47 - Love's Like a Diamond

And there it is.  He’s no longer stupidly perfect.

“So, you have another daughter,” Delaney reiterated with deliberate neutrality as dinner rumbled like Chinese New Year in her stomach. 

Jon pushed a hand through already disheveled hair and shook his head.  “No.  My memories of that night are almost nonexistent, but I told the girl – Chelsea – that, since there was a possibility, I’d do a DNA test.  Results prove she’s not my kid.”

What an awkward nightmare that would’ve been to suddenly inherit a twenty-four-year-old daughter.  Relief for both he and Dorothea flooded her veins but ebbed just as quickly.  Instead of gaining an unexpected child, they’d lost the family they’d spent almost thirty years building. 

“Not your kid, but Dorothea still couldn’t forgive you?”

“Nope,” Jon confirmed flatly before swigging another gulp of wine.  “It wasn’t the paternity issue, believe it or not.  She said she’d braced herself for something like that years ago.  Dorothea was more upset that I’d done the one and only thing she asked me never to do, and then lied about it – multiple times.  Said I could apologize until I was blue in the face.  She still couldn’t trust or respect me the same way anymore and wouldn’t spend the rest of her life trying.”

That explained Dorothea’s advice about finding the truth in Jon’s eyes, but didn’t keep those same eyes from tearing at Delaney’s heart.  It was almost as bad as comprehending this divorce wasn’t his choice.   

He’d still be happily married if Dorothea had been able to accept the circumstances.  If she ever reached that point of acceptance and was willing to give Jon another chance, there was every possibility in the world that he’d take it.   

So where did that put Delaney?

As the friendly rebound girl.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, regretting that she’d asked about his divorce.  Enjoying a relationship with him was easier before she found out he was probably still in love with Dorothea.  That was going to take some getting used to and, in need of a little space, she scooped up their plates.

“Sorry about what?” His voice followed her to the sink where Delaney scraped their leftovers.  “That I killed my marriage, or that you believed I was a nice guy?”

“You are a nice guy, Jon, but even nice guys screw it up once in a while.  I’m sorry you didn’t get to live happily ever after with your high school sweetheart the way you’d always planned.”

“I was, too.”  She jumped when soft lips touched her nape, unaware that he'd slipped up behind her.  Heavy arms looped Delaney’s waist, constricting to draw her against the solidity of his chest.  “Then I met you.  Now I’m not sorry at all.”

She should push him away to look at his eyes and see if he was trying to sell something, like Dorothea said.  She would if the weight of him didn’t feel so freeping right.  Call her crazy, but Delaney liked the immovable forearm making it just a little hard to breathe. 

“But you’re still in love with her.”

“Love’s like a diamond, Mou.”  His other arm snugged up under the first, supporting her breasts at the same time it constricted her ribs.  “It has a lot of different facets.  When one of them turns out of sight, it brings a different one into view, so yeah.  I’ll always love her, but as far as the passionate love between a man and woman…?  That facet faded out of sight a long time ago.  Sometimes I’m not sure we ever had it.”

Delaney pushed at his arms so that she could turn and meet the blue orbs that were watching her from beneath lowered lashes.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean that, if Dorothea and I were the average Americans, we would’ve divorced ten or fifteen years ago when we realized we were nothing more than friends with kids.  But it was just easier to stay married than deal with all the bullshit details of splitting up.  I’m also a stubborn son of a bitch, who doesn’t like to admit failure.”

There was nothing but honesty shining in the variegated depths of blue.  

Jon and Dorothea’s marriage hadn’t been storybook perfect like everyone believed.  It just hadn’t been storybook horrible, either. 

“If she decided to call off the divorce, would you reconcile?”

“No,” he said without hesitation, emphasizing it with a solemn shake of his head.  “The hard part is over.  Asset decisions have been made, everyone’s worked through their emotions and the media has lost their shit.  Now it’s just a matter of acclimating to separate lives in separate places.”

