Wife in Name Only

chapter Fourteen


“Did Smithy say what time he’d be here?” Zoe looked up from wiping down the counter. Her lovely face was pale but resolute.

Rory had risen early and had just showered after a punishing run around the island. He’d stopped in at the local village and said good-bye to the men he had enjoyed spending time with more than the people he knew back in Southern California. He’d received slaps to the back, a surprising and uncomfortable number of man-hugs, and some teary hugs from women. Simi hadn’t taken too kindly to the news of his departure. He didn’t understand why Rory had to go back to L.A. instead of living here with his wife.

Rory had given up explaining the tough situation.

“Yeah, I phoned him late last night. He’ll be here soon. Smithy wants to do a flyby. Pick up and go.”

“I see.” She nodded. “What would you like to do on your last day here? Any requests?”

Spend the day in bed with you.

As if she’d read his thoughts, she turned away.

His gray mood darkened to shitty black. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to tie up some business stuff I started last night,” he lied. He’d spent the night trying to figure a way out of the hellhole he’d lowered himself into. The only time his mind calmed and his body stopped aching was when he’d climbed into bed, arranged himself around Zoe, and slipped into sleep. He’d slept deeply again, waking only when she did her usual morning wriggle, an awesome dance somewhere between being asleep and awake that said hello to his dick and wiped sleep from his brain.

He tried for a smile, but his lips had packed up and moved inland. “Headless henchmen not performing and all.”

But he had to get back to do the face to face silent pissing competitions with the suits from Andrew Industries and the multitude of smug lawyers who got paid by the hour. Just a fact of life because this deal was going to go through.

“Well, I’ll be around if you need anything.” She gazed out the window. “I’m glad that old Francis in his beige cardigan has veered off and is out there looking for an all-night knitting party.”

He smiled despite himself at her description.

She started toward the door, stopped and turned. “I think we should probably talk about divorce papers before you go.”

That hurt like a punch to the heart.

“We don’t need to talk about that now.”

“Yeah, we kind of do. I won’t be making the trip to California and…well, you won’t be making the trip here again. People will still come here if I’m a divorcee. This gives us both freedom.”

A hundred thoughts and words twisted his heart, and not one of them was able to find a way out of his mouth. He flinched. He was going to have to see a specialist when he got back to L.A. for all the pain his chest cavity was taking.

“Could you FedEx them to me when you get back?” she said, not looking at him.

He nodded without speaking.

There was nothing to say.

There was everything to say.

“Wait.” The words dropped out of his mouth, hot, heavy, and burning.

Her eyes swam with hope and emotion, leaving her heartbreakingly vulnerable. Everything about her screamed at him to say the one word he couldn’t. Stay.

“I can’t.” Without being aware of it, he’d opened his mouth, and the words had spring-boarded from his tongue. He stepped toward her, the light of hope dying in her luminous eyes.

She stared at the ground for a long second, nodded, looked up, squeezed his shoulder just like she had the day he had arrived, and walked out the door.

F*ck.

She’d put the barriers up. They were back at the friendship phase.

He stared out, watching Zoe move towards her bungalow with Cinderella at her side.

Her words of last night sat in his head, heavy and solid, and for the life of him, he couldn’t shift the bastards.

Those three words hung like a chain of doom around his neck. She loved him.

She’d said that everything he needed and wanted was here.

He looked around at her paradise and the happy dream he’d been living in, and he felt his stomach knotting itself into a crippling ball.

His world called from across the ocean. His world was success, which included rising above the man his parents had raised him to be, controlling his future, and taking better care of his loved ones than his family had taken of him. He could stay here, but the South Pacific kept him from immersing himself in every aspect of his world.

Yet the tension of L.A. bore down on him, making it hard to breathe.

He spent the next few hours packing his carry-all. He’d walked down to the village, said his last good-byes, and when he spied Smithy walking up the path of the resort, his heart unraveled into a heap at his feet.

All that was left was to say good-bye to his wife. He found her in the kitchen, cleaning up after baking. A richly scented chocolate cake sat in a white cardboard box on the counter, covered in dark frosting.

She was in her happy place with her happy music.

