Looking at her quizzically, he asked, “Are you pretending to be a glamorous spy in some James Bond movie?”
Green eyes fixed on him, she pulled him across the threshold and dropped her raincoat. The vision before him made him salivate. The ends of her thick, strawberry-blond hair just brushed the tips of her nipples in a low-cut, lacy bra, and she wore a matching thong and garter belt that made her long legs seem endless.
Before Peyton could make a move, she whispered, “I’ve been waiting so long for this.”
Never taking his eyes off her, Peyton removed her bra, his fingers lingering on her breasts. Then he scooped her into his arms—she barely weighed anything—and whispered into the fragrant curve of her neck, “Me too.” Then he carried her into the small living room as all of his troubling dilemmas in Gotham City disappeared from his mind.
* * *
In the beginning, rehab was the most excruciating experience he’d ever had in his young, privileged life. Detoxing put his body through uncontrollable tremors and nausea, leaving him unable to eat, sleep, even think. During that first month, a staff member continually followed him around, monitoring his actions to make sure he didn’t slip up. It was like being under house arrest, except he didn’t think what he’d done was bad enough to warrant this forced incarceration at all. The person who’d been hurt the most by his actions was himself, wasn’t it?
After he’d been through the worst of the detox, and his head began to clear, he began to see the merits of being in a place where he could be somewhat invisible. He’d checked into rehab under a false name, and as “Rick Hammond from New York,” he found himself saying and doing things that Peyton Reynolds III would have never considered. Although each day was a struggle, he was determined to stay clean because he knew that it was the only way he would prove to his father that he could remain president of the department store. He had to stay on his father’s good side, which also meant trying to make his marriage work. Despite everything that had happened, Peyton still loved his wife, in his own way. Other patients in the clinic were allowed to have contact with their families, even have family conferences, but for reasons he didn’t know, this was forbidden to him. He could only conjecture that it might have something to do with how he had treated Lily that terrible, drug-fueled night. He knew that if he’d just had the chance to talk to Lily during this period in his life, he wouldn’t have been so vulnerable to the young woman he saw one day in Narcotics Anonymous.
It was in one of those meetings, where everyone is nobody, that Peyton first noticed Gracie Jane Gallagher, and he was sure she was definitely somebody—at least somebody he wanted to know. Most people had similar things to say about how they started abusing drugs—the whys, the pain, the drama, and how hard it was to stop—but Gracie was different. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her as she talked, one finger absentmindedly twisted around a strand of her very long, ginger-colored hair. Her face was sprinkled with freckles, and she would occasionally glance up at the group with her beguiling green eyes. She reminded him of the cookies he used to love when he was a little boy, all warm and sparkling with crystals of sugar and powdered with cinnamon dust.
Gracie spoke of how she had grown up in a large family in Boston. Her father, a fireman, had been killed in the line of duty when she was only ten years old. Soon after, her mother moved her and her brothers to Delray Beach, Florida, near their grandmother in the hopes of starting a new life. She had started modeling in Miami at age 15 and was introduced to cocaine; ever since then she’d been on and off drugs, in and out of various programs, with varying success, but always failure in the end.
“I’m not in here this time because of the drugs,” she explained, her arms holding her sides as if trying to keep herself from disappearing. “I need to gain weight.”
Listening to her, Peyton unconsciously rubbed his finger where his gold wedding band had been. As part of his staying in character, he’d slipped it off and left it in his room. After the meeting, he approached Gracie to introduce himself. She looked to be about 5'10", but it was impossible to tell how much she weighed. As thin as she appeared to be, she wore an old, oversized sweater that hung off her shoulders, over raggedy jeans and once-white sneakers that were now gray. Despite the appearance of her street urchin clothing, Peyton was inexplicably drawn to her. He had never seen someone who was so wonderfully fragile, in immediate need of a man’s protection.
As she shoved her hands into her pockets and started to walk away, Peyton caught up with her long stride. “I liked what you said back there.”
“You mean how I was introduced to coke when I was barely a teenager?” she said sarcastically.
“Uh, no… I mean, would you like to sit and have dinner together tonight?”
“I can’t. They make me eat with my group. Until I gain another five pounds, I’m not allowed to eat with the general population.”
Peyton wasn’t going to let her walk away that easily. “How about after dinner? They’re showing a movie tonight in the rec room.”
“No thanks, I’m pretty tired these days. See you around.” And with a flick of her light red hair, Gracie walked away.
Peyton stopped in his tracks and stared after her in disbelief. Sure, he wasn’t officially Peyton Reynolds here, but no woman had ever turned him down flat like that. He was only thirty-six, and his looks were as striking as they had always been. What is the matter with her? he wondered. Well, she probably isn’t much of a model anyway, if she hasn’t been in New York (if she had been, he would have surely met her by now).
