“This is special. I love to cook, which is why I make my living at it. And I’m making something my husband enjoys. What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s your birthday,” Ryan growled. “You shouldn’t be the one cooking the damned food. And if you insist on it, why can’t you at least make your favorites instead of his? Just like this kitchen. You cook in it, but he chooses the décor. Jeez, Mik, this sucks. It’s bad enough that you chose the mortal life. But a mortal, boring, unappreciated life? How was that worth giving up your powers?”
It was worth it because she’d been a mediocre witch at best. And in a family of extraordinaires, it was honestly easier to be different than average. Not that she’d ever confess that fact.
“Perry didn’t choose the décor, the decorator did. This design is in keeping with the architecture and will add to the resale value a lot more than the wild ideas I had.”
Her brother snorted and rolled his eyes again. Miki sighed. After seven years, she should be used to the rift between her husband and her relatives. She felt like she spent most of her time placating or soothing one side or the other, while each used the excuse that they were only thinking of her. Dammit, she was sick of straddling the line. Another thing to add to the conversation agenda this evening—healing the rift.
Right after the stagnant wasteland that was her marriage bed. It had been so long, she couldn’t even shop for produce without getting ideas. She believed in making marriage work, unlike her parents, who thought marriage was as disposable as socks; if one got a hole, they tossed it out and found a new one. Miki wasn’t giving hers up without a fight.
“Did you come by to bitch about what I’m making for dinner, or did you have other complaints to lodge too?” She arched a brow clearly suggesting where she thought he should lodge them.
She was tired of trying to justify her choices, including her marriage. Tired of everyone figuring they knew what was best for Mikaela. For once, she was doing what she wanted. Including cooking a romantic, candlelit dinner for two at home instead of primping for the night out on the town Perry had planned.
“I came to say happy birthday,” Ryan said slowly, his brown eyes drooping like a kicked puppy. Guilt slashed through her, as she knew it was supposed to. Then he held out his hand, and in a sparkle of glittering blue flames, a very flat, foil wrapped gift appeared, just a little worse for wear. With a wiggle of his brows, he held the box, silvery smoke still wafting around the edges, in front of her face and grinned. “And to bring you this.”
Irritation forgotten, Miki eyed the shimmery teal package and bit her lip to hold back her giggle.
“Oh, pressies. What is it?”
“Apologize first.”
“Nope. You were a jerk.”
“A jerk?” Ryan splayed his empty hand to his chest and gave her a look of wide-eyed innocence.
Miki snorted. “You know you were, now give over.”
“Hmm, maybe not. Mom said to make sure you were in a good mood first.”
“Then why’d she send you as the delivery boy?”
“Because I’m her only son. Her pride and joy. Who else would drop everything to be here with you? And she knows I’m the life of any party.”
“So she couldn’t reach Lena?” Miki asked, referring to their older sister.
“Yup.”
With a laugh and a quick hug, he gave up the gift. She made short work of the glittery paper to get to the slightly crushed box.
“Promises?” Miki asked, peering at colorful strips of cardstock in the box.
“Look and see.”
She lifted the two tightly wrapped scrolls. In true Lansing fashion, they were homemade gift certificates, promising a gift of time from one sibling to the other. Miki read the magenta one first. Good for one Birthday Forecast, complete with Tarot Reading, Astrological Report, and Karmic Prediction.
“Awesome. I’ve been begging Lena for a reading for the last couple months but she kept putting me off.”
Anticipation buzzing through her, Miki grinned and snagged the next scroll, this one a rich purple. A complete day of pampering, including skin, hair, and nails.
“Aw, Ryan. Thank you.” She knew how special this was, since Ryan rarely offered pampering type gifts now that he’d made his mark in show biz. His gift was insight, the ability to see to the heart of a person. With that and a little glamour magic, he could bring out beauty in a troll. Nobody made a woman look better than Ryan Lansing. According to his bragging, that was because nobody appreciated women the way he did. Miki figured it had more to do with his fascination with beauty products, since he owned tons of them.
