3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

MICHAEL ARAM

Jamie

S everal years ago…

“We can’t, it’s not right. We can’t do it like this.”

Jamie stood at the front of the church with his daughter, who was in a mild panic.

There were reasons why, and they all centered around the handcrafted, nickel-plated Michael Aram urn with its gold lid and base and the single white cast anemone fixed to the bottom that sat on a plinth at the front of the altar.

Or, more precisely, what lay in that urn.

However, Dru’s words were not about the urn, or the occasion, but about the flowers adorning the church.

She had, he remembered distinctly, requested peach roses for her mother’s funeral sprays.

They were her mother’s favorites.

And Dru’s.

Now, she was saying she’d ordered red, to match Rosalind’s, and Dru’s, hair.

“Darlin’, people are arriving,” Jamie said gently. “I’ve been told the vestibule is filling up. We can’t keep the doors closed much longer.”

As if his words rang to the back of the cathedral, they heard a door open, the low buzz of conversation coming from the lobby, and Jamie and Dru turned that way.

But, he suspected, only Jamie knew the woman who had closed the door on their guests and was walking swiftly down the aisle in their direction.

Her dress was prim with short, capped sleeves, an exaggerated, pointed collar buttoned up to the base of her throat, and a tie belt at the nipped waist, the latter two were black, trimmed in white. The skirt was wide. The style was reminiscent of the fifties, including the black gloves she wore on her hands that ended at her wrists.

He didn’t understand, on seeing her making her way to them, why the weight of the day and his and his daughter’s grief seemed less heavy, but it did.

When she made it to them, she stopped, tearing her sorrow-filled, warm brown eyes from Jamie to look at Dru.

“Hello, dear,” she said tenderly.

“Uh, hi,” Dru mumbled.

Nora Ellington looked back to Jamie. “Can I be of help?”

Of course.

Of course she was there to help.

How she sensed he needed it, he didn’t know.

But she did, and she was there to offer it.

He had only spoken pleasantries and small talk with her since he’d seen her in a restaurant waiting for a friend years before, and now, when he needed her the most, she was there.

“We have an issue with the flowers,” Jamie told her.

Nora’s gaze swept through them, and when it came back to Jamie, she arched her brows in question.

“Dru wants red,” he explained.

“Obviously,” Nora stated, turning her attention to Dru. “Because of your mother’s fabulous hair.”

Jamie’s throat tightened.

Tears shined in Dru’s eyes, these coming from the sadness that she’d worn like a cloak since Lindy’s diagnosis, and naturally more so the last week since she passed, but also in gratitude that Nora understood.

However, all his daughter had in her was to nod.

“Leave it with me,” Nora decreed, dropping her head to the clutch she was opening to retrieve her phone.

“The service is to start in twenty minutes, Nora,” Jamie reminded her.

“They can wait an extra ten minutes while I do my work,” she decreed. “I’ll spread word around your guests that there’s a minor delay. And I’ll see if the church can set up a coffee service in the meantime.”

Jamie knew nothing about flower arranging, but he did know how much those sprays cost, and he could see with his own eyes how elaborate they were, so he could surmise there was no way a florist in New York City could switch all six of them out in thirty minutes.

He opened his mouth to say the words he needed to say to let his daughter down gently so this could be done for the both of them, but Nora spoke before he could get the first one out.

“Jamie, leave it with me ,” she stated softly, but nevertheless inflexibly.

What could he do?

He nodded.

She walked away, the phone already to her ear.

“Who is she?” Dru asked when Nora was out of earshot.

“A good friend,” Jamie murmured.

Dru moved her attention from watching Nora walk away to her dad. She then leaned into him, though it was more like collapsing.

He took her weight and wrapped his arms around her to give her his warmth.

Dru offered the same in return.

They both stared at nothing, because everything had been torn away from them, and nothing, but what was standing there in each other’s arms (except, for Jamie, he also had his son, who was currently greeting their guests in their stead), held meaning anymore.

Thirty minutes later, about two minutes after Jamie approved the opening of the doors to the sanctuary, was when the large team of florists scurried out of the cathedral.

And the six sprays adorning the altar sported bright red-orange roses.

Near-on the exact color of his beautiful wife’s gorgeous hair.

They were perfect.

“Sir, I’m so very sorry, so very sorry , but we have an issue in the foyer.”

Extreme irritation formed a hot ball in his chest, considering, during his dead wife’s memorial reception, there should be no issue that required his attention in the foyer.

“What is it?” he clipped at the venue manager.

The man cleared his throat and further lowered the already low voice he’d been using. “There’s a gentleman who’s demanding entry who says he’s Mrs. Oakley’s husband.”

Chet.

Dru’s biological father.

Not Lindy’s husband.

Christ, he hadn’t seen that asshole in years.

