Wellesley Wives (New England Trilogy) (12 page)

“It’s simpler than that. I just can’t live without him. Whatever pain I cause along the way, I can’t help.”

“How convenient for you.” Her sister was disclaiming all responsibility for a situation that was of her own making. “I suppose you can’t help the fact that Mom will lose her best friend, and Dad, too, at a time when they’re going to really need them.”

“Rosie, you don’t understand.”

“Oh, I think I do. I understand perfectly. Now if you’ll excuse me, Mom is coming back and I don’t want to get caught talking to you.” She ended the call without giving her sister a chance to respond, even though her mother was nowhere in sight.

Popsy was standing at the foot of Peter’s bed. Her husband had never looked so frail or old. He was only fifty-two, but he looked eighty-two. What a toll life had taken on him. It shocked and terrified her how much humans relied on, yet took for granted, their hearts.

Peter’s attack wasn’t even that big, yet you’d think he’d gone through twelve rounds with Mike Tyson. He looked like half the man he was just the day before. Of course, being in a bed surrounded by life support equipment didn’t help. She was relieved to see that he wasn’t using most of the machines around him. There was one that looked like it might breathe for the patient and another that just looked like a computer to her, but the machines that made sense were those wired up to his heart—his dear and ever-so-precious heart.

Popsy vowed that if they got out of this mess, she was going to take him away from all the pressure and stress of his executive life and find the simpler pleasures. It couldn’t be that hard to find a small bar on a beach somewhere. They’d run away to some idyllic tropical island and work in a bar together.

The girls were old enough to fend for themselves. Well, she wasn’t sure about Lily anymore, but at least she had a good job. Besides, it was time she stood on her own two feet. She desperately wanted to touch him—just to stroke his face to let him know she was there, that she loved him, and that she didn’t care about the money, but the doctor was hovering at the nurses’ station and keeping a very close eye on her. She would have to wait until tomorrow.

Popsy had no idea what she was going to do about her younger daughter and the fallout from that the situation. It was going to kill her friendship with Sandra. Of that there was little doubt, and that saddened Popsy enormously. They’d become firm friends, but she didn’t think any friendship would survive this level of betrayal. It wasn’t even Popsy who’d betrayed her, but it would be guilt by association. The future really didn’t look bright, but one thing she was absolutely certain about was that Sandra had to be told.

Chapter 10

Jack and Sandra and Sven

Sandra’s day had turned out much better than she’d expected. She felt energized and upbeat by the time she was leaving the hotel fitness center some hours later. As usual, going to the gym had cleared her mind.

    Her ego boost was even better than her endorphin rush because a certain German resident of the hotel had proved to be a very pleasant distraction while she worked out. She’d noticed him as soon as she walked into the gym.

There was often a scattering of good looking men in the place because it was the fit guys who worked out. The unhealthy men were in the bar. Sandra never did anything about it, of course, but still, it didn’t hurt to look, and the gym always had plenty of eye candy.

That morning, as luck would have it, the only treadmill available was the one next to a very attractive, tall, well-built blond gentleman. He was running, and she could see that he had a long, even stride. His breathing was steady, so he had to be in good shape, but she didn’t want to get caught staring, so she looked away.

In front of each machine was a small television monitor with about a hundred channels. And in front of that, a floor to ceiling mirror. This was helpful if you were on the weight machines because the trainers had taught her to watch her form to ensure she was working out properly. To a lesser extent, the wall of mirrors was handy on the treadmills, too, because it gave Sandra ample opportunity to scope out the guy beside her.

She started with a fast walk just to warm up, but soon she was running and matching his pace. It felt good to run in rhythm. While they’d made no eye contact, nor had they spoken, running with the same stride was a sort of communication—a bonding. It felt nice, like they were partners.

Sandra decided to have some fun. She upped her speed a little, moving faster, and then they were out of rhythmic beat. As she’d hoped, he glanced in her direction and then he moved his pace up to hers. They ran in harmony for another few minutes but for her own amusement, Sandra did it again. It was tough physically, but a pleasant distraction. He rose to her challenge again.