“Now we can fix that mop of yours. A little style, a little oomph. Maybe some deep-tissue massage to bring color back to your winter complexion. I’ll even toss in a makeover, although I hadn’t intended to.”
“Mop?” Miki fingered the silky strands of her jet black hair with a scowl. “I pay good money for this style.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you do. But does the stylist ever look at you? All that heavy hair hanging down your back is too much for your features. You need something more... kicky, more fun.”
Miki wasn’t about to admit she’d grown it out to please Perry, who thought women looked more elegant and appealing with long hair. She used to be kicky and fun. Wasn’t she anymore?
Had she really become bland?
What a rotten birthday discovery. She swallowed the heaviness in her throat and gave her brother a half-smile.
“Thanks. I’ll take you up on it later this week, huh? Maybe just a trim though, I don’t want to go short.”
Before he could make a snarky comment, she turned back to the box and pulled out the last gift. Not a scroll, but a beautifully bound book. Chart your own path. One hundred ways to be assertive. Miki ground her teeth.
“Mom?”
“Of course. Who else would not only tell you how to be more assertive, but write you your very own book about it?”
“My God. You all act like I’m a doormat or something. I’m not taken advantage of, Ryan. I run my own life and my own business.” Well, she did all the cooking, which was almost like running the business. Pammy was the actual controlling force in their catering company, handling clients, bookings, pricing, and such. But the appeal of Bon Vivant was Miki’s cooking, which said it all. “Look, I don’t have time to sing this verse again. I need to get ready for dinner. Thanks for the great gifts. I’ll call Mom and Lena tomorrow and thank them too.”
Miki didn’t much care if she sounded ungrateful. That’s what he got for acting like such a know-it-all. Even knowing he wouldn’t use it, she pointed to the back door.
“You know, you might want to find other ways to pretend you’re assertive rather than pushing around your loving brother.” With that, Ryan heaved a put-upon sigh, gave her a saucy wink then snapped his fingers and disappeared in a flurry of birthday confetti. Miki rolled her eyes. She didn’t have to pretend, she wanted to yell. Then, with a sigh, she went to fetch the broom.
On the way back to the kitchen, she caught sight of herself in the powder room mirror. She was still tall and lean, her favorite cooking attire of a worn sweatshirt and faded jeans bagged a little at the hips, but that wasn’t a bad thing. Thin was in. She flipped the light on and took a closer look.
Had she lost her fun, sassy side? Was that a part of growing older—her thirtieth birthday epiphany? Was that a part of losing her powers? Maybe the lack of magic was leeching the sparkle from her life? Or had age and responsibility and—yes, all of the compromising—all taken the fun out of her? She peered at her face, smooth and unlined. Her mother had always said her pert nose and pointy chin were perky.
She rubbed a finger over the tiny pinprick scar on her nose where her piercing used to be. How long had it been since she’d taken it out? When she’d first married Perry, he’d been turned on by her audacious style, calling her an avant-garde original. But somehow, in the ensuing years, her hair had grown out in a solid color
, her piercing closed and her skirt length had crawled below her knees. All a part of growing up, right?
Miki pursed her full lips and winked at her reflection. She wasn’t boring. A little pale—which made her eyes look like huge, bottomless black spheres—but not boring.
Unlike Ryan or Lena, she couldn’t weave a glamour to make herself look better. But maybe a little primping wouldn’t hurt. After all, if all went according to plan, she was about to assert herself into the best night of her life.
* * *
“You’re being unreasonable,” Perry said mildly two hours later as he stood in the marble entryway and flipped through the mail. His tone wasn’t irritated or short. Just bland. As usual. That had attracted her once. His mellow assuredness. Raised in a mercurial family of drama queens, Miki had fallen fast and hard for the haven Perry’s smooth confidence provided.
Miki eyed him, taking in the expensive, but conservative, gray Hugo Boss suit. The pricey, but conservative, cut of his just-this-side-of-brown hair. And, she sighed, if he actually looked at her, his eyes—the pale blue of the cool noon sky—would be calm.
