Chapter 20
Jill
“JILLIAN, DARLING. It’s so nice to see you.” My mother lightly pressed her cheek to mine, her definition of affection. In my ear she whispered, “Glad Gareth was able to talk some sense into you.” She reeked of Chanel No. 5 and my stomach rolled.
I pulled away, hoping that her scent wouldn’t linger on my dress for the rest of the day. “Happy Thanksgiving, Mother. It’s not as if Gareth gave me much choice now, did he?” I maintained my friendly expression, but my tone had a bite she couldn’t ignore. That was new for me.
She looked me up and down, her face pinched like she’d just sucked on a lime. “The press is here, dear. Did you forget?” She checked her watch. It was white gold and positively dripping with diamonds. I couldn’t help but wonder what she’d done to earn that. “Well, we have a few minutes, and Bianca probably has something you could wear.”
Ugh. Bianca. My brother Joel married her six months ago. She claims to love him, but I’m pretty sure she’s in love with his bank account and he’s in love with her silicone implants. That was the only blessing in my accident. I got to miss that gaudy fiasco. There was no way in hell I was letting one stitch of that glorified call girl’s clothing touch my skin. I’d rather be naked, and that’s saying something, especially now.
“No, Mother, I’m just fine as I am. Gareth wants an all-American girl and that’s what the press expects, so that’s what they’re getting.” I brushed past her and into the back doors of the most spectacular house I’d ever seen. And though the house was already brimming with people, I’d never felt more alone.
I stood in the entry hall, standing by my man, shaking hands with each person as they left the bar area to eat dinner. Cocktail hour, or hours, was officially over and those lucky enough to be deemed worthy were summoned into the dining hall for a feast fit for a king. Of course, in a cordoned off area, tucked into a corner, was a small press crew covering the event. No doubt, my face would be all over the papers tomorrow. When word of Gareth’s and my relationship was leaked to the press, they’d done everything shy of breaking and entering to photograph us together. That task had become increasingly difficult since he’d moved to Cambridge. Before yesterday, we hadn’t seen each other since the night of my accident. Because of course he’d been too busy moving to Massachusetts to visit me in the hospital… even once.
I was quickly learning that acting would be a terrible career choice for me. Every ten minutes or so, Gareth or my mother would—through gritted teeth and a plastered-on grin—remind me to smile pretty for the cameras. I thought I was doing an okay job, but apparently they didn’t. I was even getting the side-eye from Gareth’s mother, Helena, who eventually whisked me away under the guise of wanting to share a few family recipes with me before we all settled in to eat.
But recipes were usually kept in the kitchen, and instead of turning right, she hooked a hard left and soon we were in her personal office. She closed the door quietly, threw the lock into place, then turned around and leaned back against the cool mahogany.
“Mrs. Johnson?” I was confused. We’d never been close. We’d hardly said a word to each other since her son and I had become official.
“You can stop smiling now, it’s just us.” She shook her head quickly and a few hairs fell out of her perfect French twist. She crossed the room, soundless on the high pile carpet, and sat on one of the two chairs in a small conversation area off to the side. I followed and sat beside her.
“Everything smells wonderful. I look forward to learning about the family recipes.” Awkward? Yes, but I had no idea what was happening.
“I didn’t bring you in here to talk about recipes. I wanted to ask you a question.” Oh.
“Okay, ask away,” I said, summoning a confidence I in no way felt. Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to. My mother’s voice ran through my mind.
“Jillian, do you love my son?”
Oh. Shit.
“I think Gareth and I will have a happy marriage. We have so much in common and I’m sure that, once we’ve—”
“That’s not what I asked you.” She cut me off, but it wasn’t hateful. Nothing about her demeanor said she was angry or suspicious. She was asking just as simply as if she were inquiring about finals or if I’d chosen a major. Which I had not.
“I’m not exactly sure what you want to hear.” When in doubt, tell the truth, and that was the real truth. But I needed to proceed with caution. I had no desire to let my feelings fall out of my mouth for my future mother-in-law to file away for ammunition later.
