***
The weatherman had said it was going to rain later that day.
But Lane Sheridan, ever the optimist, had snubbed the advice. The azure sky above had given no hint that it would transform into the cascading torrent outside the window of the Stromm Art Gallery that she now pressed her nose against.
“Rain, rain, please go away,” she murmured.
Lane fiddled with the satchel containing her research notes and sighed audibly. She barely had 45 minutes to get to her night classes at Columbia University. Working by day at the Stromm Gallery gave her a distinct advantage over her colleagues in the Art History course. Her thesis was due in four weeks and graduation in six. She looked forward to the title of Assistant Curator after that. Katherine Stromm, owner and curator of Strom Gallery, had given her word. Lane had no reason to doubt her. They had worked together for 6 years, since a shy and reticent Lane had first asked to be taken on as an intern.
There had been something about the brown haired, green-eyed neophyte that struck Katherine. She had been timid, yet armed with surprising mischievousness, and Katherine had been pleased to discover that Lane also had a familiarity with art that belied her youthful appearance.
Under Katherine’s wing, the newbie developed an eye for detail and the ability to discern a good painting whose value would increase over the years. Lane was great with research and a quick learner. When she graduated from college, Katherine took her back with open arms.
The Stromm Gallery was worth billions and had links to museums and galleries all over the world. Lately, Lane had been managing it in an unofficial capacity. Katherine had fallen ill and the added responsibility couldn’t have been more ill timed. Between running the gallery and her night classes, Lane had very little time to do anything else. But she was not complaining. She knew that her position as assistant curator was a step closer to her ultimate dream of becoming a curator.
But it was the hefty income increase that sat at the forefront of her psyche. Lane needed it for her sister Sarah’s education. Orphaned at a young age, Lane had vowed that Sarah would have the best education that she could provide. That propelled her intensely. Sarah didn’t have to know that her high school tuition at a private school had caused Lane to wallow in debt, but college was looming and Lane was struggling to keep up. That meant passing up on a pair of Ferragamo shoes that were on 70 per cent discount. Anticipating better wages was reason enough for Lane to endure night school, even if her body sometimes screamed for a break.
Hang in there, Lane. This shall pass. It finally slowed down to a trickle and Lane sighed in relief. She gave the gallery a cursory glance, before heading out the door.
***
Lane tottered as the heel of her shoe sunk into the muddy earth. The weather was gray and somber.
“Shit!” she mumbled, navigating her way to the headstone bearing the inscription of her former boss’ name.
The weeks prior to Katherine’s death were a blur. The farewell rites – attended by a bohemian set of friends, museum curators, local politicians and gallery owners – had ended hours before. Lane had kept her distance, not wanting to intrude, but was glad to get a chance to say her final goodbye.
If Lane were totally honest, she desperately wanted to avoid running into Matthew Stromm, Katherine’s only son. The idea of seeing him again after 5 years made her cringe in embarrassment.
"Bastard. Low-life mongrel…" she muttered in recollection.
Her youth and naivety were the only excuses she could fall back on to avoid judging herself as a complete idiot. He had been instantly attracted to Lane’s young ingénue and made no secret of it. Lane had been mature even at a young age, but her foresight proved no match for Matthew’s charm.
Forty-eight blissful hours spent in his arms had made her think it would be that way forever but when he left without a word, Lane realized that she had just been another notch on his belt.
She had reported for work apathetic and listless, having spent the whole night crying. Katherine took her aside after a week and said, "Forget him, Lane. My son will only leave you heartbroken.”
When Lane had realized Katherine was aware of the short-lived affair, she had initially felt embarrassed but the old woman treated her with kindness and compassion. When she first heard the news that Katherine was diagnosed with cancer, she had no idea how fast the disease would devour the strong-willed and handsome woman. She had barely been a shadow when Lane visited her in the hospital.
Lane had gripped her hand tightly as Katherine strived for enthusiasm, telling her about a hefty sale of three of their paintings.
“You’re doing a great job, Lane. Take care of the gallery for me. That is my life’s work,” Katherine had said in a papery voice.
“Don’t worry about anything. Just get well so we can begin negotiation for the van Gogh.” Lane had said, optimistic about Katherine’s prognosis.
Katherine died two days later. Her body had been cremated immediately and the ashes buried, leaving Lane wondering if it wasn’t all a dream. With Katherine’s passing, her own future was on the brink. All her well-laid plans were anchored on Stromm Gallery. With the curator gone, only one conclusion loomed: the Stromm estate would sell to the highest bidder and close shop.
It was a bitter pill to swallow. Lane had put in six years of her life, only to see it all go so easily. With her mounting debts, college for Sarah would no longer be feasible. Lane felt defeated as she slumped on the headstone and cried for the woman who had been a mentor and friend.
***
Two weeks later, Lane found herself ushered into the conference room of a downtown law firm. She glanced at the intimidating stacks of law books lining the wall. The letter had requested her presence and had been signed by James Dillard, Attorney at Law.
Lane had spent the past two weeks tidying up the affairs of the gallery. She brought a copy of the sales revenue; she wanted to be ready for whatever Mr. Dillard would ask. She was vaguely familiar with the lawyer, having seen him in the past with Katherine.
