Читать книгу The Family They Chose / Private Partners - Gina Wilkins, Nancy Robards Thompson - Страница 10

Where do you go when you can’t go home?

Back to the purgatory of Washington, D.C., Jamison thought. Even though it was the last place he wanted to be.

But duty called. Olivia should understand that.

Jamison stood in the dining room of his house, pouring himself a stiff glass of scotch.

It was nearly nine o’clock. The tense ride home from his mother’s had mirrored the mostly silent drive up. Olivia was upset, and he understood why—on so many levels. The only problem was there was nothing he could do about it.

He carried his drink back into the living room where Olivia waited for him, perched on the edge of the white living room sofa, anxiously fidgeting with the too-big cocktail ring he’d given her for Christmas, twisting it around and around on her index finger.

He’d been so bogged down with work he’d hadn’t had time to shop. His mom had offered to pick out something nice for Olivia, something tasteful, yet lavish. Why hadn’t Helen opted for a bracelet or a necklace? No. Not a necklace because that would’ve paled in comparison to the diamond necklace Grant had had designed for Payton—one obscenely large diamond representing each child they’d had together. Payton, of course, had been very quick to notice and point out that the design provided plenty of room for endless additions. A sudden rush of guilt washed over Jamison as he remembered Olivia opening her gift that was noticeably too large and, really, more his mother’s style than her own.

So maybe his wife was partially right. Maybe they needed to reevaluate, reprioritize. In fact, that’s exactly what they would do right after this diplomatic visit was over. Then after they’d worked on themselves, they could revisit babies and parenthood.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” he asked as he walked over to the fireplace. He set his glass on the mantel and picked up the poker to stir the fire he’d lit when they arrived.

“No, thank you,” she said. “I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t fine. She was looked anything but fine, and he almost couldn’t stand it. He plugged in the Christmas tree lights and dimmed the rheostat, hoping to gain a more romantic atmosphere that would lift her mood and turn the tide in their favor for once.

“I’m sorry the ring is too big. The jeweler can resize it.”

“I guess your mother didn’t know my size?” The corners of her mouth turned up, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“You know I didn’t plan on having to go back to Washington so soon,” Jamison said. “No more than I planned on spending Christmas Eve at the mercy of the weather.”

Inhaling a weary breath, she said, “I thought that story was strictly reserved for the family’s benefit.” The words weren’t sharp or nasty. More disappointed … or, worse yet, defeated.

For a moment, neither of them said a word.

“I’m just tired of begging for your time, Jamison,” she said as if answering his thoughts.

“Honey, you knew when you married me that sometimes my job would preempt pleasure.”

Even the pleasure of making love to his wife. What a pity that they were arguing rather than doing exactly that in the small amount of time they had together.

She simply shook her head.

“I don’t want to fight, Jamison. Not tonight. It’s just too exhausting.” She stood.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to take a bath, and then I’m going to bed. What time is your flight tomorrow?”

“Nine o’clock. The ambassador arrives at one.”

She nodded. “I’m sure the weather will cooperate for you.”

As she brushed past him, he was enveloped in a light floral breeze—the scent of her. He longed to reach out and pull her back, pull her into his arms. Because it felt as if every time she walked away from him, she was that much closer to walking out the door.

Olivia turned the bathtub faucet on as hot as it could go, and went to lie down while the tub filled.

The bedroom was spacious enough to comfortably house a king-size bed, antique armoire and dresser. There was also a sitting area with a couch, two chintz-covered wingback chairs and a coffee table arranged around a good-size fireplace.

They’d moved into the massive three-story brick house about five years ago. At the time, even though they’d been married two years, they still acted as if they were on their honeymoon—so much in love, dreaming and planning for the future.

Olivia rolled over on her side and hugged a silk throw pillow to her middle.

She couldn’t remember when their relationship had taken such a bad turn. Or maybe it wasn’t a turn so much as they’d simply lost themselves somewhere along the way.

Funny how they were still fooling even those closest to them. Everyone looked at them in their fancy dream house and thought they had it all—the perfect American dream.

Yet, here she was on Christmas, feeling further away from her husband than she ever had, rather than putting back together the marriage they’d secretly taken apart. Her head throbbed and her heart ached and she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to block a pain that wasn’t physical as much as emotional.

Obviously, there was no reasoning with Jamison once he’d made up his mind. But no matter what happened between them, she was bound and determined to have the baby she so desperately wanted.

Which meant since things were so uncertain between them, she’d better get pregnant as soon as possible, while their friends, families—and Jamison’s constituents—still believed they were the happy couple.

The ache of regret deepened as her heart bucked against the thought of her marriage ending. She wasn’t trying to be negative, just the realist she’d become over the years she’d been married to Jamison. Another possibility niggled at her. If … no, when she got pregnant, it would be an insurance policy for her marriage. After all, when Jamison made his bid for the presidency, he certainly wouldn’t win any votes if his constituents learned he’d divorced his wife when she was pregnant.

She sat up stock straight in her bed. She couldn’t think that way. Nothing negative, only positive, good thoughts for the baby.

Across the room, a blinking light on the telephone caught her eye. Absently, she got to her feet, padded over to the phone and pressed the button to check the messages.

“Merry Christmas, Olivia and Jamison,” a male and female voice rang out in unison. It was her brother, Paul, and his fiancée, Ramona. Hearing their voices brought an involuntary smile to Olivia’s lips.

“We missed you last night at Mom and Dad’s.” Now it was only her big brother’s voice on the message. “I just wanted to wish you well. Please call when you get back from the Berkshires.”

Even though she and Paul were as different as night and day, they’d always been close. In fact, she was much closer to him than she was to her younger sister, Lisa, and Paul’s twin Derek. Her three siblings were career-minded, following in their father’s footsteps, running the institute, while Olivia had no interest in the family business. All she’d ever wanted to be was a supportive wife and good mother—to invest in a family of her own. She wasn’t unambitious—making their home and supporting Jamison in his career made her happy.

Or at least that’s what had made her happy once upon a time.

Now, the only way she could recapture that contentment was to have a baby. To accomplish that, she needed to talk to her doctor, Chance Demetrios, as soon as possible.

As the medical director at the Armstrong Institute, Paul would know Chance’s schedule. Plus, hearing Paul’s voice would be like an infusion of sunshine, and the voice of reason, to boot. While she couldn’t confide in him about her marital woes—she couldn’t risk trusting anyone with that personal information—she could trust him with the secret that she’d decided to move ahead with the artificial insemination.

She turned off the tub, then walked back into the bedroom, settled into one of the wingback chairs, and dialed his number with a nervous hand.