“So this is it?” Rory stood inches from Zoe. He could taste her sweet breath as it danced across his lips. Damp rosemary-scented hair draped across her shoulders. Dark rings outlined her blurred sapphire eyes, making them appear larger in her pale face. She wore a long blue sundress that skimmed her ankles. Barefoot and with the jungle as a backdrop, she’d never been more heartbreakingly lovely. Strength and quiet determination rolled off her in confident waves. He stared at her until his eyes burned.

“Yeah.” His heart did a bad tilt-a-whirl spin. “I packed some extra stuff into your bag. Things for you to remember the island by.”

He ignored the squeezing in his heart that had his insides sloughing away. Inch by inch. Corpuscle by corpuscle.

“Go and be happy. Be nice to the henchmen. Give them a cuddle.” She brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his shoulder and stepped back from him. Her chin tilted and her eyes were soft and glassy as she stood tall and proud and beautiful.

He dragged his hand through his hair. “Come with me.”

She shook her head.

Why did it hurt like a bullet-to-the-heart to walk away? It ripped into him, turning his bones to dust and his desire to frustration.

He knelt down to pat Cinderella and was rewarded with a long lick. Her one eye looked at him gloomily.

“Hey beautiful girl, look after her for me,” he said in a voice gruff with emotion.

He looked at Zoe. “Simi assured me that the f*cker will never come back here.”

She nodded. “He won’t.”

He slung his canvas backpack over his shoulder. The waves landed with a gentle sigh on the sand. A choir of insects chirruped happily in the background, and it shocked him to remember how much he’d hated the noise when he first arrived. A coconut dropped from a nearby tree and rolled toward the ocean. Coldness smacked his soul.

“I’ll call you when I get back. I’m ordering you a new computer. Something that’s faster than a sloth.” He brushed a line of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. Electricity arced between them.

She nodded without speaking and passed him the cake.

“For you,” she whispered

Before he could get a handle on his heart and his head, Zoe reached up, wrapped her arms around his neck, and planted the sweetest kiss against his cheek. He closed his eyes, breathing her in.

“Good-bye.” She pulled back and seemed to search his face.

She must have found the answer she was searching for. She gave a slight nod, turned, and walked away.

Part of him screamed in agony. A throbbing pain in his chest traveled to his temples, leaving him nauseous and his insides heaving.

They walked outside to where Smithy stood knee-keep in water, holding onto an inflatable Zodiac boat.

“Yeah.” The word echoed out of him. He waded out, threw his backpack onto the seat, carefully placed the cake box next to it, and joined his belongings while Smithy gunned the heavy outdoor engine.

In minutes they were on Smithy’s yacht, engines running. Smithy was on the phone in a last minute conversation with someone.

A tension headache gripped his head in a band of steel. He felt the pull of two worlds.

This seriously wasn’t going according to plan.

His eyes were drawn to his bag. Something Zoe had said broke through his self-imposed hell. He grabbed the bag and found two packages and a note. He ripped open a soft package wrapped in an old newspaper with red, hand-drawn hearts. Her bronze bikini tipped onto his lap, the thin metal chains cold in his hands. They’d been hot on her body. He read the Post-It stuck to the front of the bikini bottom. You’ll be the only one who sees me in it. He stroked the soft material. His heart barely beat, and his muscles loosened from his bones. He stuffed the bikini in his shorts pocket.

The other package was hard and wrapped in white butcher paper. With trembling fingers, he ripped away the paper. His eyes fell to a small photo album, a USB drive taped to the cover.

The album was etched in gold and said Photoshop Love.

He opened the cover, and his throat burned. All the photos they’d both taken had been printed out. Their happy faces gazed up at him. There were images of her sleeping, curled up in bed, and also in the hammock, Cinderella stacking Z’s beside her. Ones on the ridge with him riding a bike. Her in that schoolmarm dress that was so hot.

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

He ripped open the envelope, and random Scrabble tiles fell into his lap.

He pulled in a halting breath and read the note.

Rory,

Something to remember me by.

Thank you for the memories.

Love,

Zoe.

P.S. I love the word junky. It rocks. The best forfeit ever.

Something shifted inside his chest. It cracked, and the world faded.

He was stuck in a purgatory of his own making, heading back to the land of suits kicking each other to the curb to get a better business deal. The thought stung his mouth like a band of angry wasps.

Overwhelmed and exhausted from the last night with his wife, he wandered downstairs with his bag over his shoulder and her precious memories tucked inside of it. He ignored the heavy thump of his heart when he looked at the cake box stowed in the galley.

