The Pre-Nup (10 page)

“Then what does it have to do with?” The confusion and anxiety in his voice vanished.
“Oh.”

“What?” She twisted around to look at him, but he’d already turned his back to her.

“You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch in the other room. Have your alone time. Have as much as you want. See you in the morning.”

Jen startled awake to find bright afternoon sunlight filtering through the hotel curtains and onto her face. She could hear muffled traffic noises in the distance—horns honking, doors slamming. Her neck ached from hunching over her computer and her throat was parched. It took her a moment to remember where she was.

She’d been too distracted to appreciate it last night, but the McMillan Hotel offered quite the cushy digs. Lustrous ice blue wallpaper offset the heavy, dark wood four-poster bed and armoire. The linens were high-thread-count and a pristine white duvet enveloped the fluffy down comforter. The pillow next to hers still bore the concave impression of Eric’s head. As the memories of their conversation came rushing back, she swung her feet down to the carpet.

She heard faint clinks and clatters from the other side of the door next to the armoire. “Honey?” she called.

The clinking ceased. “In here.”

She arranged herself into what she hoped was an irresistible picture of morning-after dishabille and waited for him to come to her, but the door remained closed.

Not a good sign. She clambered out of bed, slipped on an embroidered white robe she found hanging in the bathroom, tugged a damp comb through her hair, and prepared to face the consequences of last night’s amorous ambush.

Eric sat reading the newspaper in a gray wingback chair in the corner of a small sitting room. His stocking-feet were propped up on a glass coffee table, but the rest of him was decked out in full office regalia: starched shirt, striped power tie, pressed black pants. Jen noticed the remains of a room service meal on the side table next to him: buttery crumbs and smudges of jam on an elegant silver-rimmed plate.

She sidled up to the coffee table and waited for him to acknowledge her.

He didn’t look up from the paper.

She rubbed her ankle with the instep of her other foot. “Um, hi. Good morning.”

He very slowly and deliberately folded up the newspaper. “Good morning to you. Did you sleep well?”

She sank down on the ottoman next to his chair. “I guess so. I missed you, though. You didn’t have to move to the sofa out here.” The lapels of her robe gaped forward as she leaned toward him. He didn’t appear to notice.

“So last night was pretty incredible, huh?” she prompted.

“Mmm. I ordered you some egg whites and fresh grapefruit. Over there on the wet bar.” He nodded toward a tray covered with a metal dome, then returned his attention to the business section.

She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry about…everything. I don’t know what was going on in my head.”

He didn’t lift his gaze. “Apology accepted.”

“So we’re okay?” She nibbled her lower lip. “I had a great time last night. You were amazing. I mean, we were just out of control! I’m surprised no one called security.”

He set aside the newspaper.

She tucked her feet under her and smiled. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? A really long while. In fact, now that I’m thinking about it, I can’t even remember the last time we—”

“Enough,” he snapped. “I get it. We’ve had a long, agonizing, sexless marriage.”

She flinched at the rancor in his voice. “Don’t say that. I flew all the way out here to show you how much I love you.”

“Give me a break.” He turned his face toward the wall. “You didn’t fly out here because you love me. You flew out here to make yourself feel better about the fact that you
don’t
love me and you never have. Don’t deny it. We both know the bottom line: we never should have gotten married. This whole thing was a huge mistake.”

At first, she was too shocked to be hurt. Eric had never spoken to her this way. Ever. He was the sweetest, mildest, most considerate man she’d ever met. “Where is this coming from?”

He didn’t respond.

“Stop ignoring me!” She shook off her confusion and leapt to her feet. “I want to talk about this!”

He spread out his arms in a gesture of surrender. “I’m done talking. It’s over. I give up.”

“You give up? Right after we have the best sex of our lives? What the hell is going on?”

“You know exactly what’s going on.” His expression hardened. “Patrick Spillane is back. And whatever was going on between you two never really ended.”

Jen’s throat closed up. “You heard about Patrick?”

“About a week ago.” He watched her face for any flicker of emotion. “I was wondering when you’d find out, and last night, I got my answer.”