Which came in handy for an investment banker, but in a husband, calm got old. Miki was ready for a little wild, a little crazy. But, heck, she’d settle for impulsive and quirky.
“It’s my birthday, Perry. I’d like to enjoy a romantic evening at home, just the two of us, instead of a crowded night of see-and-be-seen schmoozing.” Although she had dressed to be seen by her husband. Purple velvet draped over curves that were a credit to the science of lingerie, the rich fabric accentuating her breasts and giving the illusion of hips. And under her dress? A come-do-me invitation of lace and ribbon.
“Fine. Okay, you want to blow off prime reservations, that’s fine. It’s probably better this way anyhow.”
Miki had no clue why the hair on the back of her neck prickled. After all, precognition was Lena’s forte, not hers. She ignored the shivery warning, or told herself she was, and sipped her wine. The bittersweet flavor coated her tongue and kept her from making a sassy retort. Perry always said her smart-ass mouth put him out of the mood. Which might account for her dismal sex life. But she had a plan, a focus for the evening. Dammit, she was getting laid tonight. So she folded her lips together and plastered a pleasant look on her face.
“It is better. We hardly spend time alone anymore. I can’t think of anything I’d like more for my birthday than to just talk. To reconnect and...” What? Discuss the myriad of problems in their marriage? No, not problems—issues. Issues. “Talk. Just spend the evening talking.”
He turned to her then with those pale blue eyes she’d fallen in love with and smiled. A raised brow was his only comment on her appearance. Miki figured she’d get two brows raised when he saw her lingerie. Maybe they should start with dessert.
“Yes, you’re right. We do need to talk,” Perry agreed. He waved his hand for her to precede him down the hall. “Have you had time to look for that Hermes scarf for Mrs. Etherington?”
“Not yet.” Miki walked ahead, putting a little extra swing in her hips.
“I’d think you’d be a little more supportive of my career, Mikaela.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said, barely biting back the suggestion that he quit whining. “You know I support your career. I’ll find the perfect scarf, don’t worry.”
“It has to be vintage, that exact design she was talking about at the party last month,” he reminded her. Perry had a habit of glomming onto the smallest comment from his bosses or their wives. He’d taken up golf, sky diving, and bonsai design all in an effort to brown nose his way up the corporate ladder.
Miki rolled her eyes, safe enough since her back was to him. He was being ridiculous. She’d taken out a loan a few months before against her share of Bon Vivant to support his career. Even if she didn’t agree with his plan to buy his way into partnership, she’d kept her mouth shut and signed the loan papers.
If that wasn’t support, she didn’t know what was.
Miki entered the dining room, pleased with the ambiance she’d created. Like the rest of the house, the dining room was tastefully—and expensively—decorated in a neutral palette of tan, brown, and ecru. She’d wanted shades of blue in here, but the decorator and Perry had pointed out the practicality of the neutral tones. The long table, made for entertaining, was a pale blonde wood and the chairs upholstered in cream silk. Dozens of flaming candles—red to inspire passion—filled the space.
“I can’t believe you haven’t had time to find that yet,” Perry muttered as he seated himself at the head of the table. Miki set the bottle of chilled wine next to his glass, and waited for him to say something about the tablescape, but he just shook out his napkin and spread it over his lap. “Her birthday is next week. You shouldn’t have let it slide this long, Mikaela.”
“It’s my birthday right now. I hope you put as much thought into my gift as you did your boss’s wife’s,” she teased.
Perry glowered without comment. Once upon a time, he’d have laughed. In the right mood, he’d have made a naughty joke and kissed her. Back in the good ol’ days, before he’d heeded the lure of the ladder of success.
She hid her grimace, trying not to give in and plummet into misery like her ego wanted.
“Don’t worry,” she assured him in an attempt to smooth things over. “I’ve got plenty of time. I’ll find it next week.”
“Don’t bother,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll take care of it myself.”
