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Fourteen
Farris was in hell. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t eat. He was so screwed. Because what he had done in the past couldn’t be undone.
Seeing India framed in the doorway was shocking in a way he couldn’t explain. Both wonderful and terrible. He’d tried to convince himself that their intimacy in Wyoming had been nothing more than a case of convenience.
A sexual auld lang syne...
Now, seeing her in the flesh, he understood the magnitude of what he had lost. Again...
“Hello,” he said quietly, waiting for her to invite him in. He’d never actually been inside India’s apartment. She had rented it after the divorce.
She jingled the keys in her hand. “I was on my way out,” she said.
Only when she said the words did he see that she was wearing a coat. “This won’t take long,” he said.
She lifted an eyebrow. “I’ll ask you again, Farris. Why are you here?”
He skipped the persuasive buildup he had planned and forged ahead. “Dottie wants you to be at the gala. In fact, she’s insisting on it. She wants you to meet Herman. She wants you to see her get the award.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “You’d be my plus-one.”
The only indication that India had heard and processed his torrent of words was the way her beautiful eyes widened. “No,” she said simply.
It was painfully clear to him that he was pleading the case, not primarily for his mother’s benefit, but for his own. And he wasn’t above playing dirty pool. “You can’t disappoint her,” he said. “This night, this award, her new beau—all of these may be the highlights of her adult life. We don’t know how much time she has left.”
India stared at him. “Emotional blackmail? Really, Farris? That’s pretty low, even for you.”
“Please,” he said, willing her to give in. “It’s just one night.” He touched her face gently. “Your cheek is looking much better.”
Seconds ticked by, then an entire minute. Her shoulders rose and fell. “Fine,” she said. “Give me the address, and I’ll meet you there. I assume it’s black-tie?”
He nodded. “It is. But I’ll pick you up. I have a driver. We’ll swing by around five thirty. Mother wants us all to have a drink at the hotel bar before we head into the ballroom for the dinner and the main event.”
“I said I’ll meet you there.”
He reached for her hand, but she jerked it back. “Please, India,” he muttered. “Don’t punish Dottie for my sins.”
At one time, India’s hazel eyes had looked at him with love and adoration. He missed those days desperately. He missed the couple they had been, he and this warm, generous, sexy woman.
India’s expression chilled. Her gaze was icy. “This is the last time, Farris. I won’t let you manipulate me anymore. One night. For Dottie’s sake. After that, I don’t ever want to see you again.” She stepped back and shut the door in his face.
Farris walked for miles after that. Cabs were plentiful in this neighborhood, but he needed the cold air to clear his head.
He needed to think.
For the first time, he let himself imagine telling India the truth. She claimed he could tell her anything. Did she still love him? He suspected she might. Why else would she have shared his bed...and hers?
As one block bled into another, he walked. Head down, chest tight. Without conscious thought, he traced a route that took him in front of the restaurant where he had proposed to India. She had been so young, so beautiful, so trusting. He had promised himself that night that he would spend the rest of his life cherishing her.
But in no time at all, he had let a driving need for revenge destroy the most perfect love he had ever known. He’d held the keys to happiness in his hands, but he had tossed them in the murky river of his own deceit and self-loathing.
He paced the floors of his spacious apartment that night as he struggled with the urge to bare his soul, to tell her everything. At one time, he had been that romantic cliché—the knight in shining armor. India’s love had polished and perfected him.
But he had been greedy. He hadn’t wanted to give up his past mistress. He hadn’t wanted to give up the old vendetta.
So he had lost his wife.
By the time his driver pulled up in front of India’s building the following evening, Farris had worked himself into a state of turmoil. He entered the elevator in the lobby, pushed a button and stared at his reflection in the polished brass.
The elevator stopped. Farris got out. He walked to India’s door with his heart beating in his throat.
