As You Wish (29 page)

“I know,” he groaned, sinking lower.

“Did you mean it?”

“Yes.” He sounded tortured.

Patricia frowned. She still wanted to be angry, as though he had tricked her. He was a professional. “So at this club, you did with other women what you did with me.”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of how?” she snapped.

He moaned. “I didn’t have sex with the clients. We had a strict
no bodily fluids
rule.”

“How disappointing for you,” Patricia said.

He looked at her, obviously wanting to glower but failing.

“So you had this job, this wonderful job where you got to make, what did you call them, high-powered society types grovel? Where you got to humiliate high-powered society types. That must have felt really good to you.”

“It did.”

“Did you make them cry?”

“I tried not to; that was one of the reasons a lot of the women liked me, because I could tell when to stop. I hated most of them. It made it more fun. But I really never wanted to hurt them bad. Just as much as they wanted to be hurt.”

“And did you think of me as a client?”

“No! Yes.” Ryan pushed his hands through his hair. “At first. But not later, I swear, not after the first time.”

Patricia’s chest tightened at the memory of that first day in the potting shed. He’d been just cruel enough. The only time he’d pushed her too far was right after her illness, and he’d tried to talk her out of that before they’d started. Afterward he’d been so kind. She could understand if he’d had women who sought him out. “But you didn’t have sex with all those women.”

“No, Patricia, I didn’t have sex with all those women,” he growled. “Just the one.”

“Angela McGuinness.”

“Angela.” He said the name as a breath.

“I want—I need to hear about Angela.”

Ryan held very still for what seemed like an hour but could only have been a few minutes. Outside, Patricia heard the spitting rain turn to sleet that tapped against the window like impatient fingernails.

“Angela was one of my regular clients. I saw her at the club for over a year before she convinced me to make a house call. Her husband was some kind of politician, and he was gone all the time. She was a gorgeous woman and really smart. Lawyer, member of the Daughters of the American Revolution, on the boards of half the charities and museums in Atlanta, all-around pillar of society. She was so exciting and so nice to me. The other women tended to treat me more like a pet than a person.”

His expression reminded Patricia of a patient expecting a series of necessary but painful shots, accepting the unpleasantness as a matter of life.

Ryan licked his lips. “Angela actually talked to me. I convinced myself that she loved me, but she couldn’t leave her husband because it would ruin his political career. I used to come running every time she called. I met her at her office, at her house, in hotels. I met her once in a public garden.” Ryan rubbed his cheek. “She didn’t exactly pay me for sex either. She bought me presents, a car, a suit. She paid my rent. She used to joke that she was my patron. Then she took me to Bermuda. We had a great time, and on the way home, she told me she was finished with me. What she actually said was that she was bored, and it was time for a new toy.”

He flexed his hands, and for a moment, Patricia expected him to hit something, but then he slumped.

“I was pissed. I had never had anyone take so much interest in me since my mother died. I thought Angela cared about me, and she had played that to full advantage. I tried to talk to her. I thought if I just waited a couple of days and went to her office, she would remember how good we were together. Except her husband was there, and there was a scene. He had the restraining order taken out on me. I lost my job at the club as soon as they found out, so I went to her house to ask her to talk to the club and explain. She called the police and had me arrested, but then she didn’t press charges, and they had to let me go.”

“And you ended up here.”

“One of the guys I worked with at the club has a cousin who works in your lawyers’ office. It sounded perfect. I could get away and be alone, taking care of a private estate where nobody lived and only occasionally did anybody visit. His cousin did the background check and conveniently forgot to check everything. I figured it didn’t matter because I was never going to do anything like that again.”

Patricia unlocked her grip on the chair back. Her fingers ached from clenching it. Everything sounded logical. Aunt Beatrice could convince the lawyers to rehire him. He didn’t have to leave. But that still left their affair. She walked around the chair and sat with her hands folded in her lap. “Did you think you loved me?” Patricia whispered.

“Oh God.” His hands fisted in his hair. “I thought I was smarter. I thought I could just stay away from you. But I couldn’t. Then I thought I just needed to hate you enough, but I couldn’t do that either. The day you moved in, I wanted you, and then the more I saw you, the more I wanted you to want me. And after we started meeting, I wanted you to love me. And I knew you couldn’t.”

