“So why does Gavin think you have to stay married? It’s not like you’re going to flee the country with the kid. You guys live in the same area, so he can stop by when he can. He can send you child support if he feels that responsible. You gotta admit, one thing he’s really good at is throwing money at people.”
“And cars and jets and diamond watches and pearl earrings,” Amandine added, half-glum, half-sarcastic. “Still, I don’t think I can ignore his threat. He wasn’t kidding about fighting for custody, and he’s on a first-name basis with every judge in the area.”
“You need a lawyer. A really good one.”
“I know.”
“Get Samantha Jones.”
Amandine frowned. The name sounded vaguely familiar.
“She’s a divorce attorney to the rich and famous,” Brooke said. “She’ll know exactly what to do to make sure whatever deal you strike with Gavin over the custody issue will be solid.”
“Not sure if I can afford her.”
“Gavin can, and it’s the least he can do. If he wants to convince you to stay, he can start by paying for your lawyer.”
“And there’s something else I want to mention.” Amandine bit her lower lip. “I’m really sorry, but you might not have a job much longer. I can’t continue to pay you.”
“Psshh. Don’t worry about me. I can update my résumé and get a new job. And if that doesn’t work out, I can always join the family flooring business. Sandy said she needed somebody to do record keeping, and I’m good at that.” Brooke hugged Amandine. “You just worry about yourself, okay?”
* * *
On his way home, Gavin glanced at his phone at the new text from Amandine.
I want Samantha Jones
.
And you can pay her fees
.
His mouth twisted into a small wry smile. So she’d been serious about getting a lawyer. Well, she might as well have the best. Samantha was excellent, and he didn’t mind footing the bill if that was what Amandine wanted.
He was willing to put up with the farce to placate her. He knew he’d screwed up, and amends needed to be made. But he had no intention of letting her go.
There would only be one final outcome: Amandine back in his life as his wife and mother to their child.
By the time Gavin arrived home, it was well after ten thirty. No one was around; Luna had been sent home earlier.
He went to the master bedroom. It was strange to come home to a house without Amandine in it. It’d always been a given that she’d be there when he returned.
As he started to undo his cufflinks, a vase with yellow roses on the table showed in his peripheral vision. He usually didn’t notice the flowers in his home. They were everywhere, freshly delivered two or three times a week, and he paid about as much attention to them as he would sand on a beach. But yellow roses were different.
An image of his mother came to him. She’d been standing on her front lawn, surveying the neighborhood, when she suddenly said, “I don’t know why anybody likes them yellow.”
“Them?”
“The roses.” She’d gestured at the bushes in her neighbor’s yard.
“Why not? They’re pretty enough.”
“They symbolize jealousy.”
“Huh?”
“Yellow roses. They mean jealousy in the language of flowers.”
“I could swear I read somewhere that they mean friendship.” Gavin had made a point of learning a bit about flowers because of his mother’s love of gardening.
“That’s one of the more…generous interpretations. Regardless, I’ve never cared for them.”
He hadn’t pointed out that she’d grown a few of her own until she found out that Catherine liked them.
But…jealousy. Probably neither Jacob nor Catherine had said anything about how they came to be engaged. However, his mother seemed to have some kind of radar for what her children were up to.
Gavin stared at the roses in his bedroom, then suddenly walked over to the vase and grabbed it. He threw open a window and chucked the flowers out of the vase and into the night. Then he closed the window and replaced the vase on its stand, making a mental note to tell the florist to blacklist yellow roses. There was no need for things that reminded him of Catherine or his mother’s disapproval.
He poured himself a bourbon and stared at his tablet without comprehending a word of the emails cramming his inbox. The house was too quiet and too large without his wife.
He turned on the ceiling fans. They spun quietly, and he sighed. Of course they’d be silent. That was one of their big selling points.
The room seemed cavernous and unwelcoming without Amandine’s presence. Something was needed to fill the emptiness until he brought her back where she belonged. No more than a week, he decided. It was plenty of time to have her back in the house.
