* * *
“So tell me how you have the time to join us for yoga,” Hilary asked, doing a final stretch on her mat. Sweat from the session glistened on her skin.
Jane nodded. “Yeah. I thought you were the career-minded one.”
“Oh, I am.” Vanessa sat up. “But now I’m on strict orders not to work more than forty hours a week. And everyone at the firm hates me.” Well, not quite everyone, but it was pretty close. And the feeling wasn’t always hate. Many of them pitied her, convinced she was going to get screwed in July. She shared the sentiment, despite what John had said.
“Why can’t you work overtime?” Hilary asked.
“No idea.” But the work had gotten a bit more challenging. Now she was writing a series of articles on some of the finer points of sexual harassment.
“That’s weird,” Jane said. “But Iain told me you work too much, so maybe your firm is trying to help you not burn out.”
“Hah. It is to laugh. Believe me, Highsmith, Dickson and Associates doesn’t care about burned-out associates.” Any associate who burned out was welcome to leave. If they didn’t leave on their own, the firm “counseled them out”—a nicer term to describe a pink slip.
“Is this a subtle hint to get you to do more pro bono?” Hilary asked.
Vanessa snorted. “Doubtful. The partners think I do too much volunteer stuff as it is, except they don’t say that out loud because they don’t want to sound like jerks. The second I pick up a juicy pro bono case is one half-second before they dump an important ‘one hundred and twenty hours a week’ case on me.” She sighed softly. “It doesn’t matter. At least I got a good workout with you guys.”
“Definitely.” Hilary nodded. “And hey, I think it’s great that you’re working fewer hours. You positively glow these days.”
Vanessa forced a smile. If they only knew! “Hilary…do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”
“Go ahead.”
Vanessa hesitated. It seemed a little rude to bring up the past, when Hilary had run the other way from Mark, but this was important. Now that she had so much free time, all she did was google Justin’s old girlfriends and dates and mull over those gorgeous women, thereby proving the saying about idle hands true. But she couldn’t help herself.
She knew, intellectually, that she was pretty, thanks to her mother. But all the others who buzzed around Justin had won a similar genetic jackpot. How could he resist all those beauties? Her father hadn’t been able to, not when he was married to one of the most gorgeous women of her generation, not when he’d professed to love her.
Swallowing, Vanessa chose her words carefully. “Mark’s reputation’s always been pretty bad when it came to relationships…”
Hilary laughed. “That’s putting it mildly.”
“So… what made you sure he’ll be different with you?”
“He loves me.”
“That’s it?”
Hilary shrugged. “That’s all I need to know.” She leaned closer. “Why? Are you having issues?”
“No, not at all.” Vanessa wasn’t telling Hilary and Jane about her secret marriage. “Just wondering if you had some kind of concrete proof. I mean, how can we know for certain what’s in people’s hearts?”
“Sometimes it’s just a matter of trust. If I didn’t believe him, I wouldn’t be with him, no matter how many times he told me he loved me.”
Vanessa scraped her bottom lip with her teeth. Hilary spoke so beautifully and bravely. But unlike her, Vanessa didn’t have the courage to make that leap of faith. The sweeter and more magnetic Justin acted, the greater her fear grew—the day might come when she wouldn’t be able to derive a drop of happiness without him. Would she become one of those women she saw in her pro-bono work—the ones who put their men’s approval and happiness over everything else, including their own children’s welfare? Cold terror brushed her as the possibility unfolded in her mind. To be so…dependent… “I’m going to get some water and go home. How about you?”
“I’m heading out too. I have a lot of work to do tomorrow,” Hilary said.
“Ditto,” Jane said.
Hilary worked for one of the richest and busiest men in the world, and Jane was becoming better known as a private chef. Vanessa stopped herself from asking how Hilary could have faith in Mark, knowing his history as an impossible playboy. Even though Hilary was the perfect person to talk to about her doubts, Vanessa didn’t know how to broach the subject while keeping her own marriage secret.
She waved them good-bye and went to the water fountain. She peed more now, but was also thirstier than usual. Her doctor had advised her to make sure she wasn’t dehydrated.
Vanessa waited for her turn. A willowy brunette in front of her started to put water into a bottle. She turned around. Freckles dotted her face, and her nose was just a tad too large for the rest of her features. “Hi. Sorry, my bottle’s sort of big.”
Vanessa smiled. “No problem. You were in the yoga class, right?”