“They symbolize jealousy.”
“Huh?”
“Yellow roses. They mean jealousy in the language of flowers.”
“I could swear I read somewhere that they mean friendship.” Gavin had made a point of learning a bit about flowers because of his mother’s love of gardening.
“That’s one of the more…generous interpretations. Regardless, I’ve never cared for them.”
He hadn’t pointed out that she’d grown a few of her own until she found out that Catherine liked them.
But…jealousy. Probably neither Jacob nor Catherine had said anything about how they came to be engaged. However, his mother seemed to have some kind of radar for what her children were up to.
Gavin stared at the roses in his bedroom, then suddenly walked over to the vase and grabbed it. He threw open a window and chucked the flowers out of the vase and into the night. Then he closed the window and replaced the vase on its stand, making a mental note to tell the florist to blacklist yellow roses. There was no need for things that reminded him of Catherine or his mother’s disapproval.
He poured himself a bourbon and stared at his tablet without comprehending a word of the emails cramming his inbox. The house was too quiet and too large without his wife.
He turned on the ceiling fans. They spun quietly, and he sighed. Of course they’d be silent. That was one of their big selling points.
The room seemed cavernous and unwelcoming without Amandine’s presence. Something was needed to fill the emptiness until he brought her back where she belonged. No more than a week, he decided. It was plenty of time to have her back in the house.
He turned on some music. Masterful strains of Bach’s Suites for Solo Cello poured out of the top-of-the-line surround-sound system. It was the latest recording from one of his closest friends, Damien Kirk. Gavin took a seat in one of the armchairs as the incredible precision of Damien’s performance filled the room. One would think months of seclusion and lack of practice would have dulled his skills, but they were as sharp as ever. Recordings as precise as Damien’s should also be devoid of soul, like a computer printout of Bach’s notes, but they were full of heart and verve.
How in the world had Damien managed it? Was it love that gave an added depth and dimension to what had been already close to perfection? People who didn’t know much about his private life might simply have considered him a lucky bastard, but Gavin wasn’t among them. The musician was crazy about his wife, and he refused to go on tours without her. She was a writer who could work anywhere, and it was rumored that they had never spent a single night apart since their wedding.
That kind of thing wasn’t in Gavin’s life, though not for lack of trying. Three-plus years, and though he was ever more successful in business, he was losing his wife. And now his child as well.
If only Amandine wanted Gavin the way he wanted her…
He needed to get his lawyer to set up a meeting with Amandine and Samantha ASAP. It’d take priority over his other engagements. Once the unpleasantries were over, he’d have Amandine back in his bed and his life. The time apart would make her realize how much she missed him.
He couldn’t be the only one who felt so empty.
Chapter Nine
SIX DAYS LATER, Amandine put on her best pale blue blouse and black slacks. Incredibly, Gavin had gotten an appointment for both of them at Jones & Jones in less than a week. She’d spoken with Samantha Jones over the phone a couple of times, and the woman sounded like the nicest person ever—the kind who’d help out at a church bake sale to benefit the homeless, not a barracuda of a lawyer who ate her opponents for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
“Are you going to be able to drive?” Brooke asked, looking at Amandine’s shaky hands. “I can go with you.”
“No, it’s all right. You take some time for yourself.” Amandine wiped her palms on her pants. Get a grip, girl. She was just going to a lawyer’s office, where she and Gavin were going to discuss their differences and figure out what to do about the baby. Gavin probably wasn’t still thinking about reconciliation. More likely it had been some spur-of-the-moment gambit on his part. She was sure he’d regretted it the instant he’d dropped her off. Otherwise, he would’ve sent a truckload of flowers—no, a space shuttle to top the anniversary jet—or done something similarly over-the-top to convince her to come back.
After an hour of fighting the Los Angeles traffic, Amandine parked her car at the glittering high-rise that housed the main offices of Jones & Jones. She stepped out and shrugged into a conservative black blazer as she walked toward the lobby. Samantha had advised Amandine to adopt a tough and untouchable demeanor, and she hoped what she had on would be enough.
She bumped into Gavin and Craig Richmond just outside the front entrance. So. Gavin had brought his own high-powered lawyer. Just as aggressive as Samantha, Craig was one of the most popular divorce attorneys in the state. Everyone in the country knew what he looked like after one of his Hollywood celeb clients had a divorce that turned into a huge media circus last year. It had more to do with drugs, groupie orgies and binge drinking than irreconcilable differences, but had served to turn both of the lead attorneys into stars. In his late forties, Craig had silver-streaked brown hair that was cropped short in an inoffensive style. His lined face was light olive, and he wore a black Armani suit with a tie the color of a shark’s fin.
Amandine’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile as Craig held the door open for her and they all went in. His presence said everything she needed to know about Gavin’s intentions. Craig’s specialty was squeezing every penny from the other side, not reconciliation.
Amandine waited, hoping that some indifference would surface. It’d be easier if she no longer cared about Gavin. She could treat him as though he were just part of the furnishings. But quietly confident in his usual custom-tailored three-piece suit, he was as irresistible and arresting as he had been when she’d first met him at Catherine’s party.
On the other hand, the melted chocolate eyes had dark circles under them now, and he looked a little bit…vulnerable. Her first response was to wonder if he was all rig
ht, but she caught herself before she did something stupid like push back the errant hair that fell on his forehead.
In any event, he beat her to the punch. “How are you feeling?” Gavin’s eyes searched her face, then dropped to her belly. “No ill effects, nausea, feeling sick?”
She shook her head. “I’m pregnant, not diseased.”
She went ahead before he could throw any more questions about her condition. Why should she bear his sudden solicitousness? It’d only make the inevitable more painful.