Matter of Choice (10 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Her keys remained in hand as she walked across the kitchen floor – this, the last time she would walk through the kitchen that had hosted Thanksgivings and Christmases. Turkeys, presents, friends and families’ laughter and cheers. Phantom voices from another time, when happiness rang through the walls, and now tore at her as Shannon struggled to keep her focus off the past. She didn’t look at the cabinet where the wine glasses once nestled, or the vases where dead flowers remained soaking in browning water. Every fiber beckoned her to remove them and clean the vase, but she steeled against the urge. It was Greg’s problem now. It was no longer home and belonge
d to someone else now. A ghost.

She was trespassing.

Shannon steadied her footsteps while trembling vibrations pulsed through each finger. Gasps of air surged through her lungs as she edged up the back service staircase. Even the narrow stairway, lacking decoration and embellishments, elegantly climbed upward through walls that eased into a curved ceiling, boasting the quality and refinement taken in the architecture. But it’d always been more than a showplace. It was a home, one Shannon had made sure was inviting for any guest with the same attention and care she showed at the Grande. She gripped the banister, fighting the urge to count each step as it led one step closer to the end. A countdown to the inevitable.

She paused, listening to the silence, searching for a reason
to change her mind. None came.

Trudging feet crossed the threshold into her bedroom, where the impression of warmth and romance remained, resonated in the rich colors, satin sheets and fluffed duvet. But she knew differently. A cover for nights of loneliness and tears, a place she seldom stayed. The hotel felt more like a home. Not bothering to pause or reminisce, she headed to the large walk-in closet and retrieved a suitcase from the shelves, carrying it to the bed, propped open against the mattress. She turned and stared at the open doors displaying a wardrobe of designer clothes bought along 5th Avenue. Money earned from a career she loved and given to her by a husband rich with Wall Street wealth. Now she stared at it all with hands on her hips. She didn’t want anything giv
en or bought with Greg’s money.

Her steps eased forward as fingers ran along the line of suits and casual wear. Materials which didn’t simply clothe a body, but draped it with elegance. Designer sweaters, cocktail dresses, tailored business wear. Sweatshirts and jeans made of the best cottons. Her hand dropped as she considered the apparel. Two weeks of suits, a week’s worth of casual wear, under
wear and a couple pair of shoes that went along with everything. Maybe a cocktail dress in case of an event popping up she needed to attend. That should be enough. Everything else could be picked through after whatever came next. Most of her jewelry, her collectibles, the furniture, all of it could be replaced. It reminded her of the marriage anyway. She didn’t want the house, didn’t want the riches accumulated from her husbands’ family, none of it. All she wanted were day to day clothes, toiletries, and the jewelry she had come with when they married. Even the diamond could stay behind. She just needed to live, and to keep the hotel. Everything else from the life with Greg could be left behind. It meant nothing to her now.

She plucked business suites from their hangers, pulled jeans from the maple shelving, and opened the thin drawers where underwear and bras nested. A couple of cocktail dresses and six pairs of shoes, a dozen trips back and forth to her suitcase and garment bag, she closed the d
oors and drew in a deep breath.

At the doorway of the bedroom, Shannon stood fixed for moment, scanning the room that had been hers for so long. A room she had personally sat with interior designers for hours on end dressing perfectly to her tastes. Memories locked remorsefully within walls she and Greg had poured over blueprints before they were even married, meticulously plotting the perfect dream home. Images of him carrying her under the archway the first night, promises and dreams in tow. The playing and teasing, nights of arguments and slamming doors. Tens years of marriage, ending.

No tears fell, only a strange chill nipping at her heart.

“It’s time to walk away, Shannon.” Her disembodied v
oice prodded her unmoving feet.

The urging was all she needed. With suitcases in hand, she turned her back on
the bedroom for the last time.

*

Room 309.

Shannon settled her suitcases down in the new, temporary home.
It doesn’t matter
, she thought. She had been living at the Grande off and on for a long time. But deep down, she knew, it did matter. Because it was different. This time, the key to the house had been left on the kitchen counter with a simple note she figured Greg wouldn’t read. If he did, the simplistic explanation would mean very little. This time, there was no where else to go.