By the third time she’d increased her speed, Sandra knew she wouldn’t last long. At a flat-out run of nine miles an hour, she was sprinting hard and he had the advantage of longer legs. Chances were this was a game he would win. He matched her fastest speed, but then something happened and he hit the emergency stop button. He didn’t quite fall, but he jumped off the treadmill and stood back as it slowed down. It was a vigorous enough move for her to hit her stop button, too.

“Are you okay?” she asked as her machine slowed.

He had his hands on his knees and was hyperventilating as he tried to catch his breath. Then he looked up at her and smiled. It was a nice smile. His face was square and strong with searing blue eyes, and he had a good tan even in October.

“I’m fine thanks. I thought I was going to fall, so I hit the stop button.” He laughed. “The truth is I was trying to keep up with you, and I couldn’t. I’m not that good.” He had a rich German accent—warm and deep—but he seemed fluent in English. That was good because she didn’t know German. He shrugged and stood.

Now, given the chance to see him face-to-face, Sandra reckoned he was athletic enough for her—if she was looking, which of course she wasn’t. But oh, what beautiful babies he would make.

Only twenty minutes into her run, she had a soft sheen of sweat on her skin. She wiped her face dry. “I’m sorry if I distracted you,” she said, flirting. “But if you’re not hurt, I’d better get back to my run before I cool down again.”

He waved her on. “Oh yes, you go on. You’re hot.”

She did a double-take to see if it was a German-English translation thing or if he was flirting. He gave her a mischievous grin. She decided he knew exactly what he was saying.

Sandra plugged her headphones back into her ears, powered up the music on her iPod, and got back to running at full speed. She could see from the mirrors that he hadn’t gone too far. He was over at the free weights. She figured their paths might cross again.

Sandra didn’t think that she was doing anything wrong. A mild flirt was good for a woman. She wouldn’t do anything about it, and he was probably married anyway. He looked about forty. Yep, too handsome to be single. Or maybe he was gay. It seemed like all the best-looking guys were these days. Either way, he kept himself in really good shape.

While the running kept her thin, it was the weights that gave Sandra her toned figure. She was a pro on the resistance training machines. Most women stayed away from them for fear of bulking up, but Sandra knew that was stupid. She just kept the resistance low and the reps high, and now she had the biceps of a twenty-year-old. Even her bottom was still tight and high thanks to thousands of lunges. They were painful but effective and “better than Botox in the buttocks,” she’d often say to Popsy, who didn’t like to break a sweat.

Mr. Atlas from Germany was on one of the machines she wanted, but Sandra didn’t want to hover while he worked, so she decided to use the machine beside him which exercised almost the same set of muscles anyway. Looking at her reflection as she worked out, Sandra couldn’t help but be happy with her boob job, which was shown off to particularly good effect as she worked her biceps, triceps, deltoids, and pecs.

“Are you staying in the hotel?” he asked when he’d finished with his weights.

She was still working out and was a little out of breath. She shook her head. “I live here. You?”

“I arrived today. I’m here for a week on business.”

“What line of business are you in?” She disengaged from the machine, unable to flirt properly while working so hard.

“I’m a doctor. It’s a medical conference connected to the Leahy Clinic.”

“Ah, nice. Does that mean the hotel will be overrun with doctors for the week? I guess all their wives will be in here, too.”

He smiled and gave her a look that Sandra recognized—game on. “No wives on this trip.”

“She’ll miss you at home, I’m sure. Where is home?”

He laughed and threw his head back, clearly enjoying her full-on flirt. “I’m German, but my home is now in Ireland.”

“Oh, I was just reading about Dublin this morning.”

He nodded. “I saw it, too. In
The Boston Globe
. It’s a great city. You should come to visit some time.”

Sandra laughed. “Doesn’t your wife mind you inviting strange women to your adopted home?”

“She might.” He looked like he was thinking about it. “If she existed.” Then he smiled. “I’m not married.”

She couldn’t believe it. How in heaven did a doctor this good-looking get away without being snatched up?

