Redemption in Love (Hearts on the Line) (5 page)

She gasped.
First wife?!

“So his marriage to Catherine” —he cut his fingers across his neck— “ended. And he ran off with the real wife.”

“The real wife,” she repeated.

“Yeah.”

“So…who is she? A Vanderbilt? One of the Astors?”

He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “A Vegas stripper.”

Amandine brought her fingertips to her mouth, at a complete loss for words. What a cliché. It sounded like something from a daytime soap her mother used to watch.

“I’m surprised you didn’t know.”

She cleared her throat. “I’ve been rather busy the past few days.” She winced inwardly at the lame excuse.

She stared at the label on the champagne bottle. The shock still coursed through her, short-circuiting her thoughts. She shook her head to clear it.

Why hadn’t Gavin told her earlier? This was a family matter, and she was family.

Then it dawned on her.

Catherine was free
.

Her hands tightened into fists. Catherine was the one Gavin had wanted in the first place. The only reason he’d noticed Amandine was because Catherine had chosen Jacob.

And why hadn’t Catherine reached out to
her?
After all, they were cousins.

Did Catherine want Gavin back?

Most importantly did he want her back?

Of course he does
.
Why else would he have gone to Houston on your anniversary?

Amandine put a hand over her belly. Disappointment turned into half-panic, half-apprehension. She’d wanted to let him know about the pregnancy. But now… Would he find the news…their baby…regrettable?

“Are you all right?”

She blinked. “Yes, fine. Just a little…shocked. You know, about Jacob and Catherine and all.”

“Sorry I said anything. I should’ve let Gavin tell you. It’s a family matter.”

“It can’t be that much of a family matter if you already heard.”

He made a sympathetic face. “Bad news travels fast. You know how it is.”

“Of course.” Everyone knew except her.

“Listen, even if Gavin’s not here to celebrate, you should treat yourself. I’ll comp the whole thing.”

“It’s all right.” If her appetite hadn’t already been dead, Mark’s pity would have killed it.

He nodded, his eyes understanding. “The invitation’s open-ended, so you can call me any time you change your mind. Ten years from now, whenever.”

She managed a smile. “Sure. Thank you.”

Amandine went home, her mind churning, her eyes burning with unshed tears. How could her day go from such bright optimism to this? She couldn’t seem to process anything. Should she confront Gavin? What would she say? What
should
she say?

The house was empty. She’d asked Luna to leave early since they were going to eat out.

Her feet moved automatically, leading her upstairs to the dark bedroom. She flicked the light switch on and blinked. The sight of new flowers on the nightstand punched her in the gut, stealing her breath.

They were yellow roses—Catherine’s favorite.

AMANDINE DROVE STRAIGHT to Brooke’s apartment. Staying at the mansion was not an option. The cloying scent of yellow roses was suffocating.

She pulled into a guest parking spot, killed the engine and went up the walk to Brooke’s apartment building. It wasn’t the nicest apartment complex around, but it was familiar enough. Amandine had lived there, on the ninth floor like Brooke, until she’d married Gavin.

Amandine punched in 9-0-4 on the intercom and waited.

A small red light lit on the panel. “Yeah?” came Brooke’s no-nonsense voice, reserved to discourage any door-to-door salespeople.

“It’s me.”

The door unlocked with a harsh, metallic click. Amandine shook her head as she took in the cracked floor and dirty walls. The building’s location made up for the lack of amenities, but jeez. It had gone downhill since she’d moved out, and the management apparently hadn’t done a thing to upgrade the place since then. How much could a fresh coat of paint cost? At least one of the lobby’s naked bulbs was still on to keep the area lit. She took the elevator up, hugging herself.

Brooke’s apartment door was ajar. “Come on in,” she called out from the inside as though she’d sensed Amandine’s presence, something she always seemed to be able to do.

Amandine slipped in and closed the door. “Sorry to barge in after giving you the rest of the day off.”

“It’s all right. Have a seat,” Brooke said from the open kitchen.

After taking off her shoes, Amandine settled on a crimson couch and tucked her feet under her.

