THE TROPHY WIFE

by Ginna Gray

  When she'd called John and explained that she and Max were getting married, her attorney had been appalled. John Fossbinder was no fool; he knew exactly why she was marrying Max without her having to tell him. He heartily disapproved and had tried to talk her out of going ahead with the plan.

  Listening to her end of the conversation, Max had figured out what was going on and took the receiver out of her hand before she could comply. In less than a minute her attorney had agreed to meet them at Max's office.

  When Elizabeth and Max arrived there, John was waiting for them along with Max's attorney, Harry Ackerman.

  Mr. Ackerman, a pleasant man of about fifty, wore thick wire-rimmed glasses that gave him an owlish look. It took only a moment for Elizabeth to peg him as one of those men so intent on his job that he gave no thought to such mundane things as grooming. Consequently he appeared perpetually disheveled.

  His stained tie sat askew, the tips of his shirt collar curled up and his glasses were in such dire need of cleaning Elizabeth was amazed that he could see through them at all. At some point he had run his fingers through his thinning hair and the sparse strands stuck straight up in the front.

  His wife probably picked out his clothes, Elizabeth thought. And tied his ties and sent him out into the world each morning looking tidy, and that was the last thought he gave to his appearance.

  In stark contrast, her attorney looked as though he'd just stepped out of GQ magazine.

  Tall and lean, with every silver hair in place, John Fossbinder looked every inch the sophisticated, learned gentleman that he was in his Brooks Brothers suit, crisp white shirt and tasteful silk paisley tie.

  As soon as the introductions were made and they were seated, John turned to Elizabeth with a worried expression. "Elizabeth, are you sure you want to do this? You know almost nothing about this man."

  "Actually, John, I know a great deal. I'm not stupid. I've had Mr. Riordan thoroughly checked out. I assure you, there is nothing at all objectionable in his past."

  "You had me investigated?"

  She smiled, experiencing a minor sense of victory at Max's disconcerted frown. "Yes. As a matter of fact, I did. Turnabout is fair play, you know."

  Max's laser-blue stare held hers for a long moment. Then one corner of his mouth quirked. "Touché."

  After that they got down to business.

  It soon became apparent why Max had Harry Ackerman on exclusive retainer. Despite his untidy appearance, the man was a brilliant attorney who easily held his own with John Fossbinder, who was considered one of Houston's top attorneys.

  Elizabeth felt that the agreement that Mr. Ackerman had drawn up was more than generous, and she suspected that John thought so as well, though you'd never know it by his serious expression as he read through the document. She was prepared to sign the thing as written, but John felt duty-bound to score some points for his client. Therefore, for a tedious hour and a half the two attorneys went over the prenuptial line by line.

  Finally they reached a mutual agreement on every point and Harry announced, "Well, that about does it. To summarize in layman's terms, the main points are as follows. Article I—prior to the marriage, Max will set up a trust fund in the amount agreed to by both parties. Said trust will be solely for the operation of Mimosa Landing. Elizabeth will be executrix of the fund. The trust and all its proceeds will belong solely to her or her heirs in perpetuity.

  "Article II—the two of you agree to remain married for a minimum of five years. If, after that time, either of you wants out of the marriage for any reason whatsoever, you will part. Amicably, we all hope.

  "If you do eventually part, as previously stated, the trust will remain in Elizabeth's hands. In addition, Max will give Elizabeth a settlement equivalent to twenty percent of his net worth at the time. He also agrees to make no claims on the Stanton holdings.

  "Article III—the one and only reason for dissolving the marriage before the five years are up would be infidelity committed by either party. If Max is the offender, the terms of the prenuptial will stand exactly as if the marriage had been of a five-year duration."

  "That won't happen," Max inserted. He looked across the table at Elizabeth. "I honor my contracts and commitments."

  Harry cleared his throat. "Yes … well … to continue. If Elizabeth is the offending party the same would be true, with the exception that Max would not give her a cash settlement."

  Harry gathered the pages and tapped them against the table top. "I think that covers everything."