Patricia clenched her hands together. “Why couldn’t I?”

Ryan stood up, shouting. “I know what I am to you, Princess! I’m an amusement! Something to play with and throw away when you get bored.”

Patricia refused to flinch. “I’m not Angela.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re going to marry David Hoess because he looks good in a suit, and he’s got the right kind of job, and you can be seen at the right places with him. And it won’t matter if he loves you or you love him because he’s your kind. And I can’t watch that, Patricia, because I love you, and I know what you really want, and it’s not him. But it’s not me either.” He turned away from her.

“Ryan, I love you,” Patricia said. Her voice wavered, but it didn’t matter. It felt like those words had been lodged in her throat for weeks.

“Don’t play games with me, Princess. I’m not up to it,” he said without turning around.

Patricia stood. He had his broad back to her like a wall. His shoulders were drawn in tight. Her body seemed to drift above the floor. She felt stronger than him. When she put her hand on his back, the sight of her skin on his shirt surprised her. It belonged, and yet she felt amazed to be allowed to touch him. “I’m not playing games. I’m serious. I love you.”

He turned to look at her. His cheeks were streaked with tears. “I’m dangerous, Patricia.”

“No, just unlucky. And I won’t let you leave until you understand that.”

“You can’t make me stay.”

Patricia’s lower lip trembled, wanting to pout. “And I can’t let you go.” She sobbed. “I need you, Ryan.”

Ryan pulled her against his chest, kissing her hair. She clung to him, sobbing a rainstorm. He was here and he wasn’t leaving. He couldn’t leave. Last summer she could have married David and been content if not happy, but everything had changed since then.

“Princess, I wish it was this easy,” Ryan murmured. “I wish we could just run away and set up home together, but you’re The Whitmer. People expect things of you. You’re supposed to be president or win the Nobel Prize or something huge. And I’m the gardener. The city will be shocked.”

“The city will just have to live with the shock.” She seized his hand and pulled him toward the door.

“Where are we going?”

“To prove that you look good in a suit too.”

“It’s impossible, Patricia. No one will accept me with you. You’re The Whitmer.” Ryan pulled back.

“Exactly. I’m The Whitmer, and they’ll accept what I tell them to accept. You promised you would obey me. I need you to obey me now.” She opened the door and stopped. The chill rain had begun to fall harder while they had talked. It fell like a freezing silver curtain. “Except that I didn’t bring a coat, and it’s a long walk to the house.”

“Princess, I don’t know what you’d do without me.” Ryan draped a coat from the hook beside the door over her shoulders.

“Probably pass out in the driveway trying to go to work and die before anybody noticed I was missing.” She smiled at him. When he kissed her cheek, she thought her heart would burst with happiness. He held her hand all the way up the driveway and up to the attic, where she got him into the antique suit. There were no shoes available to fit his big feet, so she solved the problem by kicking off her own ruined shoes and leaving them upstairs. If she was going to become eccentric, she might as well do it right.

They stopped at the door of the ballroom and observed the scene. No one seemed to notice anything was amiss. The dancers kept dancing; the chatters kept chatting; the caterers kept moving through the crowd. Patricia led Ryan to the dance floor and prayed he could waltz. She didn’t want to lead, and she didn’t want them to see her leading him. They needed to see him lead so they would perceive him as her equal. He would be her master at home, but in public she didn’t want them to see her as his master. But he could waltz beautifully. Angela probably took care of that too. Thinking back, she had a lot to thank Angela McGuinness for. She swept past her aunt, who grinned and gave her a thumbs-up. Rita was too busy dancing with the real estate developer she’d almost fixed Patricia up with to notice them. David’s parents both froze when they saw her in Ryan’s arms. She gave them a cheery smile.

Then the crowd parted, and the music jangled to a stop. For a sickening moment, Patricia thought someone had realized she was dancing barefoot with her gardener. Ryan stiffened, pulling her closer like she might slip away. She looked around, afraid she would see David striding toward her, prepared to put up a fight.