Since the letter arrived, she had been engaging in wishful thinking that Katherine might have left a painting or two in her name. If that were the case, she could sell them and fund Sarah's college tuition. She felt icky about entertaining such thoughts, but it gave her some hope.
The door opened and Lane rose to greet the lawyer. Her smile turned to shock at the arrival of someone she had dreaded meeting again after all these years.
Matthew Stromm.
His presence was oppressive in the way that the room suddenly felt smaller when he entered. He raised a sardonic eyebrow upon seeing her there. His flippant attitude was well fitted with his wealth. Designer jeans coupled with a fine linen shirt tucked casually, a leather jacket slung carelessly over the shoulder, all screamed fashion icon. He was even more gorgeous than she last remembered.
He threw the jacket onto the table and slouched down on a swivel chair. He ran a finger through his thick, luxurious, blond hair as his piercing blue eyes noted the look of discomfort on her face.
“Black coffee, no cream, no sugar,” he said in a mellifluous voice.
“What?” asked Lane, surprised. He had mistaken her for a secretary – he didn’t remember her at all.
“I’m not a…” she had begun to sputter, when the door opened once more.
“Lane, Matthew…I’m glad you’re both here. Have you guys introduced yourselves?” Dillard asked as he deposited a thick folder on the table. “Matthew, this is Lane Sheridan, Assistant Curator at the Stromm gallery. Lane, this is Matthew Stromm.”
Matthew’s brows rose to the roof at the mention of her name. Lane remained stunned. Matthew reached over and offered a handshake.
“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Sheridan.”
She didn’t think she would be able to wipe the smirk off his face. But did he even remember her? She wasn’t sure.
“Mr. Stromm,” she addressed him formally. She would play his game the way she wanted.
“I think we can drop the formalities, considering the terms of the will…” Dillard said, clearing his throat and looking uncomfortable. “Do you have any questions before we begin?”
“Actually, I do,” Lane said, jumping in. “I’m wondering why I have been summoned here. I’m not family.” She sent a surreptitious glance in Matthew’s direction. “I actually brought all the legal papers concerning the gallery,” she added, sliding a folder to the lawyer’s direction. “So, if that’s all you need,” she declared, rising from her seat, “I will be on my way.”
“Wait,” the lawyer commanded before she could gather her belongings. “Please stay. You are a part of this proceeding and you’ll soon understand why.”
Matthew watched the exchange with a sardonic grin. “Thank you,” Dillard murmured, looking relieved that she had settled back into her seat.
Lane twisted her body sideways to avoid seeing Matthew’s face and crossed her arms over her chest. Dillard cleared his throat and began.
“As you are well aware, I am Katherine’s executor for her estate. The executor's main duty is to carry out the instructions and wishes of the deceased. Before Katherine passed away, we executed her final will and testament.”
“Can we just get to the nitty-gritty of how much money I’m getting, without this legal mumbo jumbo?” a drawling voice, interrupted.
The hair at the back of Lane’s neck rose. She controlled the urge to slap him down with a scathing remark. Couldn’t he wait a few more minutes before demanding everything that Katherine worked for all her life?
“As you wish,” Dillard responded. “Katherine Stromm’s assets – including cars, real estate properties, jewelry and banknotes – are worth an estimated four billion dollars.”
Lane gasped. Matthew froze, but Lane was sure his pupils dilated.
“How long before everything is transferred to my name?” Matthew asked eagerly.
Lane hated the sound of avarice in his voice.
“I’m afraid it’s more complicated than that,” Dillard replied.
“Every asset Katherine owned is legally tied to the Stromm Gallery. The will states that the collection must be kept safe and intact. To ensure that her wishes are carried out, let me quote her words,” Dillard said, then paused before continuing. “My son, Matthew Stromm, shall be married to my Assistant Curator, Lane Sheridan, within thirty days from the reading of this will. Both will stay within the union for a period of one year at least. If the marriage does not occur within thirty days, the collection shall be auctioned off and donated to charity.”
“What?” Lane shrieked.
“What the fuck” Matthew screamed, as he snatched the document from Dillard’s hand. A vein throbbed violently in his temple. “You,” he screamed at Lane, “did you have anything to do with this?”
“No, of course I didn’t!” Lane replied, bewilderment written all over her face.
“The contents of the will were confidential and could only be opened after Katherine passed. Lane had no idea,” Dillard said, defending her.
“She must have! Who would ever hatch such a grandiose scheme? She must have hypnotized my mom. They spent a lot of time together in that fucking gallery.”
Lane had had as much as she could take. The obnoxious excuse for a human before her had accused her of being a devious, calculating schemer.
“Listen, you fucking asshole. No infallible God should have given Katherine a son like you. If you think, for one minute, I have any interest in your fucking money, I don’t. Neither do I possess an iota of interest in you.” That last sentence was not entirely true but years of pent-up anger was now being unleashed.
“She paid me well because I worked my ass off. That gallery was her passion and I’m sure someone else can honor her memory better than you, you profligate, arrogant asshole,” Lane wheezed in profound fury.
