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She groaned and rolled her eyes, not caring who saw her reaction, but she took the phone. “Yes, Ariston?”
“I believe your phone is broken. I’ve instructed Jean to get you a new one immediately.”
“It’s not broken. I forwarded your call to voice mail.”
“My last three calls?”
“Are you sure there were three?” She thought about it and conceded maybe he was right. She sighed. “Yes, three of them.”
“But why?”
“Ariston, you can’t call me every ten minutes while I’m trying to oversee the packing up of my apartment.” She couldn’t help the exasperation-borderline-irritation in her tone.
“Surely they are done by now. Your current accommodations are not precisely capacious.”
She couldn’t deny the one-bedroom apartment above her gallery was small, but it was hers. And she wasn’t exactly relishing leaving it. Even to be with Ariston.
“I’m sorting as we go.” And if she was taking her time doing so, that was her business.
“You can sort when you arrive in New York.”
“I doubt it.” As if he was going to give her the time. “I remember how hectic my life was with you before.”
“You will not have the responsibilities you once did. You will not be my wife.”
“I know that, but you’ve already had Jean calling me to set up shopping appointments, for goodness’ sake.”
“You’ll need new clothes.”
“Right, because my old clothes from the city are so worn.” They might not be this year’s collections, but she favored the designers she did because of their classic lines and minimal use of ephemeral trends.
“They are out-of-date, surely. It’s been two years.”
“Ariston, I’m not particularly fussed if they are a couple of seasons out-of-date.”
“Besides, you have lost weight. You will need a smaller size. For now, anyway.”
Well, that explained his call about lunch. He thought she was too thin. He wasn’t alone. Her doctor had been hounding her to put on a minimum of ten pounds, but Chloe hadn’t taken the need to do so seriously.
She wasn’t dangerously underweight. Just maybe headed in that direction. “I’m fine. My clothes are fine.”
“Why wouldn’t you want new clothes?” he asked, sounding bewildered.
“It’s not that.”
“Then?”
“Fine … I’ll buy new clothes. Just let me get back to packing.”
“You mean sorting.”
“Yes.”
His snort said what he thought of her insistence on doing it now. “I called because I wanted to know if you would prefer a different apartment. You didn’t seem all that excited about the one I sent you pictures of.”
“It’s beautiful. Why would you say that? I told you I liked it. A lot.”
“But you do not love it.”
“It’s just an apartment, Ariston.”
“It is where you will be living, for the foreseeable future.”
“I am aware.”
“So?”
“I’m sure it will be just fine.”
“I do not strive for fine.”
No, he didn’t. She’d always known he was an over-achiever. She’d never believed he had even the narrowest of streaks of insecurity, though. “It’s more than fine. It’s wonderful. Really.”
“If you’re sure.”
“Yes, now I’ve got to go.” She tried to keep her tone patient. “I’m sure you have more important things to attend to.”
“I was in a meeting,” he admitted in a strange tone.
She didn’t know how to respond to that. She couldn’t picture the man she’d been married to ducking out of a meeting to call and make sure she was happy with the apartment he’d chosen for his … well, not mistress, but she wouldn’t call herself his lover either.
Not when he would not, or simply could not, love her.
“If you are sure the apartment is to your liking.”
“It is, very much,” she added, not wanting a repeat of this phone call.
“I will talk to you later.”
“Sure. Talk to you tomorrow,” she hinted.
The call ended from his end and she figured he’d gone back to his meeting.
When her phone buzzed in her pocket an hour later, she knew better than to forward it to voice mail.
She grabbed it and pressed the connect button with more force than necessary. “Look, if you’re still worried about the apartment, don’t be. I said it was fine,” she said, thoroughly frustrated. “I had no idea you could be so insecure.”
“Hello, Chloe.”
