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“It’s Mom and Dad’s anniversary tomorrow,” Jennifer said with a frown. “I thought we could go and bring flowers to their grave site.”
Mary nodded. “Of course, I’ll bring the flowers.”
With that reminder of death and loss, her body settled. Her thoughts became distant and focused not on Elliott, not even on Charles, but on that empty space within that made her able to wake up every day and continue to breathe.
—
Just a little after six o’clock on Wednesday evening, Elliott strode into a classy lounge, taking a seat at the bar. The waiter immediately brought over his scotch on the rocks, and Elliott smiled in thanks. Next to him, on a small stage, the jazz band played an old classic, and the woman’s singing voice was soft and sweet, and set the right mood for Elliott to drain away the stress from the day.
Years ago, he’d come to the lounge near his office after work to escape his ex-wife. Now, after so many years had passed, he used the half hour, sipping his scotch, as a method to unwind. Once he left this lounge, all thoughts of work fled, too.
He lowered his head, looking at the ice in his glass, and he knew his thoughts were far away from work and completely focused on Mary. She hadn’t called. Perhaps foolishly, he thought she would had.
Deep down, he wondered if Mary simply needed to have a man put in a little more effort. He believed she needed to see that he was entirely interested in her, and that if he showed her he understood what she was going through, she’d open herself up to him. He’d never been so wrong. And he couldn’t ignore the disappointment tightening his muscles.
“This is a surprise,” a gentle voice said.
He glanced up, finding his ex-lover, Laura, smiling at him. “Yes, it surely is.” Laura was a beautiful woman, with legs that went on and on, and her exotic look, with light green eyes and dark hair, had tempted him a few years back. “How are you?”
She took a seat next to him, placing her wineglass on the marble bar, regarding him. “I’m just fine. But I think the better question is, how are you? You look terrible.”
He snorted, glancing at his glass. “Thanks.”
She placed a hand on his shoulder, drawing his focus, and her brows were furrowed. “Really, though, has something happened?”
He regarded her, knowing she’d see right through him. Laura was a switch, meaning she enjoyed both the submissive and the Dominant role in BDSM play. Her insight into him simply told him she had been learning more in the art of reading people, which was a lesson a Dom had to learn to perfect his craft. When he had played with Laura, she was closer to submissive.
After a sip of his scotch, he said, “Just a tough day.”
“Must have been hellish.”
“You know,” he said, arching a brow at her, “you might begin to insult me if you continue to tell me how terrible I look.”
She gave an easy laugh. “Are you still holding your parties?”
He nodded. “How is Chains treating you?”
“It’s been”—her grin was sensual and full of heat—“interesting.” She gestured over her shoulder, and Elliott noted a younger man watching them. “I found myself a fun little toy that is very determined to please.”
“How nice for you,” Elliott replied, not impressed by how much younger the man was than Laura. Though, by Laura’s bright smile and near adoring eyes, how could he judge? The man seemed fixated on her, and Laura seemed elated.
“Well, I see that you’re not in the talking mood, but I wanted to say hello.” Laura pushed off the stool, picked up her wineglass, and gave him a shit-eating grin. “A word of advice, Elliott, why don’t you just call her and then you won’t have to sit here alone and look so miserable.” She turned on her shiny black heels and strode away.
Elliott chuckled.
It should be that simple.
He drew his cell phone from his pocket and stared at the screen. Dmitri had given Elliott Mary’s phone number, though if he called her now, it would be only out of sheer desperation. He wanted to fight for her, of course he did, but he had already done that.
He couldn’t do more.
With a sigh, he finished off his drink, then shoved his phone back into his pocket. The next step didn’t belong to him, it belonged to Mary.
—
The telephone ringing had Mary rushing through her foyer with the ten-foot ceilings and into the French country living room. Her heart leapt with excitement, as she knew exactly who it would be. Her son Calvin always called Thursday evenings for their weekly chat. She grabbed the cordless phone off the white wicker table and pressed it to her ear. “Hello.”
“Hi, Mom.”