She gathered her belongings ready to leave when Dillard called out, “Lane, please wait. You need to know something before you make up your mind. Katherine’s will states that, after a period of one year of being married to Matthew, you stand to inherit $1 million and a favorite painting of your choice.”
“What?” she froze in her tracks, disbelief written all over her face.
One million fucking dollars? She would never earn that much money, even if she worked three eight-hour shifts every single day for the rest of her life. But why would Katherine even consider Lane for this kind of arrangement?
The money would absolutely solve all her financial woes – her debts paid off, college tuition for Sarah. She could maybe even get a new car and a small condo for her and her sister.
Her eyes darted wildly back and forth between the other two occupants of the room. Dillard looked hopeful. Matthew was a display of belligerence.
Matthew saw her hesitation and smirked. Lane interpreted the malicious grin as his way of saying he was right in his assumption about her. The message was loud and clear – when money spoke, everybody listened. You didn’t ignore it, even if it asked you to lick its ass.
Her pride kicked in. In hindsight, she would probably regret her decision but right now she just wanted to hit him in the gut.
“No amount of money in the world would ever convince me to marry that pompous ass,” she slammed the door hard behind herself and left.
Lane wondered how long the feeling of satisfaction gained from seeing the shocked and incredulous look on Matthew Stromm’s face would last. She knew it would probably not be long, once her creditors came knocking.
***
Lane’s anger subsided and she regretted her impulsive decision. She wanted to call James Dillard and tell him she had reconsidered but every time she thought of picking up the phone, she remembered the smug look on Matthew’s face. Her pride though had a bedfellow called guilt and it assailed her every time Sarah talked about college.
It didn’t help that the staff of the Stromm gallery was on pins and needles as they awaited their fate. No one looked forward to being jobless. Her bank loan was past due and there were bills to pay.
“I should have stayed,” she mused with regret, recalling the scene in Dillard’s office. It occurred to her that where Matthew Stromm was concerned, she either loved him or hated his guts.
Matthew’s image popped in her mind and she re-remembered the striking blue eyes and well-defined nose that balanced his chiseled jaw. The broad shoulders tapered down to long, lean legs. She had even caught a glimpse of the lean, clean fingers.
Lane was taken aback at the distinct image in her mind. She struggled to erase his memory. Her state of confusion was, therefore, natural when she received a call from Matthew.
She was in the middle of a conference call with a Middle-Eastern client when her phone rang. She initially ignored the unfamiliar number, but after she had finished her business with the potential buyer, it rang again. She reached for the phone.
“Hello, Lane Sheridan speaking.”
There was a slight pause before a voice came through.
"Lane, this is Matthew Stromm. I was wondering if we could talk?”
Lane shivered at the way her name slid off his tongue.
“Yes, Mr. Stromm. How can I help you?” she said, striving to put on her best professional voice. He was, after all, technically her boss now that Katherine was gone.
“Please call me Matthew,” he insisted. “You used to.”
The admission made her heart flutter. So he did remember her. There was no sign of provocation in his voice. He just sounded…pleasant.
“Well, err-okay, Matthew. How can I help you?”
“I’d like to ask you out for coffee. Honestly, I prefer dinner but it’s really up to you. But please just give me a few minutes of your time.”
Lane was stunned over the sudden invitation.
“If this is about the gallery, please be assured everything is in order,” Lane stammered.
“Yes, it’s about Stromm gallery. It’s too complicated to discuss over the phone. Would you consider having dinner with me tonight?” he asked, repeating the invitation.
Lane was tempted to say that dinner was unnecessary, but he was right. He was finally being accountable to the legacy that his mother had built for decades of her life. With this thought her resentment came down a notch.
“Alright, we can have dinner, Matthew,” she agreed with some degree of reservation.
“Great. I’ll pick you up at 8 PM.”
Lane stared at the cell after he hung up. She pinched herself a couple of times to make sure she hadn’t dreamt the whole conversation. She was suddenly nervous and sweaty.
Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not a date. It’s a business meeting.
Her agitation grew as the day passed. She wished she could go home, change into something more appropriate, but each time she reminded herself that it wasn’t a date. She decided to dismiss the rest of the staff early.
Her stomach was all knotty as she waited by the curb fronting the gallery. A white Bentley convertible rounded the corner and slowed down. She didn’t need to be told it was Matthew.
“Hi…” she said, greeting him guardedly as she slid onto its red leather seat.
He flashed a smile that winded her. Reaching into the backseat, he handed her a bouquet of the most beautiful red roses she had ever seen.
“What’s this for?” Lane asked, taken by surprise. Roses were one of her favorite flowers in the world.
“That’s my way of apologizing for my behavior the other day. I know I was an ass. Please forgive me.”
The apology was totally unexpected, just like the flowers. Lane was bowled over.
"I wasn't at my best either," she confessed.
“It was totally expected. I’m sure you think I’m such a cad. But let me reassure you; I can be really nice. Please give me another chance,” he begged.
“Of course,” Lane squeaked as she lowered her defenses.
“Good,” said Matthew, smiling happily as he started the car and asked if she had any food preferences.
“You take the lead,” Lane requested. They drove for a couple of miles and came to a stop in front of a small café. Lane was surprised. She had expected him to choose some fancy restaurant.
