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“About?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t say nothing, but sometimes I think this place is just an expensive babysitting service. It certainly was a few years ago. Before they opened the addiction wing, this was where rich men sent their inconvenient women. Now, I’m not saying anything loads of others haven’t. It was a well-known fact all through the country in polite circles that if a man was tired of his wife, he could send her to Homewood.”
“So you don’t think the patients had real mental health issues?”
“Mental health issues can be defined in lots of ways. That’s the trouble, isn’t it? No definitive test for lunacy like there is for cancer. What one person calls a quirk another calls a mental disorder. If you look back a hundred years or so, you’ll see plenty of men used that excuse to shed troublesome wives. Back then they didn’t divorce, you know. So they said lots of things made to make their woman a candidate for the asylum. Novel reading. Yeah, that was one. How ridiculous is that?”
“In the Victorian era, and even the early twentieth century, any woman with a high spirit and half an opinion could be considered crazy,” he agreed. Gus would likely have been tossed into an asylum back then if she’d married the wrong man. She definitely would have been on the front lines of the suffrage movement. “But surely we’ve improved as a society. That sort of groundless institutionalization hasn’t happened much in the last fifty years, right?”
She laughed, the sound reverberating through the quiet lobby. “It still goes on all the time. It’s just done a lot quieter than before. And sometimes the ones that come in for drugs and alcohol stay for other things. Standard treatment is twenty-eight days, but if the husbands don’t want them out, they don’t leave. Looks real good in a custody battle to say your wife is loony, if you know what I mean.”
He did, though when Zack’s mother had been committed, custody hadn’t been an issue. He’d already been well over eighteen. “See any politicians in here?”
“Sure, but they’re mostly from other countries. Don’t want their dirty laundry aired near home,” she said breezily. She stopped and her eyes narrowed. “You were asking about a pol’s wife, right? You’re a lawyer for the family or something like that.”
Yolanda probably didn’t follow U.S. politics. And it worked to Roman’s advantage that he didn’t grant many interviews these days. When he did, he gave them almost exclusively to news outlets in the States. Liz handled all the overseas requests. “Yes, I’m a lawyer for a powerful man whose mother spent time here. My client wants to know more about this period in his mother’s life, but his elderly father now has dementia. So I’m looking into this matter on his behalf so he can write his memoirs someday.”
“Of course. Memoirs. Sounds fancy and all,” she said with a grin. “Well, the good doc worked here during the time you mentioned when we spoke earlier. I wasn’t, of course. I’m far too young, still a schoolgirl back then, you know.”
She hadn’t been, but he liked her charm. “Naturally.”
Her phone rang and she answered, giving him a smile. “Sorry, duty calls. The director should be with you in a moment.”
* * * *
Roman paced the too-quiet waiting room. The hospital was privately owned, and he didn’t doubt its patients were all überwealthy. The lobby and waiting room were decorated in calm colors, everything elegant and plush. Actual paintings graced the walls, all artfully done, and nothing so common as prints. These were originals. Yet for all the trappings of wealth and serenity, an air of desperation clung.
Zack’s father had sat in this exact room as he’d committed Constance. How hard had it been to leave his wife here? Or had it? Frank Hayes had always been an ambitious man who strove to present the best optics to the public. Their marriage had been a prearranged partnership, much like Zack and Joy’s. Despite Frank’s lofty aspirations, he never climbed higher than an ambassadorship. Was that why they’d splintered and she’d become a babbling alcoholic? Had the unfulfilled promise of success rotted their marriage from within?
He bet Frank and Constance had rarely fought. Likely any arguments between the two had been cool and civil—until the day Frank had his wife committed. If Joy had fallen apart, Roman knew Zack would have handled the situation with more compassion and humanity than his dad. Roman tried to imagine himself institutionalizing Gus the way Frank had Constance and he cringed. Of course, she would only laugh in his face before she beat him with her stiletto and told him to go to hell.
That image spread a smile across Roman’s face. He loved that his girl didn’t put up with shit.
