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Nine
Move forward and don’t look back. The best part of your life lies ahead. Life’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey.
—excerpt from The Modern Woman’s Guide to Divorce (And the Joy of Staying Single)
“Hey, Ivy, you in there?”
“Come in,” Ivy called. Deidre’s timing couldn’t have been more perfect.
The doorknob jiggled and she said, “It’s locked.”
She shot Dillon a look. He had broken in, then relocked the door? The man gave himself far too much credit.
She crossed the room and let her cousin in. Deidre looked considerably better than she had earlier. The color had returned to her cheeks, and she’d lost that muddled, slightly dazed expression. She always had been quick to bounce back.
“I can’t find Dillon and I was wondering—” She spotted Dillon lounging on the bed. “Oh! There you are.”
Curiosity leaped like wild flames in her eyes, but she played it cool. Ivy could just imagine what she must be thinking. Dillon half-naked on her bed, Ivy in her robe.
It looked pretty bad.
He didn’t even have the decency to look guilty or uncomfortable. Or May be that was a good thing, since they had no reason to feel either. As useless as this conversation had turned out to be, it hadn’t been in any way inappropriate. “Yes, ma’am.”
“The tailor is here to do the final fitting on the tuxedos. They’re waiting for you in the master suite downstairs.”
He pulled himself to his feet. “Guess I should get down there.”
Taking his time, he grabbed his shirt, turned it right side in, then pulled it over his head. There was something hypnotizing about a man getting dressed, the easy flex and pull of muscle. Yards of smooth skin.
Too bad it wasn’t anyone but him.
He crossed the room to the door, but instead of leaving, he stopped. Right by Ivy. He stood there, closer than she was comfortable with. Close enough to look suggestive and raise even more questions.
Which was probably what he wanted. It was probably his way of getting back at her for hitting so far below the belt. She would apologize, but really, hadn’t he brought it on himself? Wasn’t he the one following her around, breaking into her room, harassing her?
And if that was true, why did she feel so guilty?
Their eyes locked, and his gaze was so intense she could swear he was seeing straight through her skin to her insides. And for some stupid reason she couldn’t look away.
Could he really see inside her? And if so, could he see how bad she felt? Did he know that she wanted to apologize?
He leaned toward her the tiniest bit, tilted his head a fraction, and for one brief, horrifying, exhilarating second she thought he was going to kiss her. Right in front of her cousin. Her pulse began to race and her mouth went dry.
Explaining to Deidre why they were in her room together, and getting her to believe it, would be difficult enough.
She stood there frozen, holding her breath, waiting to see what he would do. If he would make matters worse.
“It’s been…enlightening,” he finally said, then turned and walked out.
She didn’t really see how he considered this interlude enlightening. Nothing had been resolved. Nothing was going to be resolved. Not until he took responsibility for his actions and stopped blaming everything on her. And she knew that would never happen.
Deidre waited several seconds, until they could hear the sound of his footsteps on the stairs, then she shut the door and turned to Ivy. “Enlightening?”
“It’s not what you think,” Ivy said.
“I’m not sure what I should think.”
“Nothing was going on. We were just talking.”
“Talking? Oh, my gosh!” Deidre squealed. “That’s so awesome!”
No. Not really. “I was trying to take your advice. I wanted to resolve whatever it is we’re still hanging on to.”
“And?” she pressed, her eyes bright and enthusiastic. And so full of hope it nearly broke Ivy’s heart.
Deidre was so excited, Ivy hated to disappoint her. But as her mother used to say, part of growing up is accepting disappointment and realizing that there are some things you just can’t change.
When it came to Ivy and Dillon’s relationship, Deidre would have to learn to live with defeat.
Ivy had.
“We don’t seem to be making much progress.” May be they weren’t meant to resolve anything. May be what they needed was to simply forget the past and go their separate ways.
Tough to do when the guy followed her everywhere.
“But you’re trying,” she gushed, undeterred. She took both of Ivy’s hands and squeezed them. “That’s what’s important. I know that you guys will work things out!”
Ivy wished she could share Deidre’s optimism, but it was tough to resolve anything with a man who refused to admit he may have made a mistake.
Dillon didn’t say two words to her at dinner.
That had been what she’d wanted all along. For him to leave her alone. So why did she feel so lousy?