The place was cozy with red, gingham tablecloths and sprigs of fresh flowers in small vases. He assured her the steak was good and the salads fresh.
From the flowers to the apology, to asking her where she wanted to eat, he was doing everything by the book, and he was a good listener, too. As the meal progressed, Lane found herself talking openly about Katherine and how she had taught her everything she knew.
For his part, Matthew was open and honest about his life, admitting he had expensive tastes.
“Duh, I knew that,” Lane teased.
Matthew looked confused.
“The car?” said Lane, spelling it out for him.
“Katherine bought that for my birthday, last year,” Matthew volunteered. He was having difficulty talking about her, but he added, “My mom and I had a very volatile relationship. That’s pretty obvious. Having over-achievers for parents and being an only child placed too much pressure on me. When Dad died, I thought I was finally free to pursue what I wanted.”
He paused unsurely and then decided to come clean.
“When I visited and met you five years ago, Katherine insisted I stay and help run the gallery. I was young and defiant. We had a violent argument. The idea that the control of my life just passed from Dad to her made me rebellious. I left in haste because I knew that Katherine would dictate my life the way she wanted.”
Lane was struck by the admission.
“I see,” she said softly.
“I wanted to call you and explain. But you were close to her. She was the only family I had left and yet I couldn’t convince myself to return. The more we fought, the more determined I was to stay away.”
“Family can either be a blessing or a curse,” Lane muttered, as his confession released some of her pain.
She proceeded to tell him about losing both her parents. She swallowed hard as she mentioned her desire to give Sarah the best education she could provide.
“I guess I have to tell her soon that college is out of the picture.”
"Why?" Matthew asked.
“I don’t think I’ll have a job for long,” she said, shrugging.
“You mean about the gallery being auctioned?”
The silence that followed was awkward. They both remembered the scene at the lawyer’s office. Matthew fidgeted. Lane looked away. He cleared his throat. Lane glanced back at him.
“Lane, there’s a reason I asked you out to dinner. It’s about the gallery,” he said.
“I’ll do all I can to help. I owe it to Katherine…”
“I don’t want to auction it off, Lane.”
Lane tensed up. She knew where this was going. They both knew.
“B-but your mom’s will was very specific…”
“I know,” he said, reaching for her hand. “I didn’t make a good impression when I left without an explanation. I was an asshole. But try to see the bigger picture. Everything Katherine owned is legally mine. Some people may think I don’t deserve it but you can’t argue the fact. It was manipulative to throw in the marriage idea and then dangle a million dollars in front of you to force you to do it. But think how all that money could solve your problems. Your sister’s education means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”
Lane nodded mutely. Half her brain digested everything he said. The other half was acutely aware he was holding her hand. She liked it.
“C’mon Lane,” he prodded, “This is good for both of us. What’s the hold-up then?”
“I am scared that you might sell the gallery off. It will be a lot better if it’s donated to a museum. At least people could see these paintings” Lane expressed her deepest fear.
“If you don’t want me to, I won’t. It will be business as usual. After a year we get a quickie divorce. You get your money, and I get the gallery. It’s a win-win for both of us.”
Lane sat deep in thought. What Matthew proposed made sense to her. No one at the gallery would lose their jobs. Sarah could go to college just as they planned. But something still bothered her.
“This marriage, what would it require?” she asked.
“It’s a marriage of convenience. We live under the same roof but stay in separate bedrooms. You’re free to see anyone you like.” He paused then added, “Are you seeing someone special?”
Lane shook her head.
"Are you?" she asked.
“No one that really matters.”
Her uncertainty still showed. He looked earnestly at her, waiting for her response.
“Okay,” she finally decided.
Matthew removed a small box from his jacket pocket.
“I brought this, in case you said yes. It should seal the deal.”
Lane looked at an expensive, diamond engagement ring in disbelief.
“Put it on and see if it fits. I’ll talk to Dillard first thing and make arrangements for a private wedding. We have less than thirty days.”
Two days later, they stood before a judge who officiated their wedding and made their union legal. Ever since she was a little girl, she had looked forward to her wedding. This was far from what she had imagined but she had to remind herself that this was just a business arrangement.
***
Two weeks passed before Lane could shake the feeling. The ring on her finger said she was Mrs. Matthew Stromm. Talks were rife about the suddenness of the marriage, but Lane took it all in her stride. She had a role to play and she had decided to play it well.
She and Sarah moved in with Matthew to the Stromm ancestral home. He allowed her to run the household as the new mistress of the house, while he busied himself with his mom’s estate.
Lane continued her work at the gallery during the day. When a delivery of paintings arrived and Lane fell short of space, she decided to bring some of the older paintings home. She was in the process of unpacking the frames when she spotted a familiar canvas and shrieked in delight.
It was an acrylic, 8x10 rendition of a woman in her wedding gown.
From the moment she first set eyes on it, Lane had been enamored. There was something about the woman that embodied all the emotions of an expectant bride-to-be. The painting had never sold, to Katherine’s chagrin, but Lane was secretly elated. She did some research about the origin of the piece and found nothing. However, she knew in her heart that she wanted it badly. She was so enraptured that she did not notice Matthew had arrived until he spoke.
“That’s beautiful,” he said.
