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"Not at all!" His eyes darkened with anger, but he kept his voice level. "Being a reporter is part of what defines
you, it's part of who you are. Taking that away from you would be destroying part of what makes you so special. I'm not an idiot. I can see that."
"Then what's your problem?"
"Marriage is supposed to be a partnership. You're making decisions that affect both of us without any input from me."
Rebecca stared at him in disbelief. "And how much of what you do every day do you ask for my input on? I bet there's a lot of things you never told me about."
He didn't answer.
"That hit a nerve, didn't it?" Rebecca snarled. The sudden chill of fear warred with the heat of her anger, and she lashed out to keep the fear at bay. How serious were his secrets? Would he end up betraying her after all?
"You are like my sister, but not the way you meant," Desmond said slowly. He toyed with the salt and pepper shakers, avoiding Rebecca's gaze. "She was also very independent. Whenever the confines of family duties became too much for her, she'd head for the city. I never knew what she did, or how long she'd be gone."
Rebecca's anger drained away. He was just as scared as she was. She pulled out another chair and sat beside him. They sat in silence, punctuated by the clink of the salt and pepper shakers touching, until she reached out and folded his hands in hers. He looked up, into her eyes, and she saw the sad and frightened little boy he'd been.
"I never knew if she was coming back," he whispered.
"Desmond." She tightened her grip on his hands. "I'll always come back. I love you. And every time I leave to go out on a story, it'll rip me up inside. But to stay here, to be no more than an extension of you, that would tear me up worse. I have to go."
He straightened, squaring his shoulders and lifting his head with his customary confidence, and she knew he believed her. He gave her fingers a light squeeze, then favored her with a crooked grin.
"Well, that was particularly maudlin, don't you think? Can we try and keep these little scenes to a minimum after we're married?"
"Sure." Rebecca stood up and grinned back at him. "Don't disagree with me."
Desmond rose to join her, sliding his arm around her waist. "Good advice. If I pick a fight with you, I'll probably lose."
"You can count on it."
AS THE WEEKEND, and wedding, approached, Rebecca worked to get her affairs in order via long-distance. She wanted a minimum of loose ends left to take care of in person, so that she didn't have to spend any more time away from Desmond than necessary. She'd suggested he might want to return with her and help close things up, but he'd merely smiled his enigmatic grin and assured her she could handle it.
She sighed and hung up the phone, placing a check mark next to "Cable company." Only two more calls and she'd be finished. She'd accomplished more this afternoon than she'd expected.
A glance at her watch revealed the reason she'd accomplished so much. It was after eight o'clock. Desmond was late, again.
She gathered up her notes and placed them in the desk drawer she'd garnered for her use. As late as he stayed in his office, Desmond would still put in some time at home, working on files. She didn't know where he got the energy.
Or rather, she did. He used the energy that otherwise would have gone into their lovemaking. Sighing, she admitted her concern was not just that he was wearing himself out. She was jealous of his work.
To his credit, he hadn't ignored her. His kisses and caresses transported her to heights she'd only dreamed about. But it wasn't the same. She wanted to make him happy, too.
The study door opened and Desmond entered. She rose to meet him, exchanging a soul-deep kiss and crushing embrace. They broke apart when lack of oxygen or the nearness of Desmond made her lightheaded, and even then, they only separated enough to draw breath.
His eyes sparkling with merriment, he said, "I've got something for you."
"Oh?" Rebecca smiled, hoping he meant he had more energy. Instead, he pulled a plastic card from his jacket pocket.
"It's one of the Institute's keycards. You're in the system now, so I can find you wherever you are."
Rebecca took the card and examined it. It was laminated plastic, with a magnetic stripe on the back. On the front, plain black letters printed across a pale blue background read, "Rebecca Morgan Lacroix."
A warm glow settled over her. Desmond had merely appended her future married name at the end, not replaced her maiden name. He understood how important a separate identity was for her.
She turned the card over in her fingers, then glanced over at Desmond. He looked even paler than usual, and his face had become disturbingly thin. He was wearing himself out past the point of exhaustion. If he didn't take time to rest and recover soon, he'd make himself sick. Maybe she could distract him from thoughts of business. She moved closer.
"How's it work?"
