Kitabı oku: «The Christmas Strike», sayfa 4

“All right,” he said. “As long as the deal is for one way only.”

“Well, you’re not likely to be flying into Willow Creek again anytime soon, are you?”

“Heaven forbid,” he grumbled.

“Then you’ll take me with you?”

He stood back and held out his arm toward the stairs. “After you,” he said.

The cockpit was to the right. It looked complicated and technical and interesting. I’d never known anyone who could fly a plane before. I started for the cockpit, fully intending to experience whatever I could.

“Turn left,” Cole Hudson ordered from behind me.

I was flooded with disappointment. “There are two seats up there and—”

“Ms. Blake, I agreed to take you with me. I didn’t agree to be your traveling companion. I prefer to fly solo and you did promise to sit in the back and be silent.”

“Fine,” I said shortly. “I’m sure it’ll be more pleasant that way, anyway.”

“Wise choice. Now sit down and strap yourself in. I’m behind schedule already.”

There were four chairs covered in black leather and a black leather sofa with small round tables at their sides. All were bolted to the floor. It was practically a flying living room. I sat down on one of the chairs. Nothing like flying business class, let me tell you. I sank into glove-like leather and discovered that the seat swiveled a full three hundred and sixty degrees. While I twirled, I noticed what looked like a small wet bar between the cockpit and the cabin. I hopped out of my seat to investigate. By the time I got there, Cole was blocking my way. His jacket smelled like worn, expensive leather.

“I thought I told you to buckle in,” he boomed.

“You haven’t even turned this thing on yet,” I pointed out. “I was just snooping. Looking for something to drink.”

His frown deepened. “This isn’t silence, Ms. Blake.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Look, you spoke to me first. I was merely being polite. Frankly, I’m also thirsty.”

He stepped aside. “Help yourself, by all means. Then kindly buckle in.”

I opened my mouth to say something and he put his finger to his lips.

“Shh.”

“Grouch,” I muttered to his back as he returned to the cockpit.

I opened the little refrigerator and found, among other things, small bottles of champagne. I grinned. Might as well start toasting the other members of the Prisoners of Willow Creek Enrichment Society in flight. After all, I was pretty sure that I was the first of us to ever fly in a private jet.

“Would you mind taking your seat back there,” Cole growled from the cockpit.

I quickly grabbed a bottle of champagne, located a crystal flute in a cabinet above the refrigerator then hightailed it back to my seat, strapping myself in for takeoff.

I could hear the crackle of the plane’s radio and the rumble of Cole’s voice, but not what he was saying. It was so unfair that I had to sit here, away from the action. It was akin to wasting the experience. Maybe after we were airborne and Cole was busy flying the plane I could sneak into the cockpit and grab the second seat before he noticed.

Finally, he started the engines. The louder they got, the harder my heart pumped. It was excitement, not fear. I had no way of knowing, but my guess was that Cole Hudson was an excellent pilot. He didn’t get to be a famous architect by being the kind of man who settled for mediocre in anything.

I swiveled my seat around as we started to taxi down the runway. “Goodbye, Willow Creek,” I whispered as we moved faster and faster. Then suddenly the plane gave a slight jerk and we were up and climbing.

And climbing.

It seemed to go on forever. I tried to relax and not white-knuckle the armrests. Breathe, I told myself. Every journey has to have a takeoff. When I felt calm enough to look out the window, it was as if we were traveling through cotton candy. Then the view cleared to a gorgeous blue and I was staring down on a floor of fluffy clouds.

Eventually, we leveled off. I popped the cork from the champagne bottle and filled the flute to the brim.

“To Jo and Iris,” I whispered, as I raised my glass. Maybe I was escaping for only a short while, but I was doing it on a private jet while drinking the most expensive thing I’d ever tasted. I drained my glass and poured myself another.

I woke up with a jolt. It took a few seconds for me to get my bearings. Oh, right. Private plane flown by famous architect. I scanned the view. We were descending. I must have slept all the way to Chicago. I stretched and grinned as I swiveled my chair full circle. So far, no signs of the city.

In fact, there wasn’t a sign of much of anything at all. And why was it so dark? We’d only been flying for thirty minutes, hadn’t we?