“You like it?” she asked, thrilled at the approval.
“An Italian amateur painted his wife from memory, a year after she passed away. Both were in an accident. He survived, she didn’t. He died shortly after, leaving that as a legacy of his love.”
Lane was stunned.
“How? How do you know all that? I searched the Internet and found absolutely nothing. Not the painter’s name or even a short bio of his art. Nothing.”
“When I lived in Italy I heard about him. His name is Antonio Pierro. He spent his whole life in a small town called Cefalu. I was curious about his work. He passed away a couple of months before my visit. I ended up talking to his mother, Signora Pierro. She told me everything about her son, the wife that he adored deeply and the tragic accident that took her life. Signora Pierro had to sell most of his work to cover his medical bills. This was the only one left. I bought it and sent it to Katherine to put in the gallery."
Lane was speechless; she hadn’t known any of it.
“I thought it was pretty tragic, what happened to him. I hoped Katherine never sold it and I’m glad to see that it’s still here,” he added.
"I have loved this painting ever since I first laid eyes on it," Lane admitted breathlessly.
A strange look crossed his face – one she didn’t quite understand.
“I’m glad you do. Maybe fate meant it for you,” he replied softly.
Lane felt her world shift. She couldn’t quite put the feeling into words. The painting was a fragile thread that connected her and Matthew. She tried to understand her happiness, tried to ignore it, but her heart told her what her mind refused to acknowledge. In that bittersweet moment, she realized she still loved the man.
***
Lane couldn't find the words to describe her state of contentment. Since the night she had discovered the truth about the painting, there had been a perceptible change in their relationship. It felt like all her barriers had been taken down.
“May I join you?” he asked after dinner one evening.
Lane was relaxing on the sofa watching a sitcom, legs tucked beneath her, and sipping a glass of wine. Normally, he headed straight to his own bedroom. She made room for him, turning down the volume of the TV as she did so. He sat at the farthest end of the sofa and appeared to be deep in thought.
“Would you mind, if I started coming over to the gallery?” he asked.
“I don’t mind at all,” replied Lane, surprised and thinking he surely didn’t need to ask.
“I won’t get in your way?” he asked, with a look of uncertainty.
“It would be great to have you around. You have so much knowledge about art and it would be good for everyone to have access to that”
He grinned and replied, “You no longer think of me as a pompous ass?” reminding her of the day at the lawyer’s office.
“You’re still a pompous ass. But if you stay at the gallery, I can keep track of your whereabouts,” Lane teased, and then chuckled.
“Haven’t I been good, Mrs. Stromm?” he said, taunting her.
"Exemplary, Mr. Stromm," Lane answered.
He stood up to refill her glass and then, when he returned, deliberately sat closer.
“To my beautiful wife,” he toasted. “Had I known five years ago that you would turn out to be this ravishing creature, I would have stayed and suffered my mom taking over my life.”
Lane gulped. It was a sore topic she had never dared to ask about. But she still wanted to know and so she asked.
“Did you even think about me all these years?”
“Every single day for a whole year,” he admitted. “I kept recalling your face, your eyes, your skin and your scent. I didn’t want to forget. But after a while I convinced myself you would have moved on with someone else.”
Lane was dumbstruck.
“But, but, back at the office you acted like you didn’t even know me at all.”
“I did; I’m an idiot. I was afraid of the way I felt about seeing you again. Maybe you had gotten married or were seeing someone.” Matthew confessed.
“How did you feel, seeing me again?” Lane asked in a whisper.
“Like I was still in love with you. Like I never really stopped loving you at all.”
Lane felt tears well in her eyes. He reached out a hand and brushed them away, then ran his fingers down her cheek, caressing her lower jaw with his thumb. It left her momentarily breathless and her heart pumped wildly as heat suffused her body.
He leaned down, swept a few stray strands of hair behind her ear and whispered, “There’s nothing I want more than to make love to you tonight.” He stood up and said, “Good night, Lane.”
No, come back! Her brain screamed at his retreating figure.
His sudden departure left her completely baffled. She recognized the achy, hollow throbbing between her legs. She wanted to feel his lips against hers, his hard body pressed close against her breast.
Lane marched determinedly back to her own bedroom and paced the floor. A wild idea took shape, which sent her scampering to the closet. She rummaged wildly until she found what she was looking for. She entered the bathroom and took a hot shower, which left her skin tingling. She donned the lingerie.
She flinched at the image reflected in the mirror. The silk nightgown covered just enough of her breasts inside the flimsy bra to leave something to the imagination. The soft curves of her body were silhouetted against the sheer, white fabric and the panties were just a total excuse for being there at all.
Her palms turned sweaty as she studied her reflection. Her hair tumbled down her shoulders in wild disarray. Her eyes blazed with a mixture of optimism and dread and the blood flowing uncontrollably through her chest gave her a pinkish glow.
“Don’t be an idiot. You’re a strong, independent woman. You can do this,” she castigated her reflection.
With her mind made up, she made a beeline for his bedroom and opened the door softly. He was sprawled across his bed, reading by a lamp that cast its glow softly over his face. His eyes popped when he saw her standing there. Only an oaf might have failed to spot her intention.
