Taste for Trouble (41 page)
“Oh,
James,” she whispered. “Never. Things just got—”
“No,”
he said. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Not where you’ve been, not my
being a judgmental ass about Vivi. All that matters is that you’re here now.
We’re
here now, together. All that matters is that I love you more than my heart can
stand, and that I’ll do anything,
anything
, to keep you here with me.” He
dropped his forehead to her hands. “You’re my family now, Bel. You’re my heart.
Without you, I’m as empty as this damn house. And I
hate
this house
without you in it. Stay with me. Please.”
Bel’s
knees went watery, and she didn’t fight them. She simply joined him on the
floor and threw her arms about his neck, her heart singing inside her like a
wild bird, simply for the joy of the song.
“You’re
my home,” she said. “My family. I don’t want to be anywhere but with you. I’ll
never leave you, James. Never again. I hated being away from you. I didn’t want
that, never wanted it. I hadn’t been gone two hours before I wanted to come
back but things got—”
She
broke off, a surge of familiar grief tempering the incandescent joy. He pulled
back, searched her face with serious eyes. “Got what?” he asked gently.
“Complicated.”
She hesitated, bit her lip. “I know you said you don’t need to know where I’ve
been but I need to tell you about it. It’s...important.” She took his hands in
hers, those dear, warm hands. God, she’d missed him. She didn’t know if she’d
ever get enough of touching him just because she could, because he was there. “But
before I do, I need you to understand something. I need you to believe that,
had it been up to me, I’d have been back here practically before I left. I
would never—will never—leave you like that.” Tears swam into her eyes and she
blinked them back. “I spent every minute of these past weeks hating what I was
doing, hating that you might think I would be so brutal, so vindictive as to
make you pay like this for some stupid argument. It was—” She shook her head. “It
was awful and it wasn’t me. I would never—”
He
pressed his lips lightly to hers, a sweet, uncomplicated touch that had the
tears spilling over. “I believe you.”
She
gawked at him in wonder, because he did. He absolutely believed her. It
radiated from him like heat from her ovens on baking day, and it touched
something inside her, thawed some distant corner of her heart that had been
frozen so long she’d forgotten what it was like to feel anything there.
She
smiled at him. It was a little off-center but not bad for a girl who really
wanted to bury her face in his shirt and weep for the next hour or so. But she
didn’t have time for that. Thanksgiving was only three days away and she had a
miracle to perform.
“Now,”
he said, eyeing her mouth with a purposeful light in his eye, “tell me about
complicated. Before I forget to be interested and try to talk you into other
things.”
Bel
felt the corner of her mouth quirk up in spite of the press of sorrow on her
heart. “Other things?”
“Like
the pleasures of making love indoors, on clean sheets. Hell, on a mattress
rather than a foot wide strip of marble.”
“You
have a problem with
al fresco
?” Bel asked, willing to be distracted.
“Hell,
no. But I do like my variety and I’ve been making a list.”
“A
list.” Bel eyed him, intrigued.
James
shook his head and climbed to his feet. “Nope. First, we talk about
complicated. Then you can see the list.” He held out a hand for her and she
sighed but allowed him to pull her up. God, she didn’t want to do this.
“Sit,”
she said and pointed her chin at a kitchen stool. She ran her eyes over his
frame with a weird combination of worry and lust. “You haven’t been eating
right while I’ve been away. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
He
scooped her into his arms and regarded her with delighted eyes. “Bel. Darling. Light
of my life. I hesitate to ask because it seems presumptuous and rude, and your
answer in no way affects my desire to love you for the rest of your life,
but...are you offering to feed me?”
She
frowned up at him. “No, I thought we could ride bikes. Of course I’m offering
to feed you.”
He
pressed a hard kiss to her mouth. “I love you.”
She
blinked away the spinny after-effects of that kiss. “You’re just saying that
because I have groceries.”
