Marriage of Convenience (14 page)

“Dream wedding?” She was stalling. She hadn’t really thought about it. Contrary to popular belief, not every little girl thought about her big day. She supposed she had at some point, but those days were long gone, and she’d moved on to those things that were supposed to come after weddings. A house, a child, a dream vacation.

“Vegas.” Vegas? She giggled. Had she really said that out loud? Why not?

“Vegas? Really?” Malcolm laughed. “Like Little White Chapel Vegas?” He squeezed her to him, letting her know he thought her idea was cute, not that he was criticizing.

“Why not?” Caroline thought about it. “No, not little white chapel. The Belagio. They have a chapel. Just the two of us and our absolute closest friends.”

“White dress and tuxedo?”

Caroline thought about that. Neither of those ideas appealed to her. She didn’t have anything against marriage. She just didn’t like the trappings of the process.

“No. Favorite jeans and a t-shirt. Definitely a pair of flip flops. But I’d wear a white veil.” Malcolm tilted his head to the side and pursed his lips, seemingly in deep concentration, considering her vision. “Sounds comfortable, inviting. I like it.” He nodded and looked down at her. “An excellent way to start a marriage, don’t you think?”

Caroline liked that he’d actually used the word “marriage”. Somehow the whole thing seemed more official. She smiled and squeezed his hand. “When you say it like that, it does sound promising.”

“And the ring?”

“A ring?”

Caroline hadn’t thought about that either. She didn’t really think of herself as a trendsetter. She liked what she liked whether it came from Target or off the runway. Designers didn’t matter; fit did. Season wasn’t an issue; color was key. She had no idea what was in for rings.

“Hhhmm. That’s tough. I guess I’d either want something very subdued … maybe just a band, or I’d have to go all the way with something massively obnoxious.” She nodded to herself. “Either way, it would have to match with yours.” Realizing the assumption she’d made, she followed with, “Or whomever I married. I’ve seen guys who have gold bands, but their wives wear silver bands. And it looks like they’re cheating with each other as opposed to being married to each other.” She was rambling, embarrassed by her initial statement. Way to put the issue front and center. It was one thing to talk hypothetically and another to make it personal. Very smooth.

Malcolm squeezed her hand.

“I don’t want to jump to conclusions or put words in your mouth, but I think … I hope we’re on the same page with where we’re going.” He paused, thinking of his next words. “I’ve enjoyed these past couple of days tremendously. Not just the activities, but the company. I was worried about compatibility and mutual respect, and all those things that it seems good marriages are made of, but I’m not worried anymore.”

He allowed the silence to stretch between them. She supposed he hoped to prepare her for what he intended to say next.

“I think, even if we’re not ready right now to discuss the details, we should be thinking about maybe having a serious conversation tomorrow about our non-negotiables.” He laughed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to sound so impersonal.” He paused. “I just want us both to feel comfortable with the decision we’re going to make.”

“Well, I’ll have my people contact your people,” Caroline said, laughing. Raising his hand to her lips, she kissed his warm skin and nuzzled it with her cheek letting him know she understood and was teasing him. Both their hands came to rest in her lap.

They settled again in comfortable silence.

“Massively obnoxious, huh?”

The cab pulled to the curb. They were both smiling as they stepped onto the sidewalk.

Caroline led Malcolm up the front stairs and into the foyer. She typically left a light on, and, not knowing she wouldn’t be home the previous evening, she’d done the same the evening before.

The foyer chandelier was bright and cast a warm glow down the long hallway of the entry level floor. The townhouse, built in the late 1800s, was long and narrow, with high ceilings. Natural light flooded the rooms through east and west facing floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Would you like a tour?” Caroline placed Malcolm’s overcoat and hers over her arm and headed toward a corner of the foyer. The door, centered between panels of the wall, was almost invisible. She pressed the seam, and the door revealed itself with a soft swish.

“Will it include the revelation of all the hidden spaces?”

Caroline pursed her lips and considered him. “I don’t know if it would be wise to reveal all my secrets on the second date.” She smiled as she spoke and took his hand, leading him to the kitchen. “Let’s have a drink first.”