“Seeing as I am all alone in your beautiful town, perhaps you could show me some of the sights. I understand Wellesley has many charms.”

Sandra thought of Jack and laughed. “I would love to show you around, but I’m afraid my husband might not be too impressed if I went off with a rather attractive German doctor whose name I don’t even know.”

He stretched out his hand, gracious in defeat. “My name is Sven Richter.” His German accent was even more pronounced when he said his name—deeper, sexier. “My regards to your husband. He is a very lucky man. And your name?”

She took his hand and gave him a firm shake. “I’m Sandra Hoffman. Lovely to meet you, Sven, and I have a feeling you’ll have a very nice time here. The locals will be very welcoming to you, I think.” She risked a wink.

He was so handsome and built like a Marine—utterly gorgeous. If she were single, what a different story this would be.

Innocent flirting was underrated as a sport, she decided as she got back to her penthouse. First thing, Sandra checked her cell for messages because everybody knew she didn’t take her phone to the gym. The evening before Jack had said he would probably be back from the office by lunchtime. The meeting was supposed to finish around then.

There was a message from him saying that the morning hadn’t been great, and he wouldn’t be home until mid-afternoon. She should have lunch without him.

“Oh, Jack. On a Sunday? Seriously?” She spoke into her phone even though he wasn’t there.

He sounded strained and tired. If only he went to the gym more and the office less, then just maybe he could have some of Sven’s vitality and rather attractive brand of energy. Her husband told her he’d started using a trendy new gym in Boston, but she didn’t think he went too often. 

Sandra had a long, luxuriant shower, and she took the time to use a deep conditioning treatment on her hair. The warm color shone with a healthy gleam when she did this, and she liked the pampering. With all the time in the world, she didn’t rush drying her hair straight and then she clipped it up in soft rings so she could cover herself in vanilla and elderberry body moisturizer. Even though the weather was clear outside, the temperature had taken a dip, so Sandra chose a pair of black lamb’s wool loose pants to slip into. She paired this with a fitted black cashmere turtleneck sweater and charcoal Uggs.

She felt totally snug and satisfied as she hit the switch for the gas fireplace. It flared to life, throwing tongues of blue and white flames six inches up behind its glass wall casing. She found the remote control to the built-in sound system where she’d left it the night before and switched that on, too.

The air was filled with U2’s “Beautiful.” Sandra sang along and it made her think about her plans to visit Dublin. She got on the computer and chose the best package she could find for herself and Popsy. It would be better to present it as a bought and paid for gift, but she did take the precaution of being able to change the dates just in case Popsy had other plans. Sandra decided that February would be a good time to visit Ireland, and with luck the weather would be better than Boston’s by then.

She wanted to tell her best friend right away so she could clear her calendar, but she didn’t want to phone in the middle of Popsy’s birthday lunch. She decided to hold off until later in the day, and instead headed to the kitchen to think about lunch for one.

Sandra opened the fridge door looking for inspiration but found none. She just wasn’t the cooking type. She thought about her and Popsy and how they often laughed about this. For two such good buddies, they really didn’t have much in common.

Popsy loved to cook, Sandra didn’t. Popsy was reserved and graceful; Sandra was a little wild and unashamedly outgoing. Popsy was devoted to her husband. Sandra was on the fence about her future with hers. She felt herself get a little emotional and decided to have a glass of champagne for lunch.

“Stop thinking like this,” she said as Bono sang about going to another place. Then she remembered her plan to surprise Jack with a baby. Women had been doing it for centuries. That’s what she would do.

Champagne in one hand and the Sunday paper in the other, she sat in front of her beautiful gas fire with the music for company and wondered if she would be able to seduce her husband when he got back from work later.

“You look like hell. It must have been a tough fight.” Sandra laughed lightly when Jack walked into their home a little while later.

“Sandra, we need to talk.”

“That sounds ominous,” she said trying to cheer his apparently somber mood.

“Look. There’s no easy way to say this, and I’m very sorry it’s happened, but I’ve fallen in love with someone else.”