Page 55 of Vincent
"Just not enough to accept my proposal."
"No." Withdrawing her hand, she picked up the cup. "How long are you staying?"
"A week, two at the most. I'm still hoping I can change your mind." He looked around her efficient kitchen. The scent was so familiar to him that it made him nostalgic. She was where she belonged, but he hated that she looked so unhappy.
"Where is this man? I want to confront him and beat some sense into him."
"You sound like my brother," she said, smiling whimsically. "He's mad at me."
She told him how shocked he had been when she confessed she had loved him since they were teenagers.
"He blames me for the choices he made. Said I should have told him." She sighed dejectedly. "We've wasted so much time because of miscommunication."
"He should have realized that you were in love with him. He sounds like a moron."
She shook her head. "I was so careful about preserving the friendship that I made damn sure I never gave away the fact that I was in love with him."
"Still-" Francois shook his head. "He should have seen it. Anyway, we're going out tonight, so finish up and get some rest. We will be partying."
Chapter 13
"This is becoming a very irritating and unwelcome habit," he warned as his sister stormed into his office, a militant look on her face. "What? Do you wait around to ensure my assistant is not at her desk? Don't you have any work to do?"
"This is important." She slapped the folded magazine in front of him, face up. Taking his eyes off hers, he glanced down at the newspaper and felt his insides crumbling. The photo was vivid and close up, leaving no doubt as to the identity of the woman. The man with his arm wrapped around her waist was a stranger. But the caption took care of that.
'Well-known French restaurateur out on the town with up and coming pastry chef, the beautiful Althea Drummond.' It went on to explain in detail that the couple were spotted at a popular club where they appeared cozy and were often caught whispering to each other. 'When questioned by this reporter as to the nature of his visit to the States, Francois Moreau smiled charmingly and declared that it had to do with his beautiful companion. This reporter has it on good authority that the two were involved while Ms. Drummond was residing in France. One cannot help but wonder if Monsieur Moreau is here to persuade her to return home with him.'
"Are you happy now?" Jacklyn demanded. She had waited until he finished reading the article to say anything, and had noticed the quick slice of pain on his face. Oh, she could just strangle him! It was plain as the nose on her face that he was suffering,but he refused to do anything about it. Hopefully, this would galvanize him into action.
"She has moved on." He pushed the paper aside and felt weak with despair. "It's best this way."
Jacklyn stared at him in shock and frustration. "Are you serious? So, you're just going to stand back and allow her to go back to France with this man? Who the hell are you?"
"Enough!" Shoving back from the desk, he strode over to the cabinet and stood there debating on whether he could get away with a full glass of scotch. Deciding to go for half, he poured the liquor in and went to stand by the window. It was almost Christmas, and in the spirit of the holiday and to please his son, he had hired decorators to spruce up the place.
He had even gone so far as to hoist David onto his shoulders so he could place the star on top of the gigantic Douglas fir. "There's nothing I can do. She has obviously moved on." He shrugged.
Jacklyn had come up behind him and tentatively touched his shoulder. "Is that what you believe? Or are you trying to find a way out?" she asked him quietly.
He drank the scotch and reasoned that his mood was as bleak as the winter sky. "I don't need the complication. I should have stayed away from her."
"Vincent-"
"No." He shook his head. "I have work to do and would appreciate you leaving me be." He turned to face her. "I know you think you're looking out for me, but I need to do this on my own."
"I'm just going to say one thing and then I'll go. You're a damn fool. If you let her get away again, you'll spend the rest of your life regretting that stupid decision and being alone when there's no need for it. Think about that."
Even after she had left, he still continued to stand there. Finishing the drink, he walked slowly back to his desk and sat down, the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders. He had deliberately stayed away from her. The turmoil inside him was making him sick to the stomach.
He wasn't sleeping, and when he managed to close his eyes, dreams chased him, always of her. He could still taste her lips and the way her slender body felt beneath his. He filled his days with work, but still she managed to creep into his thoughts. When he was with his son, he did his best to block her out, but assoon as he stepped into his bedroom, the images and thoughts of her came rushing back. Picking up the magazine, he stared at the photo and felt the keen sense of loss, piercing his very soul.
The photo, though of the highest resolution, did not do her justice. Her skin was flawless and soft to the touch. Her mahogany eyes were not shown to their very best advantage. And he could barely see her dimples. When he found himself tracing the lines of her face, he snatched his hand away and with a blistering oath, shoved the magazine aside and reached for the phone.
It was time to get back to work.
*****
"Daddy, do you think Santa will give me everything I wrote in my letter?"