Malcolm laughed. “Well, there isn’t a third date, so it’s now or never, lady.”

Caroline pulled him into the kitchen.

“Wow. Did you decorate this?”

“I did do it, thanks.” Caroline stopped near the heavy wooden butcher block island and tried to see the space through his eyes. She’d lived in her home for years and hadn’t really thought about the space since she’d spent more than a year conceiving of its decor.

“It took me some time to think it through and find all the pieces. Thankfully it didn’t take as long to have it installed.”

Terra cotta tiles covered the floor. The small, irregularly shaped tiles were uneven and rustic. Caroline had chosen them because they’d reminded her of streets she’d walked down in Italy. She’d spent summers there as a child and loved the people, the culture, and the food. The orange of the tiles was offset by the white concave ceiling. In the center of the ceiling was on oval-shaped mural of the heavens, each constellation in its proper place.

The left wall was a system of wood and glass cabinetry that held serving trays and dishes. She didn’t have people over much, but she loved throwing a bash every so often.

The far wall was tiled in white subway tiles, and those that ran behind the appliances to the right were a glossy black to highlight the stainless steel appliances that lined the wall. Chef quality and frequently used, the space was Caroline’s second favorite place in the house. French doors on the left side led to the dining room, and French doors on the far wall led to a sitting room.

Sliding two glasses off the wine glass rack built into the cabinetry, she filled both with a sweet sparkling Muscato.

“Now, my favorite space.” She led Malcolm through the sitting room on the far side of the kitchen and through the sitting room to a door in the far left corner. Opening the door, they walked outside onto a small brick patio. A wishbone shaped staircase led down to the garden level, a small but private space, home to a wide variety of shade loving blooms, colorful bushes, and two Adirondack chaise lounges.

“Welcome to my sanctuary.”

They descended the stairs, hand in hand. She walked him around the perimeter so he could share her joy in the space. She’d cultivated most of the blooms from seeds herself and took great pride in her eventual success; she’d killed many more than had survived.

They came to stand in the center of the garden, nearly chest to chest, enjoying each other’s heat. Despite the coolness of the evening, the air between them felt warm and redolent with the fragrance of the lilac bushes. Taking Malcolm’s hand, Caroline led him to a chair. They sat in the chaise chairs facing the aromatic shrubs to finish their drinks and enjoy the evening. They sat in silence for more than a few minutes enjoying each other’s company and sipping their wine.

“You called this your sanctuary. What do you need sanctuary from?” It was an innocent enough question.

Caroline sidled a glance his way.

“You don’t want to know.” The emphasis was supposed to make light of the statement, but it sounded trite to her own ears.

Malcolm chuckled and raised an eyebrow.

“Even if my curiosity wasn’t piqued after that look, we may be married in,” he consulted his watch, “less than 72 hours. I think you can tell me.”

Caroline sighed. He was right of course. Nevertheless, she didn’t like this topic. She avoided both the topic and the source of the discomfort at all costs. Besides, she wasn’t hot to admit that at thirty-ish years old she had mommy issues.

Caroline tilted her head to the side to consider where to start. She appeared to be studying the bank of lilac bushes that provided the perfume for their intimate night cap, but in this moment their usually sweet fragrance was lost on her senses. They were instead focused on memories. With near perfect clarity she could see, hear, and even smell the moments of her childhood when she had been mistreated or ignored by her mother. As an adult she’d downplayed these memories, but after years of therapy she was aware that to a child, feeling neglected could be worse than actual physical harm.

And it wasn’t as though anyone outside her immediate family would ever have known or suspected. Her mother was too sensitive of her place in society to actually verbalize her dissatisfaction with her oldest child. She was well heeled and thick-walleted, Caroline’s nannies would say as a way of excusing her behavior. And such people didn’t let on to their personal problems. Rather, she simply didn’t acknowledge having three children in public. She had two, a son and his younger sister, Sarah. Hidden from view, ostensibly because she looked different from her family and thus reminded her mother of her own mother, Caroline was not included in family functions, photos, or outings. She’d endured this for years, suffering in her private hell, growing closer to nannies than to her own siblings and mother.

