For a moment, neither of them said a word.
“I’m just tired of begging for your time, Jamison,” she said as if answering his thoughts.
“Honey, you knew when you married me that sometimes my job would preempt pleasure.”
Even the pleasure of making love to his wife. What a pity that they were arguing rather than doing exactly that in the small amount of time they had together.
She simply shook her head.
“I don’t want to fight, Jamison. Not tonight. It’s just too exhausting.” She stood.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to take a bath, and then I’m going to bed. What time is your flight tomorrow?”
“Nine o’clock. The ambassador arrives at one.”
She nodded. “I’m sure the weather will cooperate for you.”
As she brushed past him, he was enveloped in a light floral breeze—the scent of her. He longed to reach out and pull her back, pull her into his arms. Because it felt as if every time she walked away from him, she was that much closer to walking out the door.
Olivia turned the bathtub faucet on as hot as it could go, and went to lie down while the tub filled.
The bedroom was spacious enough to comfortably house a king-size bed, antique armoire and dresser. There was also a sitting area with a couch, two chintz-covered wingback chairs and a coffee table arranged around a good-size fireplace.
They’d moved into the massive three-story brick house about five years ago. At the time, even though they’d been married two years, they still acted as if they were on their honeymoon—so much in love, dreaming and planning for the future.
Olivia rolled over on her side and hugged a silk throw pillow to her middle.
She couldn’t remember when their relationship had taken such a bad turn. Or maybe it wasn’t a turn so much as they’d simply lost themselves somewhere along the way.
Funny how they were still fooling even those closest to them. Everyone looked at them in their fancy dream house and thought they had it all—the perfect American dream.
Yet, here she was on Christmas, feeling further away from her husband than she ever had, rather than putting back together the marriage they’d secretly taken apart. Her head throbbed and her heart ached and she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to block a pain that wasn’t physical as much as emotional.
Obviously, there was no reasoning with Jamison once he’d made up his mind. But no matter what happened between them, she was bound and determined to have the baby she so desperately wanted.
Which meant since things were so uncertain between them, she’d better get pregnant as soon as possible, while their friends, families—and Jamison’s constituents—still believed they were the happy couple.
The ache of regret deepened as her heart bucked against the thought of her marriage ending. She wasn’t trying to be negative, just the realist she’d become over the years she’d been married to Jamison. Another possibility niggled at her. If … no, when she got pregnant, it would be an insurance policy for her marriage. After all, when Jamison made his bid for the presidency, he certainly wouldn’t win any votes if his constituents learned he’d divorced his wife when she was pregnant.
She sat up stock straight in her bed. She couldn’t think that way. Nothing negative, only positive, good thoughts for the baby.
Across the room, a blinking light on the telephone caught her eye. Absently, she got to her feet, padded over to the phone and pressed the button to check the messages.
“Merry Christmas, Olivia and Jamison,” a male and female voice rang out in unison. It was her brother, Paul, and his fiancée, Ramona. Hearing their voices brought an involuntary smile to Olivia’s lips.
“We missed you last night at Mom and Dad’s.” Now it was only her big brother’s voice on the message. “I just wanted to wish you well. Please call when you get back from the Berkshires.”
Even though she and Paul were as different as night and day, they’d always been close. In fact, she was much closer to him than she was to her younger sister, Lisa, and Paul’s twin Derek. Her three siblings were career-minded, following in their father’s footsteps, running the institute, while Olivia had no interest in the family business. All she’d ever wanted to be was a supportive wife and good mother—to invest in a family of her own. She wasn’t unambitious—making their home and supporting Jamison in his career made her happy.
Or at least that’s what had made her happy once upon a time.
Now, the only way she could recapture that contentment was to have a baby. To accomplish that, she needed to talk to her doctor, Chance Demetrios, as soon as possible.
As the medical director at the Armstrong Institute, Paul would know Chance’s schedule. Plus, hearing Paul’s voice would be like an infusion of sunshine, and the voice of reason, to boot. While she couldn’t confide in him about her marital woes—she couldn’t risk trusting anyone with that personal information—she could trust him with the secret that she’d decided to move ahead with the artificial insemination.
She turned off the tub, then walked back into the bedroom, settled into one of the wingback chairs, and dialed his number with a nervous hand.
Chapter Four
Jamison climbed the stairs toward the master bedroom. It was Christmas, for God’s sake. He couldn’t let her go to bed mad. He hated that things had digressed to this point. Before he went to bed he had to try and apologize, because the last thing he wanted was to leave for Washington with things like this. They were supposed to be gaining ground in their relationship, not losing it.
As he raised his hand to knock on the door, he thought he heard a voice—Olivia’s voice. Was she talking to someone?
Her tone was light and happy—a bit giddy, in fact—though he couldn’t make out what she was saying until he got to the door and heard her say, “I have to see him as soon as possible. If not, I think I’m going to die.”
See who?
He resisted the urge to eavesdrop and rapped lightly on the door. It wasn’t just the way Olivia flinched when she turned and saw him standing there, or the way she stiffened when he walked in, but it was the way her voice changed that gave him pause.
“I have to go,” she said. “I’ll talk to you soon.” With that, she abruptly ended the call.
They looked at each other for a moment. When it became clear that she wasn’t going to offer any information, he asked, “Who was that?”
“Nobody.” She spit the word too fast, stood too quickly and crossed to the bed, aimlessly smoothing wrinkles from the comforter.
“Nobody?” His tone was a little sharper than he’d intended, but something was up. She wasn’t talking to nobody. “It sounded like somebody to me.”
She ducked her head, refusing to look him in the eye. He fought the urge to cross to her and take her face in his hands and force her to look at him. He’d never been a suspicious man, but then again, his wife had always been very open and sharing. They’d never harbored secrets. This definitely smelled like a secret.
He heaved an exasperated, full-body sigh that was laced with anger and resentment.
She must have sensed his mood.
“It was Paul.” Her words were flat with a terse edge. “He called to wish us a Merry Christmas.”
“He called? I didn’t hear the phone ring.”
She