I could see a control tower ahead but unless we were a lot higher than I thought we were, it didn’t look very tall or imposing. And the runways, outlined by blue lights, didn’t look very long. Still, the control tower seemed to be the tallest thing around. Everything, including the terminal, looked flat and low—and dark. We couldn’t possibly be landing anywhere in Illinois. Where were the golden arches? The billboards? The neon of a gazillion franchises that lined every airport I’d ever seen?

With one final, gentle bounce, the plane landed. I unbuckled my seat belt and worked my way up to the front while the plane was still taxiing in.

I practically fell into the cockpit. “Where are we?”

Cole Hudson jerked his head around. “You should still be seated,” he said curtly.

He gave me a look of annoyance when I bumped his knee as I struggled to land in the copilot’s seat.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said before setting his mouth in a grim line.

“I know. But I’d like to see where I’m going, if you don’t mind. This doesn’t look like Chicago. Why is it so dark? How long have I been sleeping?”

“I’d say you’ve been sleeping for at least three hours.”

“Three hours! Where are we?”

The grim line of his mouth morphed into a small smile. “Welcome to Goose Bay, Labrador, Ms. Blake.”

I gasped. “Labrador? As in Canada?”

He glanced my way. “Someone did well in geography.”

“What are we doing here?”

“Refueling.”

Okay, refueling. That made sense. Sort of. “And then are you flying back to Chicago?” I asked hopefully.

“No, Ms. Blake. Then I’m flying to Iceland, where I will land and refuel once again.”

“And then back to Chicago?”

He looked at me, one of his dark eyebrows raised. “You think we’re out for a Sunday drive, Ms. Blake? I didn’t just burn up thirty-six hundred pounds of fuel to turn around and fly right back.”

The plane came to a stop and I heard the engines shutting down. Funny how I felt my stomach drop about the same time.

“After Iceland—then where are you going?”

“Paris,” he said without looking at me.

I watched him flipping switches.

“But what about Chicago?” I asked.

He finally looked at me. “I never said I was going to Chicago, Ms. Blake,” he said with exaggerated pleasantness.

I remembered the twinkle in his eye just before he gave in to me. “Why you—you did this on purpose, didn’t you?” I accused. “You knew I thought you were flying right back to Chicago!”

He didn’t quite allow himself to smile. “I promised you one way, and one way you got.”

“But what am I supposed to do in Goose Bay, Labrador?”

“You can get yourself a placard and an indelible marker, Ms. Blake, and picket, for all I care.”

He had to lean close to me to get out of his seat. I was right behind him.

The wind hit me as soon as I reached the door. I struggled against it all the way down the stairs. The cold was biting. In Willow Creek, the cold just nipped. Goose Bay had gotten a head start on us in the snow department, too. There seemed to be several feet of it on the ground.

My face and ears were freezing by the time I caught up with him. I grabbed his arm.

“You don’t think you’re just going to leave me here, do you?”

“You’ll be able to get a plane home,” he said, then started walking again.

Openmouthed, I stared after him. I was going to have to use up my emergency credit card funds to fly back to Willow Creek from Labrador? No. Life couldn’t be that cruel. But, apparently, Cole Hudson could.

“You can’t do this,” I yelled as I ran to catch up to him.

“Yes, I can,” he affirmed as he kept to his stride. “You wanted to get away, well, Goose Bay is certainly away. Beautiful country up here. You’ll love it. You could ski. Play a little ice hockey.”

If I tried to argue with him much more out here, my nose was going to freeze and fall off. While he headed to what must be the service area, I headed for the terminal, hoping for something hot to drink.

Ah, civilization, I thought, as I spotted a small café. Inside, I ordered coffee. When it came I cradled the cup in my hands close enough to my face to melt some of the frost. I took a sip and it nearly scorched my throat, but the flood of warmth when the coffee hit my belly began to revive me. And the more I revived, the angrier I got.

Okay, so I hadn’t wanted to spend my strike rocking in the maid’s room. That didn’t mean I wanted to spend it freezing my nose off. And what a letdown it was going to be to the Prisoner’s of Willow Creek Enrichment Society to hear that I never made it to a place that had neon, never mind anything like the bright lights of Chicago. The thought of Cole Hudson tricking me into coming here, then abandoning me on his way to Paris was—

I sat up straight.

Paris.

I smiled. Paris was the perfect place to carry out my strike—not to mention one of the cities I’d always wanted to visit. I’d come this far, why not go all the way?