Kenny G’s saxophone cried low in the background from the Bose system sitting on the blonde oak credenza as Shannon settled on the edge of the sofa. Her body unconsciously swayed to the music, a trance of sadness and contemplation. A future, once so clear and full of promise, blurred with uncertainty. Her chin rested in her hands, gaze locked on the dark grey carpet at her feet, and wondered if Greg was home, if he had seen the letter. Her jaw tightened. It didn’t matter if he did or didn’t. There was no going back. The marriage died the day the drunk took Greg’s mind.
Maybe
, she thought,
in a lot of ways, so did I
.

It was time to
reclaim her life.

Chapter Fifteen

Shannon stood in the back gardens, a picked rose bud rolling absent-mindedly between her thumb and forefinger as she stared off in the distance. She expected Triston to arrive any moment - she needed to talk and there was no one else. After she had left the message an hour ago, she hung up, instantly regretting the call. But what was done was done, and as she waited, she couldn’t deny the comfort the
idea of seeing him brought her.

There were so many decisions and choices needing to be made, an unchartered road she had no idea how to navigate. The sweet fragrance of the blossom teased her nose as she smelled the bud, tips of the tender pedals tickling her lips. What was she supposed to do next? Meet with a lawyer? Talk face to face with Greg? She turned the blossom, eyes unfocused and preoccupied. She wasn’t sure. This was no where she ever imagined finding herself - divorcing her husband and talking to Triston again. She closed her eyes. Dangerous roads she was traveling on now …

“Shy? I came as soon as I returned to the room and received the message. I’d taken a ride up and down the shore. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

Shannon turned around with the same brave smile she mastered over the past years. Guests, family and friends admi
red it and believed the front.

Now the mask was unsuccessful. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“Triston.” She pulled the band from her hair and tossed the strands free in the breeze. “Don’t … I’m not … I’m not ‘honey’”

His eyes shifted away, jaw tensing for a mere moment, then reached out to cup her chin in his hands, pushing a few stray strands away from her cheeks with his thumbs. “What’s wrong?”

“I left him tonight.” She eased her head away from his grasp and tucked the hair behind her ears. “Greg doesn’t even know yet. Or maybe he does by now.” She shrugged, still twisting the rose in her fingers. It was easier to concentrate on the flower than his face. “All I took were some clothes and necessities. He can have everything else, as long as I can keep this hotel. Everything else, I just don’t care.” A grimace pulled at her features, rambling was not what was practiced script for this conversation.

She sounded like such as whiner. A needy, pitiful whiner. Where was the fiddle, it would complete the picture so well.

Triston’s strong arms reached out to pull her in, crushing her against the strength of his body. “He wasn’t home?”

Shannon’s head shook against his chest. “No.” Being held felt good. It felt so
good
.  “I left him a note. Dear Jane kinda thing.”

“Only it was a Dear John kinda thing, huh?”

She laughed softly. “Don’t hear of those so often.” She pushed away. Although she could have stayed there the rest of the night, or as long as it took. She wondered, for a moment, if she was that needy, and drew in a breath. That was something she’d never been, she didn’t plan on starting now. “So I’ve been standing here, waiting for the sun to drop beyond the river, trying to see my next move. A lawyer I guess. Need papers filed and served.” She frowned, toeing the pebbles at her feet. “I’m on foreign grounds here.”

“Afraid I can’t help you there. Never been married and all, well, you know that.” He pinched her chin gently between a thumb and forefinger. “But, what I can do is take you out for dinner, show you a good time.”

She shook her head. “Triston, I can’t do that. For one, I’m not about to show my face in public with another man and have everyone think … what they would think. Secondly, I’m not ready for your idea of a good time.”

Triston laughed. “Shy, I have to say, I’ve always loved that sass of yours.” He sighed. “Listen, I’m not talking about anything sexual. I’m talking dinner, a walk along that river of yours, or maybe a dinner cruise. I’ve heard they’re really great. As for what anyone else thinks, who cares? I don’t remember you ever being the kind of woman who based her living on everyone else’s presumptions. And after all he’s done, you going out to dinner and relaxing is far less than what you deserve.” He nodded his head upward. “Let everyone think what they want. Come out with me. Relax. Enjoy life for a little bit.”