Delaney wasn’t really sure what the appropriate response was – or if one existed – so she opted to return to their dinner dishes.  That was the plan, anyway, but when she tried to execute it, he held tight. 

“We still friends now that you know what a dumbfuck I am?”

Laughing softly, she tilted her head back to scold him with a look.  “You’ve met Pearl and think I have lofty standards for friendship?  Seriously?”

“Point taken.”  Amusement gently creased the fine lines around his eyes.  “How about the other part of our relationship?  We good there, too?”

“What?  The part where you talk dirty to me at dinner?”

The gentle creases smoothed, but his eyes rained affection down on Delaney like a floodlight as he swept a feathery thumb across her cheek.  Very little compared the pulsation of excitement that came with being the sole focus of Jon’s attention.  When he zeroed in on her as if they were the only two people in the world, her knees shook, and her breath hitched. 

“The part where your body belongs to me.”

And when he claimed his ownership with that quiet air of caveman civility, her lady flower bloomed in the hothouse of her panties.  Delaney’s body knew it belonged to him.  Her brain didn’t need to be on board for that decision, but she couldn’t prevent it from trying to cast a vote.

“Does yours belong to me?”

“Yes.”  His response was instant and firm, without an ounce of uncertainty. 

“Then, yeah.  We’re good there, too.”

They may be calling this “friends and lovers”, but they’d dug themselves a hole that was deeper than that.  One that Delaney may not be able to climb out of before much longer.

{{{

The two of them were getting ready the next morning when Jon stepped into the bathroom unannounced.  He was wearing only half-buttoned jeans and pushed his phone at Delaney, announcing over the whirring hairdryer, “It’s your sister.”

“Why is she calling you?” she quasi-yelled back.

“How the hell do I know?  Probably because you aren’t answering.  Where’s your phone?” 

Cutting the power to the hairdryer, she laid it on the edge of the sink with a sigh.  She hadn’t seen the stupid thing since they met Avery yesterday.  “In the bottom of my gym bag, I guess.”

His mussed silver head shook with disappointment.  “You’re a beautiful fucking mess, Mou.”

“Only with phones.  And keys.  And little plastic cards.”  Huffing and rolling eyes that were tired from a night of strenuous mutual ownership, she extended an open palm.  “Point taken.  Gimme.”

Passing over the vibrating device, he bussed her lips and went back to the bedroom to finish dressing.  His plans for the day involved traveling to the Hamptons at about the same time Delaney had to be at work, meaning that their schedules coincided this morning.  It was one of the few times she’d wished for a bigger bathroom. 

“Hey, Petra.  What’s up?”

“Why can you NOT answer your goddamn phone?  Why do you even bother having one?”

“Because I’m an Apple lemming, following blindly along with the latest models and iOS updates,” she snarked, pulling her hair into a ponytail before looping half of it through again.  Messy bun to the rescue.  “Is this purely a lecture call or is there a legitimate reason you’re using the number I told you to lose?”

The low, throaty growl that signified her sister’s peak annoyance found its way over the line.  “Yes, there is a reason, you pain in the ass.  Pearl has been calling me for the last twelve hours.  Apparently, she’s going to the Hamptons and you’re supposed to be going, too?  I didn’t dare pass along Jon’s number, so I took it upon myself to call.”

“How very conscientious of you.” 

Makeup or no?  It didn’t really feel like a makeup kind of day, so she bypassed the cosmetics pouch and padded to the bedroom and her jewelry box.  Her rings were not optional.  She felt naked without them.

“So?”  Petra bit out impatiently.  “What the hell is this about the Hamptons?”

“Pearl is going to do some photography for Jesse at an event this weekend, but I’m not going.  Never was, so I’m not sure what that’s all about.”

“Last chance to go out with me,” Jon muttered under his breath, and Delaney hip-checked him away from the dresser and her jewelry box. 

“Why aren’t you going?  Won’t Jon be there?”

“He will,” she confirmed as the man in question buttoned the signature black shirt and ran a hand through his hair.  “But I told him this wasn’t a good weekend for me.”