Miki’s breath caught and her stomach clenched. Himself? Perry didn’t do anything himself, especially not shopping. The hair on the back of her neck rose again. Refusing to heed it, assuring herself it was just a manipulative move on his part, Miki smoothed her hand over her neck and shrugged.
“You’re a valued employee,” she pointed out, figuring a little buttering up before dinner couldn’t hurt. “They appreciate you already. You don’t have to prove anything, Perry.”
“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times. It’s not just about doing the job these days. I need the right attention from the bosses. By staying on the good side of the Etheringtons and the Wallaces, I’m doing more for my career than sixty-hour weeks and chasing accounts. Everyone knows Betsy Etherington is the force behind that company. If I get on her good side, I’ll be there. Inner circle.”
He was right. She’d heard the ‘inner circle’ plan a thousand times. So Miki kept silent and returned his satisfied smile with a bland one of her own. He nodded when she, having given up on his offering to pour the wine himself, held up the bottle.
Seduction time, just like when they’d first married. Miki took a sip of her own wine and gracefully slid into her chair as anticipation simmered. This would be a night to remember.
A half-hour into the meal and she had to fight back a yawn. No matter what subject she’d introduced, Perry had brought the conversation around to business.
“Look,” she interrupted, “I’m sure the Johnson account is going to be quite a coup, but can we talk about something else for a while?”
He gave a shrug and sipped his wine.
“I suppose there is something important we need to discuss.”
Miki’s nerves shifted, her stomach dropping a little. From the somber look in his eyes, he was actually ready for a serious conversation.
“Like our marriage?” she ventured hesitantly.
“Exactly.”
Relief intense enough to bring tears to her eyes poured through her. He was hurting, just like she was. He wanted to fix things, too. Her smile was big enough to make her earrings jiggle.
“Perry, I know we’re having some problems. But, I’d like to fix our marriage,” she said softly, hope filling her words, shining in her eyes.
This was all they needed, a little quiet time, some honest discussion. It proved how wrong her mother was in her talk of doom and gloom. Just because she’d never actually seen a successful marriage didn’t mean Miki couldn’t have one
.
“Fix it? I think the best thing to do is end it,” Perry said bluntly before he scooped up another forkful of potatoes.
She blinked. He’d said the words in the same way he’d suggest a restaurant.
“I’m sorry?” She must have misheard him.
“Mikaela, I feel it’s best that we get a divorce.”
“What?” Everything sounded fuzzy. Miki blinked a couple times, trying to clear the haze from her vision.
“I thought I was perfectly clear. I’m divorcing you.”
Just like that, the haze cleared. All it took was a blast of anger to wash it away.
“What the hell do you mean you’re divorcing me?” she shrieked.
She flexed her hand around her dinner knife, wondering how many times she’d have to stab it into his heart before he showed an actual response. Did he even have a heart anymore? Or had it shriveled away? The friggin’ stuffed shirt just sat there, all white-bread bland, staring at her.
“For God’s sake, calm down,” he said in an aggrieved tone. “I’m actually glad we didn’t go to a restaurant. I’d thought you’d be less inclined to overreact if we were in public, but I forgot how dramatic you can be. Blood tells, of course.”
The man had no clue, no freaking clue, just what her blood could do. Miki saw red, and wished it were blood. His blood. Rage, mixed with something else, something elemental she hadn’t felt since she’d taken her marriage vows, simmered and churned in her gut.
“You bastard! How dare you sit there all smug and supercilious. First you inform me—not ask, not discuss—but tell me we’re divorcing. Then you follow that up by slamming my family and claim I’m overreacting.”
Perry dabbed his white linen napkin to the corners of his mouth, draped it over his clean plate—damn the man, he’d even had seconds of her ham—and heaved a pitying sigh.
Miki damned her decision to skip the Viagra garnish. She’d give anything to have him sitting there with a painful woody so she could taunt, torture, then ignore him. Hell, she’d have even called up some pay-per-view porn just to add to his torment.
Holding Out For A Hero: SEALs, Soldiers, Spies, Cops, FBI Agents and Rangers Page 60
