I hold up my hand and point to the fabric the sewing machine is chewing up and spitting out. “Yes, be with you in a sec.”
When I go to join him on the patio, he’s already gone up the spiral stairs and is doing laps in the pool. There is a definite air of domestic bliss on the penthouse level and I fight back the urge to offer to make us both dinner. I am mesmerized by how his lean body slices through the water, how his perfectly honed arm muscles rise and fall like clockwork on the water’s surface. He’s taking his laps seriously this evening; I know this because he’s wearing his swim cap. I turn my lounger to face west and watch the sun sink below the horizon. I’m kind of sad I missed the Manhattanhenge solstice on the twenty-first of June, but maybe I’ll catch it next year.
“A penny… no, wait, a thousand dollars for your thoughts?” Roscoe asks me. He’s climbed out of the pool and is dripping water on my feet as he towels the moisture off his face after ripping off his cap. I look up at him and my stomach does a flip even while I try laughing at his joke, but I’ve got too much on my mind to stay cheerful for long. “What are the benefits of this deception, Roscoe?” I ask him, “Because sometimes, I struggle to keep up with all the lies we’re telling folks, never mind being able to see the benefit of deceiving the people I care for. I’m also struggling to see the upside of raising everyone’s expectations only to let them down once we’ve achieved our goals.”
He sits down on the edge of the lounger and I can see my question has him stumped. “Err…Where is this coming from?”
“I got a text from your mom. She wants us to get together and make some wedding plans. Says she can’t wait to get started. What are we going to do? I hate having to lie to her. I need a reminder of why we are doing this because, right now, I feel like the lowest of scums.”
“Wasn’t it to get what we wanted? Me with the golf and leisure merger, and you with your fashion line?”
“That sounds kind of selfish of us, don’t you agree?” I can’t shake the look of joy on Becky’s face when we told her the news. She’s going to think I’m just another Cammie bloody Van der Bosen when this is all over.
I can see I’ve hit a nerve with Roscoe. “Investments are not the sort of place to have a conscience, Tess. And nor is fashion, now that I think about it? All that sweat shop slave labor and so on? We’re not being selfish - we’re being innovative, working to solve our problems in a synergistic way…striding forward into a future we’re creating with our own initiative.”
“Is that what we’re going to tell your mother when this is all over?” I want to know. “Because all those trite affirmations you’ve just spouted at me won’t make your mom feel any better when she has to cancel another wedding.”
He goes pale and freezes. He stops looking at me and stares at the patio flagstones instead. “Is this you trying to break it to me gently that you don’t want to continue doing this after the merger goes through?” Roscoe is twisting his towel in his hands so hard his knuckles have gone white.
I jump off the lounger and begin pacing. “I don’t know anything anymore, Roscoe! My head, my heart, and my body are in conflict! I don’t want to be some experiment for you to see how a relationship feels like…like a pair of designer shoes you have to break in before you can wear them or something! And I don’t trust you not to go back to your old ways because, quite frankly, that’s what you’ve been doing for a long, long,looooongtime!”
He looks hurt. He leans forward, putting his face in his hands. He stays like that while I pace, but I don’t want to be the one to concede. When he sighs and looks up, Roscoe seems weary beyond words. We stare at each other and the confusion is tangible.
“Your heart is in conflict?”
It’s the last thing I expect him to say. Like every woman who wants to talk about her relationship, I’ve forgotten what I said previously. “What? I never said my heart was in conflict…?”
A look of hope appears in Roscoe’s eyes. “Yes. Yes, you did. You said your head, your heart, and your body were in conflict. So…is your heart conflicted about us? Because if it is, you owe it to yourself, and to me, to give us a chance.”
Roscoe Bridges: killer in bed, killer in the boardroom, and killer in an argument.
CHAPTER20
ROSCOE
“Fine, I’ll give us a chance.” Her hesitation before giving in had me sweating for a second, but now I find it hard to hide my satisfaction. The more time she gives me, the more time I have to sell her on the benefits of staying with me. The thought of my life without Tess Jolliffe in it chills me to the bone. She’s a real little ray of sunshine in the gray sky my life has been since Paris nearly fifteen years ago.
I’m man enough to admit it now, at least to myself. If someone else asks me how I feel about having Tess in my life as a permanent fixture, I guess I’ll just have to cross that bridge when I come to it.
* * *
We’re in this routine now, and I am thriving from it. One week of us being as close as we can come to domestic bliss. Tess began cooking supper for us some evenings. Nothing fancy, just pasta and salad. She has this great way of making her own salad dressing, which is delicious. She says her secret is to add a dash of sesame oil and brown sugar to a mix of olive oil and balsamic and then chop in some fresh herbs and seasoning. Depending on the weather, we eat on the patio or inside. After three days of not hearing from me, Chef Gavin, from our kitchen downstairs, texts me to see if I’m okay. I show the text to Tess and we laugh together.
Another text comes through after that, but I ignore it. Tess puts down her fork. “I know your rule about answering a business text when it comes through, Roscoe, so it’s okay, you can read it. It can be something important.”
I thank her and pick up my phone.
Mr. Roscoe Bridges
Many warm greetings to you and your charming fiancée.
We are ready to sign the papers tomorrow.
Please do us the honor of joining us for dinner at our hotel tomorrow evening.
Warm regards,
Ishida-san and co.