Shannon looked past him at the river, mind turning over the possibilities. Her voice sounded a million miles away as she spoke, her heart and mind conflicted. “It’s early in the season for a dinner cruise, but it’s been a long time since I’ve had dinner out.”

“Then let’s do it. You go to your room, I’ll go to mine. We’ll get dressed and I’ll meet you in what, thirty minutes?”

Shannon smiled. “Okay. But the dinner and that’s it. Nothing afterwards Triston. Agreed?”

He nudged her shoulder. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Shy. You’re acting more desperate than I am.”

He turned towards the Grande and Shannon watched as he headed inside, looking over his shoulder with a sly wink before disappearing around the corner. She loosely pinched her lips, looked down at the young rose. Dinner. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a nice dinner out. And it wasn’t a date.

She wondered if she’d be able to explain that to her pounding hea
rt.

*

Shannon examined herself in the bathroom mirror, fidgeting with her hair which, despite being shifted about, still hung gracefully over her shoulders. Eyebrows plucked, light russet eye shadow and black eyeliner, a hint of blush and pearl pink lipstick. She traced the edges of her lips with a pinkie finger, and, satisfied she didn’t look like a clown, took a step backward. Her hand hovered over the diamond eternity necklace she’d used to decorate the sweetheart necklace of her pretty and not-too-sexy silk cocktail dress.
Was it too much?
Lips pulled tight into consideration as she reached down to the feel the matching bracelet dropping against her wrist. The pieces dressed up the cocktail dress so nicely, and the only ones she’d taken from the jewelry box at the house, yet maybe the price tag was too obvious. Rubbing the bracelet, she closed her eyes. This was ridiculous. Why was she so nervous?

“This isn’t a real date Shy… Shannon.” The heat surged from the nape of her neck as Triston’s nickname slipped across her lips so comfortably. She
sighed. That couldn’t be good.

The alarm clock on the nightstand next to the bed caught her eye and she struggled with its revelation. Only three minutes before she was supposed to meet him in the lobby. She had definitely gotten ready in record time. That couldn’t be good either. Too eager.
Being eager wasn’t good
at all
.

Her fingers tugged at the latch of the bracelet, and she laid it at the foot of the bed. Necklace, no bracelet. Good compromise. She picked up the matching chained purse and draped it over a shoulder. As she headed towards the door, she had to admit, good or not, she was
looking forward to the evening.

*

Heads turned as Shannon stepped out of the elevator, and she fought the urge not to turn around and make a hasty retreat. It was business as usual: guests coming and going from the restaurant to dinner, leaving and coming from the hotel from their nightly excursions, relaxing in the alcoves with family and friends. Everyone knew who she was, and she couldn’t help wonder what they thought of her formal attire. Stiffening her chest, she returned the smile of a passing couple and held her head up. Tonight, she wasn’t just the boss, the hotel manager. Tonight, she was one of the guests and she was heading out for an evening. There was nothing wrong with that.

Triston stood near the front entry, gaze fixed on her. His lips curled into a coy, slanted smile, and he nodded as their eyes met, then headed out the door to the parking lot. Tucking her hair behind an ear, she scanned the lobby, narrowed her eyes and smiled. Respect for her wishes, and no scene. The tension carried in both shoulders eased enough for her to breath, and she started towards the door.

She’d made it halfway across the lobby and heard Naomi shout her name.

Shannon turned with a flush of pink tingeing her cheeks. So much for sneaking out unnoticed. “Yes, Naomi?”

“Ms. Winters, I’m sorry for interrupting you - it looks like you’re on your way out - but I have a list of ten rooms for the banquet tomorrow night, and was wondering if there was anything special I needed to do with them. I know you usually assign these types of events.”

