No More Lonely Nights (64 page)

Mark saw Dominique’s turmoil. He took her hands in his. “Think of it, Dominique. We could be there for each other every day. That means something to you, doesn’t it?” His eyes were boyishly hopeful.

Dominique melted at his expression. Never had a man offered so much of himself to her. He
was
different. “Of
course
it means something,” she reassured him.

Mark smiled and squeezed her hands. “Imagine sleeping together every night, telling each other our problems. Everything married couples do.” Mark paused. He edged forward in his chair. His entire posture transmitted urgency. Then his words tumbled out in a rush. “Dominique, how can you not: want the same?” His heart ached at the thought that his emotions might not be reciprocated.

The need in his eyes was wrenching. Dominique turned her head away in distress and stared at the brass doors at the end of the lobby. A laughing couple paused just inside. The man faced the woman and affectionately brushed away a lock of hair that had blown across her face. She smiled up at him, handed him the package she was carrying, and said something to him. He nodded and, shaping his mouth into a whistle, made his way to a table as she headed toward the ladies’ room. The easy companionability of the scene struck Dominique. They loved each other, just as she and Mark did. It was lulling to observe. She felt herself being seduced by the idea of marriage to Mark. The companionship, the comfort. Her muscles relaxed at the thought of giving in to it.

Then, with a jolt of realization, she brought herself sharply to heel. Her throat tightened as though someone were squeezing the breath from her. The events of the day had made her feel shaky and insecure. And she couldn’t allow herself to give in to her momentary weakness! Marrying Mark would be the path of least resistance. Once secure, would she still fight for her business, her reputation? Or would she lose herself once more?

“Mark.” Dominique’s voice sounded muffled and distant to her own ears. “I’m just not ready to get married.”

Mark’s face darkened. He stared silently at Dominique.

Cold apprehension gripped her. Why was Mark looking at her so strangely?

“Dominique…” His voice was somber. “I can’t wait forever for something you may never agree to.” The decisive look in his eyes suddenly gave way. Mark’s face softened. “How much time is long enough for you?” He could be patient if only she would promise an end to his waiting.

Dominique reached forward and covered Mark’s hand with hers. He was so open and appealing—his love so clearly written on his face. It hurt Dominique to disappoint him. But it would be even more abhorrent to mislead him. How to answer? When would she know for certain that she could take care of herself and her family? When would the fear and insecurity that imprisoned her fade?

Without realizing it, she shook her head in the negative. Her mouth turned down sadly. “I can’t honestly say,” she said in a voice full of regret.

Mark grasped her hands. He opened his mouth to respond. He was almost at the point of begging her. Begging! But what was there left to say? Her expression was set. She had made up her mind.

Mark dropped her hands as he recognized the look. Whatever she felt for him, it wasn’t enough. He was helpless in the face of her rigidity. He, who had always been able to charm and convince, was completely without resources. He felt as though he were traveling a dark road to an unknown destination. There was no end in sight, and he could no longer endure it.

Dominique’s expression turned to one of shock as Mark stood up with a jerky movement.

She, too, stood abruptly. Her purse dropped to the floor, but she ignored it. She stretched her hand toward his. “Mark… listen…” she pleaded.

He drew back sharply to avoid her touch.

Dominique was aghast at the action. Mark had recoiled from her! “Mark!” she repeated, her voice rising in alarm. “We can work this out!”

Mark looked down at Dominique and it took all his willpower not to draw her to him. He wanted her in his arms. He wanted to tell her that he would continue to love her on whatever terms she set. But he felt a heavy pressure on his heart, as though someone had laid an iron weight on his chest. It prevented him from speaking.

Dominique gazed in despair at Mark. He looked stony, immovable, foreign to her. She wanted to thrust away the barrier, to bring Mark back to her. She couldn’t bear this cold stranger. “I love you, Mark,” she said, her voice resonant with feeling.

The words jarred Mark. “Whatever you mean by that, it’s obviously not the same thing I do,” he said.

Dominique blushed like a person disgraced. Mark had given generously and completely of himself, but she had been incapable of doing the same. She looked down at her feet. For the first time, she noticed that the contents of her purse had spilled onto the rug. She stared at them, not making a move.

