Body Double (24 page)

Screw fairness
, Andrea thought. Sarah would never know. Even if she did, she wouldn’t care. She had no emotional connection with Blake, nor he to her. Their marriage was a legal union, nothing more. Still, Andrea had signed the agreement, and she would honor it. She wouldn’t be able to look herself in the mirror if she didn’t. If he invited her to stay with him, she would, but she would use a guest room. At least they would be together, even if they weren’t
together
.

“We haven’t talked about where I’ll stay until Sarah gets home,” she said. “I’d like to stay at your place, but I don’t want to invite myself.”

He answered with silence and kept his hands to himself.

“That was a hint.”

Still he didn’t answer, didn’t even acknowledge she’d spoken. Riding next to him was like sitting on a bus beside a stranger.

“Blake?”

“What?” he snapped, looking at her with an annoyed scowl.

Dismay choked her and burned her eyes. “Never mind.” She had her answer. She stared out her own window, trying her best not to make a sound. A few tears dribbled from her eyes, and she nonchalantly blotted them away. He was done with her. She’d known parting ways wouldn’t be easy, but she didn’t expect to feel dumped.

Déjà vu.

When the limousine pulled up in Sarah’s driveway, Andrea opened her own door before Steven or Blake had a chance to do it. “Open the trunk please, Steven,” she said loudly enough for him to hear despite the fact that he hadn’t turned on the intercom.

The driver reached down for the lever and the trunk popped open.

“What for?” Blake asked, getting out of the car. “I thought you were just checking on the house.”

Steven was moving too slowly for her satisfaction, and so she grabbed her suitcase and carry-on bag and hauled them out of the trunk. “The honeymoon’s over.”

“Let me get those for you, ma’am,” Steven said.

“No, I’ve got them.” She headed to the front door, dragging the suitcase on its noisy, rubber wheels.

Blake jogged after her. “Wait. What’s wrong?”

She parked the suitcase on the stoop while she hunted in her purse for the key. “I think it’ll be easier if we part ways here.” She found the key and slid it with a shaking hand into the lock, unable to get inside fast enough. “Thank you for the wonderful vacation. I enjoyed it immensely.” Once she had the door open, she pulled her suitcase across the threshold and tried to park it on the marble floor in the foyer, but it fell over with a crash, its telescoping handle catching the strap of her carry-on bag and yanking it off her shoulder as it went down. Andrea ignored the jumble of bags.
Hold it together for a few more minutes.
“It was a pleasure knowing you.” She started to close the door, but Blake was standing on the threshold, blocking it.

“Oh, hell no.” Blake pushed past her and slammed the door. He took her by the hand and practically dragged her down the corridor to the great room. He spun around to face her. “If you don’t want to spend the next few days with me, okay. I can accept that, but I’d at least like to know why.”

Tears streamed down her face, and her throat felt thick with pain. “The honeymoon is over. If your coldness and silence in the limo hadn’t made that abundantly clear, then your snapping at me definitely did. You’re over me. There’s no reason to drag this out any longer.”

“Over you? Come here, babe,” he said, pulling her into his arms. She didn’t resist, but she didn’t hug him back either. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. Harold got me worked up. I’m not ready to say goodbye to you yet, and I’m definitely not over you. I don’t know if I’ll ever be over you.”

Relief flooded her, mixed with embarrassment. Of course that phone call had been to blame for his sudden change in demeanor. Why would she have assumed he was over her?

Maybe because the men she loved dumped her when she least expected it.

She broke down and cried, sliding her arms around his waist, comforted by the warmth of his embrace and his body.

He held her closer and bent his head to her ear. “Everything will be okay as long as we’re together.”

“But the prenup,” she said, sniffling. To her relief, the fact that she’d jumped to conclusions about the reason for his stony silence went unacknowledged. “We can’t... you know.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t spend time together. Unless you can’t control yourself around me.”