“May I join you?” she asked huskily, sexual expectation overflowing into her voice.
With her heart beating like a jackhammer, Lane approached him slowly, barefooted. Her limbs took on a life of their own, as she pulled at the ribbon that held her lingerie together. His eyes bored deeply into hers, before traveling down the rest of her body. She sashayed seductively until she reached the bed, feeling the mattress move as she climbed up and stationed herself by his side.
Matthew grabbed her by the waist and pulled her down on top of him. He held her face so close to his that she could feel their eyelashes touching. The sweet smell of wine on his warm breath was intoxicating. Then his lips closed on her lower lip and sucked gently, before he slipped his tongue into her mouth.
Lane responded to the symphony of emotions his tongue created. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally let go of her mouth as his feverish hands worked to divest her of all her clothes.
Lane’s breasts sprung free of their confines as she worked on removing his shirt and untying the drawstrings of his pants. Matthew’s lips traveled from behind her ear to the side of her neck and he inhaled the sweet fragrance of her skin. He reached up, grasped her breast and caressed her nipples with his thumb.
Lane threw her neck back in ecstasy as the tingling sensation traversed all the way down to her groin. She struggled feverishly with the rest of his clothes. Her heavy panting sounded loud even to her own ears as she groped his hardened cock through his pants. They soon surrendered to her persistence and she caressed his lengthened shaft.
Matthew turned her over gently so that she was lying beneath him and Lane watched, hypnotized, as he shimmied between her legs. He caressed the soft skin between her thighs, before ripping away her panties. With nostrils flaring and eyes narrowed, he lowered his face between her thighs and inhaled deeply.
“You smell intoxicating,” he said, the voice rumbling from his throat.
He proceeded to paint the lips of her vulva with his tongue. Lane writhed in ecstasy when he flicked her clit and began to give it all his attention. Every nerve in her body responded and came alive. Her body was on fire. Matthew reached up and grabbed one of her breasts and massaged it with his palm.
Lane thought she would go insane. She was climbing towards the apex of her desire, but she knew exactly what she wanted to get her there. She wanted all of him inside her. She rocked her hips sensuously and pulled him up to her.
“I want to feel you inside me,” she whispered huskily, spreading her legs wide open. She inched her hips toward his throbbing member and gasped at the feel of his hardness against the outer lips of her pussy.
Matthew entered her slowly, deliberately, relishing the play of emotions that crossed her face. He arched his back, forming a bridge over her, lowered his face and took possession of her breast with his mouth. A wild tremor racked her body.
He thrust inside her slowly, then with ever-increasing intensity, as his tongue swirled and sucked at her breast. Lane was distinctly aware of the heat pooling between her legs. She fought against the tide of a coming orgasm, but found she was no match for its insistent cry for release.
“I’m coming,” she whimpered into his ear.
Matthew released the captive breast and propped his elbow against the cushions. He rammed into her harder and harder, faster and faster, observing her face for telltale signs of her climax.
Lane flailed, and then grabbed hold of him tightly. Primal moaning filled the room, as a mind-blowing release made her body shake. Lane thought she had died and gone to heaven. Her mind was in a haze, as she watched Matthew’s face scrunch. The veins in his neck were like corded ripples that throbbed with each violent thrust.
He yelled her name as Lane felt a warm gush spread inside her. Matthew’s body jerked convulsively with each spurt of his cum, before he fell into a mindless heap on top of her body.
***
“That’s rather ostentatious, don’t you think?” a teasing voice remarked.
Lane smiled at Sarah, who was home on a break from school. She looked forward to spending time with her baby sister. She also felt a little guilty. Sarah was growing up too fast and would soon be away for college.
Sarah approached the humongous flower arrangement of five-dozen roses in a wicker basket, prettily tied up in a bow.
“Your favorite kind,” she simpered. “Matthew sure knows how to bowl a girl over. Did you two have a fight or something?”
“No, we didn’t fight. You know Matthew. He can be quite flamboyant.”
“You think?” Sarah retorted sarcastically.
Lane didn’t reply. If she was honest, she was feeling a bit overwhelmed, although happy, about Matthew’s thoughtful ways. Everything was...heaven. Lane felt juvenile describing her feelings that way, but it was exactly how she felt. She was constantly blown away by his gifts: concert tickets, weekend getaways, jewelry, designer clothes, etc… the list was endless.
“You’re spoiling me too much,” she remarked to him, while holding a diamond bracelet to the light.
“That’s what husbands do for their beautiful wives.” He replied.
Lane hoped it had nothing to do with the fact that they were both naked and just had the most incredible sex ever.
“Thank you,” she replied as she rolled on top of him and started to caress his…
“Earth to Lane…” Sarah remarked with a laugh.
Lane shook her head, cleared her thoughts, and laughed with embarrassment. Matthew was constantly on her mind, even when he was away, just like today.
“OMG! You’re such a bride,” Sarah guffawed.
Lane blushed. Who could blame her? Her day began and ended with Matthew Stromm.
She placed an arm around her sister's waist and asked, "What about you? Have you made up your mind about which university to go to?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Sarah replied. “Cornell University wants me in their Department of Arts and has offered me a scholarship.”
“What? When did this happen?” Lane shrieked in excitement.