  "Not quite," John said. "What if there are children resulting from this marriage? Who would get custody?"

  "Hmm," Harry mused. "I suppose now is the best time to address that question. Ms. Stanton, what are your thoughts on the matter?"

  The question had taken Elizabeth by surprise. She had not considered that she and Max might have children. Or that he might want them.

  "To be honest, I don't think that will ever be a problem. My marriage to Edward produced no children, even though I desperately wanted a family," she said, struggling to hold on to her poise. The admission of such an intensely personal failure humiliated her, but she was determined to be open and honest with Max. She didn't want him to accuse her of hiding anything.

  Drawing a deep breath, she forced herself to explain. "Several years ago I underwent a battery of tests to find out if there was a problem. They turned up no reason for infertility. Nevertheless, I never conceived. The doctors finally told me that it was doubtful that I ever would."

  She looked directly at Max then. "If that makes a difference and you want to withdraw your offer, I'll understand."

  Max mulled over the matter. "To tell you the truth, I haven't considered that possibility," he said finally. "I'll be honest also. Having offspring has never been a high priority for me. It's not a negative, mind you. I always just assumed that when the time was right I'd marry and have a family, but doing so isn't a burning passion of mine.

  "However, if you and I should have children, then subsequently parted, it seems logical to me, given my hectic work schedule, that they remain with you. Of course, I would expect flexible visitation."

  Once again, Elizabeth was amazed at how reasonable and generous Max was being. Even though the possibility of having a child was almost nonexistent, she nevertheless experienced a sense of relief that if that miracle did occur, there would be no bitter custody battle.

  "Is that agreeable with you, Ms. Stanton?" Harry asked. "If so, we will include that proviso in the prenuptial."

  "Yes. Yes, that's fine."

  "Well, then, we're done. I'll have the revised version drawn up and ready for you both to sign tomorrow."

  They all filed out of Max's office, but in the reception area, when Max stopped to talk to his secretary, John nudged Elizabeth to one side. "Elizabeth, I think you're making a terrible mistake," he murmured. "Give yourself some time, my dear. We'll come up with a solution eventually."

  "I don't have time, John. You and I have tried for the past year to find a way out of this financial nightmare with no luck. Now the wolf is at the door. I simply can't stall any longer."

  She patted his arm. "I know you're worried about me, and I appreciate that, but I'll be fine. Really. Just do me a favor, and keep all this to yourself, okay?"

  John drew himself up to his full height, affronted that she could so much as entertain the notion that he would do otherwise. "Of course. Attorney-client privilege is sacrosanct." He relented quickly, however, and gave her one last worried look. "So … you're comfortable with this arrangement?"

  "Yes."

  That, of course, was not absolutely true. She was nervous and apprehensive, but she dared not reveal that to John.

  "Are you ready?" Max asked, cupping her elbow.

  Before she could reply, a door on the other side of the reception room opened and a familiar-looking man strode out. It took her a few seconds to remember where she had seen him before. He had accompanied Max to a few charity events.
As she recalled, his name was Trent … or was it Troy? Something like that. And he was Max's right-hand man.

  "Max! Thank God you're here." The man nodded to Elizabeth. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Ms. Stanton, but this is urgent."

  "That's all right," she replied, but he had already switched his attention back to Max.

  "I called your cell phone and got no answer. I was just coming to see if Carly knew how to get in touch with you. We have to talk."

  "Not now, Troy. I'm going to take Elizabeth home."

  "Dammit, Max, listen to me. Old man Scarborough is on his way over. He wouldn't agree to reschedule our meeting. He said if you weren't here by the time he arrived, the deal was off."

  "Damn," Max muttered. "Do you think he meant it?"

  "Absolutely."

  Elizabeth put her hand on Max's arm. "Please, don't worry about me. I'm sure John will drive me home."

  "Certainly," her attorney chimed in. "It will be my pleasure."

  Max cocked an eyebrow at Elizabeth. "Are you sure?"

  "Yes, of course. Go ahead and take care of your business. I'll be fine."