Feeling antsy, he sat to wait. Quiet smothered this place. Of course Homewood had patients, but it felt empty, as if bodies lived here but their souls had checked out long ago.
The silence gnawed at Roman. And he knew Joy would have appreciated the complete sense of calm.
If he’d ever truly started his own relationship with her, how would that have worked? Would she have ever adjusted to his organized chaos…or would her placid façade finally have grated on him? For years, she’d seemed like his ideal, but now he wondered. No woman turned him on like Gus, and no one would ever accuse that woman of being quiet or inspiring peace.
The only time he’d ever seen a hint of assertiveness from Joy was on the final leg of the Midwest campaign bus tour. Roman had wanted to shore up a couple of states that might slip away, but she’d insisted on pushing through a handful of others they were almost sure to lose. She’d been so upset, so adamant. Roman had given in.
And gotten her killed.
Maybe the shooter would have turned up in Virginia. Or Colorado. Maybe her political death had merely been inevitable, but Roman felt as if he’d done something terrible.
And he hated that Gus had to hear about his flirtation with her friend right after they’d made love for the first time in a dozen years.
I’m not his type. Never have been. Never will be.
He’d overheard her say that to Liz the night before. How could she feel that way? He couldn’t seem to stay away from her, keep his hands off her…
Maybe because you told her that over and over in the past. Yes, he’d likely spewed that litany so many times the words were burned into her brain. Roman frowned. What the hell did he know about his own damn type? He realized now that he’d given into Joy’s pleading about the final stretch in the campaign not because he’d wanted to make her happy, but because he’d liked that assertive side of her and wanted to encourage it more.
His cell phone trilled, saving him from troubling thoughts. He glanced down at the screen and cursed softly. Not Gus. Darcy Hildebrandt. He thought about letting the call go to voicemail but if he didn’t answer, she might go looking for him. When she didn’t find him, she might run into Gus and ask why he wasn’t at Downing Street. Then he would be in hot water—the kind already boiling because Gus wouldn’t bother to slow roll him.
Roman reluctantly answered his phone. “Hello?”
A feminine sigh sounded in his ear. “Oh, there you are. I was a bit worried you were avoiding me today.”
He planned on avoiding her for the rest of their official visit. Maybe now that he and Gus were together, he could sic his girl on Darcy. It would be fun to watch Gus dish out an ass kicking. Maybe they’d even let him make popcorn and have a ringside seat.
“I’ve just been very busy. The president can be demanding.” That wasn’t entirely untrue.
“I haven’t seen you here in any of the meetings. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“I must have missed you.” The key to lying was to not commit to too many details. “I’ve been running all over the place. I’m currently dealing with background issues, so we’ve had to divide and conquer in order to handle everything. I won’t be around much today. Tomorrow, I should be with the president. I’m sure I’ll see you then.”
“Actually, I was hoping you would join me for lunch today. Or perhaps dinner tonight.”
Oh, god no. “Sorry. I won’t
have time. Shame… And my schedule is tight for the rest of the week. You know how intense these meetings can be. It’s almost as if the fate of the free world rests on our shoulders,” Roman tried to joke.
But he didn’t intend to be alone with Darcy again. The next time they were in public, he would use Gus like a shield. He would lay on the PDA, and his British counterpart would get the point.
Outward affection didn’t bother him the way it used to. As a kid, he’d hated when his parents kissed in front of him. It had never been a peck. They’d constantly made out. Friends and family always remarked how in love they were, but they had never seen his parents snarl like cats and dogs, watched them scratch and claw as they did their best to tear each other apart.
He’d decided that affection was a lie. They’d used it to convince everyone else their marriage didn’t have an ugly side. But last night had him rethinking that conclusion. Holding Gus’s hand had felt damn good—honest and necessary. With that gesture, he hadn’t been fooling anyone, least of all himself. His feelings for Gus were real and so damn complex.
But they were making progress. After pulling Gus away from Liz last night, Roman had expected a fight. Instead, she’d taken the news that Connor would be watching Kemp in stride, then curled up beside him in bed and given him comfort. Next to her feminine warmth, he’d slept better than he had in years.
