His mouth twisted with displeasure. “Is it really my reputation you’re worried about, or is it yours?”
“Mine.” The instant the admission left her lips, she wished it back. “You probably think it’s dumb that I value my privacy, but after growing up in a small town where everyone knew your business and having to share a house with seven nosy siblings, I’ve discovered that being anonymous is one of my favorite things about living in New York City.”
Blake regarded her for a long, silent moment before nodding. “Fine. We’ll drive up the coast to a little out-of-the-way place I know. The food is terrific and you won’t have to worry about anyone spotting you with me. Happy?” He sounded anything but.
“Delirious.” She gave the word the same sarcastic spin he’d used, but her insides were dancing with joy. “Give me ten minutes to shower and get dressed.”
“Take twenty. I’ll dress Drew and meet you downstairs.”
*
The second half of June vanished before Blake could tear himself away from East Hampton and return to New York City. He, Drew and Bella had settled into a nice routine.
They ran five miles before breakfast, ate eggs or pancakes, then Bella and Drew went to the beach while Blake worked in his office. They reconnected for lunch and while Drew napped, Blake discovered all sorts of new and interesting ways to make Bella moan. She had a delightful range of impassioned sounds and he was happy cataloging each one.
Once Drew woke, he and Bella would go for a swim and then play until dinner while Blake made calls to New York. They almost never went out. The beach house had become a cozy world for just the three of them. Leaving it would mean confronting reality. And Blake was certain neither he nor Bella wanted to do that.
He suspected his friends were wondering if he’d ever stop turning down invitations. He had little trouble imagining the gossip being exchanged over drinks at the club or shopping in town. His divorce from Vicky had been fast and quiet. He’d kept the reasons for it private, but something as juicy as Victoria Ford having an affair with Gregory Marshall wasn’t something that could remain undiscovered.
His relationship with Bella was too new, too tenuous to survive the curiosity of his social circle. Nor was he ready to share her with anyone. He was enjoying having her to himself far too much.
After a long day at the office, he was glad to head home. The penthouse was a hollow shell without Drew, and he realized how easy it had been to forget his ordinary life in Manhattan and live a fantasy in East Hampton with his son and a woman who was a nurturing caretaker and an outstanding mistress.
Blake stood in the living room, a scotch in his hand, and contemplated Central Park. In another year Drew would be running over the grass with Blake in hot pursuit. He could almost hear his son’s joyful giggles. And the woman who stood by and watched? Bella.
His breath caught. She’d been appearing more and more in his thoughts about the future. He’d pictured quiet dinners with her in the penthouse. Them pushing a stroller around the zoo. Attending Drew’s soccer matches together. It was a very different life than he’d had with Vicky.
“Mr. Ford.” Blake’s housekeeper stood in the arch between the living room and front hallway.
He glanced at his watch. “Is it time for dinner already?”
“No.” She advanced. “I was cleaning out the closet in the third bedroom. Mrs. Ford came by earlier this week and wanted to pick up some things she’d left behind.” Mrs. Gordon paused and looked uncomfortable. “I told her I couldn’t let her in without your say-so, but that I would pack everything up and get it delivered to her.”
“That’s fine.” Blake was about to turn back to contemplating the view when he noticed an envelope in Mrs. Gordon’s hand. “Is there something else?”
“This.” She advanced toward him. “It fell out of a box filled with her old tax records.”
Vicky had always handled her own money. Early in her career, a friend of hers had lost everything when her business manager embezzled from her. Blake had always enjoyed watching his wife sit at her desk and work her financial data. As frustrated as he often became with her frivolous nature, this was one aspect of her personality that he wholeheartedly appreciated.
“What is it?” Blake quizzed, taking the envelope from his housekeeper. It had already been slit open, allowing him to remove the contents.
“It’s a bill from the fertility clinic.” Mrs. Marshall sounded worried.
Blake scanned the statement. It was indeed a bill. One that had only his wife’s name on it. The bottom line was a great deal less than what they’d been told to expect for in vitro fertilization.