Cityscape Affair Series: The Complete Box Set

by Hawkins, Jessica

  It wasn’t as if I didn’t know house hunting would open up a much larger discussion. But Bill and I had become pretty adept at navigating around touchy subjects. I opened the cabinet under the sink to toss romaine stalks into the trash.

  “The house has a garbage disposal,” Bill pointed out. “And a fancy dishwasher.”

  “Our dishwasher is fine.”

  “It barely fits anything.”

  “I don’t mind handwashing the big stuff,” I said.

  He stayed quiet as the knife hit the wood repeatedly. “It’s as close to perfect as it’s going to get,” he said. “We really can’t hesitate.”

  “I said I’d think about it.”

  “Don’t let the nursery comment scare you off. Just because you’re not ready today doesn’t mean you won’t be soon.”

  “When?” I asked. “What’s soon to you?”

  “I don’t know. Six months?”

  My lungs emptied. Six months? I felt even less ready today than I had six months ago. “I’m in the same place I was when we last discussed this,” I said, tearing up the lettuce. “And especially now, if I get this promotion—honey, I just don’t feel like it’s the right time.”

  “The timing might never feel right. It’s the same with the house. You just have to do it. The rest will come.”

  I stiffened. It wasn’t just that I didn’t feel ready . . . I didn’t want it. And I worried that I never would. Before Bill had proposed, when he and I would talk about our future, I’d assured him I’d get there one day. That there’d be a right time for children. But did that mean I owed it to him?

  “I need more time,” I said.

  “I’m ready now.”

  I whirled from the sink to face him. “Now?”

  He went silent again and stopped chopping. His knuckles whitened from gripping the knife. “I have been for a while—you know that.”

  “Bill, you can’t expect me to just drop everything and get pregnant.” Having a baby meant devoting my life to something bigger, putting my own dreams and aspirations second—or third, even. I’d be promising away a life I sometimes worried hadn’t even begun. “I have things I still want to do. I’m not in the place I want to be yet.”

  “Everything you just said was ‘me’ or ‘I,’” he said. “You have things you want to do. What about me?”

  “I meant us,” I said. “We’ve hardly even traveled.”

  “Our life doesn’t end with a baby.”

  “It will for a while. How are we going to see the world with a newborn if we can’t even afford to do it now?”

  “Why do you think I sold out for this shiny new job?” he asked. “I was happier working for the State. Justice above all. But I moved to this firm for the money—so we could buy the bigger home and start a college savings account.”

  None of that was news to me, except that he’d never laid it out quite so honestly. When he’d come home a while back and expressed interest in leaving the public sector, we’d both wanted the money that came with joining a private practice. I’d encouraged him to look into it, and maybe I’d even pushed him when it’d come time to make the leap. Did that mean I’d also committed to life in the suburbs and all that came with it?

  “You’re not the only one with a career.” I picked up the salad bowl and held it to my stomach like a shield. “I want this promotion. I’m not ready to give it up. I’m not ready for a baby.”

  “I heard you the first time, but you are. We are. I want you to stop birth control.”

  My heart dropped. “Don’t push me on this. It’s too big of a decision.”

  “You need me to push you, Liv—you always have. To start a relationship. To move in together. To get married. You know deep down, that’s what you need from me—that’s why you chose me as a partner. You need me to tell you that you are ready—”

  “Stop saying that,” I said, slamming the bowl on the island between us. “You don’t know what I am. What if you’re wrong—what happens if we’re not ready? I don’t want to end up like—”

  “Like your parents,” he said, his expression softening. “I know that scares you.” He briefly glanced at my hand, clamped on my throat, which felt tight and hot. “Why do you think I’m pushing you?” he asked. “If I don’t, you’ll never get past that fear.”

  It was true. It was all true. I was scared. I wouldn’t ever put a child through a divorce, and that couldn’t happen if I never had one—a child or a divorce. As things stood with Bill, we were fine. Having a baby changed everything. My hands shook as I picked up the pieces of romaine that’d flown out of the bowl when I’d slammed it. “You’re right. I don’t want to end up like them. I won’t.”