  "All right. I'll call you tomorrow and we'll go get our blood tests."

  Elizabeth nodded and took John's arm. Watching them walk out together. Max frowned. He didn't like leaving her alone with the attorney. The man had made no bones of his disapproval. Max knew that Fossbinder would try to talk her out of marrying him, but he'd just have to take the risk. He couldn't brush off a multimillion dollar deal that he and Troy had been putting together for months.

  "So … you're going through with this insanity," Troy said the moment he and Max were alone in the conference room.

  "If by that you mean I'm going to marry Elizabeth, then the answer is yes. We just hammered out our prenuptial."

  "Well, at least you had sense enough to do that." In an agitated move, Troy raked his hand through his dark brown hair. "Dammit, Max. I know I said that what you needed was a trophy wife, but I was just kidding around. Honest. I didn't think you'd take me seriously."

  "Let it go, Troy. We've been through this already. I know what I'm doing," Max said, giving his friend a reassuring smile. "Look, if it makes you feel any better, one of the reasons that I chose Elizabeth is because I find her attractive. She not only meets all my requirements, she's reported to be sweet-tempered and she's easy on the eyes, as well. She's perfect."

  Well … almost perfect, he added to himself.

  Restless, Max walked over to the outer glass wall of the conference room and looked down at the sprawling city, eighteen floors below. The sun was setting in a glorious kaleidoscope, turning the clouds various shades of orange, red, pink and purple. The air itself had taken on the dusty purple of twilight that occurs just before darkness falls. Rush-hour traffic was beginning to clog the freeway as workers began their daily exodus to the suburbs. Streetlights were beginning to blink on. So were car headlights. Through the gloaming, the lines of traffic resembled strings of diamonds going one way and rubies the other.

  The thought reminded Max of the diamond ring he'd given Elizabeth … and her disconcerting confession.

  The deep pang of disappointment he'd experienced when she revealed that she probably could not have children had taken him by surprise.

  Not that he hadn't been truthful with her. Until recently, settling down with a wife had been one of those things he'd thought about only in an abstract sort of way; something he'd get around to someday when the time was right. Only since meeting Elizabeth had he given serious thought to marriage. Until now, the idea of having children had not even been on his radar screen.

  So why now, all of a sudden, did thoughts of a future devoid of children make him feel so hollow inside? Curious.

  To Elizabeth, the rest of the week seemed to speed by in accelerated motion, like watching an old-time silent movie. Before she knew it, Saturday afternoon arrived.

  Dressed in her robe, she sat at her dressing table in her bedroom at Mimosa Landing, staring at her reflection in the mirror. In just a short while she would become Mrs. Maxwell Riordan.

  The thought sent a flutter through her stomach. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

  "You know, sugar, you can still change your mind."

  Elizabeth's eyes popped open. Her gaze fixed on Mimi's reflection in her dressing-table mirror. Her friend stood just inside her bedroom with her back to the closed door.

  "You don't even have to see him," Mimi went on. "You just say the word and I'll go down there and shoo everybody off the property."

  Elizabeth shook her head. "No. No, don't do that."

  Mimi tipped her head to one side and studied Elizabeth's pale reflection. "You're determined to go through with this?"

  "Yes."

  "Nothing I can say will change your mind?"

  "No."

  "Then what're you doing sitting there in your bathrobe? Everyone is here and Aunt Talitha is beginning to fret. The service is supposed to start in ten minutes."

  "Oh, dear! Is it that late?"

  "I'm afraid so. If you're going through with this cockamamy arrangement, it's time to get dressed and get this show on the road," her friend declared. "C'mon, sugar. I'll help you."

  In a daze, Elizabeth followed Mimi's instructions while her friend helped her dress in the champagne-colored silk suit that Martha, her housekeeper at Mimosa Landing, had laid out earlier.

  Ever since she had returned to Mimosa Landing two days ago, the house had been a beehive of activity. All that morning the florist had bustled about downstairs decorating the front parlor and dining room, and the caterer had taken over Martha's kitchen, much to the housekeeper's distress. Luckily Gladys and Dooley arrived early so Martha had the couple to commiserate with and help calm her down.