I looked up in time to see Cole enter the café with two other men in similar leather jackets. They sat down at a table, already engrossed in conversation. I didn’t care. I had a message to deliver and I wasn’t going to wait.

“When the new plant is built,” one of the men was saying as I approached, “I might have to add to my fleet.”

“It’s going to get busier around here, that’s for sure,” said the other.

“I can help you find the planes,” Cole offered. “I’ve got a connection with—”

“Excuse me,” I said.

All three men looked up. Only one of them groaned.

“Guys, meet my human baggage, Ms. Blake.”

The two men stood and introduced themselves as Dane and Oscar. Dane was gray haired, handsome and distinguished looking while Oscar looked rougher, more the outdoorsy type. They both offered their hands.

“Nice to see some gentlemen around here,” I said as I shook them.

“If you don’t mind,” Cole said, “we’re in the middle of a conversation.”

“No, I don’t mind. I did want to tell you that I’ll be flying to Paris with you.”

I started to turn to go, figuring a hasty exit might avoid the argument I was sure was coming. But he stood up and grabbed my arm.

“When pigs fly,” he intoned—a Shakespearean actor spouting clichés.

“Why not? Don’t you think you owe it to me after playing this lousy trick?”

“I’ve already made arrangements for Dane to fly you to Chicago tomorrow morning. I think that makes us even.”

“But why won’t you let me go along? What’s the difference? I’ll sit in the back and be quiet—”

“We already know you’re incapable of that,” he snapped. “Even when you went to sleep you snored!”

Swell, I thought. I guess it went with the parka and sneakers. At least I hadn’t been in the cockpit where I might have drooled all over his thousand dollar jacket. Thus, I wasn’t embarrassed enough to give up my idea.

“You’re just being stubborn for no reason at all. You’re going to Paris anyway, and—”

“Let me make this perfectly clear to you, Ms. Blake. As soon as they’re done refueling my plane I’m flying out of here with the hope that I never have to lay eyes on any of the Blake women ever again. Understood?”

This time when he went back to talking to his pals, I didn’t try to stop him. I had never in my life met a man so rude, so grumpy, so hard to bear. Why on earth I’d even considered flying on to Paris with him was beyond me. I bought a large coffee to go to help keep me from freezing outside. The wind catapulted me toward the plane where I planned to collect my suitcase. What a shame it was that I’d slept through most of the trip. It was such a beautiful airplane. Now I’d never get the chance to sit in the cockpit with Cole Hudson and watch him fly.

Imagine landing in Paris, I thought.

Yeah. Imagine.

I decided right then that I wasn’t going to give up this easily.

On board I crawled into the copilot’s seat to wait.

Cole showed up a half hour later. Good thing, too, because my coffee was almost cold and nearly gone.

“I thought I told you I fly solo,” he said as he slid into the pilot’s seat beside me.

“You’re never too old to try something new,” I said brightly enough to be Doris Day.

“As long as we’re speaking in hackneyed phrases, Ms. Blake, perhaps you’ve also heard the one about how you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

“You’re not that old. And since we’re going to be together all the way to Paris, I think you should start calling me Abby, Cole.”

He stared at me. I grinned back.

Suddenly he erupted into a deep chuckle. “You’re really incorrigible, you know that?”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“I bet you have, Abby,” he said. “I bet you have.”

“Look.” I leaned toward him earnestly. “Once we touch down in Paris you never have to see me again. I’ll be completely on my own. And it’ll still be one way. It’s just that, well, I’ve always wanted to see Paris…” I let my voice trail off hopefully.

He scrutinized me for what felt like hours. I used the time to study his face. It was as interesting and unique as the buildings he designed. And his head was likely just as hard as the steel he used in his structures. His will was probably as unmovable as a block of marble, too, I thought. He was going to say no again. I could feel it.

“Even if I changed my mind it wouldn’t work,” he said with more gentleness than I’d expected. “You don’t have a passport.”

I threw my head back against the seat and squeezed my eyes shut to keep the tears from falling. So near and yet so far. Avoiding Cole’s expression, I started to get out of the seat to collect my suitcase. And that’s when I remembered.

“Wait—I’ll be right back,” I said.

I rushed to the cabin, grabbed my suitcase out of the luggage compartment and unzipped the outside pocket. I felt around. Nothing. And then my fingers touched it. I pulled it out. Yes! It was still there. Had been there all along.

I ran to the cockpit waving my passport.