He
grinned at her. “Honey. Groceries are part of who you are. I couldn’t love you
if I didn’t love your sixteen teeny-tiny bottles of mustard, too.”
“Mustard
that’s going to make you one kick-ass club sandwich on rustic sourdough with a
side of baby field greens dressed with a balsamic-walnut oil vinaigrette.”
“Did
I complain? I did not. I love your mustard.” He released her and plunked
himself on the stool. “Get to work, woman. And tell me about complicated while
you’re at it.”
The
next morning Bel walked into Hunt House through the open French doors in the
rear just as she had nearly every morning of the past three years. Used to be
that she’d scurry along the garden path from the Dower House without even
seeing it, her head stuffed with to-do lists, her hands full of recipes, her
heart a deliberate numbness inside her. But today was different.
Today,
she walked slowly, her head clear, her heart alive with worry and grief and joy,
and her hand tucked safely into James’.
A
green light blinked in the hallway outside the kitchen and Bel said, “They’re
not taping. I should go in.”
“You
want me to come with you?”
“No.”
But nerves had her rubbing a palm down the seam of her jeans. “I think I should
do this alone.”
He
nodded, then tipped up her chin with a thumb. He pressed his lips to hers, warm
and solid and certain. “You’ll be fine,” he said. “I’ll be sitting right here.”
He eyed the concerningly frail antique bench beside them, sighed deeply and put
his shoulder blades to the wall. “I’ll be
standing
right here.”
“Right.
Okay. Good.” She kissed him back, put all her love and gratitude into it. “Here
I go, then.”
He
gave her bottom a companionable pat, then she turned and marched grimly toward
the kitchen.
She
checked the light to make sure the cameras hadn’t started rolling—nope, still
green—then slipped through the door. Habit had her stepping carefully over the
thick cables that snaked across the floor, then she squinted toward the
enormous island counter broiling under the glare of a dozen or more canister
lights.
Kate
was there in a pristine white oxford and a pretty bib apron, her hair gleaming,
her makeup perfect and camera-ready. She frowned down at a huge raw turkey in
front of her while a kitchen tech grabbed the drumsticks and demonstrated how
to poke her hand down into the cavity at the best angle for the camera. Bel
half smiled at Kate’s expression of mild disgust. The kitchen had never been
Kate’s favorite part of the show—she was more of a gardener than a cook—and Bel
knew she was weighing whether or not she could get away with using gloves to
dig out the bag of giblets.
A
quick pinch of sorrow surprised Bel. She’d spent the past few weeks forcing
herself to grieve for this, for the old dream. Forcing herself to let it go so
she could build a new dream, a new vision for her life, for success. She
thought she’d prepared herself, thought she could walk onto this set without regret,
ready to say what she needed to say to Kate and move into that future she’d
worked so hard to envision.
But
somehow it still hurt. It still hurt that she would never do this job she’d
loved for so long. A new generation of women was at this very moment struggling
to find meaning in the work of making a home and feeding their families. Or at
the very least, they were struggling with an enormous raw turkey. They needed
help, and Bel had been so proud to be the one they turned to.
Kate
looked up, saw Bel there and scowled. Actually scowled. Bel sighed and bid her
final farewell to the old dream. She would
not
be assuming the role of
Kate 2.0, not now, not ever. Not while Kate was alive, kicking, and actively
against the plan.
Bel
threaded her way through the maze of cameras and staffers until she landed at
Kate’s elbow. “Hi, Kate,” she said.
“Belinda.”
Kate betrayed not an ounce of surprise, only inclined her head with her usual
frosty good manners.
Bel
nodded at the turkey. “Ambitious,” she said. “That’s got to be a twenty-five
pounder. You’ll roast breast-down for the first hour, I hope?”
Kate
lifted her chin. “Please tell me you’re not here to discuss recipes.”
“No.
But I do need to talk with you.”
“Oh,
dear.” She offered a thin smile. “I worried this might happen. Please, Belinda.
