a woman who would take care of the social end of your life. Someone who would nurture you and your home. At the time, I thought that would be enough to satisfy me, too.”
“Is this about your career?” Relief swept through him and he almost laughed. “You think I object to you running your own business?”
“No…at least, not yet. But I have a feeling the time will come when you’d expect me to set it aside in order to fulfill more pressing obligations.”
“More pressing obligations,” he repeated. His eyes narrowed. “Are you talking about children?”
She refused to meet his eyes. “I don’t want children, Gabe. I want a career. You made it crystal clear to me before I left that you were planning on a large family, just like the one you had growing up.”
He sat up and thrust a hand through his hair. “Is that why you left?” he demanded in disbelief. “Because you didn’t want to have a baby?”
“You were pressing for one.”
“Damn it, I asked you to marry me.”
“I remember,” she retorted. “It was a beautiful proposal…right up until work reared its ugly head. Roxanne’s call cut me off midsentence, do you even remember that?”
He fought to recall. She’d been crying. They’d been tears of joy, of that he was certain. She’d been shaking and laughing while those tears had slid down her face. And she’d said something…Hell. What had it been? “You had something you wanted to tell me.” He shrugged. “I assume it was, ‘Yes, darling, I’ll marry you.’ Or did I get even that wrong?”
“It doesn’t matter, anymore, does it? Because you left.” She spoke carefully, as though holding those long-ago emotions at a cautious distance. “You left me there with the beautiful flowers and an uneaten dinner congealing on the plate. You left me with your gorgeous ring and empty promises echoing in my ear. Because when it came right down to it, your top priority was and always will be Piretti’s. So you left, explaining without saying a word where our relationship rated in the grand scheme of things, and you didn’t come home again. Not that day. And not the next.”
“Hell, Catherine. You may not have known about the attempted takeover two years ago, but I explained all this to you yesterday at your apartment. What was I supposed to do? Let Piretti’s go under? Let those bastards take my business from me?” He stood and yanked on his clothes. “And I did come home. I came home to find a stilted little note from you and the ring you’d cried such pretty tears over sitting on my damned dresser.”
If nothing else, their lovemaking had opened a wide crack in her defenses, allowing him to see all she’d kept buried before. And what he saw was pain and fear and vulnerability. “Why would you expect anything else, Gabe? Do you think I’m some sort of plaything that you can pick up and discard when it suits you? Did you ever wonder what I did while you were off running your empire? Or did you simply stick me on a shelf and forget about me until it was time to come home and pick me up again? I don’t go into hibernation like one of your damn computers.”
“I never said—” He thrust a hand through his hair and blew out his breath, fighting for calm. “Is there a reason we’re dredging all this up again? I know what happened. And I know that you wanted more from our relationship than I could give you before. I’m willing to do that. But I don’t see the point in rehashing the past.”
“If not now, then when?” She tilted her head to one side. “Or were you hoping it no longer matters and move on?”
“You’re good at pointing the finger, Catherine. And I’m being as honest as I know how. I screwed up. I made mistakes. But if we’re going to go there and dig into all that muck, then you have to be honest, too.”
Her eyes widened. “Meaning?”
“Meaning…I’m willing to continue this conversation when you stop lying and tell me what really happened. Why did you really leave me?”
She shook her head in instant denial. “I don’t know what you’re—”
“Bull. Just cut the bull, will you?”
He snatched a deep breath and fought for control. For some reason his gaze landed on the bedside table. A cell phone sat there, not his. He eyed it for a long minute as he considered how and when Catherine had left it there. And then he knew. She hadn’t taken the bedroom at the end of the hallway when she’d moved in the previous day. She’d moved her things in here with him, at least initially. He could make a pretty accurate guess when that had changed and why. Crossing the room, he picked up the phone and tossed it to her.
“Call your partner,” he instructed. “Have her meet us at Piretti’s in an hour.”
“Excuse me? We were in the middle of a—”
“An argument?” he shot at her.
“A discussion.”
Right. “Well, it’s one we’re going to set aside until you come clean. Until then, it’s off the table.”
Indignation shot across her face and reverberated in her voice. “Just like that?”
He inclined his head. “Just like that.” He deliberately changed the subject. “I saw some of your financial records last night. And I did a quick scan of the documents you provided when I returned to the office yesterday. You told me your partner handles the books?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then I want to meet her. Now.” She opened her mouth to argue again, and he cut her off without compunction. “You came to me for help,” he reminded her. “This is how I help.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll call her.”
“I’m going to shower. You’re welcome to join me.”
“Another time, perhaps.”
He managed a smile. “I’ll hold you to that.” He started toward the bathroom, then paused. “The breakup in our relationship? It wasn’t about children or careers, Catherine. There’s something else going on. I just haven’t figured out what, yet. But I will. And when I do, we’ll do more than put it back on the table. We’re going to have this out, once and for all.”
They accomplished the brief ride from the apartment to Piretti’s in silence. Catherine appeared a little paler than Gabe liked, but whether it was the result of the upcoming meeting with her partner, or because of their argument, he wasn’t certain. Perhaps a bit of both.
Roxanne was already at her desk when they arrived, and he watched with interest as the two womene xchanged a long look. Another brewing problem, one he needed to think about before determining how best to resolve it.
They entered his office just as Catherine’s cell phone rang. “Excuse me a minute,” she murmured. After answering the call, she listened at length, her expression growing more and more concerned. “Thanks. I’ll take it from here.”
“Problem?” he asked once she’d disconnected the call.
“I have the Collington wedding scheduled for a week from tomorrow. The bride just called in to cancel our services.”
“At this late date?”
Catherine shook her head. “Obviously, she heard about what happened at the Marconis’ and it’s panicked her. Di—my partner managed to get her to agree to meet with me for lunch.”
“I’ll go with you.”
To his surprise, she didn’t argue. “Normally, I’d be able to handle it. Brides are often in crazy mode by now. I’m used to it.”
“But trying to calm her down