Back in His Bed. Heidi RiceЧитать онлайн книгу.
you?” Dianne stared sharply at Brenna’s reflection. “What’s changed? What’s so different about this time that will keep it from going horribly wrong?”
She’d been asking herself the same question for two days now. “We’re older. Wiser. Less volatile. We understand things better now. You saw him Saturday night. Tell me he’s not different than he used to be.”
“He does seem to be calmer than he used to. And he gets major points for playing along at taco and Scrabble night.”
“See? We were just too young to cope with the reality of a relationship. Now we’re not.”
“That’s great, Brenna. Really.” Di’s words sounded forced.
“You think I should quit while I’m ahead?”
Dianne rested her hands on Brenna’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “I just want you to be happy, Brenna. If Jack can do that, then great—I’m on board. But don’t let one fabulous weekend in bed and those flowers blind you to everything else. Use your head this time, too, okay?”
Brenna thought of the enormous arrangement of peonies and hydrangea on her desk in the office. “How’d you know about my flowers?” The flowers had arrived Monday afternoon, but Brenna had intercepted the delivery up by the entrance to the vineyard. No one had seen them arrive—or at least that was what she’d thought—and she’d stashed them where no one—Dianne specifically—should have seen them. At least Di didn’t know about the late-night phone calls…
“That’s what you pay me for, right?” Dianne pushed one more pin into the mass of Brenna’s hair and eyed it critically. “That should do it. Close your eyes.”
Brenna did, and Dianne sprayed her handiwork liberally with hairspray. Coughing, Brenna waved the mist away from her face.
“What do you think?” Di asked.
Long, loose ringlets framed her face, while the rest of her hair was up in an artfully arranged chignon. “You’re a genius, Di. Now for the dress…”
Brenna held her breath as Dianne worked the zipper. The simple black sheath hugged her curves, making her feel feminine and elegant, and the beading around the neck and hem caught the light of the afternoon sun and sparkled. She slid her feet into Dianne’s prized pair of slingbacks, and twirled in front of the mirror. “Wow,” she said to her reflection.
Dianne eyed her critically and tugged at the hem of the dress, straightening it. “Wow is right. You clean up nicely, Brenna.”
“In your clothes.” She laughed as Dianne handed her jewelry and a handbag. “I’d be going to this shindig in jeans if not for you.”
“That’s my lucky dress. It’s what I was wearing the night I met Ted.” Di collapsed into the chair Brenna had only recently occupied and smiled at the memory.
Brenna winked at her. “Sounds more like a get lucky dress. All the better.”
“You don’t need my dress to get lucky tonight. Just be careful, okay?”
“Your dress is safe. I doubt Jack will be ripping it off my body.”
Dianne stared at her evenly. “I’m not worried about the dress.”
A movement of something black outside her window caught Brenna’s attention, and she moved the curtains fully aside to check. “Jack sent a limo. He doesn’t do anything halfway, does he?” She grabbed her overnight bag and shawl.
“Brenna…”
“I hear you, Di. And I will be careful. I’m not some naïve kid anymore.” She wrapped Dianne in a one-armed hug. “Thank you. For everything.”
“Have fun. You’ll be home when? Tomorrow? Friday?”
“I’ll be back by Friday for sure. Jack leaves for New York that morning. Hold down the fort for me.”
“I will.”
“Just don’t forget to check—”
“It’s under control. Go. Have fun.”
She didn’t recognize the chauffeur who took her bags and offered a hand to help her in the car, but he had a friendly smile as he introduced himself as Michael.
“And may I say how lovely you look, Miss Walsh?”
“Thank you.” She settled back against the butter-soft seats and sighed. The last time she’d been in a limo Jack had been with her. They’d been out somewhere, but left early because they were fighting again. They’d reconciled in the privacy of the back seat, and she’d knocked the decanter of Scotch to the floor with her enthusiasm. They’d been drunk off the fumes by the time they’d arrived home…
That was the story of her life with Jack. Fight. Make up. Fight. Make up. The when, the where and the what might change, but the pattern was part of the whole. Funny how she couldn’t quite remember what that fight had been about, but she could remember exactly how Jack had held her, and the things he’d whispered in her ear…
Man, it was stuffy in here. She fumbled with the air vent, directing the cool air at her heated cheeks. Di’s concerned face swam into focus. She had a point: why should this time be any different? And what, exactly, was she hoping for? A new start with Jack? Just a good time? And for how long?
Miles of vineyards flew past her window in a blur as the limo passed through the Sonoma Valley toward the city. Much more than fifty miles separated Amante Verano from San Francisco. It was a whole different world—one that she’d failed miserably to join or even enjoy the last time.
Was Dianne right? Was she walking right back into a disaster? Had this weekend been just Jack humoring her, or could he really want her—Scrabble and all—again?
It could be different, she told herself. She and Jack didn’t have any misconceptions about each other anymore. They knew where they stood, and she was a big enough girl to know when to pull the plug on this experiment. But she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t at least try. She’d always wonder otherwise…
Belatedly, she noticed the small bouquet of flowers tucked into a vase on the bar. White orchids tied with a red ribbon, with a small envelope peeking out of the blooms. As she pulled it free she saw her name written across the front in Jack’s bold handwriting. It felt lumpy in her hand as she released the flap and pulled out the note inside.
Glad you decided to come after all. See you soon.
Jack’s initials, MJG, were scrawled in the corner, almost illegible if she hadn’t seen them a million times before. She shook the envelope and something sparkly landed in her hand.
A bracelet. No, an anklet. The sunlight, muted slightly through the tinted windows, caused the rubies set in a thin gold chain to flash. Rubies—because she’d told him once that diamonds were too cold and rubies reminded her of her wines.
Jack had a good memory. Orchids and peonies, not roses. Rubies, not diamonds. An anklet because she didn’t like bracelets because they caught on things. Little things that should have faded from his memory long ago, but touched her now simply because they hadn’t.
She propped her foot on the seat and fastened the chain around her ankle. The slowing of the car caused her to look up, and she saw the orange railings of the Golden Gate Bridge. How had she got here so fast? This really was the point of no return.
The limo crawled through the city traffic at an infuriating pace. Now that she’d made the decision, got in the car and clasped Jack’s gift around her ankle, she was eager to see him. Her heartbeat picked up as the limo pulled to a stop. But it wasn’t the multi-colored awning of Garrett Towers outside her window.
It was the concert hall.
Michael opened her door and extended a hand to her. “Don’t we need to go get Jack first?” She didn’t want to imply Michael had forgotten