Chapter 16
I have other pants
NICK
Taking my seat at the dining room table, I looked across at Candy. She had her notebook open in front of her. Her long blonde hair draped over her shoulders in such a way that made my cock twitch. Her face was devoid of makeup, only adding to her appeal.
“Are you ready?” she asked, eyeing my empty hands. To Candy, these weekly little meetings where we went over details of what was going on, where we were expected, and how certain subjects would be handled were of the utmost importance.
Usually, I held my phone and took down whatever I thought was noteworthy, which admittedly wasn’t much. Today, though, I wasn’t in the mood to play along.
My eyes fell downcast, taking in her notebook.
“Yeah.” Truthfully, unless one of her topics had to do with us, I didn’t give a shit.
But Candy was much too proper, even with me, to bring that up.
Especially how the last time we had been in a room together to do anything besides eat or sleep, I ate her out on top of the grand fucking piano.
The stupidest, most ridiculous present in the world that became my new favorite thing in this house full of meaningless crap. A thing that held a new memory for me. A new, cherished memory for me.
For me. How true those two words were. It seemed to have no impact on Candy at all. Her whole demeanor after suggested as much. The way she’d blinked and then left the room like nothing had transpired. It still baffled me.
I’d never been good at talking about my feelings. Never cared much for it, in fact. But that might’ve been the right time and place to start. With something along the lines of maybe we should table this divorce.
I knew I asked for it, but it shouldn’t have been surprising that I’d had that thought repeatedly since making my decision.
The way I felt about Candy was…
She was…
We were…
Everything.
I would never stop loving her.
Mention of the divorce only seemed to loom over our heads like a category five hurricane intent on mass destruction.
But walking away felt like my only option, because no matter how long I waited for something, anything at all, to change, it never would. Experiencing blue balls would be more likely.
“You look good,” I said, blowing the silence that consumed us to smithereens. Not even a damn library was this quiet.
Candy glanced up at a sloth’s pace and tucked the strands of hair that were framing her face behind her ears. “Thank you, but we should get down to it.” She glanced at the diamond watch I’d given her for her birthday last year. “I have an appointment to get my hair done.”
“Your hair?” It looked fine to me. Better than fine actually.
She gulped. “Of course.” The pen she held between her manicured fingers tapped the notebook. “So, let’s start.”
Funny, I had a better idea of how she could spend her time. Like under me, against this table, as I pounded into her so hard and fast that she struggled to walk afterward.
After clearing her throat, she began, running through a series of miscellaneous bullshit.
The Christmas cards that she’d put a rush on printing and mailing out.
The time off she’d given our chef.
The fact that Teddy and Irina’s party was coming up.
“I have the tailor fixing the hem of your pants,” Candy added in relation to the party. “After the last time they went to the dry cleaners, the hem on one leg fell a bit. Not to worry, though, they should be delivered before the party. I’ll make sure they go in your dressing room for you.”
“I have other pants, you know.”
Inhaling a deep breath, Candy’s eyes met mine across the table. “Yes, but those pants match the jacket I’d like you to wear. The whole look pairs nicely with what I’m planning on wearing.”
I nodded, unsure what I was supposed to say to that.
Then her eyes fell to my hand, studying my ring finger closely. “I trust you’ll be leaving that on for the time being.”
Going against my better judgment, I’d put it back on and promised myself it’d stay there until the second of January.
As if on instinct, my thumb found the ring and rubbed the metal.
It was cool, smooth, everything I didn’t feel at the moment.
I was at the end of my rope where my wife was concerned, wanting her, but not able to fully have her.
At least, not the way I wanted her. It was a new concept for me, and I didn’t know how I felt about that.
Finally, I addressed her comment. “I don’t want to see your head explode, so yes, I’ll be leaving it on for now. ”
Next on her list was our own party. Apparently, she was getting ready to put the finishing touches on it with the planner.
“Good for you,” I said, bored by this whole charade. “Just tell me when you need me to speak with the bartender.” Typically, I handled those meetings, selecting the alcohol and drinks that would be served, but this year I noticed Candy didn’t tell me anything about them.
She waved her hand. “Not necessary. I asked for the top-shelf and selected a peppermint vodka as our specialty cocktail. I also decided to have a coffee bar, and the barista will be serving peppermint mocha coffee.”
My hand formed a fist. She’d cut me out, acted as if I didn’t even exist. She knew that was about the only part of this shit I enjoyed.
I narrowed my gaze but didn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing I felt slighted.
“Any regular coffee?” You know, for guests who didn’t want to drink something akin to toothpaste.
“Mmhmm. For those who don’t want to be festive, there will be regular and decaf coffee. You can relax, Nick. I know what I’m doing, you know? This isn’t my first party.”
Still fuming inwardly, but the picture of calm, cool, and collected outwardly, I let her carry on. It seemed the next topic was about the new housekeeper she wanted to hire to clean our Huntington house. “She comes highly recommended from Sarah. It’s important that we—”
“Fine,” I said, my hand in the air. I didn’t need to hear anything further. “Hire her.” What the fuck did it matter what I had to say on this? And about half a dozen other things that she concluded with the bomb I knew she’d been waiting to drop?
“Come January, I’d like you to move out. If you’re serious about this divorce”—what makes her think I’m not?—“then I’ll need a place to stay until I find something, but I don’t think we should be living together.”
“You can stay here or take the house on Long Island.” I would never force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. She should’ve known that.
She shook her head, the pen scratching furiously at something in her notebook. “No. You have the bar out there, so you should stay there. Besides, I’ll need to massage more conversations with our friends if I expect to try to hold onto a few relationships, which I do.”
Of course she did. Those relationships she gave a fuck about. “Fine.”
She rolled her lips. “Thank you. That concludes my list. Do you have anything?”
“Only one thing.” Not that I had any desire to actually say the words.
But some things couldn’t be helped. “My mother will be joining us for Christmas.” I watched her expression closely, knowing this would feel like a bee sting.
“She’ll be flying in early.” I swallowed, keenly aware of the bad blood between Candy and my mother.
There was enough to fill the goddamn Caspian Sea.
Admittedly, Virginia Crane was a tough woman to love.
As her only son, though, I did. Love her, that was.
I knew that whatever she did, she did because she was overly protective and deeply devoted to me.
So, it would seem that between my mother and Candy, I had a soft spot for women who were hard to love.