“Oh, shit.  Does he know about your issues with this weekend?”

The little lightning zig zag ring found its seat on Delaney’s pinky, and the silver band slipped onto her middle finger.  “Yes, he knows.  He also knows why I can’t go.”

“Um.  You’re going to have to tell me why you can’t go.  Lack of hotel rooms?  Rat infestation?  Sudden onset dementia?”

She snorted at Petra’s sarcasm.  “No, you snarky biyotch.  Stephanie will be there.  I can’t do that yet.”

“Delaney,” her twin geared up for a lecture, which Delaney had sensed was imminent all along.  “It’s been five years.  Jon’s daughter has nothing to do with Violet, and if he wants you to go to the Hamptons, you fucking go to the Hamptons!  Do you know what kind of celebrities live out there?  And how gorgeous the houses are?  I’d give anything to see inside a couple of them.”

“Well, you’re not going to see inside any of them.”

At her staunch adamancy, Jon lifted his attention from the sleeves he was folding back.  “If you come, I can get Petra inside Oprah’s house.  She can stay with you and Pearl in the guesthouse.”

When her sister squealed, Delaney cut him a glare and tucked the phone under her chin to hiss, “Stop being helpful.  We’ve had this conversation.”

“Yes, but if Petra is the one bullying you, it’s not on my conscience.”  Jon tucked a knuckle under her chin so she’d look at him.  “I want you there, Mou.  Not for the wolves and not for Jesse.  For me.  Nobody has to know you’re there.  You can hang out by the pool or on the beach while I do my thing.  We’ll have dinner at the house in the evenings.  Jess is a helluva grill master.”

“Yes!  Goddammit, tell the man yes, Laney!”

Delaney reclaimed her face and shook the phone in his. “Do you see what you’ve done now?”

His features reflected a lack of complete unconcern when finishing up with the sleeves.  Notching both hands over his hips, he asked, “Would it make a difference if I told you Steph texted last night?  She isn’t coming out until Monday.  You could spend today and tomorrow, then come back on Sunday.”

“Delaney Petra Gardener, if you don’t tell that man yes, I’m coming to Queens and kicking your ass!”

Jon’s left eyebrow hiked with interest.  “If your middle name is Petra, what’s Petra’s middle name?”

“Delaney.”

His angled jaw opened partway but snapped shut again, making Delaney grin.  Speechless Jon wasn’t something she’d ever encountered, and he lightly tossed his hands in the air to concede defeat. “I got nothin’.  That’s too bizarre for words.”

“Laney!  Dammit, Laney!  Fucking answer me!”

Now it was his turn to grin.  Jon had dealt with Petra enough to know what he’d unleashed here this morning.  “Answer her, Mou.”

Grinding her back teeth, Delaney half-heartedly glowered at him.  In her heart, she would love to spend the weekend with him at the beach, so it was hard to be truly mad.  She just wished he’d told her about Stephanie earlier, before Petra called.  There would be no leaving her in the city now, and God only knew what kind of sophisticated trouble she was going to stir up.  Between her and Pearl, it was bound to be memorable – and without time to dwell on painful memories.

“I wish you’d told me about Steph earlier,” she grumbled before returning to Petra.  “Pack your bag, Pushy Pants.  I guess we’re going to the Hamptons.”

“Eeeek!  I wonder if I have time for a pedicure before we go?  How are we getting there?  What time are we leaving?”

“I don’t know.  I’m a mere pawn here.”  Tucking the phone under her chin once again, she tried to ignore the cloud of smugness enshrouding the man who tied his shoes.  “We need to get our own transportation, right?”

“Up to you.  If you want to avoid the hellacious traffic, I’d suggest going with me and the boys at ten.”

“Are you driving?”

“No, baby.”  He stood and shook out the legs of his jeans before smiling eyes met hers.  “Helicopter.”

Well, naturally.  How silly of her.  Who wouldn’t take a helicopter to the Hamptons?