loves having you there. I’m sorry you feel that way, though.” The family was just trying to protect him from embarrassment.
“It’s not your fault my memory’s failing. The boys are just trying to protect me and my pride.” Spearing a bit of shrimp scampi on his fork, he looked up at her gratefully. “This is good, especially for party food. Filling. Not a bunch of those frilly little canapés.”
“We have plenty of those, too. I just know your preference.”
“And I appreciate that. My tastes are the only thing not failing in my mind. But I imagine you knew that. You were always a perceptive girl. I am going to miss you.”
Her head jerked up. What did he know? He couldn’t possibly have guessed about the divorce. “Grandpa Leon, I’m not sure what you mean.”
He tapped his temple. “When my illness takes over. Even in my fog, I feel the sense of loss. I feel it here.” He tapped his chest. “The people who should be a part of my life. But I can’t recall who belongs to me and who doesn’t.”
Fiona didn’t even know what to say, so she covered his hand with hers and squeezed. “I do love you and I won’t forget you.”
“And I love you, too, sister dear.”
She blinked away a tear. She shouldn’t be surprised any longer at these moments he mistook her for someone else. Still... She shoved to her feet and started for the door.
Turning to look back at the man who soon wouldn’t be her grandfather anymore, Fiona said, “Do you want seconds on anything?”
He stared back at her, a confused look in his java-brown eyes. “Seconds?” He stared down at his empty plate. “What did the chef make for dinner? I can’t seem to recall.”
She struggled for what to say and then realized specifics didn’t matter so much as peace. “Tonight’s menu included your very favorite.”
He smiled, passing his plate to her. “Of course, my favorite. I would like more. And dessert—pie with ice cream.”
“Of course.”
Would he even remember he’d asked for it when she returned? She would bring it all the same and savor her last moments as part of this wonderful family.
Would she still be welcome here to visit him after the split became known to the rest of the family? Would she even be able to come here without losing her mind? The pain would be...intense. Especially at first. And later? She could barely think into the future. She’d been so afraid to dream years ahead for fear there were no years for her.
Today had reminded her all too well of those fears.
Always hungry—which was the fate of an athlete—Henri pulled open the door to the Sub-Zero fridge, rummaging around shelves big enough to park a car—his personal choice in the kitchen remodel. It was three in the morning and no way would he make it until dawn. Though the food at the party had been decadent, he needed to put proper fuel into his system. In season, he put his body through the wringer and there was a helluva lot at stake.
He pulled out a carton of eggs and placed them on the granite counter. Running a hand through his hair, his mind drifted back to the fund-raiser.
From an outside perspective, the event was a complete success. Seven figures had been raised, more than enough seed money to launch a capital campaign to build a new shelter. His wife’s fund-raising goal had been surpassed. And he was damn proud of her. Even if things were difficult right now, he admired her spirit. He’d practically had to drag her out of the fund-raiser as the cleanup crews arrived. Fiona had wanted to make sure that everything was perfect, that things were easy on the housekeeping staff.
Of course, by the time they’d returned to their house, she’d bolted from his company and retreated to her room. Par for the course these days.
Opening a cabinet drawer, he pulled out a frying pan and sprayed it with olive oil. He switched on the gas of the massive gourmet cooktop and adjusted the flame. Once the pan began to hiss to life, he cracked two eggs, reveling in the sound and the promise of protein.
Cooking was one of the things that he actually liked to do for himself. And for Fiona. He’d made them delicious, flavorful and healthy meals. That was one of the reasons they’d spent so much time restoring this kitchen. It had been a space where they had bonded.
They had jointly picked the decorations in the room, visiting high-end antiques stores in the French Quarter and finding beautiful pieces. Like the big turn-of-the-century clock that occupied a prominent spot on the south wall. The clock was an intricate work of angles and loops. The antique vibe of the wrought iron had reminded them both of Ireland, which was one of the first places they’d traveled to together.
The room contained an eclectic mix of items—nothing matched, but the pieces complemented each other, pulling the room together.
With a sigh, he slid the eggs out of the pan and onto a plate. After he’d fumbled in the drawer for a fork, he grabbed the plate and made his way to the large window in the dining room. He sat at the head of the long cherrywood table, bought for entertaining the whole family. A gilded mirror hung over the sideboard laden with Fiona’s well-polished silver. Even though they’d built this haven together, if they split, he would be booted out on his ass and moving back to the family compound with his brothers. He loved his family, but this place was home now, deep in the heart of New Orleans.
The thought of leaving made it too damn hard to sit at this table—their table. Pushing his plate of half-eaten eggs away, he shot to his feet and wandered to the window.
Sometimes the contrasts of this city just struck him, the historic buildings jutting up against contemporary trends. It was a place between worlds and cultures. The New Orleans moon hung in the late night sky, just peeking through sullen clouds that covered the stars. He’d always enjoyed the moodiness of this place, his new home after growing up in Texas. This fit his personality, his temperament. He’d thought he had his life together when he met Fiona. Perfect wife. Dream career. Jazz music that could wake the dead and reach a cold man’s soul.
His brothers would laugh at him for saying stuff like that, call him a sensitive wuss, but Fiona had understood the side of him that enjoyed art and music. It cut him deep that she said they didn’t know each other, that they had no foundation and nothing in common.
She minimized what they’d built together, and that sliced him to the core. It hadn’t helped one bit that men were hitting on her at the party, already sensing a divorce in the wind even if they hadn’t announced it to a soul.
He was used to men approaching his wife. She was drop-dead gorgeous in a chic and timeless way that would draw attention for the rest of her life. But tonight had been different. He spent so much time on the road and she usually traveled with him. But even when they weren’t together, they’d always trusted each other. The thought of her moving on, of her with another man, shredded him inside. He didn’t consider himself the jealous type, but he damn well wasn’t ready to call it quits and watch her move on with someone—anyone—else.
Without his realizing it, his feet carried him past the window, past the living room. And suddenly, he was upstairs
