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THE NEXT DAY, WHEN we arrived in Maine at the Hancock County-Bar Harbor Airport, it was mid-afternoon, it was warm and sunny, the sky was preternaturally blue, and the air was just as I remembered it—noticeably cleaner, and with a slightly salty edge from the nearby ocean that gave it the brightness of memory.
This is how I remembered Maine, particularly in late spring, when the scent of lilacs filled the air. I could smell them as we departed the jet—which only fueled how happy I was to be back in my home state, regardless of the fact that my parents were only an hour away.
Well, Dad is an hour away, I thought. With Mom in prison, who knows how far away she is...?
As usual, this particular airport was peppered with a host of similar-looking Learjets. With Memorial Day just around the corner, the wealthy were returning to the Maine coast for the pending summer, and while they weren’t here in droves quite yet, it was obvious that many were starting the pilgrimages from New York and Philadelphia to enjoy the reason why so many came to Maine during these months—the terrific weather, the stunning ocean views, and a laid-back lifestyle that was unobtainable to them in the city.
Alex and I had left our apartment at noon with only two suitcases between us—one for him, one for me. Nothing fancy. He’d chosen to wear a pair of dark jeans and a gray, long-sleeved T-shirt that rode his muscular frame in ways that made me very happy to be Mrs. Alexander Wenn—I did, after all, know what was lurking beneath those clothes. I wore something similar—jeans and a white T-shirt, which Alex had had to help me into. My hair was pulled away from my face in a loose ponytail, and my makeup was on lockdown—I wore only minimal foundation, eyeliner, and a nude lip.
And that was enough. Alex and I were here to relax—and to come together as a married couple again. That was the point of this trip.
And in my suitcase are just the sorts of things that will make those moments more memorable, I thought as we crossed the tarmac to a waiting Mercedes SUV.
Following us was Drake, a stern-looking, enormous man hired by Tank to watch over us while we were away. I didn’t know much about him now—we’d only just met when he’d driven us to LaGuardia—but like Tank, he also was a former SEAL. Far more serious than he should be and hovering somewhere in his early forties, everything about Drake reeked of confidence and professionalism, which at this point in my life, I rather liked.
* * *
WHEN WE ARRIVED AT the cottage, Drake hopped out of the SUV first, opened our doors for us, and then insisted on carrying our bags inside.
“I can get them, Drake,” Alex said.
“Mrs. Wenn probably needs help on the gravel path,” he said. “I’d hate to see her trip on one of those rocks with her arm in that sling.”
“Point taken,” Alex said, and he wrapped his arm low around my waist as we moved toward the cottage.
When Drake put our bags in the master bedroom, I asked him if he’d like anything to eat. Alex had already told me that he’d called ahead to the caretakers and asked them to have the refrigerator stocked and the house cleaned before we arrived. So, I knew there would be plenty of food to offer him.
But Drake declined.
“I really should get outside,” he said.
“But we just arrived,” I said. “Certainly, we’re fine. I can make you a sandwich,” I said. “Or two if you’d like. Or whatever you’d like. It would be my pleasure. You’ve got to eat, Drake. And I’m a good cook.”
But Drake was having none of it. After asking Alex if he needed anything more from him, the man was out the door and moving toward the SUV, where he apparently would spend most of his time for the coming week.
“It seems so unfair,” I said to Alex. “Sleeping in that SUV. Catching a morning shower and shave when he thinks it’s safe to do so. Eating whatever your caretakers are going to bring him throughout the day and night. Why can’t he just use one of the spare bedrooms? I hate that he’s out there like that.”
“It is what it is,” Alex said, coming up behind me in the kitchen and putting his hands lightly on my shoulders. “I offered him a bedroom—one of the ones on the first level—but he said that he couldn’t do his job properly if he wasn’t outside to keep watch over the house. He has a key to use one of the lower restrooms whenever he wants. But as far as he’s concerned, that’s it for him—he’s taking this seriously, as he should be. I’ve tried to make sure that he’s as comfortable as possible, but men like Drake and Tank aren’t like us, Jennifer. They’ve been in situations and locations that would make your head spin. Spending a week in that Mercedes SUV is far more luxurious than spending several months in a cave in Afghanistan, where I know for a fact Drake has been. We need to look at this job from his point of view.”
“Still,” I said.
“Would you like to reason with him?”
“Maybe after dinner,” I said. “You know I can be persuasive.”
“Understatement of the year.”
“How about if we take a walk on the beach?” I asked.
“I’d love that,” he said.