  “Liv,” he said gently. “They didn’t split up because of you. They changed. They fell out of love.”

  No, they hadn’t. They’d loved each other too much. Couples didn’t fight as hard as they did, especially toward the end, without love. I wasn’t sure my father ever would’ve left my mom without a catalyst. He would’ve stayed if he hadn’t been forced to protect me.

  The year leading up to the split had been the worst of it, a painful downward spiral. Bill and I were happy now, but were we solid enough to bring a child into the world? I wasn’t sure, but one thing I did know was that fear was not the only factor at play here. I hadn’t felt anything but dread since standing in that future nursery, holding an imaginary baby I’d agreed to out of obligation.

  “Well?” he asked.

  I stared into the undressed salad. Some of the lettuce browned at the edges, wilting under the weight of the things Bill and I had said—and what we hadn’t.

  After some time had passed without my response, Bill said, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you’re not ready.” The knife clattered on the cutting board. “We’ve been married for almost five years, and you still won’t let me in. I don’t know how else to get you to commit, Liv. I’ve been patient, but I want this, and that’s not going to change. Promise me you’ll give this some serious thought.”

  He left the kitchen. I pressed my hand to my side, over the small raised scar under my blouse, trying to hold off the dread rising in me. I had already given this topic serious thought, and nothing had changed. What more did he want?

  What could I give him without taking everything from myself?

  My cold fingers stung the warm skin around my scar. The kitchen closed in around me. I couldn’t stay. I needed out. I dumped the salad into the trash and called the one person who was sure to have plans on a Saturday night.

  9

  As always, Gretchen had come through in a social emergency and procured us a table at the grand opening of what she’d called “the hottest new restaurant in Chicago.” Invitations had been extended only to the who’s who of the city’s social scene—plus Lucy and me. We’d only made the cut as friends of Gretchen, who happened to be the current love interest of the head chef.

  Lucy and I gave our names at the door, and a hostess led us to a table in the center of the restaurant where Gretchen sat with her roommates, Ava and Bethany. A bottle of expensive Bordeaux had already been opened, and two empty glasses waited at two empty seats for Lucy and me.

  “You’re here!” Gretchen jumped up and came around the table. “I was worried you were playing a prank on me,” she said, hugging Lucy. “It’s no small feat to get you both out husband-free on a Saturday night.”

  “I couldn’t handle ESPN another moment,” I said, opening my arms to her.

  Gretchen’s nose twitched, her sixth sense probably alerting her ESPN was code for Bill. Instead of hugging me, she took my forearms and spread them as her jaw dropped. “Olivia Germaine,” she said, eyeing me up and down. “Look at you.”

  I shimmied in a short, glittering, gold-sequined dress that showed off one bare shoulder. “Like it?”

  “Like it?” Ava asked from her seat. “You look like a fucking movie star.”

  “Gretchen did say this was the social event of the season and that the pr
ess would be here,” Lucy said, who’d added a statement necklace to a modest black dress. Despite her career as a personal stylist, Lucy had always had a very predictable, simple look. Her motto—“Classic never goes out of style”—suited her perfectly.

  Lucy and I took our seats and before long, we were ordering a second bottle of red along with appetizers.

  “I can’t wait to see what happens when you actually sleep with Jeff,” Bethany said, finishing off her wine.

  “Is Jeff the chef?” Lucy asked, giggling at her rhyme.

  Gretchen nodded. “He’s been asking me out, but I’m not sure I want to add another guy into the rotation.”

  “God, I wish I had your stamina,” Ava said. “I feel like I’m working overtime just to secure a boyfriend.”

  “You say that like he’s a bank loan,” Bethany said.

  “I wish he was,” Ava said. “Finding a husband would be a hell of a lot easier if I just had to meet a list of requirements to apply.”

