Valentine’s Gift
Holiday Interludes: 3
Women’s Fiction Novelette
by
Marie-Nicole Ryan
Valentine’s Gift
Holiday Interludes: 3
Marie-Nicole Ryan
Published by Ryandale Publishing at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 Mary Varble
Cover Art Marie-Nicole Ryan
All rights reserved.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return toSmashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Discover other work by Marie-Nicole Ryan at Smashwords
Pillow Talk: Holiday Interludes: 2
Mistletoe and Mario: Holiday Interludes: 1
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
NOTE TO READERS
This story takes place approximately ten years after SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS ended with Max and Nikki’s happily ever after. I hope you enjoy a glimpse of one of their rockier marital bumps in the road and how they find their way back to true love. And yes, once again the antique French mask will play its magical part, this time by giving Nikki a glimpse of their future.
Chapter One
Nikki stared at the laptop screen. The words danced and blurred before her teary eyes. She sniffed and rubbed away the tears. The strains of a Bach concerto played softly, while a lavender-scented candle flickered, sending its fragrance throughout the room. No matter—they weren’t doing their usual job…getting her in the zone. How the hell was she supposed to write a happy ending for Jenna and Clay when her up-until-now devoted husband was having an affair? Did she have any real proof? No. Not any that would stand up in a court of law. Not yet.
But the evidence was certainly starting to mount against him.
How could he do this? How could he give up what they had for someone else? Married ten years and he’d never given Nikki cause to believe in anything except his steadfast love.
Until now.
For two weeks he’d been distant. Forgetful. Late for dinner. Worst of all, too busy to so much as respond to her texts. Always pleading work as his excuse.
Face it. At thirty-seven, she no longer looked like the supermodel he married. Every day he was surrounded by much younger models at his agency. And in spite of being nearly fifty-two, he was as trim and handsome as the day they married. Oh, add a few lines to the corners of his eyes. While his hair had turned a silvery gray at the temples, the result was obvious. He only looked more handsome and distinguished. After all, wasn’t he was at “that age” where some men looked around for a trophy wife?
She never would’ve believed Max could be that kind of man. He wasn’t insecure about his manhood. My God. Their very private New Year’s Eve celebration on St. Croix was even more romantic and sensual than their honeymoon in Paris. He hadn’t gotten older…she held back a sob…he’d gotten better. Good grief, she was thinking in clichés. Cliché or not, it didn’t alter the fact that someone else was likely reaping the benefits of his sexual prowess.
Sniffing, she wiped the tears from her eyes. Jenna and Clay’s HEA would have to wait.
No.
She had a deadline looming, and she’d never missed one. With renewed resolution, she poised her fingers over the keyboard.
Damned if she would be less than professional just because her husband found another woman. A fling was one thing, but what if he’d fallen in love?
Her throat closed. Her eyes stung. She bit her lips to stop the trembling. She hadn’t been able to give him a child, in spite of several rounds of in vitro. Maybe he’d found someone younger. He’d always told her it didn’t matter. After all, he had Alexa by his late wife Solange. Alexa was very dear to Nikki, a rare combination of little sister and step-daughter. The twenty-three-year-old was an interior designer and most assuredly not interested in running an international modeling agency. Maybe deep down Max wanted a son to carry on the family legacy at the Devereaux Agency.
Whoa, sister. Enough of the pity party.
She swiped away the tears, reached for a tissue and blew her nose.
Dammit. Jenna and Clay deserved their HEA whether their creator’s heart was broken or not. Business was business.
~~*~~
Maxim smiled at the jeweler. The overhead lights glinted on the platinum band, but it was the heart-shaped stone that blazed as if it were lit with a thousand fires.
“The stone is ten point four carats,” the jeweler said. “Grade D—pure white. Flawless.”
“Perfect. She’ll love it.” The ring would be an elegant tribute to his love. After he was gone, it would serve as a daily reminder of how much he once loved her. At that moment his phone signaled a text. He pulled it from his jacket pocket and frowned. Nikki again. His wife was relentless. He shrugged. His reluctance to respond couldn’t be helped.
How could he keep his surprise a secret if she dogged him like one of those television private investigators? Sooner or later he would trip up and the surprise would be spoiled. Only four more days.
Unfortunately the ring wasn’t the only secret he kept from his wife. No point in worrying her at this stage. Not until the test results were back.
~~*~~
Nikki slogged through the evening, finally bringing Jenna and Clay together for their happily ever after ending. Eyes tired from staring at the computer all day, she hit print. Tomorrow she’d give the hard copy a final read-through, make the corrections and e-mail it to her long-suffering editor Geoff. It would take the entire day, but hopefully it would keep her mind off Max.
Again, Max hadn’t come home for dinner. Hadn’t called. Hadn’t responded to her texts.
She glanced at the laptop’s tool bar. One forty-five in the morning. Damn him!
From her office, two floors above, she heard the security alarm beep, then stop. So. He’d finally returned from his assignation with his mistress or whatever.
“Nikki,” he called, his sexy French accent still present after many years in America. “Are you still up?”
She rose from her office chair, walked into the hall and stopped long enough to take a deep breath. Don’t let him see how upset you are. Don’t be a jealous, insecure wife. In other words, don’t be yourself.
Leaning over the banister, she answered in her calmest tone, “Yes. I just finished for the night.”
She watched him walk out of sight toward the back of the brownstone. Flying down the two flights, she found him in the kitchen opening a bottle of water. “Are you hungry?” she asked then fumed inwardly. What was she a freaking waitress? Did he think she was running an all-night diner?