He turned on some music. Masterful strains of Bach’s
Suites for Solo Cello
poured out of the top-of-the-line surround-sound system. It was the latest recording from one of his closest friends, Damien Kirk. Gavin took a seat in one of the armchairs as the incredible precision of Damien’s performance filled the room. One would think months of seclusion and lack of practice would have dulled his skills, but they were as sharp as ever. Recordings as precise as Damien’s should also be devoid of soul, like a computer printout of Bach’s notes, but they were full of heart and verve.
How in the world had Damien managed it? Was it love that gave an added depth and dimension to what had been already close to perfection? People who didn’t know much about his private life might simply have considered him a lucky bastard, but Gavin wasn’t among them. The musician was crazy about his wife, and he refused to go on tours without her. She was a writer who could work anywhere, and it was rumored that they had never spent a single night apart since their wedding.
That kind of thing wasn’t in Gavin’s life, though not for lack of trying. Three-plus years, and though he was ever more successful in business, he was losing his wife. And now his child as well.
If only Amandine wanted Gavin the way he wanted her…
He needed to get his lawyer to set up a meeting with Amandine and Samantha ASAP. It’d take priority over his other engagements. Once the unpleasantries were over, he’d have Amandine back in his bed and his life. The time apart would make her realize how much she missed him.
He couldn’t be the only one who felt so empty.
SIX DAYS LATER, Amandine put on her best pale blue blouse and black slacks. Incredibly, Gavin had gotten an appointment for both of them at Jones & Jones in less than a week. She’d spoken with Samantha Jones over the phone a couple of times, and the woman sounded like the nicest person ever—the kind who’d help out at a church bake sale to benefit the homeless, not a barracuda of a lawyer who ate her opponents for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
“Are you going to be able to drive?” Brooke asked, looking at Amandine’s shaky hands. “I can go with you.”
“No, it’s all right. You take some time for yourself.” Amandine wiped her palms on her pants.
Get a grip
,
girl
. She was just going to a lawyer’s office, where she and Gavin were going to discuss their differences and figure out what to do about the baby. Gavin probably wasn’t still thinking about reconciliation. More likely it had been some spur-of-the-moment gambit on his part. She was sure he’d regretted it the instant he’d dropped her off. Otherwise, he would’ve sent a truckload of flowers—no, a space shuttle to top the anniversary jet—or done something similarly over-the-top to convince her to come back.
After an hour of fighting the Los Angeles traffic, Amandine parked her car at the glittering high-rise that housed the main offices of Jones & Jones. She stepped out and shrugged into a conservative black blazer as she walked toward the lobby. Samantha had advised Amandine to adopt a tough and untouchable demeanor, and she hoped what she had on would be enough.
She bumped into Gavin and Craig Richmond just outside the front entrance. So. Gavin had brought his own high-powered lawyer. Just as aggressive as Samantha, Craig was one of the most popular divorce attorneys in the state. Everyone in the country knew what he looked like after one of his Hollywood celeb clients had a divorce that turned into a huge media circus last year. It had more to do with drugs, groupie orgies and binge drinking than irreconcilable differences, but had served to turn both of the lead attorneys into stars. In his late forties, Craig had silver-streaked brown hair that was cropped short in an inoffensive style. His lined face was light olive, and he wore a black Armani suit with a tie the color of a shark’s fin.
Amandine’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile as Craig held the door open for her and they all went in. His presence said everything she needed to know about Gavin’s intentions. Craig’s specialty was squeezing every penny from the other side, not reconciliation.
Amandine waited, hoping that some indifference would surface. It’d be easier if she no longer cared about Gavin. She could treat him as though he were just part of the furnishings. But quietly confident in his usual custom-tailored three-piece suit, he was as irresistible and arresting as he had been when she’d first met him at Catherine’s party.
On the other hand, the melted chocolate eyes had dark circles under them now, and he looked a little bit…vulnerable. Her first response was to wonder if he was all right, but she caught herself before she did something stupid like push back the errant hair that fell on his forehead.
In any event, he beat her to the punch. “How are you feeling?” Gavin’s eyes searched her face, then dropped to her belly. “No ill effects, nausea, feeling sick?”