As she grew older and understood her reality, Caroline almost took comfort in not having to worry about pleasing her mother. Almost. Her brother could do no wrong, but Sarah suffered daily inspections and the inevitable criticism. Her hair was too frizzy, her skirt the wrong shade of black, her grades too low, her ambitions too high. But Caroline began to understand the true source of her mother’s angst, and it grew as Caroline aged.

She’d always been her father’s favorite. Whether it was because she in fact was the oldest, shared his love of the arts, or was just different from the other two, she didn’t really know. They just clicked. When she was young this bond bought her entrance into his otherwise off limits study while he worked. She’d sit on the floor near his desk and color, and periodically he’d ask her about her work, and she’d talk with him about his. In the early years she had no real understanding of what he did. It was just time spent with dad. But she grew to understand him and his work and valued his input in her decision making. She joined him for lunches on the patio. She had access to his extensive library when others weren’t allowed in the room. The problem, her mother berated her father, was not what Caroline was given—no one cared about the meals or the books—it was the attention, the consideration that was spent on her. The thoughts, the mental and emotional energy her father appeared to afford her that wasn’t spent on others. She’d heard her parents’ loud voices as they argued over how Caroline was the recipient of his time, his affections. Her father would offer many examples of when and how he doted on each child and his wife equally. Her mother would have none of it.

The older she got, the more intense the arguments. In the days following her father’s death, she’d tried to make herself scarce, hoping to avoid her mother’s grief that looked, sounded, and felt an awful lot like wrath. Unfortunately, after the reading of her father’s will, there had been no chance of that.

Even as she told Malcolm the story, her shoulders sagged with the burden of her father’s “solution.” She relived the memories as vividly as having been transported back in time.

****

“Oh, Dad, what have you done?”

Caroline clapped a hand over her open mouth and marveled at what her father’s attorney was telling the family. The family had anticipated the reading of the will like a team waits for the championship match to begin. They’d been on pins and needles for days. Caroline didn’t include herself in this, but she’d listened to their anxious voices speculating about who, and what, and how much.

“The entire estate,” said the attorney, “will be placed in trust with Caroline as the sole trustee until as such time as certain requirements are fulfilled by each family member.” He’d eyed her mother and stated “No one—neither you, your children, nor anyone else for that matter—will be receiving an inheritance until such time as Caroline deems these requirements met.”

To Caroline, the announcement was immaterial. She wouldn’t have asked for anything except to have her father back even if God himself had appeared and promised her whatever she wished. She’d gladly surrender her claim to any material wealth for that. She knew others in the family didn’t feel the same. She turned her attention to them.

Her mother was not handling the news well. Her forehead was wrinkled, her eyebrows drawn dawn, and her mouth pinched. She darted heated looks of pure hatred alternately between the lawyer and Caroline.

“There has got to be a mistake,” she said to the lawyer, her chin lifted. “There is no way after thirty years of marriage that I’ll be left high and dry. I’m the reason he even made as much money as he did. I shouldn’t have to wait for what he owes me. And I definitely shouldn’t have to wait until my child decides it’s time. Why would he do this to me?”

“I am not at liberty to say.”

“Of course you can say. We’re all family here.” Mother’s voice was indignant.

“No, ma’am, I’m sorry. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to meet with Caroline alone.” He stood from behind his desk and swept his hand toward the door, dismissing the remainder of the family.

Caroline was almost afraid to look at their faces. She could feel their eyes on her. She lifted her chin defiantly and met their wide-eyed stares. Her brother was red-faced, his fists clenched. He rushed to their mother’s side. She smoothed his brow and assured him, her eyes on Caroline, that she would take care of this after dinner, no need to worry. The look her mother threw her made Caroline think she ought to skip dinner.

Sarah looked dazed, but not altogether unhappy. Though she was as privileged as the rest of them, she’d always been a little less concerned about the things money could buy. She wasn’t completely impervious to the fine life their father’s hard work had provided—she had her favorite items, to be sure. But she was fine with those things. She even attempted a smile at her older sister. A glare and shove toward the door from their mother ended any possible sense of camaraderie she’d tried to communicate.