Chapter 3
The townhouse was as much hers as his. Even before they were married, she had made changes. She recalled his rough comment about not changing it so much that it was unrecognizable. "And no damn fuchsia," he had growled.
"Which is a fancy way of saying pink and I'm not that girl," she had responded sweetly.
So, she had stuck with earth colors, soothing orange, faded greens, soft shades of red and a touch of brown for the earth.
His style had been aesthetic. Samuel had given the decorator carte blanche and the team had decided that being a man, tan and gold were the two appropriate colors.
So, she decided that an input was in order.
It was a lovely old place that had been in the Copeland family for over a century.
From the first time she had caught sight of it, she had fallen in love with the old lines and the strong architectural columns.
It had five suites in total and a downstairs room and bathroom for a live-in housekeeper, which had never been used.
She and Samuel had decided that they did not want a stranger living with them.
They had a housekeeper, a gentle and loyal woman from the Philippines. She had been vetted carefully and made to sign an NDA. Lyka-Mae was a middle-aged woman with a charming accent and one who would cut out her tongue before she revealed her employers' business.
There were security cameras all around the perimeter and a sophisticated system with sensor lights at strategic places.
It was also a very secluded location and fairly isolated.
There was a pool built into the rocks that had been designed by a celebrity landscaper.
Samuel had wanted it to appear as if it had been part of the landscape and it fit in perfectly.
During the summer, especially when she was home from shooting an episode or when a season was finished, she spent her time in the gardens. The paparazzi had captured her kneeling in the dirt, tending to her flowers. It relaxed her and gave her time to unwind.
Parking the car in the multi-car garage, she wrapped her jacket around her and made her usual sweep.
It was almost dark and the lights had come on automatically.
The trees were swaying in the stiff end-of-November breeze and there was an eerie silence in the air.
The narrow trail she took led to the pergola that had been built just a few years ago.
She had asked for a swing as well and spent time sitting on the scooped plush seat, rocking back and forth as she enjoyed the solitude.
That's what she did now. Sitting down, she used the tips of her toes to lever herself back and forth, the wind whistling through her hair.
In her mind, she could hear children laughing and racing around the grounds.
The place was big enough for them to play.
She never knew anything like that. She had never experienced racing around the yard, with her parents chasing her. She never had a tree house.
Tilting her head backward, she gazed into the dense green leaves of the strong and magnificent oak.
She could see the fleeting gray clouds, scudding across the leaden sky.
She would have to go in soon, but oh, she loved it out here.
She would make certain that her children had a lot of playtime and that they enjoyed their childhood.
That's what being young was all about. A life full of laughter and freedom.
She was unaware that the tears were trickling down her cheeks until one plopped on the back of her hand.
That was how he found her.
Standing beneath the towering redwood tree, its branches shielding him from view, he studied her.
The pale sliver of a moon filtering through the clouds and the sensor lights around the premises gave him a clear and unrestricted view of her.
She loved the swing. She had once told him that it captured a childhood she never had.
When she first expressed her desire to have one and the reason behind it, he had hired someone to come up with a design for comfort as well as pleasure.
It was unlike the usual rope and plank. This one had double seats and padded centers as well as a comfortable backrest and headrest. When she saw it for the first time, emotions had overwhelmed her.
He knew she spent time here whenever she was thinking or just for the pleasure of swinging.
In the beginning of their marriage, they had sat together, swinging as high as possible.
He recalled making love to her there as well, with her long legs wrapped around his waist and him shoving upward, buried so deep inside her, he felt he could touch her soul. The memories had his body tightening.
That had been a long time ago, he recalled. Then life and the busyness of their careers had taken it all away. He had been troubled by their conversation earlier and unable to concentrate on the meeting, which was why he had left earlier than planned.
She was unhappy. He felt his heart turning over as he saw the evidence on her striking face. There were tears on her long lashes, and even from a few feet away, he could see signs of it. She wasn't one to cry.