“I’ve got a passport!” I announced breathlessly. “Been in the zipper compartment of my suitcase ever since I canceled a trip to Europe a few years ago.”

He looked at the small blue book, dark brows lowered over light eyes, then looked at me.

I held my breath.

“I give up,” he finally declared. “Buckle up, Abby. Next stop Iceland.”

CHAPTER 4

I kept quiet while Cole communicated with ground control then started to taxi into position. I could see snow swirling in the lights along the runway. My heart was in my throat by the time departure control gave us the go-ahead to take off.

I couldn’t take my eyes off Cole. His concentration was so complete, his energy so controlled as the plane moved down the runway and picked up speed. There was a bump as we let go of the earth and climbed straight into the darkness. I didn’t speak until the plane stabilized and he’d finished talking into his headset.

“Wow—that was a rush,” I said.

He looked at me with a raised brow. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it.”

“I suppose to you it’s no big deal, but I’ve never flown in a jet this size before. What kind of plane is it?” I asked.

“Cessna Citation Ultra. Nineteen ninety-seven,” he answered, his eyes back on the instruments and the black sky in front of us.

“Have you had it long?”

“No.”

I worried a tooth with my tongue, trying to think of something else to say. I mean, what do you say to a man who wishes he never had to lay eyes on you again?

“How long is the flight to Iceland?” I asked.

“Three and a half hours.”

Oh, boy. Between my long nap and the caffeine in two large coffees I was wide awake. I stared out into the night sky. It was going to be a long, boring three and a half hours if every answer he gave me was going to be lacking a verb.

“You know, I really do hope that the kids get back together,” I said impulsively. “I’ve always liked David.”

He scowled my way and I swore I could feel the vibration of his anger floating around the cockpit in waves.

“Great timing, Ms. Blake. Why the hell didn’t you show me any support back in Willow Creek?”

I sat up straighter in my seat and squared my shoulders. “Because it’s got to be up to them to figure it out. We can’t be rushing in to dictate their lives. If they’re having differences, they need to work them out together.”

“The only differences they’re having is that your daughter is a spoiled brat and my son lives up to his responsibilities.”

“My daughter,” I told him firmly, “is no spoiled brat. It’s not like she had everything handed to her. True, Gwen can be somewhat self-absorbed,” I was willing to concede, “but she worked hard on her career and she’s worked hard on this marriage, too.”

“If you call walking out on it working hard at it,” he muttered.

“Well, not that I expect it to raise your opinion of me, but I did tell Gwen that she needed to be more supportive of her husband’s needs—but Gwen also has needs.”

“Humph,” he said.

I’d expected something a little more articulate. Probably not a wise choice of subject on my part, I decided. “So tell me why you’re going to Paris.”

“Business.”

I raised my eyes heavenward. Surely, a man who was as successful and well known as he was had to be better at conversation than this. “Are you designing something there?”

“Yes.”

“Is it some kind of state secret?”

“No, Ms. Blake, it is not.”

I twisted in my seat so that I was facing him. “I know we’re not exactly fans of one another, but if you’re going to be so reticent, I might as well crawl in the back, pop open more champagne and sleep the rest of the way to Iceland.”

I was about to unbuckle my seat belt when he said, “I’m going to Paris at the behest of some old friends. They want me to design a small art museum on the grounds of their estate to house their private collection.”

I thought back to the structures he’d created. Okay, I admit it, I’d looked him up on the Internet when Gwen and David got engaged. Who wouldn’t? Cole Hudson’s career had gone way beyond something that small. He’d done skyscrapers and luxury condo developments. His last project had been a gorgeous black marble art-deco-style luxury hotel in Miami. I wasn’t seeing him restrained to building a shrine to good taste in someone’s backyard. “That doesn’t seem like your kind of project.”

“Ordinarily, it wouldn’t be. But, as I said, Madeline and Andre Fontaine are special friends. They were my mentors when I was younger. And they’re also philanthropists. They’ve recently moved into an apartment in Paris and plan to open both the Fontaine family estate and the art museum to the public with the proceeds to be used to set up a foundation that will award grants to promising young artists.”

“They sound like wonderful people.”

His face softened. “They are. I first met them when I was still a student. I was backpacking through Europe at the time. Living mainly off of bread and water, determined to see all the buildings in the world that had fascinated me since I’d been a boy. Art didn’t interest me that much—but a certain Italian girl I’d met on the train did. She was an artist and knew Madeline and Andre slightly. She took me to a gallery opening where they happened to be and introduced us. We hit it off and they invited me and the Italian girl to spend the weekend at their estate.