Clearly it was the I-wish-I’d-never-married-you statement coming back to bite her in the behind. Not only had it been mean and uncalled for, it wasn’t the least bit true.
For every good day, they may have had two lousy ones. And if she had a dime for every night she’d cried herself to sleep she could buy herself a Mercedes.
But if not for Dillon, for their marriage—the good and the bad—she wouldn’t be the person she was today. She was stronger because of him. She may have learned the hard way, but she knew how to take care of herself. To beat any odds.
And for some stupid reason she couldn’t bring herself to tell him so.
The men went for a guys’ night out that evening while the women had the final fittings for their dresses. Six months ago Deidre had gone through fifty different styles of bridesmaid dresses before the Tweedles would agree on one they’d be willing to be seen in. And as Ivy spun in front of the mirror she had to admit the color and design were flattering. Not just flattering, but sexy.
She wondered what Dillon would think. If he would like the way she looked.
Not that she cared, of course.
“Gorgeous!” the seamstress gushed after making a slight adjustment to the spaghetti strap. Of course the Tweedles’ size ones were a perfect fit. They were like Stepford bridesmaids. Only scarier.
“We need our bride!” the seamstress called impatiently in the direction of the master bath, where Deidre had disappeared to put on her dress. She had been in there an awfully long time.
The bathroom door opened a crack and Deidre called back, “Ivy, I need you for a minute.” Then it slammed shut again.
The seamstress sighed loudly while Dee and Dum exchanged an exasperated look.
“At this rate we’re going to be here all night!” Dum groaned.
“I’ll see what the problem is,” Ivy told them. She lifted the skirt of her dress, so it wouldn’t drag on the floor as she crossed the room. She knocked lightly on the door. “Deidre? You okay?”
The door opened and a disembodied hand shot out. It latched on to Ivy’s arm and yanked her inside. She barely had time to pull her skirt in before Deidre shut and locked the door.
With her free hand Deidre was holding her partially fastened dress up, clutching the bodice to her breasts. Her face and chest were flushed and beads of sweat dribbled down the sides of her face and into her cleavage. She looked as though she’d just run a marathon.
“What’s wrong?” Ivy asked. “The natives are getting restless out there.”
Tears hovered just inside her eyelids. “I’m too fat.”
Ivy sighed. Not this again. “You are not too fat. You’re going to look beautiful.”
“No,” she insisted. “I mean I’m really too fat.” She turned, showing Ivy her back, and the gap between the two sides of the dress between the zipper. “I can’t get the dress zipped up.”
Oh, crap.
“I pulled and pulled until I heard the fabric start to rip.”
Yep. Ivy could see a small tear where the lace had begun to pull away from the silk.
Double crap.
“What am I going to do?” she half whispered, half shrieked. “I can’t go out there like this. If Blake’s mom finds out it doesn’t fit she will kill me! This thing cost a fortune!”
In Deidre’s defense, Blake’s mom was the one who had insisted Deidre order a size smaller, assuring her that it would be a perfect fit after she lost a few pounds. At least at the last fitting she’d been able to zip it up all the way. She’d have been fine if she didn’t eat, or move. Or breathe.
As far as Ivy was concerned Blake’s mother was getting exactly what she deserved for being such a demanding, controlling twit. But Ivy did not want to see Deidre unhappy.
“Turn around,” she ordered and her cousin complied, her lip clamped so hard between her teeth Ivy worried she might bite clear through. “Don’t worry. We’ll make it fit.”
She grasped the zipper tag. It was slightly disfigured from the workout Deidre had given it. “I want you to inhale and suck it in as far as you can. You ready?”
She nodded.
“On the count of three. One…two…three!”
Deidre sucked, and Ivy pulled for all she was worth. Deidre grunted as Ivy managed to get her zipped about halfway. Then there was an earsplitting rip, and the zipper tag popped loose and flew across the bathroom.
The little tear was now a gaping hole.
Oh, shit.
“That sounded bad,” Deidre said, her voice small and frightened.
“It was bad.” Ivy was no expert, but she was pretty sure it would take at least an inch of fabric to fix it.
At least.
There was no way this dress was going to fit Deidre by Saturday. It wouldn’t fit by next week, either. She would have to starve herself and work out nonstop for a month just to get it zipped up.