Sarah grinned and replied, “I’ll tell you all about it over lunch. You can afford to treat me to a really good one since you no longer have to worry about college tuition.”
Lane grabbed her sister and hugged her tight. She was incredibly happy. All her sacrifices had been worth it.
“Tell me all about it," she urged, as they walked hand in hand towards the door.
***
Back at the office a few days later, Lane was surprised to receive a letter that was postmarked from India. She tore the envelope open and read the letter. Her eyes grew wide in wonder.
The sender of the letter was a well-known Indian painter, Vijay Ghosh.
Before her death, Katherine had gotten interested in the work of Ghosh and suggested to Lane that she inquire about traveling to India and studying his art. Lane had written the letter and forgotten all about it.
Ghosh had apologized for the late response, and asked Lane to visit him. Lane was stunned. Visiting India to see Ghosh was on her bucket list, something she had forgotten since she got married.
She placed the letter down dejectedly. Going to India would mean leaving Matthew behind. She didn’t want to do that. Not now, when everything seemed absolutely perfect. A sudden hope surged inside her.
“If I tell Matthew about Vijay Ghosh, he might decide to come along. It would be great if we both explored India and studied its culture and arts. I’ll talk to him tonight when I get home,” she mused.
The idea buoyed her and she eagerly looked forward to closing the gallery early. Matthew had been gone for two days and said he would be back that night.
She hoped she would have the time to prepare a special dinner for him. Then who knows, perhaps she would get lucky. A heat arose between her legs just thinking about him.
She entered their home and decided to go upstairs and change. She immediately noticed the small suitcase just outside their bedroom door.
“He’s home,” her heart squealed in delight.
She tiptoed towards it, hoping to surprise him and noticed that the bedroom door was ajar. She pushed it silently to find Matthew seated on the bed with his back facing the door. Then she realized he was talking to someone on speakerphone.
“…I don’t know, Matthew. It feels like a breach of your promise to Lane. You did say you wouldn’t sell the gallery. How will she feel when she finds out?”
Lane's heart skipped a beat. She recognized the voice on the speaker. It was James Dillard, the lawyer who handled Katherine's estate. They were talking about her. Lane stepped back, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. But something that Dillard said caught her attention again. She pressed her back against the wall just outside the bedroom and cocked an ear.
Matthew retorted, “Lane will understand. She is well aware of the terms of our marriage of convenience. The marriage expires in a year. That's a couple of days from today. Then I intend to sell the gallery.”
“I’m well aware of that. Alright, I’ll draw up the papers, then sign the deed turning everything over that belonged to your mom.” Dillard paused then added, “There’s the matter of a million dollars promised to Lane.”
“Sign the check then. That should be enough icing on the cake,” Matthew retorted.
There was a slight pause, after which Dillard asked. “Have you found any buyers already?”
“Yes, there’s an interested party. I just want to make sure that all the assets have been turned over to me before I finalize the deal.”
“I wish you luck then,” Dillard replied.
Lane clamped a hand over her mouth to keep herself from crying. It felt as though the air had been sucked out of her lungs. Her body shook as she fought the darkness that threatened to close in on her.
All these months, she had been fooled into thinking he loved her. But it had all been a game that he had played perfectly to get what he wanted.
“Oh God," Lane cried in silent grief. Her heart felt like broken glass. The pain was so intense that she gave out a sob. She tottered to the doorway and grabbed the doorknob for support.
“Lane!” Matthew called out, seeing her there. “Is that you?”
Lane summoned her remaining strength. Even standing upright was a struggle. She wanted to curl up and die. But she couldn’t allow this man to see her so shattered.
“I heard everything.” She felt sick to be in the same room as Matthew.
“I-I-…” he began.
Lane held up a palm and said coldly, “There’s no need to spin more lies. I’ve heard enough to know that you are scum. I hope you and your money will be happy together. I don’t ever want to see your face again.”
“Lane, wait…”
His voice echoed round her head as he tried to follow her. But she was so numb she no longer cared. All she wanted was to put as much distance between them as she could by fleeing out the door.
***
Lane blew air out of her lips repeatedly. The taxi driver thought she was going into some kind of labor. He glanced at her flat belly and scratched his head.
“I’m blowing nervous tension away,” Lane explained, “I have less than two hours to get to the airport and catch my plane to India. I’m afraid I won’t make it.”
“I’ll get you there,” he reassured her.
Lane stepped out of the cab and sprinted to the door of Dillard Law Offices. She knew she should have done it a long time ago. But her devastation had been so great that she had been in no shape to see anyone after she had left Matthew. She had spent her days holed up in a hotel room. She had cried buckets, until her tear ducts gave out. The pain of Matthew’s betrayal had been too much to bear.
She had written a letter and eagerly awaited the reply. When it had finally come, she had known what she had to do, in order to heal. She had to go to India. She bought a one-way ticket, packed some clothes and was now on her way to the airport.
Before she left, however, Lane needed to see Dillard and turn over the key and legal papers pertaining to the gallery.
“Hi, Mr. Dillard,’ she greeted him with relief.
Dillard ushered her to his private office. Lane took a seat as he assessed her.