“I’d never been around people like them. People who discussed ideas that had nothing to do with money or the economy or the stock market. I showed them some sketches I’d made of the kind of buildings I wanted to build.” He shook his head, as if it still bewildered him. “They took me seriously. My ideas were more than a boy’s dreams to them. I’d never had such encouragement. I owe them a lot.”

The arrogant Cole Hudson was humbled by his feelings for the French couple. It was a side of him I never would have guessed existed.

“They must mean a lot to you.”

“They’re gracious, warm, wonderful people. They were the parents I wish I’d had.”

We were silent for awhile. I had no idea what he was thinking, but I knew what I was thinking. I was wondering if my daughters ever felt that way—that someone else should have been their mother. That would be hard to take as a parent. Of course, if that’s how they felt, they wouldn’t keep boomeranging home, would they? I pondered that question as we flew through the darkness.

“Your turn now,” Cole suddenly said.

I looked at him. “Excuse me?”

“Why are you going to Paris?”

I grinned. “Because you said yes.”

“Oh, no,” he growled. “You’re not going to get off that easily. What makes the stalwart, loyal Widow Blake desert her family during the Christmas holidays?”

“Maybe I’m as selfish as my daughter, Gwen.”

He glanced at me. “Not from what I’ve been told. I’ve heard the story of how you moved back to Willow Creek to care for a dying father, stayed to take care of an aging mother, then raised two children on your own when your husband was killed in a car accident.”

My mouth dropped open. “How could you possibly know all that?”

“Your daughter is proud of you.”

“Gwen?” I croaked.

“Gwen,” he affirmed.

If my oldest daughter was proud of me, it came as a surprise. Of the two of my daughters, she’d always been the more critical one.

“You make me sound like some kind of saint.”

“She made you sound like some kind of saint.”

“Well, I’m not. Because if I were—”

I broke off. My mouth was running too fast. Must be the rarified air up here.

“Finish your statement, Abby,” he coaxed in a voice that I figured got him a lot of things he wanted when it came to women.

It worked with me, too. “If I were a saint, I wouldn’t be selfishly running away from my responsibilities. I’d be home, searching for Christmas decorations in the dusty attic.”

“Selfish? Hogwash! You’re on strike. And, from what I saw, with good reason. I’d hardly call that running away. I’d call it making a stand.”

His words surprised me. “Why, Mr. Hudson, what happened to your assessment that all the Blake women are crazy and to be avoided?”

“I haven’t stated any change to that assessment, Abby. But since we are each other’s captive audience at forty-one thousand feet—”

“No kidding?” I looked out the window and down into the blackness below us. “Holy cow.”

One corner of his mouth curved up. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman who used the phrase ‘holy cow’ before.”

“This is probably higher than I’ve ever been.”

“And here I thought you were one of those people who got high on life.”

I knew he was making a joke, but he’d just stuck a finger into one of my sore points. “People think I’m a Pollyanna because of how I look, I guess.”

“How you look?”

“I have that certain Midwestern, corn-fed, content look. Lately, though, I haven’t been all that content.”

“Good God, do I feel a revelation coming on?”

I gave him a twisted smile. “You’ve designed important buildings for important people. Surely a small town widow’s revelation wouldn’t scare you off?”

“Do your worst,” he challenged.

“I admit to a certain—ah—restlessness lately.”

“Just lately? I would think life in Willow Creek would cause any thinking human being to be restless.”

I considered what he said. “Actually, Willow Creek has its good points. It was a great place for the kids to grow up. I don’t think this unsettled feeling started until the girls grew up and started lives of their own. For years I was able to contain it.”

“And now it’s breaking free.”

I swung my head to stare at him. It astounded me that he’d used those words. Breaking free. It’s what I’d been feeling—as if something inside of me was trying to break free. Somehow, high in that night sky, in our small bubble of dim, artificially lit suspended reality, Cole Hudson, of all people, seemed to know exactly what was going on with me. Which is why, I suppose, I kept on talking.

“I’m tired of being needed all the time. I know a woman isn’t supposed to feel that way.”

“Who says?”

I gave a short laugh. “Oh, it’s on all the magazine covers, haven’t you noticed?”

