The corners of Gwyn’s mouth wore the tiniest curl. She was clearly dying to pry, but was far too polite to ask. Or knew Travis would talk when he was ready and not before. Imogen had come up against that perversely closed-off side of him herself. In fact, the things Gwyn had just told her were probably the most she’d ever learned about his personal life.
“Toni, do you see an elephant in this room?” Imogen turned her head to ask.
Gwyn snorted and almost spilled her coffee.
Toni sat up on her knees and swung her head this way and that. “No.”
“Mmm... My mistake. I thought there was one.”
Travis sent her a warning look.
“We’ve taken up both guest rooms, but the kids can come into our room if need be,” Gwyn said mildly.
“Is there an aquarium?” Imogen asked Toni. “Because I feel like someone is fishing.”
Gwyn had to scratch her nose to hide the laugh she suppressed.
Toni cocked her head, sensing opportunity. “We can pretend to fish in the pool.”
“It’s too cold, topolina,” Gwyn said. “When Papa gets back and Enrico is awake, we could maybe go to the indoor one downstairs. You and I are going to have a little sleep first, though. Soon as you finish your snack.”
“And Imogen?”
Imogen plucked at the pajamas she was wearing, certain that was what had prompted Toni’s question. “I’m going to nap, too, but by myself.”
Travis looked at Gwyn. “Would you have something that Imogen could wear when she wakes?”
“Of course. I’ll find something right now.”
* * *
Gwyn took Toni upstairs and Travis finished his coffee, watching Imogen while wishing for something stronger in his cup. He knew he should check his phone. He’d been ignoring it since walking out of that meeting yesterday. Finding Gwyn here reminded him he had a life beyond Imogen. A trip to Charleston in a few days for his father’s birthday and the family Christmas celebrations.
He couldn’t think of anything, however, except the woman who had had a way of consuming his thoughts from the moment he’d met her. She had walked into his brand-new offices here in New York four years ago, as he’d been expanding beyond Charleston, starting some of his most prestigious architectural projects to date.
She’d introduced herself as a writer for one of the cornerstone publications in New York and proceeded to interview him. Her auburn hair had rippled in satin waves as she’d canted her head at him, listening in a way that had made him feel ten feet tall.
“Let’s talk more over dinner,” he had suggested after an hour of growing ever more fascinated by her engaging curiosity and earnest little frowns. Her legs were lithe stems beneath a black miniskirt, propping up a notebook where her handwriting looped in big swirls and t’s that she crossed with a sweep of her slender wrist. Her breasts had looked to be the exact fit for his palms. Everything about her had looked like a perfect fit. She had been, not that he had had confirmation that first night. Dinner had turned into an invitation back to his old apartment, which was when she had confessed to being a virgin.
“At twenty?” he’d chided with skepticism. “How is that possible?”
“Probably because I don’t know what I’m missing,” she had shot back, laughing at herself yet surprising him into laughing, as well.
That quick wit, that unvarnished honesty, had convinced him she was exactly what she appeared—a journalism student from a good family with a bright mind and a cheeky wit that would keep him on his toes. There was absolutely nothing to dislike in that package.
The packaging had been the lie, of course. Mislabeled. Ingredients not as advertised. Definitely looking shopworn these days.
Finishing her coffee, she set down her cup, bringing him back to the present.
“You don’t want me here. I’ll go.” She looked around, frowning. She was probably looking for her purse, which was in the pocket of his overcoat. He’d hung it in the closet at the door. It could stay there for now.
“Where to?” he prompted. Goaded. He was fed up with her thinking she had options when clearly neither of them did.
She swallowed. “I’ll talk to my landlord—”
“No,” he cut in.
She turned a look on him that sparked with temper. “What do you want from me, Travis?”
“Let’s start with an explanation. Where did all my money go?” He waved at the fact her worldly possessions consisted of pajamas she hadn’t been able to pay for out of her own pocket. “Where did yours go?” She hadn’t been rich, but she hadn’t been destitute.
She blew out a breath and sagged into the sofa, pulling a tasseled cushion into her middle.
He braced, waiting to see if she would tell the truth or lie yet again. Wondering if he would be able to tell the difference.
“I was trying to save Dad’s business.”
“Publishing,” he recalled.
“Newspapers and magazines.” She gave him a pained smile. “Print media.”
He recalled what she’d said in the car. “‘The wrong horse.’”
“Such a dead one, yet I beat it like you can’t even imagine. Your money, my trust fund. Dad sold the house and liquidated anything that wasn’t already in the business. We threw every penny we had at it. Then he went into care, which was another bunch of bills. My name wound up on everything. I couldn’t declare bankruptcy while he was alive. It was too humiliating for him. We were pretending it was all systems go while I sold furniture and clothes and Mom’s jewelry to make ends meet. His cremation was the final straw. I was behind on rent and got evicted. I wasn’t really keeping up on friendships by then and owed money to the few friends I had left. I wanted to start over on my own terms, so I found something I could afford and that’s what I’m doing.”
“That roach-infested brothel is your idea of a fresh start? Why didn’t you come to me?”
“Oh, that’s funny,” she said with an askance look. “What would you have said?”
Everything he was saying now, but he wouldn’t have let her get to where she was passing out on the street from neglecting her health.
“You married me to get your hands on your trust fund. Didn’t you?” She had never admitted it, but he was convinced of it.
She hesitated very briefly before nodding, eyes downcast. Guilt? Or hiding something?
“I wanted access to it so I could help Dad.” She had the humility to shake her head and quirk her mouth in self-contempt. “Not exactly an economist over here. I knew better. Digital publishing was all I learned at school, which he thought was useless.” She shrugged. “I tried to convince him to start doing things online, but old dogs...” She smiled without humor. “It would have been too little, too late, even if he’d bought in.”
“So, you’re broke.”
“I’m in a hole so deep all I see is stars.”
“You’re telling me the truth? Because if it’s addiction or something, tell me. I’ll get you help.”
“I wish it was. There would be pain relief, at least. Escape.” Her smile was a humorless flat line.
He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, frustrated by what sounded like brutal honesty. Nevertheless, he muttered, “God, I wish I could trust you.”
“What does it matter if you do