  “A husband?” I asked.

  Ava nodded. “I want to be a young mom, but also spend quality time with my husband before we have kids. That means I should be pregnant before thirty, so I need to get engaged, like, next year.”

  Ah, single life. It’d been a while since I’d been in it. I blew out a sigh. “The more you stress about it, the harder it is.”

  “Easy for you to say.” Ava puckered her lips into a pout. “You’re already married.”

  I shrugged. “Just saying, don’t put too much pressure on yourself. Some days I wish I’d enjoyed my freedom a little longer.”

  Ava gasped. “Don’t say that. Being single in this city is awful.”

  “Um, Chicago is the best place to be single,” Gretchen countered. “Any competition we might have is in New York and Los Angeles trying to get famous. But the men here, they’re . . .”

  The table went quiet just as my ears tuned to a man’s voice deep enough to cut through the hum of the crowd.

  I knew that voice, and I knew the expression on Gretchen’s face.

  “They’re that.” Gretchen finished her sentence with a nod across the room, and everyone but me turned to follow her gaze. “You can’t tell me the single life sucks when there’s a bachelor like that on the loose.”

  I shut my eyes and inhaled as my skin tingled. My nipples hardened as if a cold breeze had passed through the dining room, yet the wine had warmed me to my core. Or maybe it was his eyes on me. How David Dylan could have such an effect on me without a word, or even a glance, I didn’t know. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

  “Who is that?” Ava asked, sitting up straighter in her seat. “More importantly, he’s a bachelor?”

  Lucy, already tipsy, broke into a smile and waved a little too hard, nearly toppling out of her chair. “David,” she called. “David! Over here.”

  All the women’s eyes stayed fixed behind me, their heads tilting back until David spoke from next to me. “Well, if it isn’t my lucky night.”

  I turned. The sight of him was no less devastating than any time he and I had come face to face. If possible, I might’ve been even more stunned by his beauty in this unexpected setting. His eyes met mine, especially gold against his jet-black hair and in the warm light of the restaurant. “Hello, Olivia,” he said.

  A second later, a woman slipped her arm into his pea coat, which hung open over a black sweater that looked as if it were made of the softest cashmere in the world. She hugged his waist too intimately for a friend or family member, stunning me into silence and stealing any response I might’ve had to his very personal greeting.

  It took me a second before I recognized her from pictures I’d seen online while researching David. She came up to his chin in sky-high heels that lengthened already long legs. Caramel-colored hair fell in waves over her bronzed shoulders, and her skin-tight red dress showed off an athletic figure with a great ass.

  I dug my nails into the seat cushion. She was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen, her rich, dark complexion melding flawlessly with David’s olive skin. They were the epitome of a glamorous couple.

  Envy flooded out my shock. I looked David straight in the eyes.

  Playboy.

  He swallowed, having the decency to look sheepish.

  “Lucky night, indeed,” said another man I hadn’t noticed. His French accent lingered the way his eyes traveled over each of us, leering in a way that made me tug on my earlobe.

  David cocked his head, and I pulled my hand away, mortified that I’d even thought I could hold his interest when he was clearly spoken for by someone like her.

  “What’re you doing here, David?” Lucy asked, her voice pitching into my thoughts.

  “This is my associate, Arnaud,” David said, gesturing to the shorter man next to him. “He worked on this project.”

  “The space is beautiful,” Lucy said. “Congratulations.”

  “Merci, mademoiselle,” Arnaud said.

  “What brings you ladies out?” David asked.

  I turned forward and clasped my hands in my lap, my back unnaturally straight as I refused to look at him. Or the beauty on his arm.

  “Gretchen’s dating the head chef,” Lucy explained.

  “Geez, Luce, Jeff is just a friend,” Gretchen said quickly. “We’ve never even been on a date.”

  “Sor-ry,” Lucy said.

  “David?” The woman’s whispered Dah-veed turned his name even sexier. “My feet hurt.”