“Lane, I’m sorry about the way things ended…”
Lane cut him short and said, "That's not why I'm here. I came to bring you this. I couldn't just go and leave things in disarray,” she said, handing him the key and the papers.
“Go? Go where?” Dillard asked.
“I’m leaving for India. My taxi is waiting outside,” Lane replied as she prepared to leave.
“Shouldn’t you talk things over with Matthew before you leave?”
“I have nothing more to say to that shitbag. I’ll sign the divorce papers now if they’re ready.”
“That can wait,” Dillard hesitated. He pulled open a drawer and retrieved something inside, before handing it to her.
It was a manager’s check in the amount of $1 million payable to her name. Lane took the check, read the fine print and then tore it in half.
“Here,” she said, handing it back to him. “Tell Matthew he can shove it up his ass.”
***
Lane was sweating bullets when she finally made it to the airport counter and presented her passport and visa to the ground stewardess. She barely made it to the last call. But the cabbie was true to his word and got her there on time, despite the horrendous traffic.
She sighed with relief when the ground crew stamped her visa and wished her a cheery, “Enjoy your trip to India, Miss Sheridan.”
She searched for her seat and settled down, glad for the chance to think before takeoff. She couldn’t believe she was actually inside the airplane and leaving everything behind. If there was one consolation, it was that she knew Sarah would be all right. Cornell would provide everything she would ever need.
Lane fought back a tear. She hoped that India would treat her more kindly than the US ever had. Matthew Stromm, the only man she had ever loved, had turned out to be her worst nightmare – twice.
“I hope the ground swallows him whole,” she thought with malice. But deep in her heart, she knew she didn't mean it. Deep in her heart, she knew that she still loved Matthew, and that’s what caused her so much pain.
A sudden commotion by the cockpit door pulled her out of her reverie.
"Sir…you can't come inside. You're not a passenger on this flight. Please, Sir. You have to leave or I will have to call the airport authorities."
Lane saw how the stewardess tried to bar the exit door with her body. She proved to be too small and was flung aside. A figure came barreling down the aisle. He looked wildly at each passenger’s face as he moved determinedly down the aisle of the plane.
"Lane! Lane! Where are you? Please don't leave. I need to talk to you."
“Matthew?” Lane gasped in amazement.
The stewardess came running after him and was soon joined by another crew member. Each clung to one of his arms as they tried to pull him back. Matthew struggled and persisted, pushing them away from him.
“Please,” he begged, “I just need to talk to my wife.”
“Sir, we have to insist….”
"Matthew," Lane called out, before someone got hurt.
Matthew turned his head wildly in search of her voice. When he saw her, he sprinted the short distance to where she stood and clutched her tightly.
"Lane, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It’s not what you think it is. Just hear me out please. Please, Lane. Give me another chance, please," he begged.
Lane struggled to get out of his embrace. She couldn’t breathe. He was holding her too tightly.
“Matthew, please…” she whispered.
Matthew released her just long enough for the blood to start flowing again. She was befuddled, confused, not sure if her mind was playing tricks on her again.
Matthew grabbed hold of her hand. He had no intention of letting her go.
“Lane, I know you think the worst of me. I understand completely. But I’m willing to do everything to prove how much I love you,” said a hopeful Matthew as he looked into Lane’s eyes.
“Why didn’t you just talk to me, Matthew? You know how much that gallery means to me. You have no idea how much you have hurt me,” asked a visibly distraught Lane.
“Lane, please forgive me. Taking my own decisions all these years I forgot that you were a part of my life now. My intention was not to cash out, but to establish a fund that would help many artists.” Matthew said, unflinchingly. As much hatred as Lane had for him, she could tell that he was telling the truth.
“And just to prove to you I mean every word, I asked James to put everything Katherine owned in a foundation under your name. I don’t want anything to do with it, if I can’t have you.” Matthew pulled out a document from his pocket that proved what he just said.
“You did that?” Lane asked weakly.
“Yes. Everything. Cars, homes, jewelry, even all the paintings in the gallery, except this," he tore the wrapper of the object he carried.
It was the painting of the bride Lane loved so much.
Matthew got down on one knee, still clutching her hand, and looked at her earnestly.
"I never believed in cosmic fate. You were not yet even in my life when I bought this painting. But when I first laid eyes on it, something stirred in my soul. I sent it to the gallery not knowing you would fall in love with it. Don't you see? The painting was meant for me from the very start because it was meant for you. We are meant for each other, Lane. Please don't go. Stay with me."
Lane could hardly see because of the tears falling profusely down her cheeks. Yet she was intensely aware of a hundred eyes watching them.
Lane bit her lip, as a sob wracked her body. She watched as Matthew rose slowly to his feet and wiped away her tears.
“Please forgive me, Lane," he whispered.
Lane nodded mutely and finally succumbed to his embrace. The plane erupted into cheers. They were still locked together in a tight embrace when the metallic voice announced:
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. This flight is about to take off for India. So, if the lovely lady has made a decision, I suggest the equally handsome gentleman take her off the plane now."
Lane nodded in agreement as Matthew took her hand. Amidst cheers and banter from the passengers, they made their way slowly down the aisle and out the exit door to where a future promised only the brightest colors that life could offer.