Читать книгу The Elliotts: Secret Affairs - Susan Crosby - Страница 16

A few days later John stood by while Scarlet pulled item after item from his closet to make room for his just-delivered new clothes and shoes—although he suspected her reason had more to do with removing the temptation of his ever wearing his old stuff again. His new tux and five suits wouldn’t be ready for a couple of weeks, but everything else they’d bought could be put away—shirts, ties, jeans, leather jacket, T-shirts, boots, shoes, other casual clothing.

His credit card statement now seemed in line with the national debt, but he had to admit he liked the new look, not flashy but up-to-date.

Not that he hadn’t argued with her, starting with her wanting him to use a friend she’d gone to design school with instead of the tailor he’d used all his life, his father’s tailor. Somehow—he still wasn’t exactly sure how—she’d convinced him to give her guy a try, then decisions were made all around him for a while before he asserted himself with veto privileges and started offering his own opinions. He was happy with the end result, particularly after he finished trying on clothes, when Scarlet locked the dressing room door and they made love, their need to be quiet somehow intensifying everything—scents, sights, the silken feel of her skin, the force of his orgasm.

Or maybe it was the four walls of mirrors that had done that, especially as she’d stripped for him, and he’d had a view of her everywhere he looked, and from every angle.

He went hard at the memory.

“When do you have to be back at work?” he asked her now, coming up behind her in the closet, his hands on her hips, keeping her rear snugly against him.

“Same as usual. One-thirty.”

It was the third time this week they’d met at his apartment at noon, and it was only Thursday. They’d also had two meetings at her office about product placements, plus that evening at the tailor’s before she had to go home to have dinner with her grandparents. She had to attend the symphony with them tonight, then they were returning to The Tides tomorrow, just in time for the weekend.

Tick tock. His time with Scarlet was slipping away.

They didn’t talk about the inevitable end anymore, apparently deciding separately not to bring it up. Sometime soon they would have to, though. Only twelve days until Summer’s return.

He’d had lunch delivered before he and Scarlet arrived—corned-beef sandwiches and coleslaw. They sat at his kitchen counter to eat.

Scarlet held a dill pickle aloft. “Make sure you bag your old clothes and leave them with your doorman tomorrow. They’ll be picked up around ten o’clock.”

He was grateful he didn’t have his new suits yet so he didn’t have to donate his old ones. They were good suits, with life left.

“And when your new suits are ready, you’ll give your old ones away,” she added, using her pickle as a pointer.

“Who appointed you queen of my closet?”

She grinned. “Trust me. Once you’ve worn the new suits and gotten a hundred compliments in five days, you won’t miss the old ones a bit.”

“If you say so.” He had no intention of getting rid of them, but she didn’t have to know that. He was taking back a few of the things she’d tossed onto his closet floor today, too.

“Do you have plans for the weekend?” he asked. They rarely planned ahead, usually not even a day, as if they were afraid to. Afraid that they would plan then something would prevent it, which would be worse than not making plans at all.

“I have to make an appearance at JoJo Dawson’s party Friday night,” she said, “which starts at eight. How about you?”

“I have to be seen at Shari Alexander’s opening at the Liz Barnard Gallery.”

She frowned. “I didn’t get an invitation to that.”

“Maybe because at the last opening, you stole Liz’s boyfriend.”

She met his gaze directly then studied her sandwich for a few seconds as she held it near her face. “I didn’t know he was hers. He sure didn’t act like he belonged to anyone.

Not to mention he’s twenty years younger than she is. Anyway, I wasn’t doing anything but flirting a little, after he made moves on me. Besides, he was too fussy.”

“Fussy?”

“And full of himself.”

He wasn’t sure what she meant, except they weren’t compliments. “I take it I’m not fussy.”

She almost snorted. “Hardly.”

He wanted her to explain what she meant, but left it alone. They only had a few minutes left before they had to return to their offices. “Want to get together after our respective appearances tomorrow night?”

“Sure.” She picked up their plates and carried them to the sink.

He stuck his hand in his pocket, toying with the item he’d dropped in there earlier. After a few seconds, he pulled it out and passed it to her. “In case you’re done before I am tomorrow night.”

She stared at the gleaming object while she dried her hands, which seemed to take an extraordinarily long time. Then she folded the towel precisely into thirds and hung it on the oven door handle.

“It’s a key, Scarlet, not a branding iron.”

She took it from him without comment as she edged around him, heading toward the living room. He would love to know what was going on in that head of hers.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he said as she opened the front door. He wanted her to come back and kiss him goodbye. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, waiting.

She stopped at the door. Her expression seemed to say she wanted to give back the key. A key was symbolic of a relationship deepening in trust and intent, a sign there was a future. It wasn’t true here, which obviously confused her, and apparently upset her.

“It’s just a key,” he repeated to her. “I’m trying to make things more convenient for both of us.”

“You keep on thinking that, John, if it makes it easier for you,” she said, then she left, closing the door quietly.

So, he really didn’t have a clue about how her mind worked. She hadn’t been focusing on the same issue at all.

But she was wrong about one thing.

Nothing was making this relationship easier. Absolutely nothing.

Although Scarlet had been taken—dragged—to the symphony and the opera since childhood, she’d never developed an ear for it, nor could she easily distinguish one composer from another. Except for Wagner, that is, especially his Tristan und Isolde. Selections from it were on the program tonight.

Still, she would’ve rather been at a jazz festival or enjoying the pounding beat of a rock concert.

Just before the lights went down she spotted her aunt Finny sitting a few rows ahead with Georges Caron, a French designer old enough to be her father. From their vantage point her real father and mother had a perfect view of their emotionally estranged daughter. Scarlet didn’t catch her grandfather looking, but Gram’s gaze returned again and again. Scarlet wondered if Fin would ever forgive her parents for forcing her to give up her baby long ago. She’d rarely spoken to them through the years, Charisma having become her baby.