“Last night had nothing to do with Patrick,” she insisted. “You’re being ridiculous. And paranoid. And…and…”

Eric smoothed out his tie. “So you haven’t seen him or spoken to him since he came back to town?”

She sidestepped the question and tried to focus on what mattered most. “Patrick has nothing to do with us, Eric. He’s history, and you’re my future. That’s what I was trying to show you last night. I love you. You’re my best friend.”

“That’s the problem right there. I’m the best friend, and I’ll never be able to compete with the guy you really loved.”

“There’s no competition!”

“I’ll say. You can’t even stand to sleep in the same bed with me.”

She leaned toward him, beseeching him with both her eyes and words. “I am so, so sorry. I was just…I promise you, Eric, that wasn’t about you.”

“It’s never about me. Always
him.
” He got to his feet and gathered up his jacket and briefcase. “I’m leaving.”

“Well, when will you be back? We need to—”

“No, I mean I’m leaving this. Us. I can’t do this anymore.” He looked both resigned and resolute. “We wasted five years already. Let’s not waste another five.”

“Our marriage is not a waste!” she cried.

He turned his back to her and reached for the door handle.

“Don’t you love me?” She winced at the note of desperation in her voice.

He already had one foot in the hallway.

She panicked and fell back on the only remaining tactic she could think of to stall him: “Wait! Wait. You can’t leave me. We’re partners, Eric. What about the company?”

She knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words left her mouth. The heavy metal door slammed behind him, and he was gone.

Ellie
Chapter
12

Y
ou’re lucky I’m easily bought off,” Mara huffed as she changed into a terry-cloth robe at the spa locker next to Ellie’s. “
Some
people would hold a grudge forever.
Some
people would never be able to forget the hurtful and slanderous things you said at the bridal salon last week.”

“Thank God you’re not one of those people.” Ellie grinned.

“Yes, well, my motto has always been, hate the sin and love the sinner.” Mara pulled her hair up into a ponytail. “Particularly if she’s footing the bill for a massage.”

“And a mud bath. Don’t forget the mud bath.”

“The jury’s still out on the mud bath. Exactly what kind of mud are we talking here—Dead Sea silt or sewage waste?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Ellie sipped the chilled, lemon-scented water she’d been instructed to imbibe before meeting up with the masseuse. “But Michael says it’s supposed to be luxurious and centering.”

“Hmm.”

“Aren’t you going to ask how everything’s going with the reconciliation and the STD testing and the fifty-minute therapy hours?”

Mara shook her head. “I thought the point of today was to de-stress and enjoy ourselves.”

“Well, am I allowed to ask if you and Josh made up?”

Mara chugged half of her water in one gulp. “Let’s not ruin this with talk, darling. Serenity in silence and all that crap.”

“Serenity in silence,” Ellie agreed, and the next few hours blurred into a blissful haze of relaxation. She even lapsed into a catnap during her rubdown in the candlelit, lavender-scented massage chamber.

At noon, Ellie and Mara met up for a healthful lunch of salad and grilled fish in the lobby. Then it was back to the capable hands of the staff for facials, eyebrow shaping, and the much-ballyhooed mud bath.

“Considering I just spent the last hour wallowing in filth, I feel surprisingly refreshed,” Mara admitted at five o’clock, when both women had showered and changed back into their street clothes. “That was some very chichi mud.”

“Probably imported,” Ellie said. “From Paris or Milan.”

“Hey, my stylist said that this brow shape takes five years off my face.” Mara preened in one of the gilt-framed mirrors lining the lobby. “Do I look five years younger to you?”

“You look about fourteen,” Ellie assured her. She handed her gift certificate to the petite redhead working the cash register. “That’s for me. And I’ll be paying for her, too.”

The employee ran the card through the machine, then frowned. “Oops. Let me try that again.” She swiped the card twice more, concluded that there might be a problem with the magnetized strip, and manually entered the account number into the computer.

