were stiff. Unemotional.
She frowned. “Why is it—Never mind.” The rosy flush reappeared across her cheekbones, across her chest.
He stayed where he was, towel around his waist, arms crossed over his chest. He was made of stone. He was the wall. Stone didn’t bleed. Walls didn’t beg.
Then Helen returned wearing her wedding dress, and he wanted to howl in pain.
She dropped the sandals she carried and started pushing her toes into the sparkling straps as she finger-combed her hair, a whirlwind of action in a long elegant gown.
“You need to slow down.” His voice was astoundingly even. Then again, why should it waver? The worst had happened. He’d fallen in love and had that love rejected. Everything from this point on was inconsequential. “Ten minutes won’t make a difference. Eat.”
“I should have left hours ago.” She gave up on her hair and dropped her hands with a sigh. “Look, Tom, you seem like a really nice man. I’m sure we had a really good night, but you can count yourself lucky that I have to go. This would have been a giant mistake. I’m not wife material.”
“Too late. Literally, you are wife material.”
That gave her pause. “Is there...paperwork?”
“The license was signed and kept by the chapel. They file it with the county. In two weeks, the official certificate will arrive in the mail.”
“I can’t believe I did this to myself.” The misery on her face infused her whole body. She seemed to fold in on herself, looking too small for the white column gown she’d worn with such confidence. “How could I do this to myself?”
Damn it. His heart wouldn’t stay behind any wall. He was supposed to care about his wife. He did care about her.
He took one step closer to her, but she stopped him with a raised hand. She raised her chin, too. “No—I’ll take care of everything. A divorce. An annulment. I don’t know, but I’ll get a lawyer when I get to Texas, and I’ll get this all straightened out, I promise.”
That wasn’t the promise she’d made the night before. It wasn’t the promise he wanted. He refolded his arms across his bare chest and didn’t get any closer.
“So, um, Tom, could you write your number down for me? For the lawyer? Quickly? I’m running so late.”
“It’s already in your phone.” They’d gotten married. Of course they’d exchanged all of this kind of information. “I have your number.”
She ran her hands down the sides of her dress. “No pockets. Do you...do you have my phone?”
He nodded toward a shining brass credenza, where both their phones had been tossed. His wallet was there, as well. He picked it up. “I have your driver’s license and your military ID.”
“Oh.” She laughed nervously. “That would have been bad, to leave without those.” She took the cards with one hand and stuck her other hand out to shake. “I guess this is goodbye, then. I’ll be in touch as soon as I find out what to do legally.”
He let her stand with her hand outstretched. They’d just made love on the sofa. Now she expected him to shake her hand like a stranger?
It was enough to put that final stone in the wall—until he saw that the hand she offered him was trembling. The wall came tumbling down again, that quickly. His heart demanded that he take care of his precious bride. For better or for worse...
Helen dropped her hand. Her attempt at a smile only made the sadness in her eyes more obvious. “Goodbye, Tom.” She skirted around him to head for the door.
“Stop.” He caught her with a hand on her arm. “You’re not going anywhere until you eat.”
She looked at his hand on her upper arm, then raised her eyes to his. Dark eyes. Angry eyes. “Or else what?”
“Or else I won’t let you leave.”
The loathing on her face was not how he’d ever dreamed she’d look at him. He was being a pompous jerk, making rules for her like her ex-husband had.
He wasn’t her ex-husband. Not yet.
She didn’t need to be given orders. She needed help. He let go of her and walked past the sofa to pick up the house phone. The operator greeted him by name. Obsequiousness came with the penthouse suite. “Good morning, Mr. Cross.”
“I need the valet to bring the car around as quickly as possible. It’s urgent.” He turned back to Helen and gestured toward the table with the telephone receiver before he dropped it back in its cradle. “They’ll have the car up in five minutes. You might as well eat.”
She glared at him a moment longer, but apparently common sense won out, because she turned to the table and grabbed a croissant. She stuffed some bacon slices in it, then sloshed some orange juice into a glass and chugged it down.
With the croissant in her hand, she sketched him a sarcastic salute. “Goodbye, Mr. Cross.”
His bride walked out the door.
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