fashionably
, she thought morosely.
I used to have Rhys’s eye, and his undivided attention.
Now all he can talk about is his personal assistant, and I’m just a...an afterthought. A
fat
afterthought.
“Natalie,” Rhys said gently as he took the chopsticks from her hand and laid them aside, “what’s wrong? You look like your last credit card was just turned down.”
“Yes, well, you’d know about that, wouldn’t you?” she retorted.
He blinked. “What?”
She stood and carried her plate to the sink and set it down with a clatter. “You hate to see me spend money. You’re always on at me about exercising restraint and thinking before I buy. It gets tiresome. I want to buy things for the baby, and I’ll need new clothes soon. I can barely fit in the old ones.”
“Then of course you should buy whatever you need. But you already have enough baby clothes to stock Piccolini—”
“Most of those were presents,” she said defensively. “And you have to admit, their ‘I Heart NY’ T-shirts and jim-jams are beyond adorable.”
“The problem is, Natalie, you think everything is ‘beyond adorable.’ And then you buy it.”
“It’s our first baby, Rhys! A baby requires a lot of...things. And I did offer to work with you,” she added, “to help out and earn a bit of extra money. I haven’t very much to do these days. But you s-said you don’t need my h-help.”
Then she erupted into tears.
Rhys stood and pulled her to her feet and into his arms. “My darling Nat,” he said into her hair, “you’re being ridiculous. I need you...and I always will. You’re my wife, my everything. And you’re having our child. So there’s no need for you to work at Dashwood and James, or anywhere. Unless you want to, of course.”
“It isn’t about having a job, Rhys. I just want to feel...needed. I feel like an afterthought where you’re concerned, like I have no place in your life.”
He took his finger and tilted her tear-blotched face up to his. “You have the first place in my life,” he told her, his words at once gruff and firm. “And you always will.”
She sniffled and blinked her tear-matted lashes. “Really?”
“Really.” He kissed her and draped his arm around her shoulders. “Now that’s settled, I’m knackered. Let’s go to bed.”
Chapter Seventeen
When Holly came home that evening, Jamie was sitting on the sofa in their hotel room, waiting. His expression could only be called grim.
She dropped her handbag on a chair. “Jamie! What are you doing home? I thought you’d be working late.”
“Yeah, that much is obvious.” He turned off the TV and tossed the remote aside. “It
is
late, if you hadn’t noticed. Where’ve you been until–” He glanced at his watch. “–half-past eleven?”
“I told you, I had lunch with Nat, and then I went back to work.” She left out the bit about seeing Hugh Darcy at the copier and his unexpected invitation to join him at the tiny Korean place around the corner.
Over spicy soup and scallion pancakes they’d shared their theories about the identity of the mystery flapper in the portrait, and they’d lost track of time.
“You were working? Until nearly
midnight
?” The skepticism in his voice left no room for doubt – he didn’t believe her.
“Of course not,” Holly said. “I wasn’t working the whole time. I met up with...someone after work, and we had dinner together. That’s all.”
“Ah. And who was this ‘someone’ you had dinner with?”
“My father’s solicitor, Hugh Darcy. We talked about work.” Which wasn’t strictly true, but there was no need to share her interest in the portrait of the flapper with Jamie. He probably wouldn’t care, anyway.
“Are you sure you weren’t having dinner with Ciaran Duncan?”
“No.” A tiny but hot flare of anger ignited within her. “He’s back in London. And why is it a big deal if
I’m
late for once, anyway? You’re
always
late.”
“I told you I’d be
, she thought morosely.
I used to have Rhys’s eye, and his undivided attention.
Now all he can talk about is his personal assistant, and I’m just a...an afterthought. A
fat
afterthought.
“Natalie,” Rhys said gently as he took the chopsticks from her hand and laid them aside, “what’s wrong? You look like your last credit card was just turned down.”
“Yes, well, you’d know about that, wouldn’t you?” she retorted.
He blinked. “What?”
She stood and carried her plate to the sink and set it down with a clatter. “You hate to see me spend money. You’re always on at me about exercising restraint and thinking before I buy. It gets tiresome. I want to buy things for the baby, and I’ll need new clothes soon. I can barely fit in the old ones.”
“Then of course you should buy whatever you need. But you already have enough baby clothes to stock Piccolini—”
“Most of those were presents,” she said defensively. “And you have to admit, their ‘I Heart NY’ T-shirts and jim-jams are beyond adorable.”
“The problem is, Natalie, you think everything is ‘beyond adorable.’ And then you buy it.”
“It’s our first baby, Rhys! A baby requires a lot of...things. And I did offer to work with you,” she added, “to help out and earn a bit of extra money. I haven’t very much to do these days. But you s-said you don’t need my h-help.”
Then she erupted into tears.
Rhys stood and pulled her to her feet and into his arms. “My darling Nat,” he said into her hair, “you’re being ridiculous. I need you...and I always will. You’re my wife, my everything. And you’re having our child. So there’s no need for you to work at Dashwood and James, or anywhere. Unless you want to, of course.”
“It isn’t about having a job, Rhys. I just want to feel...needed. I feel like an afterthought where you’re concerned, like I have no place in your life.”
He took his finger and tilted her tear-blotched face up to his. “You have the first place in my life,” he told her, his words at once gruff and firm. “And you always will.”
She sniffled and blinked her tear-matted lashes. “Really?”
“Really.” He kissed her and draped his arm around her shoulders. “Now that’s settled, I’m knackered. Let’s go to bed.”
Chapter Seventeen
When Holly came home that evening, Jamie was sitting on the sofa in their hotel room, waiting. His expression could only be called grim.
She dropped her handbag on a chair. “Jamie! What are you doing home? I thought you’d be working late.”
“Yeah, that much is obvious.” He turned off the TV and tossed the remote aside. “It
is
late, if you hadn’t noticed. Where’ve you been until–” He glanced at his watch. “–half-past eleven?”
“I told you, I had lunch with Nat, and then I went back to work.” She left out the bit about seeing Hugh Darcy at the copier and his unexpected invitation to join him at the tiny Korean place around the corner.
Over spicy soup and scallion pancakes they’d shared their theories about the identity of the mystery flapper in the portrait, and they’d lost track of time.
“You were working? Until nearly
midnight
?” The skepticism in his voice left no room for doubt – he didn’t believe her.
“Of course not,” Holly said. “I wasn’t working the whole time. I met up with...someone after work, and we had dinner together. That’s all.”
“Ah. And who was this ‘someone’ you had dinner with?”
“My father’s solicitor, Hugh Darcy. We talked about work.” Which wasn’t strictly true, but there was no need to share her interest in the portrait of the flapper with Jamie. He probably wouldn’t care, anyway.
“Are you sure you weren’t having dinner with Ciaran Duncan?”
“No.” A tiny but hot flare of anger ignited within her. “He’s back in London. And why is it a big deal if
I’m
late for once, anyway? You’re
always
late.”
“I told you I’d be
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