other as he would have preferred, but more intimately side by side.
He had been almost sure earlier, carrying her to the living-room sofa, that she had lost weight during the months of their separation. Not a lot, but enough so that it had been evident in the sharper angles of her bones as well as in the slightly narrower shape of her face.
“All ready if you are,” Charlotte said, glancing up at him as she sat on her stool again.
Her expression shifted from open, almost eager, to wary and uncertain in an instant, warning Sean that his concern for her had likely shown on his face as something more akin to anger. No big surprise, since he didn’t like the idea that she might not have been taking adequate care of herself the past six months. But neither stirring her apprehension nor putting her on guard would do either of them any good.
“Would you like me to freshen your drink?” he asked, the echo of false cheer in his voice signaling that he was in danger of overcorrecting.
“I’m fine for now,” she answered quietly, obviously even more leery of him.
“I’ll just get the sandwich out of the oven, then.”
Relieved to have something to do, Sean slid the muffuletta off the cookie sheet onto the cutting board, deftly sliced it into quarters, then transferred it onto a serving plate that he deposited on the island counter with the merest hint of a flourish.
“Mmm, it looks as good as it smells,” Charlotte murmured, helping herself to a piece of the sandwich, careful to capture all of the melted cheese that oozed out of the bread. One bite later, she smiled at him blissfully. “Tastes as good as it smells, too.”
Trying to ignore the arrow-to-heart effect of the dreamy look in her dark eyes, Sean slid onto one of the stools across from her. He moved his plate and napkin in front of him, then took a quarter of the sandwich for himself.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said, his tone once again cool.
The look she shot at him in return held the smallest measure of disappointment.
“What’s not to like? It’s hot and fresh and full of good stuff, and I’m really hungry.”
Sliding her gaze away, Charlotte reached for her drink, took a fortifying swallow, then silently tucked into her sandwich.
Sean gladly followed her lead, though his eyes lit more than once on the brown envelope she had yet to mention. Much as he wanted to know what it held, there was a part of him that dreaded the moment when he’d find out.
Without the give and take of conversation to slow them down, they polished off their meal in a matter of minutes. Still quietly introspective, Sean rinsed their empty plates and put them in the dishwasher. He then added ice and another small measure of whiskey to each of their glasses, and finally sat across from Charlotte once again.
She had her hands clasped tightly atop the island counter. At the base of her throat, her pulse fluttered, and she seemed determined to look anywhere but at him. Her sudden anxiety fed Sean’s, making him fear again for the true state of her health.
Other than having to deal with a serious illness, what else could tie her in such knots?
Not the decision to file for divorce—she had to know he wouldn’t argue with her about it if that was what she really wanted. Not the decision to ask him to come home again, either—again, she had to know he would move back to Mayfair in a minute, as long as she agreed to his terms regarding any further pursuit of parenthood.
Finally unable to wait any longer for Charlotte to begin on her own, Sean put a hand over hers. With the other he tapped the brown envelope once, his heart hammering inside his chest.
“Now that we’ve finished eating, do you want to tell me what this is all about?” he asked as gently as he could.
“That would probably be a good idea, wouldn’t it?”
Charlotte opened her clasped hands, holding on to him for a long moment as she sent an inquiring yet apprehensive smile his way.
“Yes, that would be a very good idea.”
Sean gave her hands an encouraging squeeze. Then he let go of her and sat back on his stool, crossing his arms over his chest.
Lowering her gaze, Charlotte picked up the envelope and fumbled with the clasp, her fingers trembling enough for him to notice. He was half tempted to take the damn thing away from her and rip it open himself, but she was jittery enough already.
He expected her to pull out all of the paperwork the envelope obviously held. Instead she removed only a single sheet to which something was attached with a paper clip. She gazed at the paper for several moments, her expression softening perceptively. Finally she looked up at him again, and Sean saw the faint shimmer of tears in her eyes. Yet again, he couldn’t help but fear the worst.
“Just tell me, Charlotte,” he said, his voice a ragged, insistent growl filled with more menace than he’d intended. “Whatever it is you’ve come here to tell me, please…just do it now.”
Charlotte sat back on her stool and blinked at him, momentarily looking as if she’d been struck a blow. Then she tilted her chin defensively and eyed him with sudden, steely resolve. All trace of her earlier fragility, as well as her uncertainty, disappeared in an instant.
“Do you remember that we talked about adoption last year?” she asked, her tone surprisingly matter-of-fact.
“Yes, of course, I remember. We even filled out some forms and agreed to have a home study done by an agency here in New Orleans that arranges adoptions of foreign children.”
Sean hesitated, confused by the tack Charlotte had taken. The home study had been done long before he’d moved out of the Mayfair house. But they had been so focused on their last, ultimately unsuccessful in vitro procedure that they really hadn’t pursued the adoption alternative any further.
Or rather he hadn’t pursued the adoption alternative any further, Sean amended.
Realization suddenly dawning as to where Charlotte must be headed, he pushed away from the island counter, stood and raised his hands in an emphatic gesture meant to fend her off.
“No, Charlotte,” he continued with a mix of anger and frustration. “No way am I going to agree to adopt a baby. I made my feelings about parenthood very clear six months ago. We gave it our best shot and we failed and enough is enough. I haven’t changed my mind about that since then, and I’m not going to change my mind about it now.”
There was no denying the flash of hurt in his wife’s eyes as she stared at him reproachfully, but he braced himself against the pain he knew his words had caused her. Unwilling to hear any defense she might choose to offer, he allowed her no chance to speak.
“I went along with the testing, not to mention the fertility treatments, the scheduled sex and the in vitro procedures even though none of the doctors we consulted could give us any concrete reason why we were having trouble conceiving on our own. I did it all for you because you wanted a baby so much. But as I tried to tell you six months ago, in the process I realized that I’m just not cut out to be a father. I also asked you to try to accept and understand my feelings, but you refused
