The Millionaire Claims His Wife by Sandra Marton Page A

there, in the flesh. He knew he’d arrived when he began getting invited to all kinds of functions. Chamber of Commerce dinners. Charity affairs. Things he couldn’t afford to turn down, because if you didn’t network, some other guy would and then you’d lose the jobs you’d worked so hard to get—the jobs that bought the things he wanted Annie and Dawn to have. The things Annie had done without, for so long.
    So he started accepting invitations. He didn’t know how it would be, mingling with the doers and shakers; he was nervous, at first, and excited, but Annie was neither.
    â€œAm I expected to go with you?” she asked, the first time he tossed a cream-colored charity ball announcement on the kitchen table.
    Her response hurt. He’d still been foolish enough, in those days, to have hoped she’d get some pleasure at how he’d moved them up in the world.
    â€œYes,” he’d said, speaking coldly to hide his disappointment “You’re my wife, aren’t you?”
    â€œCertainly,” Annie had answered, and she’d gone out, bought a gown and all the stuff to go with it, had her hair done and sailed into the gilded hotel ballrooms and wood-paneled meeting rooms of their new life as if she’d never flipped hamburgers or burped a crying baby.
    Lord, he’d been so proud of her. He’d been as nervous as a cat inside, wondering if he’d fit in, but not Annie. She’d brimmed with self-confidence. And she’d been so beautiful, so bright. He’d ached to keep her stapled to his side but he hadn’t done it, not once he’d realized she didn’t need him to shore her up. He knew how hard she’d worked in the background, all those years. It was little enough to do, to back off and let her shine on her own. Just as long as he was the guy who took her to the party and brought her home, he was happy.
    What an idiot he’d been! It had turned out she’d hated spending those evenings with him. His first clue had come when she’d started saying no, she couldn’t attend this function or that dinner because she’d signed up for some artsy-fartsy course that had no practical use except to make the very clear point that what she really wanted was a life apart from his.
    He found himself devoting more time to business, spending days at a clip away from home. What did it matter? Dawn was slipping into her teenage years. Her life centered around her friends. As for Annie...Annie was never there. She was neck-deep in courses that only emphasized the growing differences between them.
    How To Appreciate Haiku. Understanding Jasper Johns, whoever in hell Jasper Johns was. Batik-Making. And then, finally, what had seemed like a trillion courses in flower arranging and design and the next thing he’d known, he had a suitcase in his hand and it was goodbye, twenty years of marriage—well, there’d been that mess at the end that had finished things off, when his secretary had thrown herself into his arms, but he hadn’t done a thing to encourage it, no matter what Annie thought.
    Peggy had been lonely. As lonely as he was. Some quiet talk, a couple of suppers after they’d been poring over figures for hours in the office, followed by his seeing her into a taxi, never anything more personal than that. That was why nobody had been more surprised than he when Peggy had suddenly launched herself into his arms one night. And wouldn’t you know that would be the one night in who knew how many years Annie had picked to come waltzing into the office?
    Chase sighed. Not that it mattered anymore. He and Annie were long divorced. He’d made a new life for himself. A pleasant one and yes, he supposed—okay, he knew—that Janet would be delighted to be part of that life, if he asked her..
    He’d been happy. Content.
    Until today.
    Until he’d taken Annie into his arms on that dance floor and felt