Instead she saw Bruce heading for Rita, wearing hospital scrubs and carrying a gas station rose. The real estate developer backed away, leaving Rita standing alone in the center of a growing circle. Bruce grabbed her and kissed her, bending her over so far backward that her hat fell off. The kiss seemed to last forever before her set her back on her feet. He dropped to one knee in front of the stunned Rita and held out the rose.

“Rita, I did something stupid for the best reasons, but I was wrong, and I’m sorry. And I’m not going to stop bothering you until you marry me,” he announced in a clear voice that carried all over the ballroom.

When Bruce brought out a velvet box from the pocket of his scrubs, Rita clapped her hands over her mouth and started to cry.

Patricia leaned back in Ryan’s arms.

“Do you think we could have a double wedding?” Ryan whispered in her ear.

Patricia laughed. “As much of an attention hog as Rita is, I don’t think she could bear it. But I don’t think she’d object to consecutive weekends.” Patricia turned in his embrace and put her arms around his neck. “As butler, party planner, and master of the house, how many people do you think we could get into this house for a week?”

“If we clean out a few of those attic rooms, half the city.”

She rose up on her tiptoes, close enough to kiss him. Here she was, standing in a crowded ballroom with the man she loved, and no one was watching her. “Then maybe we could have a double honeymoon in, say, Bermuda.”

He smiled. “As you wish, Princess.”

Epilogue

Ryan looked up when he heard the car on the drive. He was planting tulip bulbs along the front walk. Patricia stopped the car beside him and levered herself out. He felt a lump in his throat as he admired her long, lean legs as she walked around the car. As she came around the trunk, he lingered on her thickening waist. They had waited two years after getting married to start having their own children.

“How’s Rita?” he asked as she started across the lawn.

“Baby Bea is a healthy screamer, and Rita can sleep right through it. Bruce and Ro aren’t happy about it already.”

“They actually named the baby Beatrice.” He stood, dusting dirt from the knees of his jeans.

“They named the first one Rolondo.” She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“We got another wedding invitation today.”

“Who from?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. Michael Howland and Regina Richart?” Ryan had been too relieved to see it was not a wedding they would be hosting to care too much who the happy couple was. After their spectacular wedding followed the next week by Bruce and Rita’s spectacular wedding, he’d hoped to never see another florist in Well Spring, which he’d known wouldn’t happen.

“Oh, the real estate developer. Remember before we got married when Rita was fixing me up with men to keep me from marrying David Hoess? He was one of them. I’m glad to hear he’s getting married.”

“I’m glad to hear he’s not getting married here.”

“But I bet they want to take pictures in your beautiful gardens.”

Ryan peeked over her shoulder. His gardens. He’d thought he was proud of the work he’d done as caretaker, but it didn’t compare to what he felt as master of the house. He gazed down at Patricia. Nothing compared to how he felt as master of the house. He kissed her, drinking in the sweetness of his wife. Her body was soft and inviting. He wished he could lay her down in the grass and make love to her right here. Taste her naked body under the sun like they used to. She shivered, still as excited by him as he was by her.

“Oh gawd, if I wanted to see this, I could watch HBO.”

Patricia laughed and turned to their adopted son. “Not until your homework is done, Sam.”

“And remember, the people in those movies are only actors pretending to be in love,” Ryan told him. “Trisha and I actually are in love.”

Sam rolled his eyes like the teenager he was. Sam was one of the reasons they hadn’t decided to have children until now. They had adopted unadoptable teens and given them a permanent home through college. At fifteen, the boy was small and scrawny but he was getting good grades, and after four years in the foster system, he couldn’t quite believe he was living here and wouldn’t have to leave ever.

“Sam, you’re supposed to be helping me,” Paul shouted. “Mom!”

At twelve, Paul had fewer compunctions about calling his adoptive parents Mom and Dad. That was what made them decide to have a child of their own. Several people had remarked that now that he and Patricia were having their own children, they wouldn’t want to adopt any more. Patricia had sweetly and consistently informed everyone that Well Spring had plenty of room and then asked if they had any room in their own homes. One or two had been affected enough to become adoptive parents; several others were fostering. Many obviously felt guilty.