“Why do you say that?”
“Because you could have signed the annulment in Florida, but instead you demanded something of me. And it challenged me.”
“I think I stumbled upon that request by accident, driven by my own need for closure.”
She fell silent and he let it be, sensing there was something more. In the glow of the dashboard lights, he found her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“I love you, Stephen.” She wrapped her hand around his, not letting go. “I tell myself I shouldn’t, that our marriage is over, but I love you. Not just as a friend but as my husband”
The confession engulfed him. Consumed him. How could she love him? If he had no response before, he was drowning now just trying to understand.
But she didn’t seem in need of an answer. He peered sideways at her as the Audi moved down the straightaway, their hands still locked together, her eyes closing as she drifted sweetly off to sleep.
Gigi
In the world of journalism, no news was bad news. Gigi scanned her e-mail one last time before going home. Nothing. Even Madeline Stone came up empty. Though Gigi suspected the Brighton TV presenter didn’t try very hard. Of course, she’d keep the best bits for her own show with that gaudy Hyacinth.
Gigi clicked out of e-mail, thinking, mulling. She should be able to just get the skinny from Corina, her very own employee. She needed a new strategy. The old one wasn’t working.
At her office window, she gazed at the stretch of river between the Eau Gallie and Melbourne causeways. Maybe, at fifty-six, she’d lost her mojo. For the first time in her life, she considered the impossible. Quitting. The very idea made her shudder.
A foreign feeling, a strange word never before allowed in her vocabulary.
She was Gigi-freaking-Beaumont. The woman who started this company from scratch when the worldwide web consisted of nothing more than AOL, tech geeks, and cyber perverts.
She was ambitious, competitive, with instinct and ingenuity, and a callous soul. Whatever it took to get ahead, she did it. And she harbored no regrets.
She’d married her third husband just to gain access to his wealth, mastering a stellar prenup giving her half of his assets at their divorce.
But today a weariness settled in her bones. Her conscience woke from a long sleep and knocked on her heart’s battered door.Leave her be . . .
Bested by a tenderhearted, broken beauty from Georgia.
Gigi returned to her work, opening her presentation for the four thirty online meeting with the division directors. Maybe they would have some ideas how to revamp theBeaumont Postbrand. Find a new life in their fading, albeit fearless leader.
About to head through the bull pen to see if anyone happened upon a salacious tip—after all, she’d imported the best scouts, sources, and news diggers in the world to her seaside domain—when a new e-mail from a strange address dropped into her inbox.
The sounds from the bull pen faded. Gigi’s warm blood chilled and her hand, resting on her mouse, trembled.
801 Laurel Lane? Her flat on the north side of Cathedral City when she worked for Brighton Broadcast Company.
Robert? Dear, sweet Robert. With an exhale, she opened the e-mail. Tuesday at eight. What couldhepossibly want?
Thirty-five years ago he’d wanted to marry her but had nothing to offer but his heart and devotion.
She was just starting out, wildly ambitious, full of herself and her dreams. She refused to tie herself down to a man with no means, no name. A servant in the palace.
When she left him for the last time, she made her intentions clear. “I’m bound for greatness, and I need a partner who can go with me, help me get there.”
Gigi Beaumont, what a fool you’ve been.
Her eyes were wet with tears as she read his message. It contained nothing more than three simple words.
They are married.
Gigi squinted at the line again, the bold, beautiful line.