I turned to face him, and kissed him on the lips. Already, his stubble was starting to grow back after being freshly shaven for yesterday’s press conference, and it sent a rush up my spine when it brushed against my cheek.
“You and your stubble,” I said.
“What about it?”
“I’m glad that it’s back.”
“Is that so?”
“Totally. It speaks to me—sometimes even in tongues.”
“Jennifer,” he said with a wicked grin on his face.
“Anyway,” I said lightly as I reached out for his hand. “Let’s have our walk. But I’ll warn you right now—you’re dealing with an impaired woman whose arm is in a sling. From the smell of the air alone, I can tell that the tide just recently went out, so that sand is going to be soft. You might need to help me navigate the shoreline.”
“I’ll just keep my hand on your ass,” he said with a wink. “That should keep you steady.”
“Or make my legs go weak,” I said.
* * *
WHEN WE RETURNED TWO hours later, it was time for dinner.
“Go and take a shower,” Alex said. “Or—I don’t know—knit a shawl or something.”
“A shawl? Really? Do I look as if I knit? Or that I even could knit with this contraption on my arm?”
“You know what I mean. I want to take care of dinner, and I can’t have you here if any of this is going to be a surprise. If a shawl is out of the question, you could always go out and talk with Drake until I’m ready to go. Your choice.”
“I actually could use a shower,” I said. “But first, let me check on Drake, because I do worry about him.”
“Sounds good to me.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What are you up to, anyway?”
“To be revealed,” he said.
“Look at you,” I said. “Creating a mystery...”
“Very astute.”
“Why won’t ever you let me surprise you when we’re here?”
“Because you’re clearly not quick enough.”
“I’ll take that as a challenge for the next time we’re here. As for later tonight, I’m just going to have to surprise you in other ways...”
“Please do.”
“I plan on it,” I said as I moved toward the side door. “Let me see if Drake needs anything—then I’ll get into the shower.”
“Great,” he said. “And by the way? Later tonight? Plan on becoming the main course. Because I’m hungry.”
* * *
LATER, WHEN I EMERGED from the shower, my arm ached, but I moved through the pain, toweled off the best that I could, and then I stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror and assessed the bullet wound in my left shoulder.
It was healing, but not fast enough to suit me. I still had stitches that needed to be removed, which apparently would happen within the next week. Looking now at those stitches and the dark, purplish bruising that surrounded them made me feel anything but sexy, but I knew I needed to overcome that so I could enjoy the evening with my husband—which I already knew would surpass enjoyable.
After dinner, we would head straight to bed.
Though God only knew how that would go. Alex and I were going to make love—but how in the hell was that going to happen when I was in this condition? Generally, sex between us was either playful or playfully aggressive, but now, that was out of the question. I knew Alex well enough to know that he would be gentle with me, but I wanted to be at my Type-A best, too, because I wanted tonight to be special and memorable, but I knew disappointingly that I couldn’t be this time.
Suck it up and think positive.
And so I did.
I thought about how Alex would like to see me tonight, and I knew at once that it was with my hair falling down my back. He loved it when I wore my hair down, so that’s what I gave him. When I’d finished setting it, it was far from perfect, but hairspray always was a girl’s best friend, and I used it to my benefit. After working on my hair for a good twenty minutes, I got it to a point that I thought actually looked good, which was a relief
Applying my makeup was less taxing. As I blotted my face with foundation, I heard Bernie’s voice in my head, telling me exactly what to do.
And then it all came down to deciding upon the lip.
Since I could hear what sounded like Alex setting the table for us in the dining room, I knew that he had something special in mind for us, so I went for the bold red lip that I usually favored. I patted it down with a layer of powder, and then I added a final swipe. It was a trick Bernie had taught me—the lipstick would adhere to the powder, and because of that, it would last far longer than it would have otherwise.
When it was time to dress, I decided that only one thing mattered—turning myself into a sex siren.
I opened my suitcase and removed a simple but elegant black Burberry London Wendy Silk Illusion Dress that was tailored with a sweetheart bodice, and a sheer yoke and sleeves. The dress had a round neckline and a front slit that made it sexy and, as a bonus, also concealed my wound. It was made of mulberry silk, which was pretty much perfect given the cool air coming off the ocean. As a bonus, it zipped up in the back, so all I had to do was step into it, zip it up as far as I could, and get on with the shoes.
But first, the underwear.
I chose two of my favorites—a black Dolce & Gabbana floral lace pair of panties, which were made of stretch lace and had scalloped edges, and a matching bra, which deepened my cleavage and made the girls look perkier than ever.