Brooke’s apartment was as bold as her personality. A dizzying palette of magenta, teal, gold and daffodil yellow covered every inch of the standard rental’s white walls and pale brown carpet in the form of prints, hangings and rugs. A sharp envy pricked Amandine. She loved color too, but she hadn’t dared modify Gavin’s mansion. A team of high-priced interior decorators had worked on it, and Amandine didn’t think he’d appreciate her undoing the expensive pro job.

Brooke padded out on bare feet with two steaming mugs of herbal tea. Her crimson, gold and black toenails looked stunning. Amandine hadn’t seen the new pedicure earlier that day.

Handing Amandine a mug, Brooke took an armchair near the couch. “Drink,” she commanded. “It’s good for morning sickness. Sandy used to have it all the time when she was pregnant.”

She hadn’t experienced any nausea yet, but the mug warmed her cold fingers. Amandine hunched a bit over the tea, inhaling its steam.

“Why aren’t you at La Mer?”

“Catherine’s not married.”

Brooke’s thickly mascaraed eyelashes fluttered like butterfly’s wings for a moment. “Well,
that’s
not the answer I was expecting. What the heck happened? She file for divorce?”

“No. She was never married.”

“What are you talking about? She got married in front of everyone. You were her maid of honor, remember?”

“Yes.” Amandine rubbed her forehead in misery. “But it turns out Jacob wasn’t free to marry her.”

Brooke was staring at her now.

Amandine closed her eyes, trying to marshal her thoughts into some kind of order. “It turns out Jacob was already married. Well, still is married to some str—woman he met in Las Vegas.” The word was actually hard to say; she couldn’t imagine any Lloyd marrying a stripper. “Apparently he didn’t divorce her before marrying Catherine.”

Brooke’s jaw dropped. “Oh. My. God. You gotta be kidding me!”

“I wish.”

“What was he thinking?” Brooke put her tea down, went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Chardonnay. “Holy shit. I need a drink.” She poured a big glass. “I’d offer you some, but…”

“Go ahead. Just because I can’t drink doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.”

Brooke took a lengthy sip. “This is huge. Just imagine the scandal.” Then her eyes narrowed. “Oh wait. That’s why you said Catherine’s single.”

“Yup.”

“And earlier today Gavin went to—”

“Houston. And it wasn’t Hilary who called while we were at the hangar.”

Brooke put it together. “Catherine?”

“Looks like it.”

“Bastard.” Brooke reclaimed her seat. A furious shade of red blotched her cheeks. “So he told you that Catherine’s free again…when? Over your appetizers?”

“No. He never showed up.”

“
He stood you up on your anniversary?
”

Amandine nodded.

“Incredible. But wait…how did you find out about Catherine?”

“At La Mer, Mark Pryce came to my table to chat. When I told him Gavin was in Houston, he immediately said, ‘Damage control’.”

Brooke shook her head slowly in her “oh no he did not” mode. “So he, Mark Pryce—no relation to the Lloyds—knew. When you, Amandine Monroe
Lloyd
, did not.”

Amandine nodded, then blinked away tears. “With a little prompting, he told me everything.”

It had hurt so much to hear Mark tell her something she thought should’ve come from Gavin or Catherine. Maybe they thought it didn’t concern her. Amandine had always sensed some distance between her and her husband. There had been times when she felt like he was utterly remote and unreachable, except in bed.

But they couldn’t spend their lives in bed, could they? And it wasn’t like they were spending that much time making love anyway. They hadn’t had sex in over a month. He’d been too busy.

Brooke moved next to Amandine. “Gavin is a heartless ass.”

“But he’s not. One of the reasons why I fell in love is his generosity.”

“A guy as rich as he is can afford to write a few fat checks to charity.”

“It’s more than that.” Amandine took a sip of her tea. “You remember the BlueWheels bankruptcy?”

Brooke nodded. “That was ugly. A lot of people got screwed.”

“Mostly blue-collar workers who’d dedicated their lives to the company, which had promised them pensions, medical, the whole thing. Except the CEO took the money and ran off to Macau. By the time they found him, he’d gambled most of it away.”

“So what’s that got to do with Gavin?”

“He took over the pension funds at the request of the workers’ reps.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“It went unreported because he didn’t want it publicized.”

“Was there any money left to pay his fees? He doesn’t come cheap.”

