Dear Jonas,
I don’t know where to begin.
“Yeah, join the club.” He snorted, bemused to find them once again in perfect agreement.
Sorry doesn’t seem the right word, but it’s the only one I can come up with. I had a lovely time last night. An amazing time, in fact. But I got carried away. I think we both did. Marriage!
Of course, this is Vegas. I’m sure we’re not the only two people to ever find themselves caught up in the moment. Since you’re a lawyer, I assume you will know what to do to remedy the matter. I will pay half of any legal fees, etc.
I am returning to San Diego today as planned. Forgive me for not waking you up to say goodbye. I thought it would be easier and less embarrassing for both of us if I just left.
Thanks seems as awkward a word as sorry, but it fits here. You are a very special man and I wish you nothing but the best.
—Serena
She’d listed her contact information at the bottom of the page, along with a postscript:
I’m returning the ring. I know it wasn’t expensive, but perhaps you can get your money back.
He fished the band out of the envelope. It was a cheap piece of metal that had probably already caused her flesh to turn green. He slipped off the one on his finger and, on an oath, flung them both into the wastebasket on the opposite side of the room.
Still sitting on the floor, he rested an elbow on one raised knee and stared at the note. Serena’s penmanship was as eclectic as the woman: a collection of capital and lowercase block letters with some cursive ones tossed in. The dots for the “i”s were misaligned or missing. The “t”s were half crossed. He should have been pleased that she didn’t want to stay married to him, grateful that she was making this so easy for him. No tears. No demands, financial or otherwise, and God knew he’d left himself wide open to those. No repercussions of any sort.
Jonas let his head fall back on the mattress and closed his eyes as he waited for the relief to come. Any moment a huge wave of it would wash over him and cleanse the last reminders of Serena Warren from his memory.
More than a dozen hours later, when he collapsed on the bed in his downtown condo, he still wasn’t completely sure relief was among his tangled-up emotions.
Chapter Three
SERENA woke late on Monday morning. According to her sorry excuse for an alarm clock she was already forty minutes behind schedule. Even so, she sat on the side of the bed and contemplated the state of her life. The day before she’d awoken in a deluxe Vegas honeymoon suite next to a virtual stranger who was also her husband. This morning she was alone on the lumpy bed of her San Diego studio, but the man in question was very much on her mind.
How was Jonas?
The question sneaked past her defenses and brought along a couple of friends. Was Jonas angry with her? Or was he relieved that she’d offered him an uncomplicated way out?
Serena was relieved, or so she told herself. Maybe she was a little disappointed that she hadn’t heard from him, but only because she wanted to know his plans. Still, it made sense that he hadn’t called yet. It had been barely twenty-four hours, and even in Vegas she doubted the courthouses were open on Sundays. Surely first thing today Jonas would go and file whatever paperwork needed to be filed to get the ball rolling to dissolve their marriage.
Maybe she should call him and make sure they were of the same mind. The office where he practiced law would be easy enough to locate through directory assistance, or she could always ask for the number for his campaign headquarters.
As she picked up the phone, Serena imagined a well-mannered receptionist asking, And who may I say is calling, please? She set the receiver back in its cradle with a click. She didn’t have the time or, she admitted, the courage to talk to him right now. What she did have was someplace to be. And she needed to get there before her boss, the highly regarded but annoyingly high-strung Heidi Bonaventure, blew a gasket.
Twenty minutes later, with a silver travel mug of high-octane java in hand, Serena flung open her apartment door, intending to make a mad dash for the stairs. She didn’t make it past the welcome mat. Indeed, she stopped so abruptly that despite the mug’s protective lid some of her coffee spewed through the small opening. It hit Jonas Benjamin in the center of his sedately striped tie. Counting the silk number she’d mutilated in her haste to undress him two nights ago, this made two she’d ruined.
She grimaced. “What are you doing here?”
“Hoping to have the conversation we should have had yesterday morning,” he replied. He didn’t look happy.
They eyed one another from opposite sides of the welcome mat. Neither one of them moved.
Serena cleared her throat and broke the silence. “You came all the way to San Diego to talk about our…our…”
“Marriage,” he supplied.
Annulment was the word she’d been thinking.
“About yesterday—sorry for taking off like that, but I…I…” In lieu of an excuse Serena motioned with her hand.
Unfortunately it was the one holding the travel mug. More java splattered out. Jonas jumped back in the nick of time, and the welcome mat was the only casualty. She pushed at one of the brown marks with the toe of her faux snakeskin flat. It was easier to concentrate on the stain than the man whose head had rested on the pillow next to hers twenty-four hours earlier.
“Can I come in?” Jonas asked.
“I’m just on my way out. To work.”
“Can you be late?”
“Actually, I already am.”
“Can you be later?” Jonas tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. The pose took away some of the formalness the pricy suit added to his persona. “This really can’t wait, Serena.”
“I know.” She stepped back to allow him inside and motioned toward the couch. This time she remembered to use the hand that wasn’t holding her coffee. “Make yourself at home. It will just take me a moment to call my boss.”
While he took a seat on the couch, Serena stationed herself in the kitchen and pulled out her cellphone. Her apartment measured just over four hundred square feet. It was basically one room, with a bathroom tucked between the kitchen and bedroom areas. This created some separation, as well as a degree of privacy, for her boudoir from the door. But from Jonas’s vantage point he could see everything—including the pile of dirty clothes that was heaped next to the still-down bed with its rumpled sheets and her discarded cotton nightie.
She hadn’t worn a nightie, cotton or otherwise, in Vegas. Even if she’d had one with her in the honeymoon suite, what would have been the point? None of their clothes had remained on for long. They’d been too hungry, too eager, too desperate to touch flesh.
“Oh, God,” she moaned.
“No. It’s Heidi Bonaventure.” A woman’s crisp voice shot through the phone line like a bullet.
“Mrs. Bonaventure, hi. It’s Serena.”
“I hope you’re not calling to say you’re ill.”
Her boss was a whiz when it came to crafting lifelike fruit from marzipan, and her piping work was unrivaled, but no one would accuse Heidi Bonaventure of being warm and fuzzy.
“No. I’ll be there. Just not for another hour.” Serena glanced over at Jonas, who sat on the edge of her red leather