As for the shoes, I chose my favorite Prada platform sandals, which weren’t only dressy, but also undeniably hot. They had a five-inch heel and black straps that elegantly—and somewhat erotically—bound themselves around my feet similar to the way I knew Alex himself would bind himself around my body when the time came.
“How’s it going in there?” Alex called when I was putting on my bra. “Do you need any help?"
“I’m a one-armed bandit, but I’m getting there.”
“If you need me for anything, just call me.”
And ruin the surprise—never!
“I’m good! You’ll just need to help me with my zipper when I come out. Ten minutes, and I’m done.”
When I was finished, I went back to the adjoining bathroom and assessed myself in the mirror. Under the circumstances, I thought I looked pretty good. I added a trace of perfume behind my ears and gave myself another once over.
But then reality struck, stopping me cold.
I’d never get into that sling without Alex’s help.
I went back into the bedroom, where it was lying like a dark explanation point on the edge of the bed, and I just stared it with a sense of loathing. It was black, which at least matched what I was wearing, so that was good. But there was no way I could get into that contraption on my own. Or could I? I considered the sling again, thought about what it would take to put it on, and then nixed the idea. Potentially hurting myself more than I already was wasn’t an option. So, I sucked it up, snatched the sling from the bed, and left the bedroom to join Alex in the kitchen.
When I saw him leaning against the island with his hands in his pockets and a grin on his face, my heart skipped a beat in my chest like it did the first time I saw him that day in the elevator, when I had my first ruinous meeting with Blackwell. He was wearing a pair of khaki pants and a tucked-in white button-front shirt secured around his waist with a black belt. He looked impossibly handsome and masculine to me, particularly because the first two buttons of his shirt were undone, thus exposing the tanned, lightly hairy flesh beneath.
“You look like dinner,” I said.
“That’s funny, because I was thinking that you look like dessert. You look beautiful, Jennifer. Actually, to be frank, you look hot.”
“Not for long,” I said, holding up the sling. “I can’t put this on without your help. It’s going to destroy the illusion of what you’re seeing right now, but I should probably wear it despite the ramifications. Care to assist?”
“Of course.”
He came over to me, took the sling from my hand, and stepped behind me. He zipped up the rest of my dress, lifted my hair off the back of my neck, and kissed me at the base of it, sending a a shiver of anticipation threading through me as he did so. Though we had been together for a year, I would never, ever get over what his presence or his stubble did to me.
Take me to the bedroom, I wanted to say to him. To hell with dinner. Make love to me now. Let me make love to you. Let’s just cut to the chase!
But that wasn’t happening. With a few deft moves, he maneuvered my arm into the sling, which ruined a perfectly good dress. But whatever—I let it go. I could already tell that tonight was going to be epic.
“Would you like a martini?” Alex asked in my ear.
“Is that even a question?”
“It’s always polite to ask, but I happen to have two chilling in the freezer for us.”
“You’re a model of efficiency.”
“Not always,” he said as he pressed himself against my buttocks. “Sometimes I like to take my time.”
“Mr. Wenn!”
“Some things can’t be hurried...”
“It sounds as if I’m about to find that out.”
“In time.”
He walked over to the refrigerator and opened the freezer door.
“What’s for dinner?” I asked, lifting my nose in the air and looking around the space for any telltale signs of dirty dishes in the sink, of which there were none. Alex had already cleaned up after himself. “It smells...sweet?”
He handed me my drink. “You’ll know soon enough. Would you like to go to the living room and relax before I spoil you?”
“There’s always the bedroom,” I said.
“You’re in a hurry...”
“I just want to be with you.”
“I’ll spoil you later. Promise.”
“But it seems so cruel to wait.”
“When I bring you to the edge later—you know, time and time again—that’s when you might come up with a new definition of ‘cruel’.”
“Well, then,” I said, feeling a bit flustered at the thought. “The living room sounds perfectly lovely.”
He laughed at that, placed his hand straight on my ass, and led me into the massive living space. As we moved past the dining room off to our right, I saw that the table was decorated with a white linen table cloth, tall candles waiting to be lit, and beautiful antique china and stemware that glimmered in the moonlight.
What is he up to? I thought.
The view from the living room took in the ocean and the twinkling lights of Bar Harbor and Cadillac Mountain, which were as arresting as the moon itself, which seemed to rest on the mountain’s shoulders, making it seem like a golden crown.
I faced one of the firm, contemporary sofas and decided it was best for my right arm if I sat next to the far left armrest. That way, my left hand could be free to hold my drink, and my right arm could support the sling. As I sat down, Alex waited for me to get comfortable. Then, when he sat down next to me, his hand almost immediately descended upon my inner thigh.
