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His brain raced. “I could get us a room here,” he said. “No funny business. Just a quiet spot where we might take our shoes off and relax. I give you my word. All I want is a chance to explain.”
Suddenly, she paled. He saw suffering in her eyes. “Explain what?”
Here it was. The all-or-nothing roll of the dice. His body went numb. “Explain what happened to our marriage.”
India swayed, gray-faced now. Haunted. He actually thought she might faint.
He took her arm and steered her through the dancers. The band was still playing, but he couldn’t hear the music, because his ears were buzzing or ringing or something.
The hallway was marginally less crowded than the ballroom.
“India?”
Her nod was almost imperceptible. “Okay.”
They retrieved their coats. Moments later in the lobby, he thought about finding her a chair while he checked in. But he was afraid she might bolt. So he kept her with him.
When he approached a uniformed clerk and requested a room, the man offered two choices. Farris picked the suite with a sitting area. That way there would be no bed to look at. No temptation to get sidelined by sex. He scrawled his name on the reservation form. Then he curled his arm around India’s waist and escorted her to the bank of elevators. When they entered, other guests joined them.
India focused her gaze on the polished floor.
Farris watched the numbers light up on the panel. At each floor, people got off. By the time the elevator reached the top, Farris and India were the only ones left.
He didn’t touch her as they walked down the hall. Their suite was on the corner with panoramic vistas, or so he’d been promised. Once he dealt with the key card and opened the door, they entered to find a luxurious set of rooms decorated in beautiful but very traditional furnishings.
The plush carpet and jewel-tone colors were inviting on a cold winter night.
India immediately commandeered a comfy armchair. She kicked off her high heels and curled up with an audible sigh.
Farris was momentarily stymied. The script eluded him. “Would you like anything to drink?” he asked. “We have a minifridge. Or room service.”
“No, thanks.” India chewed her bottom lip.
To postpone the inevitable, he went to the window and opened the heavy drapes. The lights of New York spread out in every direction. “Nice view,” he said, wincing at the inane sound of his own voice.
“Say what you have to say, Farris.”
He whirled around to face her. The subtext was clear. India wanted to leave.
“Okay.” He loosened his bow tie and tossed it aside. Then he discarded his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. His shoes were next. At last, he made himself face her, even though it was like looking at the sun. She dazzled him. He cleared his throat. “Do you still love me, India?”
Her mouth gaped. Temper flashed in her eyes. “Go to hell.”
He hoped she did love him. He thought she might—in spite of everything—but he couldn’t be sure. If she didn’t, this explanation probably made no difference anymore. Except that maybe India would see that the breakup of their marriage had nothing to do with her. Farris shouldered all the blame.
He sat down on the sofa and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. Studying the intricate design in the carpet was far easier than looking her in the eye.
Finally, he jumped in. “From about the time I turned sixteen, I made it a point to know everything there was to know about Edward Simpson’s life, his real family, his business interests. I was obsessed with my hatred of him. Although it made no sense, especially as a teenager, I swore to myself that I would even the score one day.”
India spoke, her tone low and without nuance. “Your mother told me she took you to counseling.”
He sat back and shrugged, finally managing to meet her gaze. “Even the best shrink needs more than six months to eradicate the kind of anger I nursed. It was a millstone around my neck, but I carried it proudly, even if I was the only one who knew the extent of those feelings.”
India’s smile was bleak. “Didn’t you ever hear that old saying...revenge is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die?”
Farris winced. “Possibly.”
“But what does this have to do with me? You never even talked to me about your father, except in the most tangential ways.”
“I’m getting to that.” How did he explain the black hole that had consumed him? “Everything was fine in the beginning. You and I were newlyweds.”
Now her expression was wry. “I know. I was there.”
“I barely even thought about him. I was happy, India, so happy. And that was all you. Even the business consumed less of my attention. For the first time in my life, I was looking ahead and not to the past.”
“But somewhere along the line that changed,” India said. “I don’t think we even made it two years, did we? That’s when you started to pull away from me.”
Thinking about those days and weeks brought him deep shame. He was a highly educated, supposedly intelligent man. He’d had a young, beautiful wife whom he adored. A challenging career. But it hadn’t been enough.
“I was like an addict in a way,” he said slowly. “I’d been clean for months, and then something happened that pulled me back into the pit. I’m sorry, India. You’ll never know how sorry. I regret everything I did to us. I was ashamed. I knew I had done something that you would hate, and I hated myself. The chasm grew so wide I couldn’t find my way across.”