Jamie’s body stiff with rage, he moved toward the foyer, only to nearly run over Nora, who appeared for the sole purpose of blocking his path.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured.

“I’ll handle it,” she declared.

His head ticked. “You’ll handle what?”

“That man in the foyer,” she stated. And before he could ask how she knew, she told him. “I was coming back from the powder room, and I overheard what he was saying.” Her gaze drifted away, and she muttered to herself, “I should have stepped in right then.”

“This isn’t something you can handle,” he shared.

She tipped her head to the side, and for the first time in so long, it seemed a millennium, Jamie felt the urge to laugh at the openly confused expression on her face that there might be something… anything …in this world she couldn’t handle.

He didn’t laugh because he had to say, “Dru’s biological father is not a nice man.”

“I already ascertained that,” she huffed.

And with that, he knew Chet was causing a scene.

“I can do this,” he told her.

“I have no doubt. That doesn’t negate the fact you aren’t doing this,” she retorted.

He opened his mouth to refute her assertion, when several of his guests moved to his side.

Nora smiled benignly at them, coasted a glance through his eyes, and took the opportunity of Jamie being waylaid to hustle on her black pumps toward the foyer.

From where he stood, he couldn’t see what was happening in the foyer.

All he saw was, five minutes later, Nora returning. When she caught his gaze, she swiped her hands together as if cleaning dust from them, sharing without words the mission was accomplished. After doing that, she looked away in order to take a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter.

That was the last he saw of her that day.

He would never know how she handled Chet.

All he knew was that he, nor Dru, ever heard from the man again.

And that was all he needed to know.

Six weeks later …

Dru was, thankfully, spending the night with some girlfriends.

She needed that. To do normal things. To remember she was a teenager. To fiddle around with makeup and talk about boys and hopefully giggle and watch movies that Jamie (nor Lindy) would want her to watch because neither of them relished the fact she was growing up so fast.

He doubted she was giggling.

But he hoped for part of her time with her friends, she had some fun.

It was on this thought, Jamie’s doorbell rang.

Jamie looked at his watch, then he set aside his book, got up and went to the door.

He peered through the peephole and saw Nora standing there.

He opened the door, and further saw she was carrying two handled paper bags.

He felt his mouth form a rusty smile. “This is a delightful surprise.”

She lifted her right hand. “Crispy duck, glazed prawns with walnuts, and water dumplings.”

On the side of the bag, it said Mr. Chow’s .

She held up her left hand. “Pistachio financiers and an assortment of macarons from Chanson.” She dropped that hand, and finished, “More than enough for you and your daughter.”

“Dru isn’t here.”

She appeared adorably stymied before she said, “Well, I hear Chinese leftovers are delicious.”

All of a sudden, his smile felt less rusty. “You hear?”

She gave a delicate, one-shouldered shrug. “I give any leftovers to my housekeeper.”

“Of course you do,” he murmured.

She offered the bags. “But a nice dinner for you in the meantime.”

He took the bags and asked, “Have you had dinner?”

Now she appeared surprised. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You rang my doorbell.”

“I did because they melt away.”

“Who melts away?”

“All the people who have good intentions when something awful happens. Then the weeks pass, and they forget you’re still living with it, you are because you can’t escape it, but they get to carry on not thinking about it.”

And his smile disappeared.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said quietly, watching him closely, the liquid brown of her pretty eyes filled with sympathy and concern. “I just don’t want you to think everyone melted away.”

Christ, she was something.

From the moment he met her, she’d been something.

He could still see her mouthing, I’m so sorry as she left him with the mess that was his first wife. He could see her crouched in her amazing gown beside a line of toilet stalls trying to get Belinda to drink water. He could also see her awkwardly taking a tray of coffee with the door mostly closed so no one could see inside.

Not a word, for days, weeks, months, now years, had been heard anywhere about what happened in that ladies room.

No, when Belinda imploded their lives and family, she’d done that on her own.

Nora, nor Eleanor, had breathed a word.

But Jamie had half fallen in love with Nora in that bathroom.

He’d had plenty of time to process this, considering, at the time, he’d been married to a woman he loved very much.

And he understood that part of it was all that was Nora Elizabeth Ellington Castellini (at the time, she’d since dropped the Castellini, fortunately for her, having that assclown out of her life) was all that Belinda Oakley was not.

But part of it was her generosity of time, and care, and discretion, which more than hinted at the significant levels of her compassion and integrity.

Not to mention, she was tall and voluptuous, had an aggressively lavish sense of style that was so unapologetically in your face about her obvious wealth, for a man like Jamie, who was unapologetically aggressive about acquiring wealth, it was arousing.

But she could be in a T-shirt and jeans, and she’d be beautiful to look at, because she was beautiful deep down to her soul.