“He didn’t charge them because he said the pension funds couldn’t afford it.” The memory still touched Amandine. Gavin was a good man.

“I hate it when he does stuff like this,” Brooke muttered.

“There wasn’t much left, and most of the workers were in their mid- to late fifties.”

“Did he make them any money?”

“Unless I’m mistaken, he made back almost half the money lost within a year. He said he ‘went conservative’ to preserve their capital.”

“For a heartless jerk, he sure is good at trading. Or maybe he’s good precisely because he’s so heartless.”

“I think he just…compartmentalizes. But there’s no doubt—he’s one of the best.”

“How the hell does he do it? It’s like he turns dollar bills into minks, makes them have this huge orgy, then turns all of them and their babies into hundred dollar bills.”

Despite herself, Amandine gave a snort of laughter. She didn’t know exactly what Gavin did either. The only thing she understood about his work was that it involved making highly leveraged bets in various financial markets. Most of them were over fifty-fold, so that every penny up or down resulted in a fifty-cent gain or loss. Unfortunately, none of his bets were for pennies. He usually bet hundreds of millions of dollars per trade, if not more. Thank god, he was good at his job or a lot of people would’ve been throwing themselves out of windows.

“Anyway, when he does something like the BlueWheels thing,” Amandine said, “I can’t help but love him a little bit more. He didn’t have to lift a finger for them.”

“Guess you’re right,” Brooke admitted with the cheeriness of someone getting a root canal. “Still, that doesn’t mean he’s not an ass when it comes to you. And I take back what I said about how pregnancy changes a guy’s priorities. It probably doesn’t apply to him.” Brooke tapped the side of her glass with a fingernail. It made a small tinging sound. “Have you ever considered the idea that maybe he doesn’t think he owes you an explanation because you’re overly accommodating?”

Sometimes
. Amandine sighed.

“Don’t just sigh and let him get away with it. He owes you. You’re his wife. You’re carrying his baby. Even if you weren’t married and pregnant, he’d owe you for the years you spent with him while giving up your dream.”

“My dream?”

“To be a great artist!”

“Come on. It’s not… I haven’t painted much in years. I’m not—”

“That’s my point! Being a proper society wife for Gavin has taken over your life. You don’t even teach at the Art4Kids anymore, and you loved that job.” Brooke shook her head. “But let’s forget art, since we’ll never know what could’ve happened. Instead we can look at something anybody can aim for, like finding a normal man who actually appreciates you. You could’ve married somebody like that and had a family of your own.”

“Gavin is normal.”

“Oh my god, he is so not. He’s
rich
. Rich people are unreliable, arrogant and impossible to reason with. They think money solves everything. Mark my words. He’s going to throw money at you for standing you up and expect you to be happy about it.”

Amandine shook her head. It was so cynical of Brooke, but Amandine didn’t blame her friend. Brooke’s mother had passed away in a car accident, and the other driver, who had been high at the time, had been an up-and-coming actor who thought writing a hefty check could undo the damage. Ever since then, Brooke had become jaded about people with money. It didn’t help that her father used to deal with the rich and their crazy whims.

“He’s already given me a private jet,” Amandine said. “What else could there be?”

“I don’t know. But I’m sure he’s going to throw that in your face, too.”

Amandine sipped the hot tea. “Gavin’s never that crude. His upbringing isn’t like most people’s.”

“Of course not.” Brooke snorted. “The proof is in the kind of stuff he’s been giving you. A custom-painted Mercedes. A brand new art studio. Now a jet. What’s next, an island?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” But even as she said it, Amandine couldn’t help but wonder…
Would
an island be next? What in the world would she do with it?

“He always gives you things that don’t matter,” Brooke said. “Things that he can buy easily. Even a jet is chump change to somebody like him. It’s like a normal guy buying you flowers, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to give you what you really need.” She propped her feet on a stack of fashion magazines on the floor. “I mean, it was one thing when you only had yourself to worry about, right? But with a baby? What kind of father and role model is Gavin going to be? What’s your kid going to learn, watching a father who’s unable to love and respect his wife?”

Amandine blinked. Too wrapped up in her disappointment and shock, she hadn’t thought about any of that.