Let’s avoid an ugly scene. My judgment on the matter of your employment is
final.”
“Your
judgment blows,” Bel said. “That’s part of why I quit, if you’ll recall.” She
returned the smile in the spirit in which it was intended. “But I’m not here to
talk about my employment. I need to talk to you about something else.”
“What
else could we possibly have to talk about?”
“Bob.”
Kate’s
lids twitched faintly, as if suppressing a flinch. “Bob.” She gave a delicate
sniff and turned her attention toward the massive, naked bird in front of her. “What,
is he back from vacation? Did retirement not suit him? Is he hoping to
reconnect with some old, lucrative clients? Because if that’s why you’re here,
you can just—”
“He’s
dying, Kate.”
She
blinked, her face perfectly devoid of emotion. “Excuse me?”
“Pancreatic
cancer,” Bel said. She forced the words out past the gummy lump of rage and
grief in her throat. “He’s been in treatment off and on for the past year,
everything from chemo to weird dietary stuff. He finally ran out of options.”
“Ran
out of options?” Kate echoed the words, her voice crisp and precise as always. “What
does that mean?”
“It
means that he decided to sell his agency and go see the pyramids, the
rainforest, the south of France. Machu Pichu. You know.” She circled an
encompassing hand. “The stuff you don’t do until the clock starts winding down.”
“Machu
Pichu.” Kate’s face was utterly blank.
“Right.
I surmised he intended to do those things, see those sights with you. Then you used
the Fox Hunt Ball to make very clear that such wasn’t the nature of your
relationship going forward. You wiped out my future plans with the same
well-placed stroke.” She smiled coldly. “You always were a good multitasker. Inviting
Vivi was inspired.”
Kate
canted a single brow. “Your point, Belinda?”
Bel
stared. Didn’t this woman feel anything? Her lover of the past twenty years was
dying
and the best she could do was mild impatience? Suddenly Bel was
glad she’d never be Kate 2.0. No,
screw
glad. She was delighted and
relieved. Nobody should grow up to be...this.
“He
hired me on as a personal assistant,” she went on with careful precision. “To
take care of his travel arrangements, keep track of his meds, cook when he
wanted to eat in, accompany him when he wanted to eat out. Nothing demanding,
just general Girl Friday stuff. He didn’t need me. Just wanted the company, I
think. He hadn’t planned to travel alone, you understand.”
Kate
did flinch at that, and Bel felt only a savage sort of joy. Finally. Bob deserved
at least that. He deserved a hell of a lot more, actually. Kate’s flinch was
just the start of what she owed him. “We didn’t even get through the first stop—an
African safari, if you were wondering—before his kidneys went.”
“Kidneys?”
Kate’s lips were white, pinched.
“Yeah.
Then the liver. It’s all of a piece when it comes to pancreatic cancer. I told
him we should have started with the south of France.” She shook her head. “He thought
it would be his favorite, though, and I guess he didn’t want to peak too soon.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I offered to make it happen anyway—there are excellent
end of life facilities there—but he wanted to die at home. So I brought him
home.”
Kate’s
eyes flared with panic. “Here?” A hand crept to the pearls at her throat and
she glanced at the ceiling, as if Bel had managed to stash Bob in the attic
while she wasn’t looking. “He’s here?”
“What,
in Hunt House? Hell, no. This isn’t his home. You’re not his family. He offered
you that job and you turned it down, remember? In favor of—” She cast a
scornful gaze around the kitchen that produced for the cameras and nobody else.
“—this ridiculous sham of a life. Crappy choice, you ask me, but that’s as may
be. No, Bob’s my family now. I brought him home with
me
.”
“Oh,
dear. This is awkward.” Kate smiled politely but something furious and
malicious flickered in her eyes. “I’m afraid your home is no longer yours,
Belinda. You see, Vivi needed a place to stay and the Dower House was standing
empty—”