She was tough. She had to be, considering where she had been and what she had experienced. Had he done that to her? It pained him to realize that he had a hand in her unhappiness.
On the drive home, he had thought about her request. She wanted children and was willing to do whatever it took. Who was he to deny her any of it?
Straightening, he made his way toward her, the lush green grass dulling his footsteps. She had her eyes closed and was so deep in thought that it was only when he was standing in front of her that she realized he was there.
Her eyes flew open, a hand going to her throat in surprise.
"Hi."
"Hi." Surreptitiously wiping away the tears, she managed a smile. "I was just-"
"Freezing your ass off?" he finished mildly. Deciding not to mention the fact that he had seen her tears, he sat next to her. Shrugging out of his jacket, he draped it around her shoulders.
"Now you're going to be cold," she protested, snuggling into the cozy warmth of the cashmere and inhaling the scent of his cologne.
"It's going to rain." Tilting his head upward, he took a breath. "We should go in."
"In a minute. Why are you here so early?"
"The meeting ended. Is it a problem? Me coming home early?"
"Of course not." She wanted to tell him that she was happy he was home. When had conversation between them become so stilted? she wondered.
The silence stretched between them for another few minutes before he rose.
To her delight and surprise, he bent and scooped her into his arms. Sighing softly, she settled against his chest and closed her eyes.
He was different, as if something had changed in him.
She didn't want to say anything to break the spell.
Wrapping her hands around his neck, she enjoyed being this close to the only man she had ever loved.
Samuel keyed in the code and locked up behind them.
The long hallway led to the spiral staircase.
Bounding up the steps effortlessly, with her clasped securely in his arms, he headed straight for the master suite.
They had taken to sleeping in separate rooms. It had been his suggestion, and she had agreed to it.
The excuse was that they both had such crazy schedules and he did not want to wake her.
But now he was opening the doors to the suite where she had spent time with the decorators, making changes in colors and schemes.
"I think a bath is called for."
"I will-"
"No." He shook his head. "I'll attend to it." Setting her down on the wide lip of the bath in the center of the very large and ultramodern bathroom, he set about getting her favorite scents from the connecting bedroom.
She watched as he rolled up the sleeves of his black sweater, revealing powerful forearms with their dustings of dark hairs. Stretching her legs out, she smiled slightly as he poured in bath oils and ran the water until it was hot, with the fragrant suds building.
"Strip," he ordered. Without a word, she rose and did just that. Anticipating her, he took pins from a beauty case sitting on the emerald green counter and handed them to her so she could scoop back her long, thick hair to avoid it getting wet.
Taking her hand, he helped her to climb in.
"Aren't you going to join me?" Sinking in, she closed her eyes with a sigh as the hot water swirled around her.
"This is for you." He disappeared from view only to return a few minutes later with a bottle of Cabernet and two glasses.
Popping the cork, he poured the wine and handed her a glass.
Instead of drinking his, he placed it on the shelf near the tub that had been designed for that purpose and reached for the sponge.
"This is nice."
He grunted. Dipping the sponge into the water, he started on her back.
"Why the tears?"
The question threw her for a bit and for a minute she did not respond.
"You saw."
"Could not help it." Easing her back, he used the sponge on her graceful throat.
"Why were you crying?"
"Just life. I had lunch with Blair."
"I know." He shrugged at her look of inquiry. "An acquaintance who was having lunch at the restaurant mentioned it in passing."
"He called and I-"
"You don't have to explain having lunch with a friend to me."
She eyed him for a minute as he continued to rub her shoulders. "There was a time when you would have flared up about it."
"Lift your arm. That was before I knew he was gay." His silver-gray eyes met hers. "I was about to destroy his career when I discovered that he wasn't after getting you into bed."
"You hated him."
"Still barely tolerate him. He's a peacock."
"He's sweet and kind."
"And a pain in the ass."
"He's my friend."
"I realize that. Why the tears?" he repeated.
She had been hoping that he had forgotten.
"I'm damaged."