She wished she could fuck someone right there on his carpet and make him watch. “That’s why you’re sorry? Because I saw you?”
“Of course I’m sorry.”
“What about not dating? No relationships? What about the pills you refused to take?”
He flushed. “I’m not in a relationship. And as far as the pills… They don’t seem to bother me anymore.”
She was going to be sick. The only way he’d know the pills didn’t bother him was if he’d wanted something—someone—enough to take them. Oh, God…
“You had sex,” she wheezed, a sharp stab of inadequacy lodging in her chest and making her weak.
“Isadora, we never made any promises to each other after you left. I know there have been other men, but I certainly don’t need a report card from you.”
Her jaw locked. She didn’t leave! He dumped her.
And there had been no other men. She’d been celibate for far too long and it was making her crazy. She was busying herself with functions and garden shows and falling right into spinsterdom. While he was fucking all of Folsom!
She could have sex with him right now. All it would take was a green light from her and a tiny blue pill for him.
Her thoughts were chaotic, jerking her from all angles. But within the tornado of wildly spinning ideas storming through her brain was a slender shred of dignity standing tall.
She would not give him the satisfaction.
Anger, sadness, it all muddled together. Over a decade of this on-again, off-again superficial security. Him being the hand on a yo-yo that jerked her life this way and that. She was fucking tired of being treated like a worthless pawn meant only to serve other people’s needs.
Her heart was bruised and battered, but her wounds were so deep, no one could see her pain. She just lived with it, day in and day out, feeling like the only woman alive who no one would ever love.
She’d fallen for Sawyer at a vulnerable point in her life, loved him to distraction over the years. It wasn’t about being weak or strong, but about what love dictated. She might never be as tough as she hoped to be, but she was a hell of a lot smarter then she was at twenty-three.
Shaking her head, drawing in an unsteady breath, she stared at him. “You broke my heart and you don’t even care.”
“I care, Isadora. I’ll always care.”
“But you’ll do it again. I’ll give myself to you, heart and soul, and you’ll enjoy me for a time, but then you’ll send me away, claiming to know what’s best for us, acting like you know me more than I know myself.”
The satisfaction of being with him now paled in comparison to the pain of losing him. She’d never survive him pushing her away again.
“I can’t let you do that to me anymore, Sawyer. I’d rather be alone than in a relationship where I have no stability, no say whether it lives or dies.”
“Isadora… You know I care deeply for you.”
“Love!” she shouted. “It’s supposed to be love! I have enough people in my life that care about me. I need someone to love me. I needed you to love me!”
She withdrew her keys from her purse, hands clumsy and shaking.
Sawyer stood. “Please don’t leave like this. You’re upset. I’ll worry about you. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She laughed coldly. “I’ve been upset a lot longer than just tonight. No need to start worrying now.” She pivoted and stormed to the door.
“Isadora!”
She couldn’t turn around, couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “What?”
“I…”
Her eyes closed as she waited for him to finish the statement, tell her he loved her and finally cut the string from this yo-yo so that they could fall. Together.
If he could just confess his true feelings she’d forgive him for all the years he made her wait. But after an embarrassingly long silence, she blinked through her blurring vision and turned the knob, not even sparing him a goodbye or a single tear.
Chapter Four
“But since of diff'rent dishes we should taste;
Upon an ancient work my hands I've placed;
Where full a hundred narratives are told,
And various characters we may behold…”
Jean de La Fontaine
The Servant Girl Justified
Isadora waited five days to call Parker.
She’d wanted to call him sooner, but she needed time to calm down after her fight with Sawyer. She couldn’t get over him inviting her to his house like that. He’d never made her feel like a whore until that moment and his doing so disjointed parts of her heart, damaging them like pieces of a worn out puzzle she couldn’t solve.
What they shared was perhaps the most precious thing she’d ever owned, but his recent behavior summed up their time together as a cheap and tawdry affair. How dare he taint her beautiful life and all she valued, summarizing years of affection with the shabby necessity of lust?
He had no right, and she’d likely be angry with him for a long time, longer than she wanted to spare. Putting her hurt feelings aside, she covered her pain with little distractions, buying baby clothes for the next Patras, weeding out her gardens, and making the executive decision to dismiss everyone else’s opinions of Parker and give him a chance to show her the man he actually was.
She’d let the probability of her family’s objections dictate the last decade of her love life. No more. They all knew about Parker and whether they approved or not, she needed to see how things went for herself.
Mind made up, she’d picked up the phone and called him. For once doing what she felt was right for her and not worrying about how it might upset or disappoint others.
Parker was gracious and sweet when she spoke to him. “Can I take you out?”
Her life, up to that moment, seemed so commonplace, so tepid and uneventful, she tried to think of the last time someone had asked her on a date.
Tyrian had taken her out to movies and dinners. Looking back, the whole ritual of serenading a woman with food and meaningless traditions seemed pathetic. But what else did people do?
