Mel took a moment to calm her jumping nerves before she reached the front doors. Holy hell, what just happened? One minute they were talking, and she had just started massaging his shoulders, seeing how tense that phone call had made him. Touching him, feeling the heat of him, the muscles bunched and hard, and it had dropped her stomach into her feet. He felt good under her hands. But when he got up, Oh my God. The look on his face had been feral; pure sex. She had wanted to jump at him and do naughty things. But she'd stopped herself.
He'd made the decision for them, which she was fine with. At least now they knew there was still a spark, and as she got to the door, realized she wanted it. Him.
She shoved her hair off her face and opened the door, pasting a cheery smile on for whoever was there.
It didn't last long. Standing on the veranda, phone in hand, in a well-filled designer maternity suit with matching bitch-face, was Gillian. Obviously she'd been "in the neighbourhood" when she'd called. Lovely.
"Ms. Smith," Mel said flatly. "To what do we owe this pleasure?"
Gillian flicked a finger and looked at her, her eyes going a little wide, then her cool façade sliding back into place. Mel was sure she recognized her, but she waited. Two could play this game.
"It's Ms. Smith-Werth, you stupid cow. I'm here to see my husband. Why else would I be here?"
"Pardon me—" Mel stopped herself from further retort, and simply moved out of the way, gesturing through the door. Gillian steamrolled past her, moving quite fast for a woman who was carrying a small beach ball out front of her body while wearing heels.
Mel closed the door and listened to Gillian screeching as she clicked her way across the tile. Closing her eyes, she counted to ten to prevent herself from chasing and physically throwing a pregnant woman out of the house.
Oh lord, here we go, she thought as Gillian got louder, screaming her ex-husband's name. Mel made it back to the living room in time to see Chris skid out of the office, a look of surprise on his face. She snuck around behind them, into the office.
"You asshole! You don't hang up on me!" "Gillian, you can't be here. I suggest you leave. I will call the—" "Don't you dare, or I'll say you hit me. I want those paintings! NOW!" "Look, Gill—"
Mel took in the back and forth, utterly shocked at how they spoke to one another. What was the big deal about these paintings? She wondered if it was simply a way for Gillian to dig the screws into Chris for some reason or another, and a curl of anger towards the woman grew as they argued. She could buy new paintings, for Christ's sake.
Mel caught Chris' eyes through the door, and penned a "call lawyer?" on a notepad and held it up. He shook his head imperceptibly, his arms crossed, tension across his shoulders even more evident now. His face hard and angry, jaw jumping with his efforts to hold it all in.
She twisted her lips, wrote "police?" and held it up again. Again he shook his head no. She nodded, and moved off to the side, and sat in an arm chair. This might take awhile. Restless, she picked up the business book Chris was reading, and thumbed through it, trying not to pay attention, and failing.
Divorce was a crazy thing. Two people, who supposedly loved one another, could so radically change their feelings that it became an all-out war. From love to hate. Mel had never seen divorce up close before, and was suddenly glad for it.
"I don't think you understand. Like I said on the phone, the paintings were sold with the condo," Chris snapped, walking back into the office, startling Mel to her feet. She picked up a file quickly, pretending to look through it. Inconspicuous? Hah. Here we go.
"Prove it."
Gillian had followed him, and swivelled her head towards Mel the moment she entered the room, like a vulture that had just seen its next victim.
"What in hell is she doing here?" she said icily. "Isn't this the help's girl that you had a thing for?"
Chris groaned and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "Jesus Gill, it isn't any of your business anymore, now is it? We're this close to being divorced. Why the fuck would you care?"
"You sleeping with her yet?" Gillian spat, looking Mel up and down. "She's not really your 'type', darling."
"Gillian..." Chris growled
"No seriously! I bet you are. All those years of reminiscing must get you all hot and bothered. I know she was hot for you."
"Gillian..." he repeated in the same growl.
Mel watched Chris bristle, his fists opening and closing. He was about to lose his temper.
"It was no secret. I saw how shocked she was the day you brought me to meet Mommy dearest," she laughed. "She was, hmmm, how can we describe it? Oh yes... 'drawn to you'."
Mel's jaw dropped and she stared at Gillian, who was now looking smug with herself, her own arms crossed. How, out of all the horrible things she could spew out of her mouth, could she say that exact turn of phrase? Mel had remembered writing that into a letter to Chris after Alice had died. She had been drawn to him, for years. She'd been in love with him, for God's sake.
The letters that Chris, with her remark, had obviously never read.
"Listen here— Mel snapped, her own temper sorely frayed by that revelation. She stepped forward, but held the rest of her retort back when Chris held up his hands.
"Enough! Fuck, Gill, why do you have to be like this? Make it easy on yourself. You know the prenup isn't getting you any more money than you already have. Seriously," he said, staring her down. "Grow the fuck up. You made your bed with Jet. We can see that you've slept in it."
Mel winced at the cheap shot, but then reasoned that it was fair play, given Gillian's diatribe. She held her breath, expecting a new tirade, happy the woman was no longer staring her down like lunch, and had reverted to glaring at Chris.
Gillian, surprisingly, didn't rise to the bait, and simply rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Chris. Fine. I just want my paintings."
Chris jerked open the accordion folder he kept on the side table, marked CONDO, yanked some paperwork out of it, then pulled out a sheet of paper from the nearby printer. He slammed it to the desk, gave Gillian a dirty look, and copied down some information. He folded the sheet angrily and thrust it at her across the desk.
"These are the new owners of the damned place. Call them. Ask for the paintings back from them. I promise you that's where I left them when I handed over the keys."
"They'd better have them, or else—" she said, snatching at the paper.
"Get out," Chris snapped before she could finish her sentence.