For the next week, Peyton followed Gracie around like a little dog. When he found out she went to morning yoga classes, he even forced himself into downward dog for her. Finally she agreed to go for a walk with him on the grounds during the one hour of free time they were permitted after NA. Soon it became their daily ritual. Not wanting to reveal his identity, Peyton talked about his job in New York as a hedge fund trader, never mentioning anything personal, least of all that he was married. So they mostly discussed her modeling career, such as it was. Peyton had been correct in that Gracie had never made it to New York, instead being consigned to local events like car shows and bar openings. Now, at 23, she was afraid that it was too late for her to make it big.
“I just know that if I had the chance, I could go really far,” she said, looking at him with her intense green gaze.
Peyton nodded, but he was thinking about something else. It had been about a month since they’d met, and he felt he had to come clean with her in order to get beyond this vague, arms-length friendliness. It might be the only way, since Gracie seemed to look upon him merely as a sounding board for her worries.
“Gracie, I have to tell you something,” he said. “My name isn’t really Rick Hammond. It’s—”
She stopped him by placing her hand on his, the first time they touched, and it thrilled Peyton with a jolt of hope. “I know,” she replied, and laughed at the look on his face. “You think I didn’t recognize you the moment you came to the clinic? I’ve known about R. R. Peyton’s since I was a kid. When I was thirteen, I read all about your wedding in Palm Beach in some gossip magazine. You’re still married to your wife, right? Lily Rose, isn’t it? What does she think about all this?”
“One thing,” Peyton lowered his voice, “I don’t want to hear you ever mention her name, if we’re to—”
“If we’re to what?” Gracie asked, turning her face innocently to his.
When he grabbed her arm, it felt like with just a little more pressure, he could break it in two. But her lips against his were firm, and she pressed against him with an urgency that went beyond the need to alleviate the boredom both of them were feeling in this constrained place. He didn’t know where she summoned such fierceness, such aggressive strength, from within that delicate and seemingly frail body.
It was an affair the likes of which he had never experienced before. The biggest turn-on was that they had to sneak around together. Gracie soon abandoned
her uniform of baggy sweater and jeans for little sundresses so that she could fuck him almost anywhere without having to take off her pants. He loved the way she would sit in their NA meetings, so young and innocent, sometimes provocatively nibbling a fingernail, knowing she wasn’t wearing any panties. Just minutes after the meeting was over, she’d be helping him get off in a broom closet or a secluded part of the grounds. One night they snuck out of the clinic and went to a nearby ritzy country club, where they slipped through the bushes and onto the grounds, to the undulating warm waters of the swimming pool. Slipping out of their clothes, they fucked in the dark water for hours, while the members were having dinner in the gaily lighted clubhouse on the hill above, but just close enough to make it thrillingly dangerous. It was better than any high.
He and Lily Rose once had had great sex like this, but it had been so long ago. Long before they’d started trying for a baby, when sex had become a chore. He was sick of sex being purely about procreation; it certainly didn’t make him feel like much of a man, especially when that doctor had told him he had weak swimmers. As much as he had always loved sex, Gracie brought out an animalistic side to Peyton that he never knew he had. He could do anything he wanted to her, and she eagerly welcomed it, as if it kept her body tethered to this earth. She started to put on a little weight, but he liked the way she felt beneath him, so birdlike and frail. It made him feel all powerful, as if the world was once again his. By the time his six months at rehab were up, he had a new addiction.
Gracie was due to get out two weeks before Peyton, and he knew that he couldn’t give her up. Now that he was allowed to make phone calls out of the facility, he decided that he would rent her an apartment in New York and pay for all her expenses, as well as help sign her to a top modeling agency. When he told her this, on her last day at rehab, she clapped her hands like a little kid. She was so excited about going shopping for furniture at Bloomingdale’s that she barely resisted when he started to pull up her skirt. One last fuck to carry him through until he would be able to see her again.
* * *
After Peyton had bent Gracie over the arm of her new black leather sofa—his hand wrapped in her long red-gold hair as he pumped her smooth white bottom—they ordered Chinese food from around the corner and ate like two young wolves after the kill. Within the hour, he headed back to work, feeling like the man he knew he was once again.
The afternoon passed without incident, and when he arrived back at his and Lily Rose’s apartment that night, he headed straight for the shower to remove all signs of Gracie from his body. The scent of her Opium perfume continued to linger on his skin as he let the water stream down his back. He hoped Lily wouldn’t be interested in having sex again that night. It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle two women in one day, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to fake passion with his wife after what he’d tasted that afternoon.
Fortunately, Lily was tired after work. She simply kissed his cheek and said, “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m heading off to bed early. Good night, Pey.”
He forced himself to smile at her like nothing was the matter. “Good night, Lily.”
He was left sulking and feeling overly sorry for himself, yet another time on his first real day home. He thought about going to Gracie’s again, but decided that was too risky, and so instead he did what he had been dying to do for the past six months. He started rummaging through the cabinets for some liquor or wine, knowing that Lily had probably removed most of it before he came home. But he was in luck. He found a bottle of expensive French Bordeaux that he suspected Lily didn’t have the heart to get rid of, thinking he wouldn’t find it. He opened the bottle and got out one of their Baccarat wineglasses, from a set that had been a wedding present.