Hours later, he woke from a fractured sleep where memories of his wife’s smiling, sexy, and pissed off face kept him tossing in the luxurious bunk. Numbly, he noticed the waves now hit the boat with a steady thump. Spray landed on the deck with a heavy thud that echoed through the room he was in. The crack of thunder spiked through the air. His mouth dried, and his muscles froze. He forced his limbs to move and made his way through the cabin. Smithy sat perched in his captain’s chair, and a scowl marred his already creased forehead as he talked on a satellite phone.

After a tense conversation, Smithy tossed the phone onto the console by his seat as the boat took a huge wave that jolted them both. The lines on the captain’s forehead deepened further than Rory thought possible.

“I’ve just got off the phone with the captain of the Nina Louise. She turned back three hours ago and is heading to the shelter at the back of the island. She doesn’t have the engines like I do to outrun it.”

Something tugged at his memory banks. An ABBA song snuck into his head.

“Outrun what?”

He pushed it aside along with the difficulty he had swallowing.

“See these?” Smithy pointed to a computer terminal and a circle of tight lines. “That’s Cyclone Francis. It’s turning.”

Bile rose up Rory’s throat, and he gripped the edge of counter until he thought his knuckles would pop. He focused on the computer terminal. “What do you mean, it’s turning?”

Smithy looked as green as he felt. Radio speakers crackled into life and delivered a bone-chilling weather forecast.

Cyclone Francis had changed direction and was tracking across the Pacific toward Zoe’s island. The mother of all cyclones was predicted to build to a category four, possibly category five before hitting the island.

White noise played in his head.

“It’s really bad, son. We left with only a few hours to spare.”

Rory closed his eyes against the panic. The thought of Zoe defenseless against the storm of the century turned his bones to putty.

That stupid f*cking ABBA song started playing in his head. Again.

Wait.

“Turn around,” he yelled. Smithy startled at the harshness in his voice.

“What?”

“Turn the f*cking boat around. That f*cker’s on the way back to the island.” He bashed the back of the chair. “How could I have been so stupid? That ABBA song. Nina something ballerina.” He gripped Smith who stared at him as if he’d gone mad. “The guy who attacked Zoe is on the Nina Louise, and he’s heading straight back to my wife.”

A wall of furious churning water smashed over the bow, an exclamation point to his plea. Lightning lit the sky in a wall of white light. He refused to give into the fear dragging an icy shiver down his spine.

“My wife, Smithy. My whole f*cking everything.” He took a shuddering breath. “There’s a category four cyclone and a man that wants to kill my wife heading toward that island.”

Smithy shook his head, his face ghostly pale. “I don’t know what I can do, son.”

Rory closed his eyes and concentrated, making dot points in his head.

Ignoring the zap of lightning and the beating doom squad of thunder, he forced himself to Zen out.

His eyes flew open and lungs that had been struggling to pant pulled in a breath like a dying man. “How much for the boat?”

“What? No. This is just one of a fleet of boats that work the Pacific.”

“How much for the fleet?” He scanned the horizon. “I don’t have much time, Smithy. How much for the fleet?” He grabbed a pen, grabbed a nearby map, turned it over, wrote a few sentences on it, and signed his name.

Another heavy wave to the bow shook the boat.

“This is a binding contract. Insert your price. I’m good for it.”

The one good thing that had happened in his life was sitting alone on an island, at the mercy of both a hurricane and the man who wanted to kill her. His hands curled into fists, and adrenaline flooded through his muscles.

“This is fate, Smithy. This is fate telling me to go back and protect my wife. My wife. Screw getting divorced.” Screw Hughes Enterprises, screw the deal of the century. The company didn’t define him. She defined him. He needed to be on that island. That was his home. Where he belonged. Where he’d always belonged. He drove his fingers through his hair. “Of all the times to have an epiphany.” He glanced out the window at the darkening sky. As if sensing his fear, a crack of thunder vibrated through his bones. “And in a f*cking thunderstorm. Karma’s smacking me big time.”

Nothing else in the world mattered except her.

She is my world, my home, my f*cking everything.

Smithy stared at the piece of paper and back at Rory. His eyes narrowed.

“I have to get back there. It’s non-negotiable.” His eyes burned. “I can’t lose her.”