“Sure,” she agreed, thinking the same redundant prelude would be the conclusion to nothing spectacular.
She’d become so jaded.
“What day do you have free this week?”
All of them. “How about Friday?”
“Friday’s perfect. Why don’t I pick you up around eleven and we’ll go from there?”
A lunch date? That seemed even less romantic than dinner. “Okay.”
“Oh, and dress warm.”
“O—okay.”
Friday morning, unsure where they were going, she opted for a pair of jeans and a cream blouse. Recalling his suggestion that she dress warm, she switched out her pumps for a pair of boots and grabbed a cable knit cardigan. Maybe they were going to the theater, which could get drafty sometimes.
Parker’s Jaguar arrived at precisely eleven o’clock. He climbed out and she met him halfway, liking the sight of him in worn jeans, a dark gingham button down nearly hidden by a thick sweater and duffle coat. His hair looked windblown and his jaw wore a thicker layer of scruff than it had the night they met.
He smiled as he held open the passenger door. “Your chariot awaits, m’lady.”
She slid onto the sleek leather upholstery, finding the interior of the car pleasantly warm. Once he was seated behind the wheel, he expertly backed out of her driveway.
“I meant to thank you for the book. I love it.”
He smiled, his gaze focused on the road. “I debated between that and Lord of the Flies. Seuss seemed more appropriate.”
She was glad he chose the children’s book. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise. You’re free for the rest of the day, right?”
She didn’t have plans, but the idea of spending that much time with someone she hardly knew was daunting. “Yes, but…”
He glanced at her, those sharp eyes taking a quick assessment. “If
you have to be back by a certain time, that’s fine. I just want to know what time frame we’re dealing with. The place I’m taking you is an hour away.”
That was a long time in a car with a semi-stranger. “I don’t have any other plans.”
He nodded. “How was your week?”
Her week had been… It was hard to say.
She’d kicked it off with a fight, but once she cooled down she hadn’t cried or anything. She simply pushed the Sawyer stuff to the back of her mind and moved on. She’d ordered some new perennials for the garden and made a list of things that needed to be done in preparation for spring.
“My week was typical.” Sort of. There seemed a difference she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“What did you do?”
He sure was curious. “I picked up a few gardening books.”
“Do you like gardening?”
“Yes.”
“What do you grow?”
“Mostly flowers. I have a small herb garden, but I’m terrible with larger vegetables.”
He smiled. They were heading east toward the coast. “Do you like English gardens or more of a colonial revival garden?”
Impressed that his question revealed a bit of knowledge on the subject, she relaxed, comfortable with the topic. “I prefer Spanish gardens, actually. I love climbing plants and water.”
“Do you have a pergola?”
She grinned. “I do. It’s my favorite place to read. In the summer the wisteria takes over. I know a lot of people find it to be a bully of a vine, but if you take care of the buds and train the shoots, it can be really beautiful. I’ve tamed mine into a lush awning. It makes a beautiful canopy.”
“Sometimes, when things take a little work, the reward’s that much sweeter.”
“Yes.”
He turned onto the highway and she tried to imagine where they could possibly be going. There wasn’t much out this way, a small naval base, a few hotels, and the coast, but nothing would be open this early in the year.
Trying to pass the time, she admitted, “I’m thinking about making a labyrinth garden. I started sketching one out, but I’m still looking into which hedges are best for that sort of thing. I order a lot of my plants online, because the colors are usually listed.”
His brow lifted. “Like a big labyrinth? The kind someone could get lost in?”
The idea came to her when she’d been thinking of a little Patras running around. How darling would it be to have a permanent maze for little ones to play? She wanted to hide flowers and secret gardens inside.
Her smile trembled. She wanted to chase her own children through something like that, could almost hear the echoes of unborn laughter. She shook off the fantasy.
“Yes, a large one. We have several acres that aren’t being used.”
“Something like that would take years to cultivate.”
What else did she have to do? “I know.”
“I think that sounds like a great idea. Really interesting and fun to plan. Things like that last for generations.”
“If I ever actually plant it.”
“You will. So what do you like to do when you’re not gardening?”
She was adjusting to his attention, unable to recall the last time someone took such personal interest in her. “I like to read. I attend social functions for the family business from time to time. I take night classes and this summer I’ll have my masters. I volunteer at St. Christopher’s and The Women’s House. That’s a place for—”
“Women escaping domestic abuse.”
“Yes. Do you know it?”
“For the past year I’ve volunteered there once a month.”
She rarely saw men at the facility. “You have? Doing what?”
“They have a program that prepares women to enter the workforce. Some of them never worked before. I walk them through mock interviews and help them with their resumes. The job placements are slow, and sometimes they need more skills, but eventually, they find something.”
Maybe she should have him look at her resume. “How is it you know how to do that?”