“Obviously, you’re reading the wrong magazines,” he said drily.

“Maybe. Let me know if you ever see a cover story with the headline ‘It’s Your Turn, Abby Blake’ on it. Until then, despite my temporary strike, I’m pretty sure I’m destined to remain a dedicated middle-aged widowed grandmother, living out a life of semiboredom and obscurity.”

Now why had I said that? And to this man? I suddenly felt far too naked—and not in a good way. Sort of like being observed in the middle of the impossible contortions one goes through trying to put panty hose on. I decided to keep my mouth shut for awhile.

That is, until I saw another airplane coming right at us. And it was a hell of a lot bigger than Cole’s airplane.

“Ohmigod!” I screamed and gripped his arm. Didn’t he see it? How could he not see it? The thing was lit up like a Christmas tree. But he wasn’t doing anything about it. “What’s the matter with you? We’re going to crash right into that plane!”

“Easy, Abby,” he said calmly. “It’s not as close as it looks.”

“Are you crazy? It’s right there. Coming right at us. Can’t you dive or something?”

“Everything is under control,” he insisted.

All right. He wasn’t only arrogant. He was insane. I closed my eyes and prepared to die.

But nothing happened.

I opened my eyes again. The plane that had been heading straight for us was gone.

“What happened to it? Where did it go? You saw it, didn’t you?”

“Will you take it easy? Of course I saw it. It was a 747. That’s a big plane, Abby. I could hardly miss seeing it.”

“I know it’s a big plane! Why do you think I was screaming?”

He glanced at me. “You don’t know a lot about air travel, do you?”

“Of course not! I’m a bookkeeper from Willow Creek, Wisconsin.”

“Well, these days, airplanes are only required to keep one thousand feet between them. We were actually flying below that 747 by at least a thousand feet. I know it looked like it was coming right at us, but there was no chance for collision.”

I leaned my head back, still breathing heavy, still trying to get my heartbeat under control. “You might have warned me.”

“Like I said, Abby, I’m used to flying solo.”

I took a couple of deep, calming breaths. “My husband Charlie used to say a miss is as good as a mile.”

“Wise man.”

“He was. Very kind. Very wise. Very sweet.” I took several deep breaths. “What is David’s mother like?”

He shook his head. “Not one of my favorite topics of conversation.”

“How long were you married?”

He glanced at me, his dark brows lowered into another one of his scowls. “Are you always so tenacious?”

“I don’t like to give up,” I admitted. “Besides, moments ago, I thought I was going to die. I could use the comfort of a little conversation.”

He sighed. “All right. We were married eight years.”

“And then what happened?”

“We got divorced,” he answered succinctly.

“Yes, but why?”

He lifted a shoulder. “I suppose we just grew apart. Grew bored.”

“You wanted different things?”

“We wanted the same things—at least at first. She grew tired of waiting for them. She didn’t realize that she’d married the black sheep of the family.”

“Black sheep?” I asked, perplexed at the moniker being attached to a man like Cole Hudson. “But you’re a famous architect. You own a jet. How could you possibly be the black sheep of the family?”

The silence between us lengthened until he said, “I suppose if I don’t answer that question you’ll just ask me again.”

“Are you kidding? You can’t put a statement like that out there and not elaborate on it.”

He shook his head and sighed but I thought he was trying hard to hold back a small smile. “I come from an old, venerable banking family, Abby. I have three brothers who are all involved in high finance. I was supposed to get into line and carry on the family tradition.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t want to just move money around. I wanted to build something. Something lasting. To my father, it was foolish. A pipe dream.”

“He must be proud of you now that you’ve proven him wrong.”

“Proving him wrong only proved to alienate him further. In any case, he died before I did my best work.”

“Do you think he would have eventually come around?”

“No. He prided himself on his consistency. I don’t think he ever forgave me for turning my back on all the family name had to offer.”

“Sounds like a pleasant fellow.”

“David’s mother, Monique, shared his opinion. She didn’t want to be married to a struggling architect. I didn’t know it when I married her, but she had plans to bring me back into the family fold so she could reap the benefits.”

“But she obviously didn’t succeed.”

He shook his head, his silver hair shimmering. “I couldn’t live the life she wanted. She couldn’t live the life I wanted.”

“That is just so sad. And it makes me wonder if—” I let the thought hang out there, not sure I should finish it. To finish it felt like it would be disloyal to Charlie.