Ivy had to wonder if all this was worth it. All this frustration and compromise, just to be married.
Not for her. She liked being single and intended to keep it that way.
There was a loud bang on the door. “Are you planning on staying in there until the wedding?” Dee snapped.
All the color had drained from Deidre’s face and her eyes were wide with terror. “What am I going to do?” she whispered.
Ivy didn’t know, but they had to do something. Deidre started to hyperventilate and her face was ashen.
“Give us a few minutes!” Ivy shouted back, and told her cousin, “Relax. We’ll figure out something.”
Deidre started to cry. Big, fat tears ran down her cheeks. “This is an omen.”
“Everything will work out,” she assured her, but Deidre wasn’t listening.
“This whole stupid week, my whole life has been one big, bad omen!”
“Deidre, shh—”
“And I hate this stupid dress!” she shrieked. She tugged it down and shoved it to the floor then proceeded to stomp it flat with her bare feet. “I’ve hated it from the second that witch forced me into picking it.”
Oh, jeez. The stress was too much. It had finally happened. She had come completely unglued.
There was another loud bang on the door. “We’re waiting!”
Deidre snatched the dress from the bathroom floor and, wearing only panties and a strapless push-up bra, ripped open the door.
“Here I am! Are you happy?”
Ivy cringed and followed her out. There wasn’t much she could do at this point. Other than hold Deidre back if she tried to strangle one of the twins.
The Tweedles stood there in their identical size one dresses with identical stunned looks on their faces.
“Yes, I’m fat!” Deidre all but screamed at them, wild-eyed and sweaty, spinning in a circle so they got the full view. “Does that make you feel better?”
The seamstress looked downright frightened. Apparently she’d never seen a bride-to-be have a total nervous breakdown. She flinched and cowered when Deidre thrust the tattered, wrinkled dress at her.
“This dress does not fit me. I wear a size sixteen. Not a fourteen, not a twelve. A sixteen. Find me a size sixteen or I will hurt you. Understand?”
The seamstress nodded, her head wobbling on her neck like one of those bobble-head dogs in a car window. She grabbed the dress and scurried out of the room. The Tweedles, their pea-size brains apparently sensing danger, weren’t far behind her.
Then it was just Ivy and Deidre.
Deidre sat on the edge of the bed looking shell-shocked. “I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t.”
Ivy wasn’t sure what this was. If she meant she couldn’t go through with this particular wedding, or if she couldn’t marry Blake at all. And honestly, she was afraid to ask.
“Do you know what I need?” she asked.
Wow. The list was so long Ivy wasn’t sure where to begin. But if she had to pick one thing, she would start with Valium. “What do you need?”
“I need chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate.”
It took two hours and an entire box of Ho Hos to calm Deidre down. By the time the men returned, Ivy had managed to get her into her pajamas and tucked into bed. And thanks to one of the emergency sleeping pills Ivy kept on hand, she was resting peacefully.
She explained to Blake what had happened.
“What should I do?” he asked, looking so hopelessly baffled she wanted to hug him. She had several suggestions, but it would be better if Blake figured this one out on his own. He’d gone too long letting people run his life for him.
He needed to grow up.
Or Deidre needed to find herself a new future husband.
“Deidre isn’t feeling well,” Blake announced the next morning at breakfast, when he came to the table alone. His brothers and the Tweedles looked from him, then to each other, and snickered. Didn’t they feel the least bit guilty for what had happened? Didn’t they realize they had pushed Deidre just a little too far this time?
She’d been balancing precariously on the edge of a cliff, and they had poked and prodded until she’d finally lost her balance and gone over it.
Dillon stood in the kitchen, coffee mug in hand, quietly observing. He still hadn’t said a word to Ivy, but she could feel him there, watching her. Yet every time she glanced up, he was looking the other way. Either he was trying to make her feel uncomfortable, or it was her own guilty conscience gnawing at her.
“Is there anything I can do?” Ivy asked Blake.
“I don’t think so. The week has been pretty…stressful. I think she just needs some time to rest.”
Blake was living in the land of Deep Denial if he thought Deidre could rest this one away. He was going to have to face the fact that he needed to make some changes.
If he didn’t, he was going to lose Deidre.