He’d been right when he’d spoken to her in that restaurant, their time was not to come. She was still with Castellini when he was between Belinda and Rosalind, and he was very with Rosalind when she was done with Castellini.

And now, losing Lindy, he was just done.

Forever.

But she was still Nora, indicating with every move she made he’d been right about her generosity, compassion and integrity.

Like right now.

He stepped to the side. “Come inside and have dinner with me.”

“Jamie—”

“This will be the first night I’m alone since she died.”

That did it.

Nora stepped right in.

He closed the door and guided the way to the kitchen, not missing that Nora blatantly looked around and took everything in while he did.

He did not know her well, but he knew that was very her.

Nora didn’t hide who she was or what interested her.

And now he was wondering if she’d ever worn a mask.

Nora was just… Nora .

He got out plates and napkins while she unearthed food.

“White? Red? A cocktail?” he offered.

“White,” she ordered.

He went to his wine fridge.

It was in silence that wasn’t entirely comfortable, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, that they sorted their meals, and Jamie poured their wine, and they found themselves sitting at his island in his wife’s kitchen.

“I’m not surprised Rosalind could best the Herculean task of creating a home that’s both unequivocally homey, at the same time elegant and refined.”

A dumpling he’d dipped in sauce that was trapped between his chopsticks and suspended halfway to his mouth froze in mid-air as he stared at her.

Nora noticed and said, “What I mean is, it’s lovely.”

“Thank you,” Jamie replied.

“Well, no offense, but I suspect you had little to do with it,” she teased.

“No,” he said low, and her attention on him deepened. “For talking about her so openly. Talking about her, and talking about the fact she’s gone, and we’re dealing with that. Thank you. People skirt around her name, her existence, her loss, like she’s some villain locked away in prison, and not the wife I loved who I miss, and I want to talk about, because I damned well fucking miss her.”

Her lovely face softened before she asked, “Do you talk about her with Dru?”

He bit off a bite of his dumpling, chewed, swallowed and answered, “All the time.”

Her expression became approving. “I’m glad.”

“And you’re correct.” He circled his chopsticks in the air. “This is all Lindy. I had nothing to do with it.”

Her eyes twinkled. Even so, that light didn’t hide the sorrow she felt for him. “As suspected.”

“She liked you,” he told her.

“I liked her,” she replied.

“I think she would have liked to know you better.”

“She was a busy woman.”

“As are you.”

She lifted a shoulder and dropped a prawn in her mouth.

Once she swallowed, she murmured, “I should have made time to get to know her better.”

“The ‘should haves’ will kill you if you let them.”

She turned her head his way, and her tone was actually tender when she said, “You made a beautiful couple.”

“I have a talent with that,” he muttered cynically, snagging his own prawn.

“You’ve traveled a rough path, Jamie,” she noted carefully.

“And I reaped the bounty, Nora. Belinda gave me my son. The time I had with Lindy. The fact she left me with Dru.”

“Don’t think for an instant you didn’t give her bounty too,” she admonished.

His laugh came, and it was so harsh, it wasn’t a laugh at all.

“Do you doubt it?” she asked incredulously.

Jamie got a lock on his self-pity, reached out and touched her wrist, then went back to his food, saying, “Don’t mind me.”

“Please explain, if you would, why you laughed like that,” she pressed.

He stopped building his duck pancake and looked to her.

“I hate my father. I think I’ve hated him since my first memory of him, which was watching him shout at my brother after he fell off a horse. I believe Andy was maybe ten years old. In my memory, the way my father spoke to him, I wouldn’t speak like that to my worst enemy. I wouldn’t even speak like that to my father, who I have no respect for, and this was his son.”

“Lord,” she whispered.

She had that right.

“Andy, my brother, had broken his collarbone in the fall. Mom couldn’t take him to the hospital until Pop was done with him. I can’t imagine the pain he was in, physically, standing there waiting to get the medical attention he needed. But I can imagine the emotional pain he was in, having his father shout at him like that, even if you factored out his ignoring his son was injured, but the fact remained, he was injured.”

She stared at him.

“Yeah,” he grunted, slathered some plum sauce on his duck, rolled the pancake and took a bite.

“You told me this because…” she prompted.

He swallowed his food, and shared, “I told you because I had a trust fund, on my mother’s side. It wasn’t enormous, but it was a foundation to start a life. But I didn’t take a fucking dime from him, Nora. Not that he offered. He wrote me off when I left Texas and turned my back on the family business. But I wouldn’t have taken it if he had. And I built this.” He circled his chopsticks again, because she’d know New York real estate, considering her generational wealth, and all of it happening in New York City, so she’d know it better than most. “Neither of my children will ever want. Their children won’t want. Dru will have the wedding of her dreams, even if I have to fly five hundred guests to a castle in Germany. I built that. All of it.”

“And you couldn’t save Rosalind,” she said with soft understanding.

