baxter was completely normal for her. Marion, though, had never thought of Elaine that way.
“Will you at least consider it?”
As she sat holding the phone, squeezing the receiver until her hand cramped, Marion knew she’d have to appease her and lie. “Yes, Mom. I’ll consider it.”
* * * * *
Graeme flung his paint brush across the studio in a fit of rage. Nothing was coming out right. It was as though he couldn’t paint anymore.
He sank into the sofa that not long ago Marion lay on while he sketched her beautiful body. He glanced toward that sketch book now and briefly thought of ripping all the pages out of it and burning them. She was all he could think about. She haunted his dreams and was in the back of his mind every waking moment. Working was impossible.
How could he tell her she was his art? How could he explain that she was all his inspiration? That every woman he ever painted was her in some form?
Every time he picked up his paint brush and lost himself in his art, she was his soul, his creativity. She was the reason why he continued painting, why he continued to lose himself in his fantasy world day after day.
He had tried updating websites for a few clients. Not even that could distract him. And when a tempting ex-girlfriend called him and offered him a night on the town, he had refused. Told her he was on a tight deadline and couldn’t take any time out. Because all he could think about was Marion.
Looking back, he knew he shouldn’t have lost his temper and punched Ethan. Breaking the display case was a thousand dollar mistake. Though hitting him gave Graeme a sense of satisfaction. And allowing Marion to walk out of his life was stupid.
And then she had to show up at the gallery. He wondered why she was there, but he had been too much of a coward to talk to her. He saw the emotions pass on her face—first shock and then hurt when he continued walking through the gallery, not stopping to talk to her. But what could he say to her?
Sorry, Marion, I’ve been a total asshole and haven’t had the nerve to call you.
Yeah, that’d go well.
Having a confrontation with her in front of a man who was interested in commissioning quite a bit of his art would look bad. If the deal went through with the man from Amsterdam, he would be able to quit his website business for good and live off his art. It was a dream come true.
Then he’d found out from the salesgirl at the gallery, Marion had asked about the painting, Black-Eyed Girl. She said she had intended to buy it, but left without completing the purchase. He knew because he had been a dick, she fled the scene before she could see him again. He couldn’t blame her.
But it was a warning signal. If she had returned to purchase that painting, then she had to know it was her. She had to. Why else would she want to buy it?
It gnawed at him like some blood-thirsty creature in the night. He wanted to explain to her why he had painted it in the first place. But admitting to himself—and especially to Marion—that he was madly and undeniably in love with her would be difficult for him to do. He had buried those feelings after she and Ethan were no more, only to have them resurface again on that morning at the Bitter End.
So he did the only thing he knew to do—he shoved those feelings down once again into the dark, deep recesses of his psyche. He told himself he would never allow them to come back.
But it was no use. He knew this. She was immortalized in his sketch book, in every painting with a female in it. He would forever look at them and see Marion. And in Black-Eyed Girl which now resided in his studio, buried deep in the stack of canvases and hidden away from the world. Away from him.
Graeme ran his hands through his hair out of frustration. He hadn’t bothered to shave in a few days and his cheeks were scratchy with stubble. All he could think about was seeing Marion and wanting her. One night with her was not enough. He needed more. He wanted more. He wanted to feel her, smell her, see her. He wanted her moaning underneath him. He wanted to feel her tight warmth wrapped around him. Hell, he just wanted her back in his life again, hearing her laugh and seeing her smile.
In that instant, he made a snap decision. He was going to get her if he had to crawl over shards of broken glass on his hands and knees to get her.
But first…there was something he wanted to do. Thinking of the painting gave him an idea. He shoved the canvases out of the way until he came to Black-Eyed Girl. Smiling, he gently placed it on his drafting table and then dug out some brown wrapping paper. Perhaps sending Marion the painting would send the right message, once and for all. Once he’d wrapped it and addressed it, he bolted down the stairs, leaving his studio behind. He’d figure out how to ship it later. Right now, he had to get to Marion. After a hot shower and a shave, he planned to see her. Even if she didn’t want to see him.
* * * * *
She wasn’t home. He pounded on her door but it was to no avail. And like a crazy person, he intended to hunt her down. The first person he called—who he knew would know where she was—was Delilah.
“Delilah, you have to tell me where she is. I have to see her.”
“Graeme?”
She sounded confused and probably with good reason. He didn’t sound quite right even to himself. More like a frantic person looking for a missing loved one. “Where is she?”
“I don’t think I should tell you,” she said. “I’m not sure she wants to see you.”
“I’m not sure she does either,” he agreed.
“In fact, I don’t think she should see you.”
“But I have to see her, talk to her. I’ve been an asshole.”
“Yeah, I’d say that day in the gallery you had your ass hat on,” Delilah agreed.
“I had my reasons,” he said, his voice gruff. That still pained him to think about. But he didn’t have time to explain to Delilah right now why he did what he did.
“She knows about the painting.”
“I thought so, since she was there that day. The girl told me she had intended to buy it.” He ran his hand through his hair then clutched the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Sitting in his car, he stared out at the balmy summer night, watching as the street lamps lit as dusk neared. “Please, Delilah. Tell me where I can find her.”
“No.”
“Don’t make me beg.”
“I really think you should. It would make me feel so much better.”
He could hear the chuckle in her voice, which infuriated him. “Delilah, I need to talk to Marion. Now, if not sooner. And in person.”
“I hope you’re planning to apologize for your abhorrent behavior.”
“Yes,” he snapped.
“And grovel for forgiveness.”
“Yes!”
/> “Because I don’t want to have to put a stiletto in your ass.”
“Delilah!” He was losing patience and quickly.
She sighed heavily. “Okay, but you’re so not going to like it.” She paused again and he waited the excruciating moments for her to spit it out. He almost lost his temper when she said, “She’s sort of at dinner with someone.”
Someone. It sent up a big red flag. “A man?”
She ahemed on the other end of the phone. “Um. Yes.”
His first thought was he’d break his neck if the man laid a hand on his Marion. “Who?”
“Ethan.”
Red hell and death! Rage flooded him. How in the hell had Ethan managed to talk her into going to dinner with him? That man must have really been smooth to get her to agree. He punched the steering wheel. He should have never let him go after her that morning.
“Dammit!”
“I knew you wouldn’t like it.”
“Where are they?”
“Oh, nu-uh. I am not going to tell you that. No way.”
“Delilah, maybe you’ve forgotten Marion has a GPS on her cell phone and I know my way around the inside of a computer? If I wanted to really find her, I could. I thought it would be faster if you helped me. Clearly, I was wrong.”
A long silence stretched and for a minute, he thought the call had been dropped. “Hello?”
“Yeah, I’m still here. If I tell you, are you going to go get her?”
“Yes. Absolutely. I love her. I want her.”
“That’s what I needed to know. And I’m coming with you.”
* * * * *
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Graeme said as he pulled into the parking lot. “Don’t we need reservations for this place?”
“I know the owner,” she said, checking her lipstick in her compact. “And I dated the bartender.”
“You certainly get around,” he muttered.
“Watch it,” she warned. “I’m helping you, aren’t I? And anyway, I have good friends in high places. Or at least the places that matter.” She winked and opened the car door. “Just remember the plan and try to stick to it.”
Take Me I'm Yours (Coffee House Chronicles) Page 15