She tapped a corner of the plastic card against the granite counter, then glanced up with obvious distress. “I apologize, Mrs. Barton, but this card doesn’t seem to be going through. I’m sure it’s just a glitch in our system…”

“No problem.” Ellie opened her wallet. “Just put it on this one instead.”

The employee nodded and exchanged cards. Thirty seconds later, the pained expression returned. “Um…”

“That one’s not going through, either?” Ellie frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Actually, it wants me to call the credit card company.” The cashier pointed out a blinking message on the screen. “I’m sure it’s my mistake, though. Let me get my manager, and—”

“Try this one.” Ellie whipped out another card. “Or this one. Or this one.”

Declined. Declined. Declined.
The redhead looked ready to commit hara-kiri.

“How bizarre.” Ellie pursed her lips, more perplexed than upset. “Maybe I put my bag down on a magnetized counter and screwed up all my cards without knowing it.”

“Maybe,” Mara muttered darkly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Please,” begged the cashier. “Let me get my manager.”

“You do that.” Mara adopted her most authoritative attorney-at-law tone and took charge of the situation. “In the meantime, we need to use your phone.” She grabbed Ellie’s Visa and dialed the toll-free number printed on the back. “Hello? Yes, this is Elinor Barton.”

“Hey,” Ellie protested.

Mara shushed her and continued, “My card was just rejected at a local spa, and I’m hoping you can help me.” She rattled off the account number, expiration date, and, with whispered assistance from Ellie, the last four digits of Michael’s social security number. “Uh-huh…I see…”

“What?” Ellie asked.

Mara’s eyes got narrower and narrower as she continued to grill the credit card rep. “Oh really? And when exactly did that take effect?”

“What?”
Ellie demanded.

Mara slammed down the phone. “You’re fucked, that’s what. I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to think very carefully before you answer.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Ellie managed a shaky laugh. “You’re freaking me out.”

Mara cocked her head. “Do you have a credit card that’s in your name only?”

“Of course. They’re all in my name.” Ellie pointed to the embossed printing on each card.

“No, I mean, do you have any accounts that you don’t share with Michael? That you applied for all by yourself?”

Ellie’s alarm intensfied. “Why?”

“Just think about it. Any active accounts that you opened by yourself? Maybe from back in college? Department store cards?”

“I don’t think so. Michael took over the finances after we got married. He didn’t want too many revolving lines of credit; he said it would hurt our FICO scores. Why? What’s going on?”

Mara exhaled loudly. “Michael—a.k.a. the primary account holder on presumably all of your credit cards—has officially revoked your authorized user privileges as of this morning.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” Ellie sputtered. “Why would he do that?”

Mara just looked at her.

“There must be some mistake!” She could hear the roar of blood pounding in her ears.

“Not according to the good people at Visa.”

“I’m calling him right now.” Ellie dialed Michael’s number, but got shunted immediately to voice mail. “Crap.”

“Ellie. Please. Tell me you took my advice and made copies of all your financial records.”

Ellie stared back, her eyes huge. “I was going to. I was on my way to the bank. But then…Oh no. Oh my God.”

Mara waved off the approaching spa manager. “Ladies, this whole thing has just been an unfortunate misunderstanding. Put everything on my card and we’ll call it a day.” She settled up the bill and hustled Ellie out to the parking lot, where the brisk evening wind provided a jarring contrast to the aromatherapized spa humidity. “All right, El. Good air in, bad air out. Let’s get you home.”

Ellie wanted to protest that this was all a mistake, that Michael would fix everything and they’d all laugh about this later. But her last reserves of denial had evaporated when the cashier had given her that condolatory look. She had seen herself through a stranger’s eyes, and the view was not pretty.

“What am I going to do?” she whispered. “What am I going to
do
?”

“We’re going straight to your house to start damage control.” Mara dragged her toward the black BMW. “You can’t afford to have a nervous breakdown right now. Keep moving.”

“You don’t have to do this.” Ellie slid into the driver’s seat. “It’s not your job to save my marriage.”

“I’m not saving your marriage, I’m saving your credit rating, which I think you’ll find to be worth a lot more in the long run. Hop to, babe. Time is of the essence.”