“She said you guys should take the boat tour without us. It starts at eleven.”
Six hours trapped on a boat sailing up and down the coast with Blake’s brothers, the Tweedles and Dillon. Don’t think so.
“I wouldn’t feel right going without her,” Ivy said.
Blake shrugged. “The charter is already paid for and it’s too late to get a refund. It would be a waste not to use it.”
“We made other plans,” Dale said, but he wouldn’t look his brother in the eye. Blake just shook his head. How many more ways could they let him down this week?
“Ivy and I will go,” Dillon said.
She was about to say, I will? But she had to wonder if this was his way of saying no hard feelings. And if she said no, what message would that send to him?
Besides, if the charter was nonrefundable, it was a shame to see all that money go to waste. And Deidre might feel better knowing that Ivy and Dillon were taking some time alone together and could potentially work things out.
Not that Ivy thought there was a chance in hell they ever would.
Blake shot her a questioning look. Normally she wouldn’t tolerate anyone telling her what to do, but in this case she would make an exception.
“Sure,” she told Blake. “We’ll go.”
Ten
Most women are brought up to believe that their husband will take care of them for the rest of their lives. But that’s only true 50% of the time. The other 50% end in divorce.
—excerpt from The Modern Woman’s Guide to Divorce (And the Joy of Staying Single)
Ivy was flirting.
Shamelessly flirting with a member of the crew. A kid who looked as though he was barely out of high school. Or May be still in high school for all Dillon knew. Since they’d left the marina she had been cozying up to him, and the kid was practically drooling over her form-fitting tank top and short-shorts.
Okay, May be the shorts weren’t that short, but they seemed to show an awful lot of leg.
She’d worn her hair down, and it rested in soft chestnut waves on her shoulders and tumbled down her back to just above her bra strap. Everything about her screamed pick me up.
Since Ivy was not, and never had been, the type to flirt—she was way too uptight—Dillon guessed this little show was entirely for his benefit. To make him jealous. Though he had no idea why she thought he would be. Because he wasn’t.
At all.
She’d made her feelings pretty damn clear yesterday. She regretted ever marrying him. Wasn’t that just great.
Well, it hadn’t been all roses and sunshine for him, either. Did she think she’d been easy to live with? Always complaining, her panties always in a twist over something. If she thought he gave a damn what she felt about their marriage, she was mistaken.
And people wondered why he stayed single. Sheesh!
It had been her idea to “talk.” Her telling him they needed to resolve things. Far as he could figure, she was pretty gung ho about resolving things, until she heard something she didn’t like.
He was all for working things out, but how could they if she refused to admit she was wrong?
He had the feeling they were just going to have to agree to disagree and leave it at that. He would go his way and she would go hers and they could forget they ever knew each other.
Although he had to admit, it would have been really nice getting her under the covers one last time.
When they reached the dock later that afternoon, he saw Ivy slip her new boyfriend what appeared to be a business card. It looked as though the lovebirds planned to hook up later. Did she have the slightest clue how ridiculous a woman her age would look dating an adolescent? Did she have no dignity?
He had dated a lot of women in the past couple of years, but never one young enough to be his daughter. Or at the very least, a young niece.
A car waited to take them back to the villa. As they were rolling out of the parking lot he said, “Looks like you made a new friend today.”
Ivy cast him a sideways glance, a grin on her face. “You could say that.”
Didn’t she see how foolish she looked? Pining over some kid. And obviously the kid in question was only in it to get some tail. And what a fine tail it was, he couldn’t help noticing.
But that was beside the point.
In college, Ivy had always had been on the naive side. She probably had no clue this kid was using her. She was not the type to settle for a one-night stand. She’d made Dillon wait three excruciating months before she would sleep with him.
May be he should point out the obvious and save her a bit of humiliation.
“You don’t think he’s a little young for you?” he asked.
She was looking out the car window, but he could see her smile widen a fraction. “Just the way I like ’em.”
“I hate to break it to you, but he’s only after one thing. When you leave Mexico, you’ll never hear from him again.”
She turned to him, her expression blank. “What’s your point?”
She wasn’t fooling him with her casual attitude. “I know you, Ivy. You don’t do casual. You’re a commitment kinda’ girl.”
She shrugged. “Go ahead and tell yourself that if it makes you feel better.”
