Now the tears fell, but unlike those in other women, these tears seemed to burn him. He felt the searing all the way down to his heart.
"You're everything I ever dreamed about. You're strong and gentle. You're giving and funny. I want to spend my whole life with you. I want to sleep in your arms and have your children and love you and worry about you. I want to spend fifty years with you and have the neighbors say things like, ‘Those Patricks have been married forever.'"
She wiped her face with her fingers. "But it's not just about me. There's Valentina. So I'm doing the right thing. Because that's important. But all it would take is one word, Duncan. I'm not fighting this because I didn't think there was a point. I didn't think you loved me back. Tell me it's totally over with her and that you love me. That you want me to stay, and I will."
He finally knew her end game. To trap him. "I'd be a great meal ticket," he said. "And I'll give you points for originality. That was quite a speech."
She stiffened as the color faded from her face. She wiped at her tears again, then picked up her purse.
"There's no winning, is there?" she asked quietly. "You told me and told me and I didn't listen. Maybe you're right about Valentina and maybe I am. I hope you take the time to find out. As for me, if you can say those words, if you can really think I'm here because you're wealthy and successful, then you never knew me at all. And I guess I never knew you. Because the man I love can see into my heart and my soul. He knows who I am. And that's not you. Goodbye, Duncan."
And then she was gone.
Eleven
Duncan hadn't been mind-numbingly drunk in years. Probably not since college, when he'd been young and stupid. Now he was older, but apparently just as stupid. He'd avoided work, blown off the last of the holiday parties and had holed up in his condo for three days. Now, hungover, dehydrated and feeling like something that had been dead for a month, he forced himself to shower and get dressed before stumbling into the kitchen and making coffee.
He'd lost before. His first three fights had been a disaster. He'd barely gotten in a single punch. His coach had told him to go find another sport. Maybe baseball, where the only thing that could hit him was the ball. But he hadn't given up and by his senior year of high school, half a dozen colleges were offering him a free ride.
Taking over the family business hadn't been easy, either. He'd screwed up dozens of times, losing opportunities because of his youth and inexperience. But he'd persevered and now he had it all. But nothing in his life had prepared him for losing Annie.
Her words haunted him. "The man I love can see into my heart and my soul. He knows who I am. And that's not you." He would have preferred her to take out a gun and shoot him. The recovery would have been easier. Or at least faster.
He told himself that the bottom line was she'd left. She'd walked out. Telling him she loved him first only added a level of drama. He should respect that. And he could. The problem was he couldn't believe it. Annie didn't play games.
His doorbell rang. His head screamed at the sound. He made his way to the door and pulled it open. Valentina stood there, holding a package.
"This came for you," she said, handing over the flat box. "I told your doorman I'd bring it up myself."
She stepped into the condo and looked around. "It looks great, Duncan. I wish you'd kept our old place, though. There was so much room. Still, we can buy something else. Maybe a house, this time." She moved toward him and lightly kissed him. "How are you? Your assistant said you hadn't been feeling well. You're really pale."
He recognized Annie's neat writing on the package. As much as he wanted to open it, he wouldn't until he was alone. He set it on the dining room table, then returned to the kitchen. The coffee was ready.
He poured a cup and took a long drink. When he felt the heated liquid hit his belly, he turned back to face his ex-wife.
Valentina had dressed in winter-white. From her suede boots to her fuzzy sweater, she was a vision of sexual elegance. The woman knew how to wear clothes, he thought. And take them off for anyone interested.
"Why are you here?" he asked, taking another swallow.
"I want to talk to you, Duncan. About us. I meant what I said. I still love you. I want a second chance."
He looked her up and down. She was still preternaturally an ice queen if there ever was one. At one time she'd been all he'd wanted.
"And if I said I needed to test-drive the merchandise before I made a decision?" he asked.
She smiled. "Anytime."
"Kids?" She'd never wanted children. Too messy and she ran the risk of screwing up her figure.
"Of course." She tilted her head. "And a dog. Please. You can't have children without having pets. They need to learn about responsibility."
"The kids or the dog?" He reached for his coffee. "Never mind. You're serious about this?"
"Yes, Duncan. I still love you and am willing to do anything to prove that."
Uh-huh. "Including signing a prenup? One that gives you absolutely no part of my business or personal fortune. Now or in the future? You wouldn't get a penny, Valentina. Ever."
He would guess that Botox shots kept her from frowning, but there was no mistaking the tightening of her mouth or the stiffening of her body.
"Duncan," she began, then sighed. "Shit."
He wasn't even surprised. "So it is about the money."
"In part," she admitted. "And proving a point. Eric left me. Me. I was going to end things, but he beat me to it, the bastard. I wanted to prove a point. Show him what he'd lost."
Pride, he thought. He could respect that.
"Sorry I can't help," he said.
"Are you pissed?"
"More relieved."
"Excuse me?" she said, walking to the coffee and pouring herself a mug. "You would be nowhere without me. I took a rough, ill-mannered street kid and turned him into a gentleman."
"You screwed my business partner, on my desk."
"I know. I'm sorry about that."
"It doesn't matter anymore."
"But it was still tacky. I am sorry." She looked at him. "You look good. I mean that. You've come a long way."
They talked for a few more minutes, then Valentina left. Duncan closed the door behind her, relieved to have her out of his life. This time for good. Then he crossed to the table and opened the package from Annie.
Inside was a painting of two boxers. He knew the artist, had a larger piece of his work in his study.
There was a note inside. No, a Christmas card.
This made me think of you.
Duncan studied the masterful work and could guess the approximate price she'd paid. It was a whole lot more than she could afford. Why would she have done this? He checked the date. She'd had it shipped after she'd ended things. Who did that? What was she playing at?
He didn't have any answers, a circumstance he didn't like. He wanted his life simple-predictable. But Annie was anything but. She demanded too much. She wanted him to do the right thing, to be a better man. She wanted him to love her back.
Back. Meaning he believed she loved him in the first place? And if he did, what was he doing, letting her get away?
"Very upscale," Annie said, hoping it sounded more like a tease than nervousness. She sat across from Tim in a comfortable wicker chair on a patio behind the rehabilitation housing where her brother was staying.
"It's nice," he said.
He sat across from her, relaxed and tanned, more calm than she'd seen him in years. This was the first Saturday visitors had been allowed. Annie had arrived right at ten and Tim had been waiting for her. So far their conversation had consisted of greetings and the weather.
She picked at the wicker on the arm of the chair, then glanced across the broad lawn. Judging from the uneasy body language she saw in the other visitors, she wasn't the only one who didn't know what to say.
"Are you … " she began.
Tim leaned toward her and smiled. "It's okay. You did the right thing. I didn't believe that until a few days ago, but now I know you were right. I needed help. I still need help."
Relief rushed through her. She grabbed his hand and squeezed. "Yeah?"
He nodded. "I was chasing the dream, Annie. So sure that if I kept trying, I'd hit it big. It's what you always say about kids who cheat in school. If they would put half the effort into studying, they'd get a good grade. But instead they want to play the system. I want to play the odds. The trouble is, the odds are never in my favor."
"Which means what?" she asked.
"I have a gambling problem. I need to stay away from it. No blackjack, no Vegas, not even a raffle ticket. It's going to take a while, but I'll beat this, Annie."
She stared into her brother's blue eyes and felt relief. "I'm glad," she whispered.