“Here’s to being back to our other home,” he said to me. “And here’s to you, Jennifer. Thank you for being my wife, my friend, my constant partner. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He touched his glass against mine, we sipped, and then I leaned over and kissed him fully on the mouth. And here’s to our child, I thought. Wherever you are, you will never be forgotten by either of us. We love you. And one day? One day, we’ll see you again. And then you will finally know us, and feel the love we had for you from the first day we learned that we were going to have you.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
I wasn’t about to tell him—tonight was about us. “Just how happy I am to be here with you. To be like this again. To have you next to me. I’ve missed it.”
“I have, too.”
“So, I couldn’t help noting the dinner table,” I said. “What have you been up to?”
“You’ll see. First, let me tell you about an interesting email I received while you were showering.”
“Please tell me it has nothing to do with Stephen Rowe, unless, of course, Tank has found Janice Jones, which would make me climax right here.”
“There’s an image,” he said. “And while I wish I could see that in person, it’s not the case.”
“What’s it about?”
“I have a cousin—well, a slew of cousins, actually. The one I’m talking about is my cousin Brock. Or Broderick, which is his birth name, though he’s always gone by Brock. And if you saw him, you’d know why he goes by Brock.”
“You’ve never told me about him—or about your extended family.”
“It never seemed important to me—until now. Brock is one of my father’s brother’s three sons. He’s the oldest. In a way, we grew up together. I have a lot of good memories of him that stretch back into my early twenties, but then we grew apart.”
“How old is he now?”
“When I took over Wenn, I was around his age. I’m thirty-one now, so he must be twenty-seven at this point.”
“Any particular reason you lost touch?”
“Nothing dramatic—it just happened. Because of the responsibilities I was handed, we fell off each other’s maps. Until today.”
“When he reached out to you.”
“That’s right. Over the past couple of weeks, he saw all the coverage of our disappearance in the press, and he wanted to let me know that he was glad that I was all right. And that you were OK. He said that he’d like to meet you.”
“I’d be happy to meet him. Tell me about him.”
“Brock is a smart guy—and unless he’s grown up since I last saw him, he’s also a total smart ass. But a likable one. He just graduated from Wharton with his master’s degree, and apparently, he’s now looking for a job. He was wondering if there might be a place for him at Wenn.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“That’s the thing,” Alex said. “I’m not sure. Brock and I used to be really close, particularly when we were kids. When we were young, we used to play together in this cottage. Those were great days. I’m not going to go as far as to say that he is the brother I never had. But Brock and I did have a lot of good times together, and I do care about him. When I received his email, I have to say that it was good to hear from him again, even if he was just fishing for work. In a weird way, I miss him.”
“Why is it weird?”
“Because it’s been five years since I’ve heard from him. To be fair to him, it’s also been five years since he’s heard from me. So, we’re even there. Still, we’re different people now. I know I am, and he must be. Wharton changes people. It’s designed to make people super aggressive. So, I have to wonder what he’s like now. How much has he changed? I’d be disappointed if the best friend of my youth had become an asshole since I last saw him.”
“Graduating with your master’s from Wharton is a pretty serious achievement.”
“I agree. And he told me that he came through with nearly a 4.0 average, so that says to me that he took his schooling seriously, which bodes well for him. What concerns me is that if he’s anything like the Brock I knew when he was twenty, he also can be trouble.”
“How so?”
“Let’s just say that Brock favors his share of women.”
“What twenty-year-old male doesn’t?”
Alex lifted his martini and touched his glass against mine. “To a point, you have a point. But Brock? I’ve never seen anything like it, Jennifer. It started when he was thirteen, when he first lost his virginity to a girl the family knew well, and then he just kept steamrolling through a motherlode of other girls—and then through his share of women. When we lost touch, I was spared the stories of his conquests. He’s a good-looking guy. He also knows that about himself. I remember that during his undergrad, he modeled a bit to help pay the rent, and because he was in such high demand, he nearly dropped out of school to travel the world on someone else’s dollar—so that should give you an idea of just how good looking he is. For a while, there was a question about whether he’d give up school to model full time. But he didn’t—so I also have to give him credit for that, because I knew that for a while, modeling was very lucrative for him, and it could have taken him far. But as I said, he’s smart. In this case, he was smart enough to see that modeling had a time limit attached to it and that a career in business did not. So, he turned down those offers, he studied hard, and now he wants a job.”
“So, give him one,” I said. “What’s the harm? And how could you deny him that, anyway? You’ve at least got to give him a chance, Alex. You were once close. Maybe you can be close again.”
He shrugged. “Maybe we can.”