“This has nothing to do with me. I don’t care what you do. I just don’t want to see you get your pretty little heart broken.”
“I think men should be like tissues,” she said. “Soft, strong and disposable. The jealousy is flattering, though.”
He snorted. “Jealous of what? You’re a complete pain in the ass.”
“May be, but you still want to sleep with me.” She looked over at him. “Admit it.”
Great, now she was stealing his material. “Why would I want to sleep with a woman who regrets marrying me?”
Only after the words were out did he realize how pathetic that sounded. Like she’d hurt his feelings or something.
Which she hadn’t. He didn’t give a damn what she thought about their marriage.
She looked out the window and said in a soft voice, “I didn’t mean it.”
Was that some sort of veiled apology from Miss Perfection? Miss I’m-Never-Wrong. “You didn’t mean what?”
She fiddled with the strap of her purse, eyes downward. “As bad as things got between us, there were good times, too.”
“What are you trying to say, Ivy?”
She took a deep breath, looked up and met his eyes. “I’m trying to say that I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”
He waited for a sarcastic remark, a caustic dig to pop into his head. Instead he was drawing a blank.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Ivy was proud, so he knew that hadn’t been easy for her.
He settled for, “You didn’t, but apology accepted.”
“He’s a twenty-two-year-old psychology major,” she said, and it took him a second to realize she was talking about the cupcake on the tour. “Really smart kid. He’s engaged to a lovely girl that he is absolutely crazy about and plans to marry after they both graduate. They’re considering moving to Texas. I told him to give me a call when and if he’s ever looking for an internship.”
“A bit of advice. Next time you might want to tone down the flirting.”
“I was not flirting.”
“I saw you, darlin’. You were most definitely flirting, and laying it on thick.”
“Okay, May be a little. But you were jealous. Admit it.”
“If I say yes, will you sleep with me?”
She just grinned and turned back to the window. “I knew you were jealous.”
He didn’t see any point in arguing. Once she set her mind to something she rarely backed down. And what the hell, May be he had been a little jealous.
If anyone was going to sleep with Ivy on this trip, damn it, it was going to be him.
When they got back to the villa everyone else was gone. Since dinner had already been prepared, they figured it would only be polite to sit down and eat. And it wasn’t so bad.
Ivy would go so far as to say it was darn near pleasant. Something strange had happened on the ride back from the marina. The tension that had been dogging them since their fight yesterday afternoon seemed to wither away. They seemed to have come to some sort of understanding.
And she began to think that when he followed her around, incessantly bugging her tonight, it might not be such a bad thing. Since there wasn’t much else to do.
After dinner he pushed back his chair and stood. “I’m going to call it a night and head up to my room.”
Sure he was. “It’s barely eight o’clock.”
“I’m a little tired, and I have some work I wanted to catch up on.”
Did he really think she was that gullible? That she didn’t know exactly what he was up to? He was pulling the same routine he always did. He would pretend he was going to leave her alone, then dog her relentlessly all night.
But just to make him happy, she played along. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Sweet dreams.”
Dillon walked around the table, stopped beside her chair and held out his hand. She looked at it suspiciously. He stood there patiently waiting, and finally she slipped her hand in his. She assumed he meant to escort her from the table. Instead he turned her hand over, exposing her wrist, and he leaned forward.
Unsure of what he was doing, but curious to find out, she sat motionless. Even though her heart had begun pounding out a faster and slightly erratic rhythm.
His eyes closed and he inhaled the scent of the perfume she’d dabbed there. The bottle she’d bought in town yesterday.
He looked up at her, his eyes like a hot spring ready to bubble over. “I like it.”
Her hand felt small and warm wrapped in his and his breath was hot on her skin. Then his lips brushed just below her palm and tiny jolts of awareness, like little static shocks, rippled up her arm.
Oh, my God.
She found herself looking forward to the time he would spend nagging her, and figured, if today was like every other day this week, she wouldn’t have to wait long.
He let go of her hand, then walked inside. She didn’t doubt that he’d be back in a minute or two. He would find some ridiculous reason he should keep himself glued to her side.
Yep, any minute now.
She sat at the table several minutes, then got up and walked to the balcony railing and looked out over the ocean, at the sun sinking slowly below the horizon. Several minutes passed before she heard a noise behind her.