“I’ll be frank, since we haven’t much time. I’ve been watching you. I don’t think you love my son.”
I gulped. “I don’t know that your son loves me yet, either. I—”
“Let me finish, but please let this stay in confidence between us.” I nodded. “I am unable to have children. Of course, we didn’t know that until after we were married, so we just decided not to have children. Then, one of Tom’s special friends fell pregnant. In an elaborate scheme, I was whisked away to a wellness tour of Europe and voila, I returned just in time to have ‘my’ baby.”
“Gareth?” She nodded.
“Yes. He’s not mine. There is no part of me in that young man. He was conceived by a selfish bastard and a money-grubbing whore, and every one of their wicked traits were passed down to him.” My eyes bulged and my mouth had dropped open at some point during her incredible story.
Helena leaned forward and took my hands in hers. “If I had it to do over again, I would have married for love, and the moment Tom started stepping out, I should have run for the hills.” Sighing, she let go of my hands and leaned back, slouching in the chair. It was most unladylike and made me want to hug her sweet neck for the wasted life she’d led.
“I’m sorry,” I said, fighting tears. What else could I say?
“Yeah, me too. It’s too late for me, but it’s not too late for you, ya know.” She straightened her spine and smoothed her pretty brown suit, looking more like the dignified lady I knew her to be, rather than an old, washed-up diner waitress.
“But, my father—” I pleaded. It was more complicated than that. Wasn’t it?
“No.” She stood and now I detected anger. What the hell, it wasn’t like she was the one constantly being interrupted. “Don’t bring him into it! This is your life and you need to live it on your own terms. I love my husband because I was told to, and in some small way, I love Gareth because I’m supposed to, but that’s on me. I didn’t make myself a priority and I see you traveling down the same dark and dangerous road. You need to live for you. Tell me about the young soldier you’ve been spending time with?”
“Umm, I… he’s just… “ I stammered. This feeling that I’d walked into an exam without having ever seen the material was growing in my gut.
“Gareth keeps an eye on you, especially since the soldier came into the picture. He was displeased that you’d been socializing with him. In fact, he had him checked out, hell bent on destroying him, but you know what?”
I shook my head and reminded myself to blink.
“He found nothing. His records show a sad and lonely childhood, but from what I read, he’s overcome great obstacles to get where he is. The soldier is the kind of man you should be with. Not Gareth. And not any other man your parents would approve of.” When she smiled, I did too. “What happened to your hand?” She pointed and I looked down. My left hand was turning purple and was definitely swollen.
“Oh, would you believe I hit it on a can of green beans?” I laughed, but sobered instantly at the memory of my last conversation with Bennett.
“It’s perfect.” She clapped her hands under her chin like an excited toddler. “He was planning to propose at dinner, but he can’t now because your finger is too swollen. And a purple hand, ring or no ring, raises questions that no run-in with green beans will satisfy. So he’ll have to divert to the original plan and propose in Aspen. It’s the only obvious choice.”
I nodded, digesting the deluge of information she was throwing at me. “An obvious choice.” I had no words, so I repeated hers.
“That gives you less than three weeks to make a decision. And dear girl, pray or meditate or do whatever it is you kids do, but dig deep inside your heart and ask yourself if you’re prepared to live the next fifty years with a man who you share no affection with. Because, darling, those fifty years will feel like five hundred.” Her bright blue eyes were watery and, without a thought of propriety, I pulled her into a tight hug.
“Thank you,” I said so softly, she may not have even heard. She pulled away and held me at arm’s length.
“I’ll be struck with an unfortunate and ill-timed migraine right before dessert is served. I’ll be helped up to bed and won’t be back down before you leave.” She started toward the door and I’d followed, but she paused with her hand on the polished brass doorknob. “And I mean this in the best possible way. But I truly hope I never see you again.” She popped a sweet, grandmotherly kiss on my right temple and swept out of the room, standing tall and proud, a picture-perfect Southern hostess preparing to smile and serve her guests.