man, probably a high-school student, thrust the vase filled with flowers into her arms and left. She didn’t need to unwrap the cellophane and read the card to know they were from Ian. This was exactly the kind of low, underhanded thing he did just so she’d feel guilty. Well, dammit, that wasn’t going to work. She refused to let it.
Setting the flowers down next to the cash register, she removed the plastic and dropped it into the nearby trash can. Then she reached for the card.
Happy First Anniversary. I love you. Ian
Her stomach cramped, and Cecilia feared she was about to be sick. Biting into her lower lip, she waited for the sensation to pass.
“Who are the flowers for?” her father asked curiously, walking into the restaurant.
She didn’t answer right away. “Me, from Ian,” she whispered.
“Really. Any special reason?”
She nodded. “It’s…supposed to be our anniversary.”
“Oh.”
Tears slid down her cheeks. When her father noticed them, he patted her on the back and returned to the bar.
Justine sipped her wine and pretended to be listening intently to Warren as he babbled on. She’d lost track of what he was saying, but a response from her wasn’t required. Any comment, other than praise or social small talk, wasn’t welcome. Justine knew her role and it was that of a social accessory. This hadn’t bothered her in the past and didn’t really bother her now. She understood Warren, understood the terms of their arrangement.
“More wine?” Warren asked, lifting the bottle and replenishing her glass.
Dinner at this five-star Seattle restaurant was in celebration of some multimillion-dollar contract Warren had landed. Such celebrations happened every two or three months.
“Well,” he said, gazing expectantly at her, “what do you think?”
“Think?” Warren didn’t date her for her brains and wasn’t really interested in her opinions. They never talked about her job; in fact, he avoided dealing with her bank.
He blinked hard. “Justine, weren’t you listening?”
“I…I’m afraid it’s the wine. I get kind of sleepy. I’m sorry, darling, what were you saying?” Announcing that another man had been on her mind was not likely to garner his sympathy.
Thoughts of Seth Gunderson consumed her day and night, but she’d have to be a complete moron to drop Warren for a man who lived on a sailboat. Seth infuriated her. He could have slept with her, would have if she’d had any say in the matter. Every time she thought about that night, Justine felt so angry and humiliated, she wanted to bash her head against the wall. Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!
In her weakness she’d encouraged him, and that had been a dreadful mistake. Seth believed she was leaving Warren for him. She couldn’t. Warren needed her, and in her own way she needed him.
“I was talking about us,” he repeated.
The conversation was about to become awkward. Justine could feel it.
“Oh, Warren, do you really think this is the time?” She pouted very prettily at him.
“Yes. Tonight’s a celebration.”
“I’m so proud of you.”
He beamed her a smile and leaning across the table, clasped her fingers. Stroking his thumb over the back of her hand, he held her gaze. “You know how I feel about you.”
She did indeed. Justine might be a lot of things, but she wasn’t stupid.
“Move in with me.”
“Oh, Warren.” Two or three times a year he pressured her to make that decision. So far, she’d always managed to change the subject, cajole him out of his insistence on “taking the next step.” Dating Warren was one thing; living with him was an entirely new scorecard. She’d never intended their relationship to go that far.
“Before you answer,” he said, “take a look at this.” He broke eye contact long enough to reach inside his pocket and bring out a jeweler’s velvet case.
“Warren?”
So the pressure was about to intensify. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t willing to surrender her freedom, regardless of what he offered.
“Before I show you this, I want to explain.” He took her hand once again, his eyes serious, then looked down at the table. “You never ask for more than I can give,” he murmured.
By that he meant she accepted his inability to perform sexually. Actually, she didn’t mind, even preferred the lack of a physical relationship. Justine kept his secret; she owed him that. She suspected very few people knew of Warren’s problems. Apparently they were of a kind that a small blue pill wouldn’t help.
“I like my freedom,” she reminded him sweetly, not wanting to offend.
“You can have your freedom, baby.”
“It wouldn’t be the same.”
“Sure it would,” he argued. “In fact, you can have your own room if you insist.”
He’d suggested that the last time he’d brought up the subject. She hadn’t been interested then, and she wasn’t now.
“It’s because of your mother, isn’t it?” Warren asked.
“That’s not it.” She knew it would be easy to lay the blame at her mother’s feet. She was a judge, an important member of the community, but Justine was her own woman. What she did with her life shouldn’t be any reflection on her mother’s career.
“You’re turning me down?” He wore the little-boy expression that might have been cute twenty years ago, but at his age left him looking merely pathetic.
“I’m sorry. You know I’d never do anything to hurt you.”
“Good.” He gave her a wide grin and flipped open the lid of the velvet case.
Justine gasped. It was the largest solitaire diamond she’d ever seen in her life, a good three or four carats. She brought her hand to her mouth, speechless.
“It’s a beauty, isn’t it?”
She could only nod.
“I want us to get married, Justine. This is your engagement ring.”
“Married?” The room started to buzz and she felt a little dizzy.
“You’re beautiful and a classy woman. When men see you with me, I feel like a million bucks. We make a good couple, baby.”
She stared at him. His insensitivity was almost laughable. He was trying to persuade her to become his wife by telling her she enhanced his image. That was supposed to induce her to marry him?
“You told me once you don’t want a family,” he said.
“I don’t.”
“Well, that works for both of us, then.”
Justine swallowed hard.
He glanced around him, then lowered his voice. “If you want to maintain separate bedrooms after we’re married, that’s fine with me.”
“Oh, Warren.”
“Think about it,” he said. “Take the ring. Try it on.”
She did as he asked, simply because she wanted to see what a four-carat diamond looked like on her finger. A man with romantic inclinations would have taken the opportunity to slip the ring on her finger himself. Seth would’ve—she was sure of it—but there was no way he could afford a diamond of this size…now or in any other lifetime.
The ring glided onto her finger as if it’d been