I wake up to a dim room, the foyer light casting soft awareness over the room, the double doors open, an ocean breeze floating over the space. The crashing waves give the empty room a soothing presence. I lay there for a moment, listening, trying to sort out where Nathan might be. I have a faint memory of his arms lifting me, then setting me back down, the soft warmth of a blanket pulled over me, pillows placed under my head. I sit up, sliding the blanket back and standing, my eyes catching a note on the bedside table, my cell on top of it.
I’ll be in the casino. If you feel up to it, please dress for dinner and come down. I’ll be in the poker room.
ND
I set the note down, picking up my cell and pressing a button to illuminate the display. 7:45. I’ve slept for almost three hours. I move to the closet and turn on the light.
I find Nathan in the poker room, his face grim and chip stack low. He looks up, a smile crossing his face and rises, gesturing with a hand for me to come closer. When I reach his side, he pulls me onto his lap, kissing my neck gently and throwing in his hand. “I’m going to cash out,” he says to the dealer, his eyes sweeping the low neckline of my dress, his hand smoothing down the side of my waist and affectionately squeezing my curves. “Did you get this one today?” he asks, tugging on the dress.
I nod. “How do you like it?”
“Absolutely stunning. Half the room noticed you come in.” He runs his fingers up my back. “You hungry?”
“Starved.”
“Then let’s eat.”
We step into an upscale Japanese restaurant just off the casino floor, and sit at the bar, ordering sake bombs and sushi. The restaurant is crowded, and we sit close, our arms touching, the heat of his body close to mine.
The sake is cold, the sushi delicious, and I relax, allowing myself to notice the light in his eyes, the ease in his manner, his good mood obvious in every smile, laugh, and touch. We touch frequently, his hand stealing to my knee, slipping salaciously underneath my dress, a soft kiss on my shoulder, my hand gliding into his hair, a stolen kiss over sashimi.
We stay until almost ten, stories and discoveries bubbling out, our different worlds having more in common than we thought. We are both David Baldacci fans, both love Scrabble, both grew up around horses, and are allergic to pine nuts. He promises to take me skiing; I swear I’ll out-grill him in a steak-off. He wants a dog, and I promise to start researching a breed with rugged masculinity. We both think Beth is a bitch, and he promises to fire her upon our return. And he pays me the best compliment of the night, over gourmet fortune cookies, his face serious, eyes soft.
“You’re a lot like her.”
I tilt my head at him. “Who?” I am both terrified and hopeful that he would say her name. Cecile. The woman who so carelessly tossed aside the heart I covet.
“My sister. CeeCee. She was so wonderful, Candy. I wish you could have met her. She had a fire in her that glowed. It showed when she was pissed—God she could set fire to half the town when she was upset. But as mad as she got, she loved even fiercer. She was my other half. It was she and I against the world—even scarier—against our family. What she did for me? When Cecile left? She’s the reason I made it through that at all. She fortified me, picked up my pieces and put me back together. You have her strength, her compassion, her fire. You're the only woman I know worthy to have her name.” He looks sadly at me, his mouth turning up in a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
I lean forward and tug on his shirt until our lips meet; communicating through my kiss what I am not woman enough to say.
NATHAN
Candy sleeps beside him, tucked against his side, her arm limp and soft across his chest. He needs to move her, his shoulder cramping, but can’t. He can’t risk waking her, her opening her eyes and looking at him in the darkness. Her eyes do him in. They see through every ounce of pretense and stare into his soul. He leaves her where she is, her body tight to his.
He is unraveling, the world that he knows slowly coming apart at a time when it should be coming together. He has control of the funds, transferring them through four different accounts to ensure their safety, their location one that only he knows—the IRS none the wiser about his regained wealth. His money is back, and now he is only missing one thing, the woman who took his heart. She is the last remaining piece of his happiness, and Candy could be the ticket that brings her back. Candy is playing along—smiling and acting the part of the devoted wife, madly in love with her husband, the photographers catching every flirtatious glance, every stolen kiss. Cecile’s jealous streak is legendary, showing its teeth at several points during our relationship. She shouldn’t be able to lie quietly, the photos and the press should flush her out, her ego demanding that he leave Candy at once so that she can go to bed happy, her pride still intact. It is a weak card, but the only one he has to play. Searching for her hasn’t worked, Drew’s extensive search bringing up nothing, his desire to find her as strong as Nathan's own.
What he can’t figure out—what plagues him in the dark of the night—is why. Why did she leave? She left him, Drew, her family and friends, all for what?
He shouldn’t want her back. He should curse her name, hate her photo, lament the day that she ever walked into his life. But he can’t. She owns his heart, her touch imprinted on every ounce of his being, breath in his body, blood in his veins. Without her, he is lost.
CHAPTER 49
I know that Nathan’s act is all for show, our Napa trip proof of that. The tender touches, the kiss on the nape of my neck—it is all for the cameras. For her. The fact that every touch that I swoon over is performed for another woman … it’s heartbreaking. Literally. I can feel my heart expanding, cracking along ridges and junctures, its shell not made to be manipulated, twisted, and toyed with in this manner. It bends, it yields, it cracks. I must do a better job of protecting it. I must push away from this man and focus on what is important. My father. The life I will have after Nathan Dumont.
But there is another possibility, another option in this game of Life that I am so poorly playing. After all, he is my husband. Maybe it’s time to take off the gloves and pull some hair. I am here with him, she is a memory wrapped in abandonment. I have a fighting chance. I just need to time and properly place my blows.
We stand in the line at customs, Nathan’s hand casually slid into my back pocket, occasionally tugging me to him for a kiss. I am wearing one of my new outfits, picked without the benefit of an outfit book or numbered hanger. It feels rebellious, choosing my own clothes, the simple act bringing a grin to my face.