The Millionaire Claims His Wife(20)

Chase could feel a humming in his ears. He let go of Annie's wrist and took a step back.

"If that's what you believe," he said, his voice so low and dangerous  that it made the hair lift on the back of Annie's neck, "if you really  think that's what you meant to me, my once-upon-a-time-wife, then it's a  damn good thing our marriage ended when it did."

Annie stared at his white face and pinched lips. "Chase," she said, and  held out her hand, but it was too late. He'd already whirled away from  her and disappeared down the hall.

* * *

Unbelievable!

Chase walked along the gravel path that led from the lodge into the trees.

It was more than unbelievable. It was incredible, that Annie should have  hated him so. Hated being married to him, and for so many years.

He tucked his hands into his pockets and slowed his pace, scowling at a  squirrel that scolded him from beneath the branches of a cedar.

He knew a lot of guys who'd been divorced. They were everywhere: at his  health club, at the board meetings he sat in on...it seemed as if you  couldn't throw a stick in New York or San Francisco or any city in the  whole U.S.A. without hitting some poor bastard who'd gone from being a  family man to being a guy who thought a microwave meal was gourmet  dining.

The happy bachelor image, the divorced stud with a little black book  full of names and addresses, was the stuff of movies. It wasn't reality  or if it was, then he'd missed something. The divorced men he met were  almost invariably just like him, guys who'd once had it all and now had  nothing but questions.

When had it all started to go wrong? And why? And then there was the biggest question of all.

What could they have done to change it?

Most of them had answers, even if they didn't much like them. Chase  never had. Try as he would, he'd never really been able to pinpoint when  things had started going downhill, or why. As for changing it... how  could you change something when you didn't know what it was that needed  changing?

He'd been the best kind of husband he'd known how to be, working his  butt off to give Annie a better life. A life she deserved, and now it  turned out she'd not only hated all the years of hard work, but she'd  also resented them.

A bitter taste filled his mouth.

"What does she think?" he muttered, kicking a pinecone out of the way.  "Does she think I enjoyed working like a slave? Does she think I had a  good time, busting my backside all day and cracking books half the  night?"

Maybe. Annie had just proved that she was capable of thinking damn near anything, when it came to him.

The land was sloping upward. The trees were pressing in from either  side, and a cool, salt-scented breeze was blowing into his face. Chase  drew it deep into his lungs, lowered his head and trudged on.

At least it was all out in the open, now. Annie had been as remote about  their split-up as the sphinx. He couldn't even remember which of them  had said the words first, he or she; he only knew that except for that  one awful scene at the end, when Annie had come bursting into his office  and seen poor Peggy embarrassing them both-except for that, their  separation had been the most civilized thing on record.

No harsh words. No screaming matches. No accusations. Nothing. They had  both been polite and proper about the whole thing. His attorney had even  joked about it.

"I had a law prof used to say that the only man who never raises his  voice during divorce proceedings is a man whose almost-ex-wife's already  slit his throat," David had said, and Chase had grinned and said that  David, with his own strikeout, certainly ought to know.

Chase shook his head. No, Annie hadn't killed him when she'd thought  she'd caught him being unfaithful. She'd waited, and let him suffer for  five long years, and now she'd plunged a dagger right into his heart.

It shouldn't have hurt, not when she wasn't his wife anymore. Not when she didn't mean a damn thing to him anymore.

Chase stepped out of the woods. He was standing on a high, rocky cliff overlooking the dark green Pacific.                       
       
           



       

Who was he kidding? Annie meant everything to him. She always had, and she always would.

* * *

Annie sat on the edge of the circular bed, her hands folded in her lap.

Well, she'd finally gotten everything out of her system. She'd let it  all hang out; wasn't that what the kids used to say? She'd dredged up  all the anger and pain she'd thought was long gone and dumped it right  into Chase's lap.

She sighed, fell back against the pillows and put her arm over her eyes.

Who was she kidding? Neither the hurt nor the rage was long gone. They  weren't gone at all. Hardly a week went by that something didn't make  her remember how miserable her marriage had been, how much she'd  despised Chase.

It was just a good thing she'd finally gotten it out in the open.

Tears welled in her eyes.

It wasn't true. Her marriage hadn't been miserable. Not the first years,  anyway. She'd been so crazy in love, so happy, that sometimes she'd had  to pinch herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming.

And she'd never despised Chase. Heaven knew, that would have made things  a lot easier. Then, when she'd finally acknowledged the truth, that  he'd outgrown her and that he didn't love her anymore, it wouldn't have  hurt so badly.

Annie sighed, stood up, and walked to the window wall. The view was  spectacular: the deep green water in one direction, and a stand of  windblown cypresses stretching off in the other. The ancient trees  looked as if they'd been there forever, protecting the house and keeping  it safe.

A smile moved across her lips.

That was how she'd always felt about Chase. They'd met so young that  there were moments she'd felt as if she'd known him all her life. And  her safe haven had always been within his arms.

It had come as a shock to her to learn that other women didn't feel that  way about their husbands. She could still recall sitting on a bench at a  little playground years ago. Dawn must have been two, maybe three; she  was playing with a bunch of kids and the mothers sat around watching,  keeping an eye on things while they chatted about this and that.

Eventually the talk had turned to husbands.

"He drives me nuts," one woman said, "coming in the door at night like  some kind of conquering hero, and I'm supposed to hum a couple of bars  of Hail to the Chief while I pull off his shoes, stoke the fire and  serve him a meal straight out of Gourmet magazine."

There'd been some laughter, some groans and lots of general agreement.  Annie had been too flustered to do much of anything except sit there and  think how sad it was that all those women didn't feel as she did,  waiting for the sound of her husband's key in the lock so that she could  fly into his arms.

Her throat tightened. She leaned her head forward and pressed her forehead against the cool glass.

When had it all started to change? When had eager anticipation turned to  annoyance? When had the clock on the wall become not a way to count off  the minutes and hours until Chase's arrival but an infuriating reminder  of his lateness?

All the things she'd just said to him...how long had they been waiting to come out?

She'd hurt him, she knew. But he'd hurt her, too. Dragging her to those  business affairs, with her all gussied up to prove his success.

That was the way it had been, wasn't it?

Wasn't it?

And he'd said such awful things just now. Implying that she'd studied  stuff just so she could show him his ignorance of the fine arts...

Annie snorted and turned her back to the window. What a lie! She'd never  done that. How could she? Chase was the one with the college degrees;  she was the meek little wife with nothing but a high school diploma. It  wasn't her fault if she'd taken an interest in obscure poetry and  Indonesian art and things that were beyond his comprehension...

Things that were beyond his comprehension.

She drew a deep, shuddering breath.

No. Never. She wouldn't have studied anything for such a shabby reason.  She'd enjoyed the poetry, the art; she'd improved herself with the  vocabulary courses and the Great Books series, and if Chase just  happened to be overwhelmed by the books she left open on the kitchen  table, it wasn't anything deliberate on her part.

A muffled sob burst from Annie's throat.

"I never meant to hurt you, Chase," she whispered.

Never.

She'd loved him, with all her heart. She loved him still. That was the  awful truth of it, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it  now because he didn't love her, not anymore.

Their marriage was over. Chase was engaged to another woman, and she-she was going to have to go on without him.                       
       
           



       

It was just that it was going to be harder, now.

It was always harder, once you knew the truth.