She laughed through her tears and squeezed him tighter. It would be hell, but she would try if it meant a few more days with him. “Barely.”

“Hey,” he said, lifting her chin to meet her gaze, “if I ever say or do anything that hurts your feelings, tell me. I wouldn’t do it on purpose, I swear. I appreciated when you called me on the ring business. I’ve never been with a woman who was direct enough to handle me.”

“It was easier to do when I was an objective third party. I’m not so objective anymore.”

He kissed her forehead. “I hear you. So what do you say? Come stay with me until Sarah gets back?”

She smiled up at him. “Okay. I need to pack another bag until I can get a laundry done.”

“Isabelle will have your clothes clean by tomorrow morning, but if you want to grab some more, that’s fine too, unless you want to walk around the house naked.” He winked at her, and she pushed him playfully.

“Don’t you wish?”

“Oh, yes I do wish.”

After pulling up to the grand, two-column front entrance of Blake’s house, Steven retrieved their suitcases from the limousine’s trunk and carried them to the door, while Blake got the carry-on bags. He unlocked the front door by pressing a few keys on a panel, and he and Steven set the suitcases down in the foyer. Blake dismissed his driver for the evening and then ushered Andrea inside. She stood in the foyer, looking around at the splendor of his mansion, feeling more like a guest than a new bride arriving at her new home.

Because she was a guest.

It was clean and orderly and obviously decorated by someone with a flair for style and color and texture. While every room looked like it belonged on a magazine cover, the house had a bold charm and subtle warmth that matched Blake’s personality. Despite the mansion’s luxurious decor and stately ambiance, this was his home. Hopefully, being here would help him feel more relaxed.

The butler, Sam, bustled around a corner and stopped short. “Welcome home, sir, and welcome to your new home, ma’am.” He went to the suitcases and began to gather them up. Blake took what Sam couldn’t manage.

“Have a seat. I’ll be right back,” Blake said, and the two men carried them off, leaving Andrea alone.

She looked around the living room at the Native American-style paintings on the walls and bric-a-bracs in the wooden curio cabinet, surprised to learn Blake had an affinity for Native American art. There was a wooden flute, a harmonica-like instrument made of bone, a pipe with feathers, and some beaded leather items.

“You must be tired and hungry,” said a woman’s French-accented voice . “Why don’t you come with me into the kitchen, and I’ll fix you a snack and then start supper.”

Andrea found Blake’s housekeeper standing with hands on hips. “Hello, Isabelle. Nice to see you.” She remembered to use the Southern accent, pronouncing nice as
nahss.
“I was waiting for Blake.”

“Come, dear. This house isn’t so big that he won’t find you.”

She followed Isabelle to the kitchen and accepted her invitation to sit on one of the tall bar stools at the island counter. “Don’t bother making a snack. I’ll wait for supper.”

“Did you have a wonderful time in Hawaii?” Isabelle asked as she pulled a few items from the refrigerator and a pan and bowl from the cupboards.

Andrea nodded. “We did. It was beautiful, and the people were so friendly.”

“You’re sad to be home?”

She didn’t know how to answer that question. “I’m sad the honeymoon is over. Things will be different now.”

“Yes, I’m sure they will,” Isabelle said. “Enjoy being a newlywed while you can.”

That would be difficult, considering the prenuptial agreement. She was drawn to Blake as if her bones were steel rods and his were magnets. When he was in sight, her soul yearned to be near him.

“Was this your first journey to Hawaii?” Isabelle asked, yanking Andrea back to the present.

“Yes, and hopefully not my last.”

The housekeeper studied her for a moment before returning to her preparations. “I thought so.”

Andrea cocked her head in confusion. “Why do you say that?”

She put a pan into the oven and set the timer, then eyed Andrea contemptuously while she wiped her hands on a towel. “Because when I first met Dr. Gentry, she told me she’d spent a week in Hawaii for a conference and was excited to go back.”

Andrea gaped at her. She knew.

