Secrets in the Marriage Bed(3)

After he understood who she was, he'd have to decide whether or not he  wanted to remain married to her, whether or not he wanted to fight to  fix a marriage she wasn't sure could be fixed. Vicki had no intention of  ever again donning the mask of a fashion-conscious socialite wife. The  question was, what if that was exactly the kind of woman Caleb wanted?

A woman who'd go her own way and not demand anything from him but money  and a place in society; a woman who'd turn the other cheek when  infidelity raised its ugly head; a woman who'd never dream of destroying  her upper-class lifestyle by divorcing her husband because he didn't  love her.                       
       
           



       





Two



C aleb was in a foul mood. He'd fully expected to spend the night with  his wife, but instead had tossed and turned in the guest bedroom while  Vicki lay feet away. By the time the shrill ring of the alarm woke him,  all of his nerves had been rubbed raw.

He didn't understand why Vicki was doing this to them-she'd never acted  so unreasonably before. How could she expect them to pretend to be  separated when they were both living in the same house and she was about  to have his baby, for God's sake? As far as he was concerned, separate  beds were not part of the marriage deal. And he'd missed her, damn it.  Hadn't she missed him even a bit?After a quick shower, he pulled on his  suit jacket and walked into the kitchen, expecting a cold welcome from  the woman he'd spent the night dreaming about. Vicki stood at the  counter pouring coffee into his cup. His mood elevated. "I half expected  you to tell me to fend for myself." That was what she'd done in the  last weeks before their separation.

She rolled her eyes. "If I didn't feed you, you'd live on takeout."

He slid onto a stool on the other side of the counter, luxuriating in  the feel of being home again. In spite of the hours he'd worked as a  rising young lawyer, he'd restored this villa with his own hands. It had  been his escape from the combative world in which he spent much of his  life.

When he'd married Vicki, the villa had only been partially restored and  he'd expected her to balk at the work remaining, but she'd lit up at the  prospect. She'd done a lot of the finishing work herself-he'd often  come home to a wife with paint-stained skin and scraped knuckles.

Almost a year later, they'd had a bright, airy home stamped with their  personalities. Some of the happiest days of their marriage had been  spent covered in paint and sawdust, with only each other's voices for  company.

"Do vending-machine snacks count as proper food?" he asked, trying to  tease his way back into their normal routine. The separation had been  hell-he had no intention of returning to that empty existence, no matter  what he had to do to convince Vicki.

She gave him an arch look and broke a couple of eggs into a bowl. "I hope you're joking."

Caleb knew how to cook. Forced by circumstance, he'd learned to do so as  a young child, feeding both himself and his younger sister when his  parents became too caught up in themselves. But from the first day of  their marriage, Vicki had taken over the kitchen and he'd let her. It  had always been one of his secret pleasures that his wife cared enough  about him to ensure he ate properly. No one else had ever bothered.

Which was why it had hurt so much when she'd stopped.

Taking the coffee, along with the plate of scrambled eggs and bacon she  passed over, he tried out a smile. "Aren't you joining me?" Breakfast  was one of the few meals they'd managed to share regularly. He wondered  what she'd do if she knew that he'd skipped breakfast while living at  the hotel, unable to bear her absence. Not that he had any intention of  telling her.

She made a face. "I think I'll wait an hour or so."

"You okay, sweetheart?"

Her lips curved into a smile that sucker punched him with its beauty.  "Just a tiny bit of morning sickness that's actually hitting in the  morning, for once."

"Doesn't it always?" He was fascinated by the life growing inside of  her, hoped she wouldn't shut him out of the experience the way she'd  shut him out of her bed.

She shook her head. "No. It comes and goes on its own schedule. But I'm  lucky-I haven't really had it bad at all. Eat or you'll be late."

Obeying, he watched her move around the kitchen dressed in jeans and a  sea-green cardigan that looked so touchable, he wondered if she'd worn  it to torment him. His hands itched to mold themselves over her slender  frame. Her three-month-old pregnancy wasn't yet visible and she looked  much as she'd done when they'd married, but as he'd learned last night,  things had changed.

"Toast." She plucked two pieces out of the toaster, buttered them and handed them over.

As he took them, his gaze fell on a pale pink envelope sitting on the  far end of the counter next to the fruit bowl. "What's that?"

"A card from Mother."

He eyed her carefully. "What does it say?"

"Only that she might be visiting Auckland in a week or two to catch up  with me. Eat." She waved a hand at him and walked over to put the  envelope in the back pocket of her jeans.

Caleb wondered if she really felt as carefree as she was making out.  Danica Wentworth's infrequent interruptions of Vicki's life tended to  leave his wife distraught. He'd tried to broach the subject with her  more than once, but she'd backed away with alacrity that spoke of such  deep pain, he'd never pursued it. In truth, part of him worried that if  he pushed her on this point, she might push back, and there were things  about his childhood he wanted no one to know.                       
       
           



       

But that same childhood had also given him the tools to understand her  wariness. What child would want to remember the woman who'd abandoned  her to pursue a lover? Though that man had gone on to marry another,  Danica remained in a relationship with him to this day-she'd never left  him like she'd left her four-year-old daughter. Worse, she had entrusted  Vicki to her ex-husband's mother, Ada, a woman about as maternal as a  gutter snake.

Vicki shot him a curious look when he continued to stare at her. "What?"

"Nothing." Nothing that he could put into words.

He ached to walk over and wrap her in his arms, to show her what he  felt. It seemed as though he'd spent eternity aching to hold his wife.  But always he stopped, knowing that she wouldn't welcome such advances.  That moment in his office yesterday had been an aberration. She'd been  upset and vulnerable and he'd acted on instinct.

"Are you going to court today?" She eyed his black suit and to his  surprise, came over to fix the collar of his shirt. The woman-scent of  her went straight to his heart.

He nodded, trying not to look as stunned as he felt. Vicki never touched  him unless he initiated contact. "The Dixon-McDonald case."

Her eyes met his and she dropped her hands, as if startled by her own  actions. "Two companies fighting it out over a patent, right?" A soft  blush shading her cheeks, she walked around the counter and picked up  the carafe to refill his coffee. "Think you guys will win?"

He was further surprised by her knowledge of the case. "Callaghan &  Associates always win." He grinned despite feeling strangely off  balance. Vicki was … different.

Though she refused to meet his gaze, she laughed. "What's the firm doing  involved in a patent case? I thought that was pretty specialized."

God, he'd missed her laugh. It made him realize how long it had been  since he'd heard it-months before his move to the hotel. "When did you  start keeping track of my files?" His tone was conversational but in his  gut, guilt churned. Why hadn't he noticed the extent of her unhappiness  before now? Even when she'd rocked their world by asking him for a  divorce, he hadn't woken up to that fact. Why the hell not? Had he been  so wrapped up in work he'd forgotten the woman he'd promised to love,  honor and cherish?

Finally, she raised her head. "Since always."

"But you've never talked to me about any of them before." Never talked  about the firm he'd built with blood, sweat and tears, though it had  been an integral part of their life. "Even when you held dinner parties  for my clients, you asked barely enough to ensure things ran smoothly."

"I … " She paused and then took a deep breath. "I guess I didn't want to  sound stupid. It's not like I have legal or corporate training. And you  never seemed to want to discuss your work when you came home. I thought  maybe it had something to do with confidentiality."

His head spun at the uncertainty in her tone. "You couldn't sound stupid  if you tried. Attorney-client privilege doesn't stop us discussing  things in general terms like we just did. I never talked about work  because I thought you weren't interested." And why exactly had he  thought that?