On the other hand, Scarlet was glad to see Fin out and about, a rarity for her. Undoubtedly it was a work night for her, an attempt to woo Georges Caron into giving Charisma exclusive coverage of his next collection or something. At least it got her out of the office.

Woo. The word stuck in Scarlet’s head, along with the other dilemmas crammed in there like a Pandora’s box. John had given her a key to his apartment. He was falling for her, beyond sex, beyond their stated intent at the beginning of their relationship. She knew she had to give him up at the end of the month, because of Summer and family image and other things that separately didn’t matter a whole lot, but together made it impossible for them to be together.

So … her big dilemma now was whether to end things early with him, before he got hurt, too. She would suffer at the loss of him, but she’d gone into the relationship with her eyes open to that potential. He hadn’t. He’d thought it would be a purely sexual relationship, that his heart wouldn’t be in danger. She sensed that was changing. Maybe he wasn’t in love with her, but he liked her a lot. They had become friends as well as lovers.

It was a dangerous situation for both of them. How had he put it at the beginning—a game with potentially disastrous outcomes? She’d been led by her heart. His mind had presented a more realistic view of the future—then, anyway.

Could she give him up before she had to?

Applause erupted around her as the lights came up. Intermission already?

Georges stopped beside her grandfather’s aisle seat and chatted for a moment. Fin stood behind him, expressionless. She wouldn’t make eye contact with Gram. Scarlet hated that most.

The Frenchman moved on. It appeared Fin would, too, then she stopped next to her father and in a low voice said, “If there’s something you want to know, just ask me. Don’t recruit spies.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said calmly.

“Liar,” Fin fired back before she went to catch up with her escort.

Gram’s hands were clenched. Scarlet laid a hand on hers, but her grandmother couldn’t even smile.

“Want to attempt the line at the ladies’ room, Gram?”

She shook her head. “I see an old friend. I’ll go off and visit for a few minutes. Stretch the kinks out, then.”

After she left, her grandfather turned to Scarlet. “Do you know what Finola was talking about?”

“Yes. Don’t you?”

He looked away, saying nothing. Scarlet didn’t know whether he was telling the truth or bluffing.

Scarlet wished John was beside her, holding her hand, defusing the situation. He was diplomatic. He would know how to change the mood. She was too emotionally involved and didn’t dare get into it. Instead no one spoke the rest of the evening beyond necessary, polite words.

When she climbed into bed later, she eyed her phone. She knew John’s number by heart now. She wanted to hear his voice, but needed to come up with a reason to call ….

Food. Food was always a safe topic. She would ask him if she should pick up something to eat tomorrow on her way to his place. He would have appetizers at the gallery, but not dinner, and she wasn’t planning to stay for dinner at JoJo’s, just to have a drink and show her face.

She dialed. The phone rang four times, then his answering machine picked up. She didn’t wait for the beep, but hung up. She glanced at the clock—almost midnight—and tossed the phone out of reach.

Neither of them ever questioned what the other had done on nights when they weren’t together, but this was the first time she’d called and not found him at home.

Jealousy reared up. She tamped it down. He’d said they didn’t have an exclusive arrangement, but she didn’t buy it. He wasn’t a player. But she was curious about why he wasn’t home yet.

Of course, she had no business calling him at midnight on a work night, when most people were sleeping, and especially to ask a question she could talk to him about the next day. He would see through her ploy. It didn’t matter. She didn’t care. Let him think what he would.

The phone rang. She leaped across the bed to grab it.

“Hey!” Summer said. “Where’ve you been all night? I’ve been calling for hours.”

Scarlet settled into her pillows, the phone tucked between her shoulder and ear as she adjusted the bedding. Her disappointment that it wasn’t John disappeared. “At the symphony with the Grands. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to let you know that we’re coming home a day early. The twenty-eighth instead of the twenty-ninth.”

One less night. “How come?”

“I’m homesick.”

“Really?”

Summer laughed. “No. Well, kind of. Zeke’s got a meeting in New York on the twenty-ninth. This is not for public broadcast yet, but he’s going to do the music and lyrics for a rock musical.”

“Good for him!”

“We think so, too, especially since it means we’d get to live close to home.”

“You’re going to live together?” Scarlet had assumed they would, but having it confirmed—

“Well, yes. What did you think?”

“Are you coming back to work?” She recalled her grandfather assuming Summer wouldn’t return to the job, and had wondered, herself.

“I don’t know yet. I’m still figuring things out. Scar?”

“What?”

“You’ve seemed really distracted every time I’ve talked to you. This whole month. Longer than that, even. What’s going on?”

“Nothing worth talking about.”

Static crackled in the silence. “When I get home, we’ll catch up. When I can see your face, I’ll know whether there’s something I should know.”

She was right, of course. Nothing Scarlet could say or do would prevent Summer from seeing into her soul—her broken heart at that point, since her relationship with John would have ended.

“Are you planning your wedding yet?” Scarlet asked, changing the subject.

“Not yet. We don’t feel we need to hurry. Maybe at Christmas.”

“You’ll want the fairy tale, I think. It takes time to plan.”

“You’ll design my dress, won’t you?”

Scarlet smiled. “I already have.”

Summer’s voice softened. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Scarlet managed to say before her throat swelled shut.

“See you soon.”

“Okay. ‘Bye.”

Scarlet could never do anything to alienate her sister. Watching Fin tonight with Gram and Granddad settled that in Scarlet’s mind. Family came first. Always and forever.

There would be another man to love someday, she told herself as she turned off her bedside lamp.

Then she lay there in the dark, alone, denying herself the luxury of tears.