She shook her head. “I’m pregnant, not diseased.”
She went ahead before he could throw any more questions about her condition. Why should she bear his sudden solicitousness? It’d only make the inevitable more painful.
Unfortunately, they ended up sharing an elevator. She stood to one side, staying as far away from the two men as possible.
“There’s nothing wrong with civility, you know,” Gavin said.
“Like standing me up on a special anniversary dinner without calling?” She raised her index finger. “I know. Family emergency, halfway across the country. Because Catherine needed you.”
“I won’t argue with you in an elevator.”
“Too bad. I don’t need Samantha to win this one,” she said sweetly.
Craig coughed discreetly; Gavin shot her a dark glare.
The elevator opened with a soft ping, and she stepped out as quickly as possible and marched straight for the receptionist’s desk.
Amandine didn’t have to say a word. The receptionist recognized them immediately and led them to a conference room in the center of the floor. Leather-bound books crammed built-in bookshelves, and figurines and objets d’art took up space in recessed nooks. Warm and inviting, the room looked like something out of a home decoration magazine rather than a lawyer’s office.
“Glad everyone’s here on time,” Samantha said as she walked inside with an accordion folder and a purse. Almost the same age as Craig, she was a tall woman, almost six feet with her pumps. Short dirty blond hair framed an angular face with wide-set brown eyes and plump lips that seemed more appropriate for a pin-up girl than a lawyer. She wore a slim and well-fitted black skirt suit that showed off toned legs.
The receptionist brought drinks for everyone and left.
Gavin and Craig sat closest to the door, with Samantha and Amandine on the other side. The oak table between them felt like a DMZ.
“Before we start, I want to make it clear I’m interested in reconciliation,” Gavin said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to divorce, especially when we don’t have any hard feelings toward each other.”
Samantha pursed her mouth and studied her French manicured nails before saying, “You need more than ‘no hard feelings’ for a marriage to work.”
No kidding
.
“We made a baby together,” Gavin said. “Doesn’t that mean anything?”
“Does it to you?” Amandine asked.
Before he could respond, Samantha put a hand on Amandine’s wrist and said, “What would my client get out of agreeing to a reconciliation?”
“Avoiding personal defeat.” Gavin leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers. “A divorce is a failure.”
Amandine bit her lower lip. The muscles around her neck tightened. Still no mention of love. Just not having any hard feelings and avoiding defeat. Failure.
But then success—at any cost—was the main driver for Gavin. He’d made twenty billion from risky bets, each leveraged at least hundred times. At first Amandine hadn’t understood how he could do that without getting an incurable ulcer. But now she knew; he was convinced that he could never fail, never make a mistake large enough that he couldn’t somehow recoup the loss in another way. The idea that his marriage would end like this was unacceptable to his psyche.
“How long would this attempt at reconciliation last?” Samantha asked.
“A year,” Craig responded.
Amandine’s jaw dropped. “That’s absurd.”
Samantha squeezed Amandine’s wrist.
Gavin smiled. “I deserve at least that much since we’ve been married for three years.”
Amandine pulled away from Samantha’s hold. “Three weeks is plenty. One week per year.”
“Each year is worth at least a month, and there’s the jet.” Gavin leaned forward. “Four months.”
“Three, and you can keep the damn jet. Since I haven’t flown it, you might be able to return it and get your money back.” Amandine gave him a thin smile.
“Don’t be unreasonable, Mrs. Lloyd,” Craig said.
“Don’t call me Mrs. Lloyd, for god’s sake,” Amandine snapped at the lawyer and turned her gaze to Gavin. “If you can’t change my mind after three months, you aren’t going to change it by hanging around a month longer. I’m not some blue chip you can hold onto, hoping I’ll rise in value.”
Samantha coughed into her hand. “She has a point.”
Gavin shot her a dirty look. “Everyone out except Amandine.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk to her alone,” Craig began. “Legal—”
“Quiet, Craig. I’ll let you know when I want your opinion,” Gavin said, not even bothering to look at his lawyer.