Chapter 1 #2
I inhaled, breathing in the distinct smell that was an intoxicating blend of savory and nostalgic.
Like the time I got a lightly salted bagel from the corner deli, or the roasted chestnuts from the street vendor one winter night that were coated in spiced melted butter that spread to my fingers.
The butter had threatened to stain my cashmere sweater if I so much as grazed it.
It was everything about the city that made me feel…alive.
The congested streets where traffic never seemed to move but people felt the need to shout useless profanities.
Especially taxi drivers, they were known for that.
It was “out of my way” this and “kiss my ass” that.
The profanities got a little tiring, though, so it was nice to have a chauffeur, so I no longer had to hear them.
Not that I was na?ve enough to think that our driver didn’t have a tendency to hurl useless curse words at people in his mind.
The snow that settled in the winter months, snowflakes descending in a beautiful dance with twists and turns as they fell.
It took the city as a blank canvas and turned it into a winter wonderland until another season blew through.
Like now, as our driver walked ahead of me, carrying my bags in his hands, as he led us to the doorman of the building where I resided with Nick in our duplex penthouse.
The light snow was falling at a steady rate.
By morning there’d be a blanket of snow on the ground.
I wouldn’t be able to wear high heels, especially my favorite black leather stiletto boots, which was why I’d chosen to get use out of them while I still could.
For now, though, the snow was slowly hitting my Rina Levana pinstriped suit until the tiny flakes dissolved from my warmth, especially as I entered the toasty lobby.
When I’d left this afternoon, it’d been chilly, but not snowing, so there was no need for a coat.
Rina Levana knew how to make clothes for a New Yorker, choosing the right fabrics and lining it appropriately.
The snow made that point somewhat different, though. It was a good thing I was home.
The doorman escorted me upstairs, placing my bags just inside my door. In a twist of good fortune, our housekeeper was passing by the gallery-style foyer, her hands laden with dry cleaning that must have been delivered for Nick.
“Good evening, Mrs. Crane. It’s lovely to see you home. I’ll put those away for you,” she said, using her pointy elbow to signal to the bags.
I smiled, holding onto the dainty strap of my handbag. “I appreciate that. It’s quite nice to be home,” I responded, clearing my throat as she nodded and walked by me.
Every member of our staff had been with us nearly from the very beginning. They were practically family at this point. It also didn’t hurt that they knew us so well that they could anticipate our every need.
I hung my purse in the coat closet and slipped the gloves off my hands. There was no use in searching through the bags to procure Nick’s watch. I’d tell him about it, and that would be enough until the bags were unpacked in our room. I was late as it was.
I moved gently, the corners of my lips turning upward as I strolled into the dining room, my eyes meeting Nick’s light blue ones. His glare was intense, it felt like he was the sun, and I was an ice cube, lying out on the hot tar, him prepared to destroy me with but a few rays.
That was the thing about Nick. He was powerful and strong, but also stoic and sometimes unreadable. It could be argued that I didn’t always want to read him, but I didn’t believe that. I just wasn’t as attuned to everything that was going on in his head. I had my own life, after all.
A life I worked very hard to build and maintain.
A life that was accepted by our friends.
I’d stared at and studied every plane and angle of Nick, every hard line, every muscle that made up his six foot two stature, and yet, it would never be enough.
Everything about him demanded to be not just remembered but worshipped and longed for.
He had soft hair the color of obsidian that I’d held onto like a life preserver more times than I could count as he drove into me, causing me to see a sky full of stars.
He had a strong, square jaw that had a hard jut to it.
Every time I ran my hand along his stubborn chin, I contemplated whether it had the ability to cut glass.
Even now as he leaned his arms on the wooden table, his muscles were practically bulging. They were recognizable through the white fabric of his dress shirt he wore with the sleeves rolled up, and I couldn’t seem to peel my eyes from him. Nor did I want to.
“Candy,” he greeted me in return, his voice deep with a distinctive huskiness to it that was borderline gravelly.
“Nick,” I said, his name coming out as a mere breath.
His eyes traveled with me as I took my seat at the table, across from him. He set his wineglass down in front of him.
There were three chairs on either side of the table, a decent distance separating us, but this was comfortable.
It was what we’d become accustomed to, both of us at opposite ends of the table.
I would have crossed the room and made an effort to greet him with a chaste kiss on the cheek, or even lips, but whenever we were in the same room together, there was a frigid breeze that tore through.
It could be bone-chilling, and neither of us addressed it, decidedly ignoring the polar bear in the room.
Sometimes, when I really thought about it, I had to blink back hot tears that could have annihilated the snow outside. Then I reminded myself that what I had now glimmered like a sparkling evening gown. I was one of the lucky ones, to put it mildly.
I was married to a brooding, oftentimes sarcastic, successful man, who had chosen to spend the rest of his days on earth with me.
In a penthouse so big that it was easy to get lost if you weren’t paying close enough attention to where you were going.
Able to spend my days shopping at any store I wanted, whenever I wanted.
We had built a home worthy of being featured in one of those home and garden publications, and a life worthy of being featured on a television show.
There wasn’t a single thing to look back on or cry over. Sure, we weren’t lovey-dovey, but we were also married and had grown. It didn’t matter that our growth might have been apart and not together. Affection wasn’t the most important thing. Security was, and we had that in each other.
I liked knowing that we lived on the Upper East Side, that our friends hosted parties as extravagant as ones we’d thrown, and that it was a guarantee we’d be invited. It was a beautiful life, and it was ours.
I cleared my throat and straightened my back. “Sorry I’m late. I got tied up. I actually got you something.” Nick knew of my little shopping habit. I’d made it no secret that I had a tendency to buy things for no reason.
He nodded, his eyes downcast to his steak. “He just brought out the entrée.”
I placed my linen napkin on my lap and reached for my wine. “How was your day?”
“I’m divorcing you.”