New York City
The next days were a blur for Allison. Later she wouldn’t remember what she’d done, how she had gone to meetings about the launch, if she ate or slept or cried. That’s the way she wanted it, to stay numb. If she allowed herself to feel anything, she knew she would shatter into a thousand pieces.
Her one solace during that time was Peter Collins. He did not ask about Mike, although she assumed he knew all that had happened. Very little went on in the world that Peter didn’t know about. He seemed to have feeders everywhere.
Allison didn’t care. What mattered was that he asked no questions, made no suggestions, and acted as if her zombie-like demeanour was normal.
She longed for news about Kevin, of course, and Mike. But there was nowhere to get it. As usual, the army didn’t play up the stories of soldiers missing in action. No need to let the enemy know who they were looking for or where he was thought to be.
They did, however, post the names of the dead. Someone would tell her if either, or both, of the Dennison brothers were killed.
She pushed thoughts of these two men she loved from her mind. For her sanity, she steadfastly refused to watch news of any sort, to even glance at a newspaper. She disconnected from the Internet, except about things that pertained to Lydia’s Closet. What she needed to do was pretend Mike Dennison had never existed, forget she had ever loved so deeply and completely.
Easier said than done, with her family and friends talking about him, constantly worrying about him and Kevin. Her friend Kimberly called every day, but she stopped answering. Or listening too long to supportive messages. Instead of being comforting, the idea that even little Tessa was worrying about Mike made her want to scream. Children should know nothing of loss. It scared them; she knew that only too well.
Peter was one of the few people she could bear to be around. Mike’s whereabouts was of no concern to him. So he was safe. And kind.
Knowing she couldn’t bear to be in a restaurant, he would have his own chef make them lunches and dinners, most of which they ate in his office. There was wine, excellent wine, with every meal. Even if she couldn’t eat, the alcohol took the edge off the pain. The work was all done. All that was left was to wait for the launch. And of course, news.
Some nights, when she just wasn’t up to going home, Peter gave her a guest suite in his apartment, right upstairs. First, she just stayed a night or two. Soon, she moved in. It was easier than spending an evening with her dad and Jimmy asking a thousand questions. Even when she managed to convince them to be silent, she caught them looking at her with eyes filled with worry.
The day the new and improved Lydia’s Closet launched worldwide should have been the happiest day of her life. Instead, during the launch party, she stayed in her suite at Peter’s apartment and drank Irish whiskey. She needed not to think and the wine no longer did the trick.
Peter had volunteered to handle things for her. He’d been doing that more and more as her depression deepened. Actually, he was becoming the face of her business.
Her friend, Kimberly, and the rest of her squad of moms let her know they were not happy about taking orders from Peter Collins. But Allison was dead inside, unable to deal with it.
Peter checked on Allison when he got home after the launch party but she was curled up like a child on the couch in her sitting room, out for the night. Lord, the woman was beautiful. It took restraint to keep from touching her luscious body all over, gently at first, then roughly, in a way that would have her begging him to love her.
It was a technique he had perfected over time and so far, it had never failed. He knew what to do and how to do it. But it was too soon. Mike had only been gone a few weeks. Time was his friend. All things would be his eventually.
He quietly let himself out of her suite and retreated to his own quarters. The servants were in bed and he had the leisure to put his feet up and marvel at the thousands of sales Allison’s business had made in just one day.
Actually, it was their business now, his and Allison’s. They were partners for the moment. Maybe later, when they were married, she would step out of the picture entirely.
The whole thing had been her idea, this partnership. Well, more or less. Naturally, when she asked him to handle things for her, she agreed to sign paperwork to ensure he would be compensated for his services. It’s possible she’d had too much whiskey to notice that he was not being paid in cash, but in stock – fifty-one per cent of the shares in the company, to be precise. She might not yet have comprehended that he was now the controlling partner of the boutique business.
She was quite fragile right now. That was one of the reasons he’d thought it best to delete the flood of emails Mike had been sending. He wrote several times a day since he’d walked out weeks ago.
They were hard to read. Love-filled sentiments, promises to stay safe, the usual gibberish. They would have just confused Allison, who had been clear that she wanted nothing more to do with Mike Dennison. Peter was doing her a favour by making sure she would never see them.
He poured himself a small Cognac and focused on Mike. He wondered what the mighty warrior thought when Allison did not respond to his words of love. On the other hand, Mike was in his element, up to his superhero tricks again.
Unlike Allison, Peter was on top of every piece of news pertaining to Mike’s search for Kevin Dennison.
News of the Dennison brothers was the only news anyone talked about. The story was perfect fodder for a news-hungry media looking for a human-interest story with real-life heroes. Headline writers had a field day:
HE WAS HIS BROTHER’S KEEPER.
NO GREATER LOVE.
THE ULTIMATE SACRIFICE.
It was breaking news on cable television:
Captain Michael Dennison was killed yesterday while rescuing his younger brother, Lieutenant Kevin Dennison, from enemy territory in the war-torn Middle East.
The reports spoke of how Mike’s understanding of his brother’s way of thinking guided the rescuers, helped them to know where he was hiding.
When Allison picked up the paper Peter had unexpectedly placed on her breakfast tray, she didn’t register anything beyond the words ‘Michael Dennison was killed …’
Her sobbing echoed through the spacious apartment and did not stop for a long time.