Smithy looked like he was doing some calculations in his head. He studied the radar while Rory bounced on his heels. “If I head for the island, I’ll have to drop you off around the back where it’s sheltered.”

“Do it.”

…

Zoe peeked through a slit in the shutter of the restaurant and rubbed her arms, trying to force warmth into her numb limbs. Fear, her ever-present best friend, reached across and flicked her heart. Her mouth was dry, and a permanent tremble had taken up residence in her fingers. The sky had turned from pie-tin silver to Grim Reaper black in front of her eyes. A demon wind bashed at the walls, demanding entry.

She’d given the last update to Simi that the cyclone was on track. Simi had told her that he’d be out sinking the village boats. She’d begged him to let the villagers join her here in the security of the resort, but the old man had given her a quick hug and told her they were going to church to pray. If they were going to God, they wanted to do it in His house. He’d told her he’d see her on the other side, and then he’d run back toward the village. She’d stood open–mouthed, unsure of what he meant by “other side.”

She couldn’t help the whimper of fear that iced her already numb lips.

She’d been alarmed on the beach from watching hermit crabs scurry over each other to get to the top of the palm trees. Simi’s worried face had worsened her fear. The phone ringing when she got back to the resort confirmed the dread rattling her bones. Francis was coming her way; he’d turned suddenly, and he wasn’t the cardigan-wearing Francis of her imagination. This was pissed off thug Francis wearing a suit of armor and packing serious heat.

Cinderella sat on her feet, a quivering bag of bones.

She reached down and hugged her dog. “We’ll be okay,” she whispered into her dog’s trembling body. If she said it aloud enough times, it might just come true.

A large splitting sound cut through the wounded air, and she jumped. It sounded as if a grenade had slammed into the side of the building as the wood flexed and groaned in misery.

Battery operated lanterns were scattered across the room. She’d filled water bottles, and she had the medical knapsack beside her. She’d stuffed cereal bars and water bottles into the knapsack. She’d given Simi boxes of energy bars and told him to take whatever he needed from the resort.

If she kept busy, she’d be fine. She sent a prayer that Rory was safe out there with Smithy and glanced at her watch. Ten minutes before the next weather report.

She hadn’t let herself think about Rory since he’d left hours ago. She couldn’t. The Band-Aid would again be ripped away, leaving her battered and bruised. She loved him. Yes. She’d find the time to un-love him when this storm was put to rest.

If that was at all possible.

Please don’t let me be put to rest.

She looked down at the phone and the low battery signal.

Yeah, I’m an idiot, but I have to fix this. I have to get the base charger.

“Stay here girl, I won’t be long,” she murmured to Cinderella.

Summoning all her strength, she pushed open the restaurant door, and it slammed behind her.

The wind howled through the resort. Sand and leaves smacked her mouth and sucked away her breath. Bombs of water slammed into her face and slid down her back. Her heavy yellow slicker barely protected her from the rain that lashed the island. She inched along the wall, pulled her sweatshirt to cover her mouth, and then sprinted the few steps to the office. She yanked on the heavy door and fell to the floor as it opened. A window lash had broken free, and the window thumped against the side of the building. She spent longer than she wanted securing it. She tried to call Smithy to make sure he and Rory were safe. Her heart did a little shimmy when she allowed herself to think about Rory, but the line was breaking as she punched in Smithy’s number.

Come on. Get organized. Get the charger and go.

She grabbed the charger and had the same fight with the door. Coconuts raced along the ground as if invisible giants were playing a giant game of bowling. Palm trees bent forward, their frenzied limbs praying to an invisible force.

With her muscles straining, she pulled open the door to the restaurant, removed the raincoat, dropped it on the floor, and walked to where she’d left Cinderella.

“Cinders, where are you?” Through the filtered, gloomy light she couldn’t see the outline of her dog.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up.

A glint of silver on the counter caught her eye. Puzzled, she looked down at her locket.

The locket she’d lost the day…

Her heart slammed against her ribs. She plucked the locket with trembling fingers.

“You came back,” she whispered into the gloom, scanning the room for him. “Rory?”

A movement out the corner of her eye caught her by surprise. Too late to react, she was lying flat on the ground, staring up into hate-filled eyes.

“I come for what is mine.”

Cold decision took over. She could stay and take the guy down, or she could flee and die out there. White-hot anger pulsed through her. “Give me back my dog and get the f*ck off my island.”