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“Then tell these reporters to stop.”
“They won’t listen to us.” Marilyn enunciated every word in an effort to help her mother understand. “They believe these stories sell papers. They think this is what the public wants to read.”
Celeste emitted a short, harsh breath. “Well, if you won’t stop them, your father and I will.”
Marilyn squeezed her eyes shut and did a rapid ten count. “What are you going to do, Mother? You and Father don’t subscribe to the Horn. You aren’t advertisers. Are you going to buy the paper, then shut it down?” She could envision them doing that.
“No. We’ll sue them.”
Marilyn tightened her grip on the telephone receiver. “Don’t do that.”
Celeste sniffed. “Why not? You and Rick may be afraid of the media, but I’m not. They should fear me.”
Save me from bossy, arrogant parents who believe the world should live in dread of them.
Marilyn pursed her lips. This wasn’t a conversation she needed to have. Not at three o’clock on a Sunday morning. Not before her first cup of coffee. Not. Ever.
“Mother, what do you think would happen if you sued the Horn?”
“They would stop printing this nonsense.”
“You’re wrong—”
“Don’t take that tone with me, Marilyn Louise Devry-Evans. I’m still your mother.”
Marilyn closed her eyes and strained for patience. “I apologize. But I need you to understand that a lawsuit against the newspaper for printing articles about Rick written in good faith will only make the situation worse. It will draw even more unwanted attention to us.”
Celeste made another tutting sound. “Am I supposed to just sit here on my hands like you and Rick are doing?”
“I’m certain that, if the article is as bad as you say it is—”
“You don’t believe me?”
Marilyn gritted her teeth. “I’m not saying that, Mother. But I’m certain Rick has already discussed it with the Monarchs’ media executive.”
The silence dragged on longer than Marilyn thought was necessary. She could hear lowered voices in the background. Were her parents conferring over whether to respect her wishes on how to handle the media? That was so unfair. Did she direct her mother’s promotional efforts for her philanthropic campaigns? Or tell her father how to brand his investment firm? Why did her parents think they had better insight into her marriage and Warrick’s career than she and Warrick did?
Her mother’s voice was grudging when she finally responded. “We’ll give you one more chance. If these articles continue, we’ll handle the matter our way.”
Like hell they would. “If it’s the damage to the Devry name that’s causing you such concern, I’ll just stop using it.”
Marilyn recradled the receiver with restraint. It was almost half past three in the morning. The room was still dark, but she couldn’t go back to sleep—not because of the media but because of her parents. They made her feel as if she were sixteen years old and needed permission to date the neighborhood bad boy.
No, she definitely wouldn’t be going back to sleep. Marilyn swung her legs over the side of the bed. She glowered at the phone. Yes, she was sixteen again. Her parents were telling her what to do, and her friends were telling her who to date. Warrick was the only one encouraging her to be herself. But could she be herself if she stayed with him?
Warrick unlocked the front door of his home late Sunday morning and crossed the polished hardwood entryway. He left his travel bag at the foot of the stairs, then continued down the hall. Marilyn stood in the kitchen, as still as a statue.
His gaze moved from the rolling pin raised in her right hand to the cordless phone gripped in her left. “What are you doing?”
She spoke at the same time. “You scared the crap out of me. I thought you were a burglar. I was getting ready to crack open your skull with this.” She waved the rolling pin.
He glanced again at the weapon. “That would have hurt.”
“That was the point.” She set down the rolling pin and leaned heavily against the blond wood and white-tiled kitchen island.
Guilt shivered through him to see her so shaken. “I’m sorry. I told you I’d be back today.”
Marilyn looked up, pressing her right hand against her heart. “You said you’d be back in Brooklyn. What are you doing here?”