Shannon felt like a deer in headlights. The banquet totally slipped her mind, and she hadn’t attended to many of the details. Looking into Naomi’s expectant eyes, she wondered if she should cancel the evening with Triston and look into the progress her teams had made. Lips sucked tight over her teeth, she smiled at the front desk clerk. “Try to keep them all on the third floor, away from other families, especially those with young children. Are there any security officers or secret service accompanying the guests?”

Naomi scanned the paper in her hands. “I don’t think so. It doesn’t specify …”

“Let me take a look.” She took the list from Naomi’s hands and glanced down at the mostly familiar names. “Looks like a couple of secret service members.” She pointed to two names she knew well. “Senator Johnson travels with his family, and Mr. Grossman is their detail. Also, Ms. Tipton details for Mr. Coswell. Put these two rooms next to one another,” she pointed to Johnson and Grossman, “and these two rooms next to one another.

“Also, Johnson’s family likes to have apple juice and fruit punch available in their refrigerator, along with his chocolate milk, 2%. And for both details, make sure there is extra water waiting for them.”

Naomi nodded. “Okay. Thank you, Ms. Winters. You look beautiful, by the way.”

Shannon nodded, trying to ignore the currency of nerves coursing from head to toe. “Thank you, Naomi. Now don’t worry about these, do the best you can, and be courteous of all the guests. You’ll do fine. It’s probably about time I start allowing you to appoint these more complex room assignments.” She paused, hating how shaky her voice sounded, then smiled at her employee, hoping it provided distraction. “I’ll be back in a little while, but you’ll probably be gone for the day. If you have any questions, feel free to leave me a note or voicemail, and I’ll look into it, okay?”

She nodded again. “Have a nice evening.”

“Thank you again, Naomi.”

The nagging beckoned again for her to return to the office, and Shannon swallowed hard. Trusting her employees and enjoying a night out was not such an
inappropriate thing.

*

Scanning eyes found Triston leaning casually against a yellow convertible with its top down. Shannon held a breath, her heart thrilled at the sight of him. Dressed in black suit pants and jacket, a white cotton collarless shirt underneath, he looked formal, yet casual and entirely too sexy. His face lit up and Shannon gulped as he angled in her direction. The memories of everything she fell in love with at the ripe age of seventeen rushed her. She gulped. It wasn’t all memories from long ago begging attention. How had everything about Triston get better over time?

She strolled to his side as casually as jellied legs allowed. “I’m sorry it took me so long, I had to attend to some details. And thank you for not making this too obvious. I don’t want to have to explain anything just yet. I still have so much to work out for myself.” She softly gulped. The roller coaster in her stomach was taking unfamiliar and uncomfortable plunges into long forgotten depths.

He reached and rubbed her elbow as she drew near enough to stand before him. “Shy, I’m not trying to make a spectacle out of our … relationship.” He laughed. “And don’t roll your eyes and give me that look. What else can I call it?”

Shannon shook her head, hands planted firm on her hips. “A friendship is about as far as I’ll go. We had an agreement, remember?”

He grinned. “I’m not arguing semantics. Come on.” He led her around the car to the passenger side and opened the door, motioning to the black leather seat waiting to be occupied. “I made a couple of phone calls earlier, and have some reservations for us. All you need to do is sit back, relax and enjoy.”

She smiled as she eased into the car. “Do you know where you’re going? I can help with directions.”

“Not needed. And besides, I think it’d be nice for you to have a pleasant surprise for a change.”

The flutters returned. “You’re hopeless, Triston.”
Starved for affection, that’s all. Everyone has a cliché in their life, this is mine.
The sensation passed, fragile composure settling in. Her tongue ran over her lips. Justification, that’s all it took.

He chuckled and closed the door. She flashed a quick look over the backseat as he trotted around the rear bumper, and glanced up at the sky. Greg didn’t like convertibles and, although they could have easily afforded a high end vehicle, Shannon had never ridden in one. She imagined the feeling of racing through the open air. The image of Triston running fingers through her hair as it rode the breeze danced before her mind’s eye. Her hands shot up and wrapped the strands in
a ponytail.

“Are you ok
ay? You look a little flushed?”

He plugged the key into the ignition, eyes lit with concern. She watched helplessly, insides melting, as his hand drifted over her cheek.