  "Have Quinton and Camille arrived? Or called?" Elizabeth asked as she stepped into her pumps.

  "Not that I know of." Mimi straightened the collar of Elizabeth's suit coat and plucked a loose hair off the shoulder. "Were you expecting them?"

  "Not really. I called them both several times but I always got their answering machines. They're probably out of the country."

  Elizabeth had assured Max that theirs would be a small wedding, and that was exactly what they were having. The staff from both of her households, her great-aunt, Talitha Stanton, Mimi, John Fossbinder and his wife, Marie, her banker, Walter Monroe, and his wife, Anna, were Elizabeth's only guests.

  Other than her great-aunt, Elizabeth's only other living relatives were her second cousins, Camille Moseby Holt Edwards Kincaid Lawrence and Camille's brother, Quinton Moseby. Elizabeth was surprised that neither had responded to her calls. Especially Camille. She usually jumped at any opportunity to spend time at Mimosa Landing.

  She had felt obligated to invite her cousins to the wedding, but it was just as well that Camille wasn't attending, Elizabeth thought as she put on pearl teardrop earrings.

  She'd always gotten along well with Quinton, but his sister was a different story. Elizabeth was generally mild-tempered, but whenever she was around Camille she felt like a cat whose fur has just been stroked the wrong way.

  Not that she hadn't tried. For Aunt Talitha's sake, she'd done all she could to maintain the family connection, distant as it was.

  Elizabeth would have liked for Quinton to be there for her wedding, but she was relieved that she would not have to contend with Camille's constant complaints and innuendos. She was under enough strain as it was.

  Max's guest list had consisted of his mother, Iona Riordan, his assistant, Troy Ellerbee, Harry Ackerman and his wife, his secretary, Carly Womack, and a few others on his office staff.

  Elizabeth had met Max's mother just moments ago. When Aunt Talitha had learned that Iona had yet to meet Elizabeth, she had insisted that Max's mother come upstairs with her so that she could introduce them.

  A bright, cheery little woman, Iona seemed to bubble over with happiness that her bachelor son and only child was finally getting married.
/>   She was about Elizabeth's height of five foot four, but thirty or so pounds heavier. She reminded Elizabeth of a plump little bluebird in her blue silk suit and matching pillbox hat. During their short conversation Elizabeth learned that Iona didn't see much of her son. That bit of information made her wonder if Max and his mother were on as good of terms as Detective Summers seemed to believe. In her family, they kept their beloved old ones with them.

  "There, you're all ready," Mimi pronounced, stepping back to survey Elizabeth. She caught her breath. "Oh, sugar. You look so beautiful," she said with awe.

  "Here now, cut that out, Mimi, or you'll have us all bawling," Aunt Talitha scolded from the doorway.

  "You're absolutely right," Mimi agreed. "Let's get this show on the road. Do you have everything? Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue?"

  The abrupt laugh that burst from Elizabeth bordered on hysteria. "Under the circumstances, I hardly think I need to bother with that tradition."

  "Nonsense. Of course you do," her great-aunt declared. "Just because this is your second marriage doesn't mean that you have to forgo the traditions."

  She stepped inside the room and closed the door behind her. "I came back up here to see what was taking so long," the old lady said. "And to tell you that Quinton just called. He's been in Greece, visiting his sister and her husband, and he just got back this morning. He said to tell you that he's sorry he's missing your wedding."

  Great-aunt Talitha walked to the center of the room slowly, looking as majestic as a queen. As always, though she relied on a cane for support, she held her back ramrod straight and her head high. A tall, slender woman, she exuded a sort of old-fashion gentility that was in short supply these days.

  At eighty, Elizabeth's aunt still had the thick hair typical of all the Stanton women, though it had long ago turned from a rich brown to gray. For the past ten years or so, the old lady had worn her abundant tresses braided, the thick plaits wound into a coronet on top of her head like a silver crown. The style only served to reinforce her regal look.