He turned and smiled. “No, I had dinner with Tom.”
“Oh.” That would be Tom Landry, a longtime friend…and attorney. Nothing unusual there, but why hadn’t he let her know by any one of the multiple means he had at his disposal?
“You look tired.” Truthfully his face was drawn and his cheeks seemed pale beneath his usual tan.
“Fashion Week is in full force,” he said with an elegant shrug.
“Oh yeah.” Had she really left that world so far behind her that she’d forgotten about Fashion Week?” She glanced down at her baby blue sweatshirt and jeans, her usual writing attire. She’d managed to keep trim, but every year it took more and more time in the gym. And that was time away from writing. And bunny slippers. On what planet were they de rigueur? God, she was a mess. No wonder he—
“What is it, Nikki?” His tone was solicitous, but his expression said bored.
“Wrong? Nothing.” She turned, heading toward the fridge. There was a tub of Ben & Jerry’s Maple Blondie in the freezer, and every second, louder and louder, it was calling her name. She reached for the door, then stopped. Why should she act like a meek doormat? Better to get her concerns out in the open.
Hands on hips, she faced her husband. “I’ve had it with your evasions. I don’t care if Fashion Week lasts all year long or goes down the tube altogether. Where were you really? And if you think I’m going to stand aside while you’re out screwing around with another woman, you’re sadly mistaken!”
He walked toward her. “Chérie…” Again his tone was soft and seductive. Yeah, seduction was his gift all right. He placed his forefinger under her chin and raised it. His eyes darkened to emerald as he gazed down at her. “I know I’ve been busy, but you have no reason to—”
Furious at his condescending tone, she shook her head. “The wife may be the last to know, but believe you me, buddy, this wife knows when something’s up with her man.” Jeez. Now she was reduced to quoting lines from one of her books. “For the last month you’ve been distant. You never tell me when you’re going to be late. You don’t even respond to my texts which would only take a second or two of your precious time. I’ve had it!” She grabbed the nearest object, a crystal vase, from the countertop and smashed it on the slate tile floor. Water sloshed and a single rose landed at her feet.
Where had the rose come from? Had he brought her a rose as a peace offering? Pathetic gesture. Typical of a husband who was screwing around.
Max’s eyes widened, as he bent to pick up the rose. “Feel better?” His gaze hooded, he handed her the single lush red blossom, its fragrance full and rich reached her nose.
“I’ve never known you to be so childish. Nikki, I love you. Only you.”
He caressed her cheek, and a flash of heat surged through her body, centering in her core. Dammit. In spite of her anger, she couldn’t deny the effect of his slightest touch. Always that way, ever since their first time, the night a terrible storm buffeted this same townhouse.
“And I love you,” she said, “but I won’t be cast aside like last year’s couture.”
“Where is all this emotion coming from, ma chère?” He sat on a stool and pulled her onto his lap. Lifting the hair off her neck, he brushed a kiss on the nape.
Feeling a hot flash of desire, and her resolve and anger getting weaker by the minute, she bolted to her feet. “It’s not me. It’s you! Don’t you listen?”
“Is your latest book going badly?” His dark brows drew together. “Is that it? You’ll work it out. You always do.”
His tone was so conciliatory. So understanding. How dare he act so unaware? So condescending? Nikki clenched her fists while the anger bubbled up from deep inside. “This isn’t about a story. This is about us. I’m losing you, and I don’t know how to fight another woman who’s younger…and fertile.”
Folding her arms over her chest, she hid her fists in her armpits and stomped over to the sink and gazed out the window into the dark walled garden. She hadn’t meant to lose her temper. Hadn’t meant to reveal her greatest vulnerability.
Max came behind her and stood, not touching her. “Ah, you think I could—or would—trade you for someone who could give me a child? You think so little of me? Of my love for you. Of what we have shared these last ten years? Not being able to have a child with you was a disappointment. I can’t deny that. But it was our disappointment. Our tragedy. Ours.” He enfolded her in his arms, pulling her close to his chest, even as she shook her head and refused to face him.
Yes, a regret. A tragedy, but not the end of the world. If his pretty speech were true, then why was he seeing someone else? No, his seeing another woman was the end of Nikki’s world.
And yet she could feel the pounding of his heart against her back. In spite of his outward calm, his heart raced, not the usual steady beat she knew so well. Just went to prove he was upset. Good. No reason he should get off scot free. After all, he was the one ruining their marriage.
She tried to choke back the sobs threatening to shake her entire body. Pulling from his arms, she said, “Enough. I’ve had more than enough.” She raced from the kitchen and headed upstairs, fully determined if anyone left the marriage it would be she.
Their bedroom was luxurious and only recently redecorated. The newly varnished hardwood floors gleamed, even though the overcast February night sky was dark. The pale yellow walls made it seem as if the sun were shining. She pulled an overnight bag from the closet, then jerked open several drawers. All she needed was enough for a couple of days. Marti would let her stay with her and Tom until Nikki found a new place. Then she would send for the rest.
She’d miss the townhouse. It had been her home even before she married Max. She’d come here as a sixteen-year-old runaway. The upper eastside brownstone had been his mother Renée’s home, and Nikki’d been in awe of the priceless French antiques and lovely décor.
Renée.
Mentor.
Friend.
And more of a mother than Nikki’s own.
She sniffed and wiped her nose. Happiness she’d known here. Love and affection. She’d become a woman here.
Yes, she’d miss it. No doubt about it.
But when all was said and done, it was just a house. Without Max’s love, it was nothing.