She couldn’t help grinning. The man was so predictable.
She wiped the smile from her face and turned to him. “I thought you were going to—” The words trailed off when she realized it wasn’t Dillon, but the housekeeper, preparing to clear the table.
“Ma’am?” she asked in a thick Mexican accent.
Ivy’s cheeks blushed with embarrassment. “Sorry. I thought you were…someone else.”
She scurried past her into the house. The poor woman must have thought she was a loon. Although, compared to Deidre, who scarfed chocolate and had nervous breakdowns, and Dillon, who walked around in his underwear with his winkie hanging out, and the Tweedles—she wouldn’t even go there—Ivy was definitely one of the most normal of the bunch.
Apparently Dillon was going to wait until Ivy went to her room, or May be he was there already, lounging on her bed. The way he had been when she got out of the shower.
That was probably it. All this time she’d been waiting for him, he was probably waiting for her.
She headed up to her room, making sure her footsteps were just heavy enough, so he would know she was coming. The hallway was quiet and dim. Her bedroom door was open, just the way she’d left it, the room dark. No doubt he was going to try to startle her again.
She stepped in the room and switched on the light, eyes on the bed where she expected him to be.
It was empty.
Was he on the balcony? In the bathroom?
She checked everywhere. Even in the closet, but the room was as empty as she’d left it that morning. Besides the bed being made and the bathroom cleaned spotless, not a single thing appeared to be out of place.
Huh.
She was surprised, and even worse, disappointment tugged at her conscience. Why had he picked now to stop being a pest? When she was finally getting used to having him around? When the idea of spending a little time with him didn’t repulse her?
May be she was just being impatient. May be he was going to give her time to settle in, then he would show up, all prepared to annoy her.
She could wait.
She kicked off her sandals and fluffed her hair with her fingers. Besides the times that it was wet and snarled, today was the first time Dillon had seen her hair down. Not that it looked all that different than it had ten years ago. It was a little longer, but still had a hint of unruly curl to it. Her mom used to nag her incessantly about it.
“Would you please do something with that mop,” she would complain when Ivy would let her hair dry loose and wavy. Which she did ninety-nine percent of the time.
Looking back, she remembered her mom nagged her constantly. She still did. About her hair and her clothes and her makeup. Her posture. Areas in which she considered herself an authority.
“If you learned to use eyeliner correctly your eyes wouldn’t look so small,” she would say, or, “I saw you interviewed on CNN and as usual you were slouching. Would it kill you to sit up straight?”
Most people would be proud to have a daughter who even made it on CNN. But her mom didn’t see it that way. Nothing was ever good enough for her.
Ivy wondered if her mom had nagged her dad like that. That might have been enough to drive him away. Or May be he just hadn’t been ready for the responsibility of a family. And still wasn’t if the rare Christmas card and occasional birthday call were any indication. After years of trying to build some sort of relationship with him, Ivy had come to terms with the fact that it would probably never happen.
She wondered, if she had stayed with Dillon, would the same thing have happened to their children? Would he have been an absentee dad? He’d made it all too clear that he hadn’t been ready for children then. May be he never would be.
It was one of those subjects that they’d never brought up. One of many.
She glanced over at the digital clock beside the bed. It was eight-fifteen and he still hadn’t shown up. How much longer did he plan to make her wait?
Until she was tucked into bed and sleeping?
If that was how he wanted to play this, fine. If he could wait, so could she.
To pass the time she opened her laptop and launched her e-mail program. Might as well do something constructive while she waited.
There were the usual three hundred or so e-mails for male enhancement drugs guaranteeing her a larger penis in six months, erectile dysfunction drugs at a deep discount and replica watches for rock-bottom prices. There was also a message from her writing partner, Miranda Reed, marked Urgent. The body of the e-mail was a series of question marks and exclamation points. There was a second message that simply said, call me! in fifty-point, hot-pink type.
Ivy had promised to call her the instant she learned the identity of the mystery best man. She’d been so far off-kilter, she’d completely forgotten.
She dug her cell phone from her purse, and, sure enough, there were a dozen missed calls and half as many voice messages.
She dialed the number and Miranda answered on the first ring. “Who is he?”
Ivy laughed. “Hello to you, too.”