The wine was exquisite, like having great sex. It slid down his throat and pooled warm in his belly. Peyton downed glass after glass, trying to forget what had happened that day. As he reflected on things, he realized that he didn’t know what he might have expected. His father to welcome him back with open arms? His life was to resume exactly the way it was when he’d left it? Perhaps neither of those were in the cards to begin with. At least Lily Rose seemed to have forgiven him. Every word he’d said last night when he’d first seen her was true; he did want another chance at their marriage. Only now, it seemed like their marriage might be what was standing in the way of him getting what he was owed.
The wine was long gone. He took the bottle out into the hall and threw it down the communal trash, then went out on the terrace into the cold December night. With one quick gesture, he smashed the crystal wineglass into a thousand tiny pieces that went flying into the evening sky.
Chapter 16
THREE MONTHS HAD PASSED SINCE Peyton had returned home, and Lily couldn’t have been prouder of him. His hard work had led to his father reinstating him as the president of the company earlier than anyone had originally expected. Although she knew how difficult it was for him to resist old temptations, she had not seen a drop of alcohol pass his lips. Given their busy schedules, she didn’t see him much throughout the week, but when they did spend time together, he was as attentive and affectionate as when they were first married.
Still, she was surprised and thrilled when one morning he presented her with a bouquet of a dozen, long-stemmed red roses.
“These are lovely, Pey,” she said. “What’s the occasion?”
“Look inside.”
Nestled among the blooms was a small velvet box, similar to the one he had taken out of his pocket a little over ten years ago. Could it be…?
Before her eyes was an eternity ring sparkling with so many diamonds that it eclipsed her engagement and wedding rings.
“I know it isn’t our ten-year anniversary for a few months yet, but I wanted to celebrate early,” Peyton said, kissing her.
At the office, looking at her new ring, Lily thought about what she and Peyton had endured during their near ten-year-marriage: their infertility issues, his drinking and drug problems, that one horrible night when he had been violent toward her, which she tried to forget had ever happened. But perhaps, in the end, everything was worth it to get to where they were now. Their marriage was as solid as the diamonds that graced her hand. Maybe they could even start trying to have a baby again? Maybe Peyton would be more open to looking at sperm donors now. He had been such a different person since coming back from rehab that she was sure anything was possible.
Lily’s assistant knocked on her door; Peyton had arrived to escort her to Richard Reynolds’s office. Richard had ordered them to see him that afternoon to discuss an important matter concerning the company.
“Ready to face the old lion?” Peyton asked when he saw her.
“Yes,” she replied, and hand in hand they walked down the hall.
When they entered Richard’s office, they quickly took seats opposite him.
“Now that you’re both here,” Richard started, his eyes resting momentarily on Lily’s glittering hand, “I can tell you the good news. New York Tribune magazine wants to do a story on the legacy of R. R. Peyton’s and our family. The photo shoot will be next week, and the three of us will be on the cover.”
“What about Mom?” Peyton asked.
A frown crossed Richard’s face. “What about her? She’s not part of the company.”
“I thought the family was the company.”
“Peyton,” Richard sounded like he were talking to a child, “your mother has many strengths, but a businessperson she is not. As you well know, she was a model when I met her—a successful one at that—but she has never shown any interest in what goes on in the department store other than getting her hands on the designer clothes. Please leave her out of this.”
Although Lily was taken aback by the way Richard was speaking so callously about his wife, her heart warmed to the way Peyton had leapt so quickly to the defense of his mother. Then Peyton turned to her.
“If wives aren’t welcome, then why would she be included on the c
over?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Lily has been a vital part of the company since the day she walked in here. Her boutiques are integral to our bottom line and may very well outlast the department store one day.”
Uncomfortable that she was being talked about as if she weren’t there, Lily leaned forward. “I think the magazine article is a wonderful opportunity to raise the profile of the store, and the boutiques.”
“Quite right,” Richard said. “So we need to make sure that the cover achieves that purpose. You’re the only one here with any design sense, Lily. What do you think?”
Lily thought about how a real photographer, like Eric Langvin, would treat the subject matter. “What if you sit at your desk, with that panoramic view of Central Park behind you, and Peyton and I standing on either side?”
“Or,” Peyton spoke up boldly, “it could be me sitting at the desk with you and Lily on either side. After all, I am the heir to R. R. Peyton’s.”
“At this point, both of you could be considered that,” Richard said.
“What do you mean?” Peyton asked.
Richard’s eyes flickered once more to the new ring on Lily’s finger. “May I remind you that you married Lily without a prenup? That was your decision, not mine.”
Again, Lily fought to keep herself in the room. “Maybe we should just let the photographer decide what’s best. I’m sure he or she will have their own ideas.”
“Quite right,” Richard stated. “Let’s focus on what we know, which means you should both get back to work.”
In the hallway, Peyton said to Lily, “I hope you didn’t mind what I said back there about you being on the cover. Of course you belong there. It just galls me sometimes the way my dad talks about my mom, as if she isn’t worthy enough for the Reynolds name.”
“I know.” Lily placed a soothing hand against the side of his face. “You love your mother, that’s all.”
Lily Rose Page 17