Isabelle scrutinized her with a suspicious glare. “Who are you?”

Andrea couldn’t look into those intelligent brown eyes and lie. She had to hope that they could convince Isabelle to keep it quiet. “My name’s Andrea Lindholm.”

“Where is Dr. Gentry, and how did you fool Benjie into thinking you’re her?”

Blake walked into the kitchen. “Isabelle, what did I tell you?” he shouted. “How dare you interrogate my wife?”

“She knows, Blake,” Andrea said. “I told her.”

He turned his angry eyes on her. “What the hell, Andrea? You didn’t think to consult me first?”

She stood, tempted to run from the room, but she had nowhere to go, no way to get home. “No,” she said, holding up her index finger. Her chin quivered, and tears welled in her eyes. “You do not get to yell at me, especially in front of other people. Did you stop to think that maybe it was an accident? That maybe I didn’t know Sarah had been to Hawaii before and that she mentioned it to Isabelle? That maybe Isabelle guessed I’m not Sarah? That maybe, just maybe, I didn’t want to flat-out lie to her face and tell her she was wrong?”

Isabelle looked from one to the other with an expression of bewilderment, and then returned to the stove and busied herself with the food preparation as if to blend in with the furniture.

Blake closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His lips moved like he was talking to himself. After a few seconds, his gaze and voice softened. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I jumped to conclusions, said the wrong thing, and I’m sorry.” Looking up at the ceiling, he grabbed two fistfuls of his hair. “I think I’m losing it.”

She looked at him hard, wondering how this could be the same Blake Thomas she’d spent the last two weeks with. His behavior, his voice, his entire demeanor had changed almost the moment they stepped off the plane. Even in the days leading up to the wedding, when he’d learned his fiancée was a lesbian, he hadn’t been this tense or angry. Something had happened. Something he wasn’t telling her.

She mentally donned her social worker hat and took him by the hand. “Let’s go somewhere and talk.”

He led her to a room with double doors that was furnished as a combination office and TV room, decorated with red and gold sports memorabilia and photos of himself and others in military uniform. The notion of a man cave came to mind. At the far end of the room was a staircase with the same ironwork and wood banister as the twin staircases in the front of the house. “I’m sorry,” he said, shutting the doors. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t have told Isabelle without a good reason.”

They relaxed on a plush loveseat, their bodies turned so they could look at each other comfortably.

“Don’t you trust me, Blake? We spent twenty-four hours a day for two solid weeks together. We’ve shared our childhood stories, first love stories, and made memories that will last forever. I’ve seen you when you’re hurt, angry, happy, and sad. I feel like I know you, and this snappishness—it isn’t you.” He’d been loving on the plane, and solemn but affectionate standing at baggage claim. His gloominess had begun with Harold’s phone call. That had to be the source of his foul mood. “What did Harold say that has you all knotted up?”

Blake searched Andrea’s eyes for a moment as if to judge her trustworthiness. Something came over his features, like resignation. In a quiet voice, he said, “He threatened to tell my mom about my father’s affair twenty-two or twenty-three years ago.”

“Oh.” Whatever she expected him to say, that wasn’t it. So that was his real motivation for marrying Sarah—to keep his dad’s secret and avoid hurting his mom. “How long did it last?”

“Just one night when he was out of town on business. He got drunk, some hot blonde came onto him, and he screwed her. That hot blonde turned out to be someone else’s wife.”

Andrea nodded, encouraging him to go on. And then a horrible thought occurred to her. Could that someone else have been Harold Gentry?

“Anna Gentry.”

“Oh, my God. Sarah isn’t...” The notion was too terrible to voice.

“My half-sister? No. Dad swore to me it was only the one time, and he never cheated on my mom again.”

Thank goodness for that. It would’ve been awful to know she’d participated in some twisted half-sibling marriage to satisfy Harold’s lust for revenge. Twenty-three years was a long time to hold a grudge.