  “Hmm?” he asked, sounding distracted. “Oh. Just another second—”

  “The hostess is waiting for us,” she added, her Latin accent clearer as her tone rose.

  David cleared his throat. “Maria and I had better sit,” he said. “Nice to see you all again—Lucy, Gretchen . . . Olivia.” My name rolled off his tongue as if he were testing it out, the same way he’d said it the first time. Even without looking at him, I sensed his hesitation before he walked away.

  “He remembered my name,” Gretchen whisper-squealed.

  “Because I just said it,” Lucy pointed out.

  Bethany leaned over the table toward Gretchen. “Details. Now. Spill.”

  “He’s a friend of my fiancé,” Lucy said.

  Ava and Bethany both jerked their heads to her. “Who was that woman? His girlfriend?”

  “Not sure,” Lucy said. “I think he has lots of them . . .”

  David took a seat directly in my line of sight. I made sure to keep my eyes on my friends.

  “Hook a girl up,” Gretchen said.

  “Yeah, this girl,” Ava said, pointing at herself as the others giggled.

  Suddenly nauseated, I moved my napkin off my lap. “I’m going to use the restroom.”

  Lucy stood. “I’ll go, too.”

  “Let’s make it a threesome,” Gretchen said, standing. She flicked her long, blonde ringlets over her shoulder as she shimmied out of her seat—surely for David’s benefit. He had a perfect view of her rear, which was exactly what he’d be seeing if he were still looking in our direction.

  As we made our way through the restaurant, Lucy drew us closer and lowered her voice. “I didn’t want to say this in front of the others in case they try to stalk me at work,” she said, “but David made an appointment for a consultation with me next week.”

  “Really?” I asked, the question flying out. David was seeping into every part of my life, and I didn’t know if I was more thrilled or worried by it. Even though nothing had happened between us, our attraction felt too big to hide. Especially if he was going to be spending more time around my friends.

  “You lucky bitch,” Gretchen said. “You’ll get to see him naked.”

  Lucy turned a shade of red I’d never seen on a person. “Being a stylist isn’t like that, Gretchen. God.”

  I’d just entered the bathroom stall when my phone vibrated with a text from an unknown number.

  Unknown only because I hadn’t saved it in my phone earlier. Because keeping the number felt like a transg
ression in itself.

  Was it also a sin that I recognized it anyway?

  That I couldn’t forget it?

  That my heart leaped knowing the text was from David?

  * * *

  Back in the dining area, our waitress had littered the table with appetizers that looked as good as they smelled. I hid my phone in my lap and read David Dylan’s text message a third time.

  David: Why the cold shoulder?

  I needed to delete it. Delete him. But I couldn’t deny my flicker of excitement over the fact that not only was he ignoring his date to text me, but he’d also noticed me ignoring him—and had picked up on my discomfort when even my girlfriends hadn’t. I sent my reply.

  Me: I’m not sure what you mean.

  “More wine, Liv?” Bethany asked, causing me to jump.

  “Oh. Yes. Thanks,” I said just as my phone vibrated.

  David: Don’t be coy. How are you getting home?

  Me: Why?

  Gretchen was speaking, but I didn’t need to listen. I’d already heard her story about becoming an accidental extra in Chris Hemsworth’s latest film. I clutched the phone until David’s response came through.

  David: You’ve been drinking.

  Me: So?

  David: I will come over there & ask in front of everyone if you don’t tell me. How’re you getting home?

  Me: Thought I’d hitch a ride with legs over there.

  David: Very cute. I’m coming over.

  Horrified at the possibility that he’d out us to my friends, I scurried to type a response, taking only a second to shoot a harried glance in his direction.

  Me: Lucy and I are getting a cab. Why does it matter?

  David: You know it does.

  Some part of him cared. I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t deny it. I took another, larger sip and inhaled before answering.

  Me: You said earlier that you called me for a reason.

  David: And you hung up on me, right before you told me not to call again . . .