According to everything she’d heard, he’d just started his career. Though going by his car, his clothing, and his attendance at the opera house fundraisers, he’d clearly found immediate success.
He shrugged. “You only have to know the right question to ask. When women are forbidden to work they sometimes struggle to identify what they’re passionate about. There are countless jobs out there. Sometimes it’s just a matter of admitting what they want to do with their life, realizing they have the right to choose. Choice is a powerful thing.”
Yes, it was. Asserting her autonomy had been a lifelong struggle. At thirty-six she was still trying to find her calling—and her voice.
Though she’d managed a house, raised two children, and mingled with the visionaries of tomorrow, she often felt guilty when it came to deciding what was best for her. Her life was a constant loop of reassuring herself that she was entitled to decide her future, but she never managed to get very far from where she started.
“And what about you, Parker Hughes? What do you do?”
A dimple appeared in his cheek as he smiled. “I like helping others. Charity can be more rewarding than any paycheck, but there has to be some sort of income. I invest and try to keep a secure cushion, but the idea of wasting away behind a desk is terrifying to me. I think I’ll always be a little more comfortable in a community center than an executive office.”
She frowned. “But you’re one of them.”
Parker not only worked at Leningrad but also climbed quickly to the top. He had an unnatural gift when it came to the stock market, according to what she found out from Evelyn.
He laughed. “I’m accepted as one, but only because they don’t know how to read me. They see money and that’s what they want. I’m just a tool that adds to their wealth. I play the market because I’m good at it. It’s a hobby.”
“How good?”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “Good enough to guess if you put fifty thousand on Sidewize Inc. today, you could have a million dollars by the end of the week.”
“Seriously?”
“It’s not a science. I have the instinct, but that doesn’t mean I abuse it. I earn enough to buy my freedom, but I’ll never be indebted to my own greed.”
“You’re saying you didn’t buy that stock, even though you believe it’ll turn that much?”
“Nah. I avoid it when I can. It’s an addicting rush.”
She reached into her purse. “Let’s see if you’re right.”
He glanced at her as she texted her brother. “What are you doing?”
“Lucian controls my shares. I’m telling him to buy a thousand dollars worth.”
His brow creased. “What if you lose?”
She laughed. “Now you’re unsure? You just sounded so certain.”
“There’s no such thing as certainty in the stock market. That’s the one valuable lesson I learned from my father.”
“Well, it’s money I earned from whatever Lucian does with the shares I inherited. I never touch it. I just let him move it around however he sees fit. If you’re wrong, I lose a thousand dollars. If you’re right, I make a pretty penny for my savings. I’ll take my risks.”
He continued to frown.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he answered, mouth tight. “I just … didn’t expect you to trust my word.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because of my past, my father’s record, and the bad blood between your brother and me.”
“That’s between you and Lucian. You’ve never done anything wrong to me.” He still looked concerned. “Plus, I spoke to Evelyn and she assures me you’re a good man.”
“She said that?”
“Yes.” She’d said other things too, but Isadora didn’t want to divulge too much.
She was happy he didn’t ask for more details since she preferred to be the
most interesting female during a date and would have felt slighted if he asked more about the woman he once—maybe still—loved.
“So where are we going?”
He chuckled. “We’re almost there. If you look in the back there are some clues.”
Glancing to the backseat, she saw a folded tartan wool blanket, and a shovel. “Are you planning on burying me alive?”
He laughed. “No, I’ll need your help, so we’ll have to keep you above ground.”
They drove for another twenty minutes and the roads turned to open paths that wove through scrubby marshlands. The salt of the air had her cracking a window and breathing deeply, recalling a time when they were young and visited the coast for the summer months.
Her mother had been healthy then, and she would walk them down to the beach, lather them up with sunblock, and let them play until the sun set. That was before Toni was born. Isadora couldn’t quite recall her father’s presence in those days either.
As he drove over a bridge they were deposited into a small shore town. Kite shops and Victorian style houses stood like still life. No one seemed to be present this time of year, but cars were parked randomly here and there.
Parker turned away from the bay in the direction of the ocean and pulled into a vacant lot where parking meters stood like pickets. “We’re here.”
“The beach?”
“It’s the best time of year. Warm enough to play in the sand, cold enough to have it all to yourself. Shall we?”
She wasn’t quite sure what they were doing there. He left the car and came around to open her door.
“You’ll want your sweater. It’s windy.”
Standing, she stretched her legs and donned her cardigan. The blustery breeze was briny and warm, the gusts cutting through her blouse and chilling her skin. Her hair whipped about and she gave up any thoughts of having good date hair.
Parker retrieved the shovel and blanket from the backseat and then popped the trunk. “Can you carry the blanket? I’ll get the rest of our supplies.”
A large duffle bag sat in the trunk, zipped shut so she couldn’t see what it held inside. “Why do we need supplies?” And what sort of supplies?