Mark felt protective tenderness well up in him as he observed Dominique’s slumped shoulders. His eyes traveled to the springy waves on top of her head, an incongruously lively note in the heavy atmosphere. His fingers wriggled involuntarily with the urge to caress them. He fought the impulse and clenched his fists tightly. He waited for her to speak. If she gave him a sign of encouragement—any sign at all …

Dominique stood silently, her eyes downcast. She felt Mark’s gaze on her—could sense the accusation in it and could think of nothing to counter it. Her heart twisted in pain at the thought of living her life without Mark. She remembered the loneliness of the first days without Clay and knew it would be a thousand times worse this time, for Mark had given a thousand times more of himself. He had filled her life as Clay had never done. He had loved her as no one had ever done. She wanted—no, ached for—a way to hold him. But she knew he would not accept a promise without conviction.

Wearily, with an air of defeat, she knelt and slowly picked up the contents of her purse. Had this been any other moment, she knew that Mark would have rushed to pick up the items himself. The thought made her feel heartbreakingly lonely. Through blurred eyes, she watched his feet step back from her line of vision. She deliberately slowed her movements. She concentrated on placing each item in its own compartment of her purse. She wanted to immerse herself in the methodical act, to forget the reality of what was to come. She wanted to remain kneeling on the floor, to collapse against the soft chair and bury her face in her arms. But when each item was in place, she automatically clicked her purse shut.

For a moment, she did not rise. Her posture was that of an old woman, exhausted after an activity that would not have troubled a younger person. Then, reluctantly, and with great effort, she pushed herself to her feet. She stood immobile and tried to gather her strength. An illogical, unfounded shred of hope kept her eyes on the patterned rug before her. Until she raised her eyes and looked around the room, she could still try to convince herself that Mark was there.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” came the voice of the waitress. “Will there be anything else?”

Dominique turned hollow eyes to the young woman. As though observing a movie about two strangers, she saw the waitress’ expression turn to one of concern. “Is anything wrong?” a voice asked her.

Dominique heard herself say, “No, no, thank you. I’m just leaving.” How calm she sounded. How normal. How had she managed to make that voice emerge? Dominique turned away from the waitress and looked about the room. She felt sick and disoriented. Where was she to go next? She couldn’t quite remember. Everything seemed murky and out of focus. Only one fact was clearly imprinted on her mind. Mark was gone, as she had known he would be.

The next day, the newspaper had this to say:

Well, Dear Readers, the fuss over one itsy-bitsy column! We’ve been taken to task for implying that Dominique Parker’s Affairs to Remember owes its success to… well… an Affair to Remember. Socialite Grace Filmore, owner of Capital Events, tells us that Dear Dominique is one of the most capable event planners who ever worked for her. And she called from Italy to tell us so!

Says the
très distinguée
Mrs. Filmore, “Everyone in this field has social connections. One can’t get along without them. Dominique’s friendship with Senator Patout doesn’t account for her success. She has almost twenty years’ experience in event planning and she’s just wonderful at what she does.” So there.

As for the cause of the brouhaha, Mrs. Parker shrugs off nasty innuendo. “Whoever made those remarks to you was trying to damage my reputation, but lacked the courage to do it in public. I pity anyone who feels that kind of jealousy. In any event, I question the validity of sources who want to remain anonymous and you should, too.”

Dominique could barely muster a feeling of satisfaction at the column. Yesterday, it was all she could focus on. Today, it seemed unimportant in light of her break with Mark.

Her heart was too heavy to explain to her family what had transpired with him. Instead, she invented a Senate fact-finding mission to Australia, confident that neither Gabrielle nor Solange would discover the truth for some time.

As the days wore on, Gabrielle and Solange both noticed that Dominique seemed glum and edgy, but they attributed the mood to Mark’s absence and—unknowingly cruel—teased Dominique about it. It took all Dominique’s will to smile weakly at their jokes. She felt instead like bursting into tears. A hundred times a day her hand reached for the phone. Her fingers had learned the touch of Mark’s number and itched to move that way. It required physical effort to restrain herself.