Just setting eyes on her home comforted Ellie. Every detail, from the brick pavers lining the driveway to the weathered bronze mailbox to the motion-activated light on the garage, had been carefully selected to suit her family’s needs. She could handle anything as long as she was safely ensconced within those walls.

“All right, here we go,” Mara said with the air of a military general assuming command of a disaster area. “You collect all the paperwork you can find and I’ll man the phones.”

“Yoo-hoo!” a high, quavery voice called from across the street.

Ellie stifled a groan and waved to Gertie Hadwick, their elderly neighbor whose primary joys in life were her pair of miniature poodles and fresh gossip. “Hello, Mrs. Hadwick.” She turned to Mara and muttered, “Inside. Quick.”

Mara wiped her black boots on the welcome mat and hurried inside as soon as Ellie unlocked the front door. She hit the light switch, illuminating the foyer and living room.

Ellie froze in the doorway, one foot over the threshold, and gasped.

“What?” Mara demanded. “God, what now?”

All Ellie could do was point at the vast expanse of empty carpet on the living room floor.

“It’s gone,” she choked out.

Mara glanced around the hall. “And when you say gone, you’re referring to…?”

“The piano. The baby grand.”

Mara’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me? Someone broke into your house and stole a freaking
piano
?”

“Oh, you poor thing.” Gertie Hadwick materialized behind Ellie on the front stoop. “How are you holding up?”

Mara yanked Ellie inside the house and started to shut the door in the neighbor’s face. “You’ll have to excuse us; we’re right in the middle of something.”

“Oh, I
heard.
” Mrs. Hadwick wedged her green rubber gardening clog in between the closing door and the jamb. “Michael told me all about it this afternoon while the movers were here.” She elbowed her way inside and enfolded Ellie in a talcum-scented hug. “Poor dear. And poor little Hannah. Divorce is always hardest on the children.”

“Michael was here today?” Mara asked.

“He’s supposed to be in Dallas!” Ellie exclaimed.

“Oh”—Mrs. Hadwick patted the back of Ellie’s head—“I had no idea you two were having such problems. Now, I know it’s none of my business, but you should really try counseling before you give up. Marriage is a sacred vow not meant to be—”

“What exactly were these movers moving?” Mara wanted to know.

Mrs. Hadwick readjusted her thick bifocals. “Well, I’m not sure. Just boxes and suitcases and whatnot.”

“And the piano.”

“Yes. He said it’s been in his family for generations. His great-grandparents shipped it over from Europe.” The older woman sighed. “What a shame. I do hate to see all these nice young couples splitting up. But that’s life today; families just falling apart willy-nilly, and—”

Ellie clamped her hands over her ears.

Mara strong-armed Mrs. Hadwick out and turned the deadbolt. “Get a pen and paper and make a list,” she directed. “We’ll go take it room by room and write down everything that’s missing.”

Ellie collapsed on the upholstered bench next to the coat closet. “Honestly, who even cares at this point?”

“You do.”

“No, I don’t. I’m the woman who laid waste to the china cabinet, remember?”

Mara strode toward the kitchen. “I need a notepad, a list of all your credit cards, and a cordless phone, stat.”

Ellie rolled her head back against the wall. “He’s supposed to be in Dallas,” she repeated. “I dropped him off at the airport.”

“Well, evidently he missed his flight.”

“But what about therapy? We were starting fresh. He…” She couldn’t look away from the spot where the piano had been. “I will
kill
him, do you hear me? He’s not going to live long enough to divorce me!”

Mara rolled up her sleeves. “I’m sorry to be so brusque here, but we’re losing ground every second you sit there contemplating homicide.”

“He can’t do this.”

“He already did.”

“No, I mean, I have explicit legal rights to some of our stuff. We signed a pre-nup before we got married.”

“You did?” This brought Mara up short. “Really? I would never have figured you for the pre-nup type.”

“Oh, I’m not. But his family insisted.”

“Yeah, well, rich people don’t stay rich by blindly believing in happily ever after. Go get this pre-nup and let’s see exactly what we’re dealing with.”