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Or maybe she should physically move to another state. Find a new job, a fresh start.
Knowing that her mother was alive ate away at her. All those years, little Felicity had yearned to be normal, to have a mom like her friends did.
And for what? So Iris Vance could betray her marriage vows and pursue her own happiness at the expense of husband and daughter?
No matter how Felicity parsed the information, she couldn’t understand such callous behavior.
Eventually, the Statue of Liberty and the familiar harbor came into view. The city sprawled out with unapologetic grace and power.
Felicity would be lucky to have even an ounce of that chutzpah.
As promised, Wynn delivered Missy back to her family by noon on Thanksgiving Day. He and Felicity and the baby arrived at Wynn’s apartment soon after.
Wynn’s driver deposited their luggage in the foyer, accepted a nice holiday tip and departed.
The sudden silence echoed. Felicity clutched the baby. Wynn sighed.
“I’d like to take you out for dinner,” he said, “but I can’t ask anyone I know to babysit on Thanksgiving Day.”
Felicity managed to smile. “No worries. I’m not really hungry.”
“I can get us a pizza right now and then order a couple of turkey and dressing dinners for later. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” she said. She was touched by how hard Wynn was trying to be supportive, but really, what did it matter? He wasn’t her husband. Even so, despite the eventual outcome, she wanted to enjoy this time with him.
The day crawled by. Ayla was unusually fussy, perhaps picking up on the tension between the two adults. Felicity showered during the baby’s afternoon nap and stayed in her own room until she heard Wynn and his daughter moving around again.
They decided to wait on dinner until Ayla was down for the night, so Wynn ordered the Thanksgiving meal to be delivered at eight o’clock.
He also suggested they dress for dinner. Felicity chose a black suit with a tailored jacket, pencil skirt, and a sleeveless, silky gold top. She applied makeup and let her shiny hair tumble over her shoulders in a mass of curls.
In the mirror, she saw a woman in control. But the reality was much different. She desperately wanted the blind release of sex with Wynn, a chance to forget.
That might make things worse in the long run, but she was tired of fighting her feelings.
They ate in the dining room. The meal was fantastic. Beautiful slices of turkey breast and half a dozen sides...including bread and dessert. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how much it had cost. Everything about Wynn’s home and his lifestyle was grand, luxurious. No expense spared.
By unspoken consent, they avoided any mention of the Florida trip. Wynn told her about a new idea he was working on to detect pilot impairment. Felicity shared that she had thought about applying to be an instructor in one of her airline’s training programs.
They discussed books and movies and travel ideas.
It was all very civilized.
Things didn’t get strained until they adjourned to the living room with a bottle of champagne. This wasn’t really a celebratory kind of week, but Wynn had ordered the very expensive bubbly with the meal.
He popped the cork and poured two glasses.
Felicity tasted hers. “Wow, this is delicious.”
“Glad you like it.” He sat down in the seat adjacent to hers and smiled. “To better days ahead.”
“I’ll drink to that.” She touched her glass to his. Recklessly, she downed half of the pale gold liquid.
Earlier, Wynn had started the gas logs. The room had warmed nicely. Felicity shed her jacket. Only then did she realize that her top matched her drink. When that realization made her giggle inwardly, she knew she needed to slow down. She set her glass on the coffee table.
Wynn had shed his jacket as well and loosened his tie. He sprawled in his armchair, his posture relaxed and unguarded. The crystal flute dangling from the fingers of one hand completed the picture of sophisticated masculinity.
He looked stunningly virile and sexy as hell.