“And I had to watch my wife suffer and die,” he agreed.

“I know I’m telling you something you know, but I still think it has to be said. It isn’t your fault.”

He nabbed his wine and took a sip before stating, “I do know that, but Dru needs her more than me. Lindy’s gone. And I’m still here. I don’t have a close relationship with Judge, my son. Circumstances with my ex-wife made it that way. He’s built his own life, and I’m proud of him, but he doesn’t need me.”

“Survivor’s guilt?” she asked, openly astonished.

“I would want Lindy to live on and continue her work, which, as a social worker, was actually important. I would want her to help Dru when she finds love, when she starts a family. I’d want her to enjoy what I worked hard to build for them?—”

Nora put her chopsticks on her plate and sat back, snapping, “Stop it, Jamie. It didn’t happen that way.”

“I’m aware of that, Nora, but that doesn’t stop those thoughts from coming.”

“And girls need their fathers, make no mistake. I know, mine is gone. And I’ve met the one who donated his seed to make yours, and trust me, she needs you, Jamie. Don’t ever doubt it.”

“I’m sorry you lost your dad,” he murmured. “And Eleanor. Your mother was a remarkable woman.”

“I’m sorry you think you should have taken Rosalind’s place. I mean, dear Lord, I didn’t know her very well, but I knew her enough to know, if she was sitting here, listening to this, she’d be shockingly angry with you.”

“And I know that as well, that still doesn’t stop the thoughts from coming,” he retorted.

She picked up her chopsticks and stabbed at a dumpling, grousing, “What I wouldn’t give for a magic wand. You can’t change the fates, but I could maybe do something about this alarming train of thought you have happening.” She shoved the entire dumpling in her mouth, chewed angrily, then, still with food in her mouth, an indication of how angry she was, because Jamie reckoned, she never spoke with food in her mouth, she turned to him and said, “I have no idea if what happens is meant to be and it’s simply our lot to deal with it. All I know is, the world would be a poorer place without you in it.”

She swallowed, and it looked so rough, it hurt Jamie’s throat.

But she kept talking.

“I mean, can you imagine if Rosalind hadn’t met you, and she was still destined to leave this Earth the way she did, and Dru was stuck with that man ?” She shivered dramatically.

It was cute.

But Jamie couldn’t concentrate on that, considering he was reacting to her words, his chest swelling to the point it felt like it would burst, and his heart started beating faster.

Nora continued speaking, “Or having no one at all. That would be a tragedy.” She shook her head and snatched up another prawn. “I have children, and so do you, so you know this as well. The last thing Rosalind wanted to do was to leave either of you, but I know for certain she felt content, even blessed, that she was leaving her daughter with you.” She stabbed the air in his direction with the prawn caught between her chopsticks. “And you can take that to the bank, Jameson Oakley.”

With that, she angrily bit down on her prawn, and still angrily, chewed it.

“Fuck, I’m so glad you showed tonight,” he said.

She blinked rapidly several times. “What? Why? So I could rant at you?”

“Somebody needed to, so I’d get my head out of my ass.”

For a moment, she seemed stunned, then she seemed pleased, after that, she looked so content, if she purred like a kitten, he wouldn’t have been surprised. “Happy to be of service.”

He chuckled.

It was rusty too, but it was authentic.

“Tell me about Dru, and your son,” she demanded.

Jamie happily obliged.

And they decimated the Mr. Chow’s, the bottle of wine, as well as the financiers, and several macarons besides, before he guided her back to the front door and down to her waiting car and driver.

Before helping her into the back seat, Jamie kissed her cheek, coming to the realization made even more poignant that night that they could never be.

And that had been so he could have Rosalind, and in the end, he could have Dru.

Jamie was both perfectly content with that, at the same time it chafed. Horrendously.

In the intervening time since their dinner together in his kitchen—this would be the time between Rosalind dying and Belinda eventually (or perhaps the more fitting word was “inevitably”) overdosing, which brought Judge fully back into his life, they would meet for lunch a couple of times, and a few times more, they’d chat animatedly at events they both attended.

It wouldn’t be until he realized he was unwittingly using Dru as his buffer to the world, and Dru was doing the same, and he had to let his daughter live her life, that Nora would come in and save the day yet again, becoming his plus one, with that growing to her becoming his near-constant companion.

She had her own apartment, and he had his brownstone. They both slept alone.

But they saw each other practically every evening and spent most weekends together as well.

He thought he had a handle on it. His affection for her. His feelings for her.

His growing yearning for her.

Then she’d worn those damnably sexy, red, high-heeled, fuck-me sandals.

And he’d been unable to control his rampant—and becoming with each second he spent with her more overpowering—urge to kiss her (not to mention, do other things to her).

He’d succumbed to that moment of weakness.

And blown it all to shit.