The only palliative for Dominique’s suffering was work. She immersed herself in it, staying at the office late into the night. And each morning when Dominique entered her suite, she reminded herself, “This is what you wanted. This is why…”

The ringing phone was torment. It was Carter’s job to answer it, and Dominique had to fight the urge to snatch it up as soon as she heard it. Dominique invariably held her breath and cocked her ear as Carter greeted callers. When she heard Carter laugh and joke, her heart beat faster. Could it be Mark? Then Carter would buzz her and announce Felice or Danielle or another familiar name. Dominique’s stomach would plummet with disappointment and she would have to force herself to be cheerfully welcoming. In truth, she felt like shrieking, “Don’t tie up the line! Mark might be trying to get through!”

Then, one Sunday morning, Felice called her at home with news that made her both happy and melancholy. Dominique knew at once it was something monumental, because Felice never awakened before eleven on the weekend and it was only nine o’clock. Dominique herself was still in bed.

“Charles asked me to marry him last night!” Felice chortled.

Dominique’s spirits soared at the news. “That’s wonderful!”

“I want you to be a bridesmaid! June first. Please? I promise no ugly flowered dresses.” Her voice turned dreamy. “I’m thinking of doing everything in ivory. The flowers, the attendants, everything. Except”—she sounded a cautionary note—“none of those awful white tuxedoes for the men.” She sighed and bubbled on. “It’s going to be strictly traditional. Very elegant. What do you think?”

Dominique laughed. “I can’t imagine anything nicer. Where will it be?”

“We’ve already checked on the National Cathedral. There’s a chapel available that day. And for the reception, Mrs. Filmore’s offered her place.”

“Good heavens! How elegant.”

“So you’ll do it? You’ll be a bridesmaid?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Dominique said warmly.

After she hung up, though, the feeling of good cheer abandoned her. She looked at the empty pillow next to hers and thought of Mark. It had been two weeks since she’d seen him and she missed him to the point of physical pain. When she crawled into bed at night, she was sharply reminded of her loneliness. In the dark silence, she tortured herself with the memory of Mark’s arms about her. And, despite her fatigue, she found it difficult to sleep.

MARK Patout wheeled sharply and stared at the woman disappearing down the hall of the Dirksen Senate Office Building. The hair was unmistakably Dominique’s! His heart pounded as he reversed his course and followed the woman’s clicking heels. Then the absurdity of his action struck him. What would Dominique be doing in the senate building? He slowed and watched the woman turn into an office. Her profile was pert, with classic Irish features and a generous sprinkling of freckles. Nothing like Dominique.

Mark’s face fell. He stood motionless in the hallway as people milled about him. For a moment, he forgot his destination as he thought of Dominique. He kept hoping he’d run into her, but he never did. Soon he would be going home for the holidays and, of course, there’d be no chance of seeing her there. He rubbed his face bemusedly and, with a slow step, turned and headed for his office. No point in hurrying. There was little he looked forward to—the zest was gone from his life. He was still mourning Dominique, though he hated himself for his weakness.

Mark entered his office through his private door, bypassing the waiting room full of lobbyists and constituents. Normally, Mark made it a point to greet them all, but he didn’t feel like smiling and acting cheerful today. Dammit, seeing that woman had taken it out of him.

He slumped into his chair and stared at the message slips on his desk. After a few moments of brooding, he picked them up and halfheartedly flipped through them. Lobbyists. The governor of Louisiana. Buffy Coleman, a prominent Washington hostess and fund-raiser. She was trying to introduce him to new women, now that she no longer saw Mark with Dominique. What a social coup if her matchmaking succeeded!

With a noise of disgust Mark threw the pile of papers back on the desk. He wondered if he would ever see Dominique’s name on one of the little pink slips. He was tempted to call her. Always tempted. But what was the use? He wanted one thing, Dominique another. The next move had to be hers, no matter how much it cost him to hold back. But would she ever make that move? Did she miss him? Or was she already seeing other people? Was she so afraid of marriage that she would remain single for the rest of her life? Mark’s heart twisted at the thought.