Gillian opened and closed her mouth a few times, looking at the paper. She glanced up at Chris, and then over to Mel. Mel's skin crawled as she looked her over with a sneer on her face, then spun on her heels and strode out without another word.
Mel, frozen in place by the drama that had just happened, jumped when the front door to slammed. She let out a huge breath she had been holding. That was something she never wanted to experience again.
"Oh my God," She gasped, and looked at Chris. "What the hell was that?"
Chris sank into his office chair, and leaned back, eyes closed, fingers massaging the bridge of his nose. Mel waited for him to speak. Give him a moment. He'd just been ambushed by a hurricane in heels.
"That was Gillian at her finest," he said quietly a few moments later. "I'm really sorry."
"Don't be. Not your fault. I think, though, that you handled yourself very well, given the... uh... short notice?" she replied, sitting back down herself.
She looked out the window, then at the clock on the wall across from her. It was almost time for afternoon barn chores, but it could wait for a few moments. The trees were waving in a slight breeze, and she could see clouds on the horizon. A bit of rain overnight would be lovely. Then she wouldn't have to turn on the garden sprinklers in the morning.
How was she thinking about mundane tasks right now? She shook her head. Insane, but she supposed it was how she calmed herself down most days, when the pressure hit. Her job was her priority, and centred her.
But even with to-do lists invading, the encounter with Gillian had given her some big questions, and her stomach turned at the thought. How had Gillian known about the letters, and what was in them? Had she kept them from Chris? She debated bringing it up, but decided the man had been through enough crap for one day. She also wondered if it was worth worrying about. It was a long time ago. Water under the bridge, and all that. They had started anew without rehashing the hurt from so long ago.
But it stung.
It stung that Gillian was maybe the reason Chris had never called, or answered even one of the letters. That there could have been something, if he'd known she reached out to him.
Could have's, maybe's, what-if's. It was fuel for her to feel wretched. She didn't want to feel wretched, so she stood up and changed her attention back to him, now, and the day left to go. Chris was still leaned back with his eyes closed, his face etched with tension. Mel leaned on the desk beside him. She nudged him with her knee.
"Hey."
He opened one eye. He nodded, and sat up. "Okay, okay. I know. Shake it off, Preppy. Right?"
She chuckled. "No. Give yourself some slack. You were just ambushed," she replied "But, while you are 'shaking it off', I do have one question. Why is she so angry with you? Isn't she the one who cheated on you, and left?"
Chris nodded, and ran his hands down his face, a soft chuckle escaping him as he rumpled his hair and looked at her. Mel wanted to run her hands through it. He blinked and leaned back again, hands tented over his head.
"She discovered, not long after I found out about the affair and kicked her out, that her older sister Jessica is listed as the main benefactor in her parent's will. Jess is quite happily living in New York, with her girlfriend, and will inherit the lion's share, leaving Gill with a stipend well below what she would like," Chris replied.
"Ahh. I see. No husband or babies expected, and Gill was hoping because of that..."
"Yep. Exactly. But Jess is happy, and would likely give the lot of it away to charity. Great girl. Exact opposite of her sister. Anyways, as I said, Gill will get a small stipend to live, like $60k a year or something like that. If she and I... Well if there'd been kids, they would've had a trust fund started too, but that doesn't exist now," he said tiredly, a small smile flitting across his face.
"Not even for the one on the way?" Mel asked. "They have to be happy about that at least?"
"Maybe. Not my problem anymore," he replied.
"That's gotta be tough though," Mel said. To be summarily dismissed by your family, even if you were the black sheep. That had to be hard, no matter who you were.
"I suppose they expected her to stay married to me, and not need more than that, since I could've more than supported her financially, and she had her own stable career path. But because she screwed around, our prenup says she gets nada but what she came into the marriage with. Which is her own rapidly dwindling trust fund and her paycheque. I don't owe her a red cent."
"Not even alimony?" Mel asked.
"Nope She'll be waiting a long, long time for that stipend, and now she has to rely on her celebrity boyfriend and her own career."
Mel whistled. "So she's angry at herself, but also angry at you for... Well, what exactly?"
"For making her sign the damned prenup when we got married, I suppose. She didn't want one. I insisted, and said I wouldn't marry her without it," he replied, shrugging. "She tried to say she was blackmailed into signing it, but that wouldn't hold in court so she dropped it awhile ago and it has been kind of quiet, waiting for the papers to sign. I have no idea what has her riled now. Maybe her parents cut her off further because of her very public affair and she wants the paintings to sell. I don't really know, and I don't really give a shit right now either."
Mel was silent, thinking about that. What a ridiculous situation to be in. No wonder Chris was so tense about it. He was reaping the consequence of marrying a woman who, in the end, had not been right for him. At all.
They looked at one another after a few moments, and Mel stood up. The previous spark between wasn't there, replaced by the aftermath of Gillian and her tension. Mel was slightly miffed at that, but also relieved they hadn't been caught kissing. That would have made that horrific scene much, much worse.
"Come on, let's get you some fresh air. Help me with afternoon chores. It'll help."
"I think I'll stay here for now. I need to talk to Frank, fill him in on Gill's escapade. Better to cover my ass before in case she goes nuclear and I have her lawyers to deal with on top of whatever else this will start."
She set her hand on his shoulder and squeezed as she walked past him, and he reached up and held her hand there as she did, making her nerves tick. The could-haves and What-if's slammed back into her head, and her pulse skittered.
The stress and emotion on his face was plain as day, and she wanted to make it all disappear. She studied him, looking for the tell, the sign of what she could say, but the words wouldn't come. She cared about this man. In the month he'd been here, the resentment of lost opportunity and youthful anger was gone, and replaced with...
Well, something. She wasn't sure yet. But she did know she did not want to see him hurt any more.
"Thanks for being here, Mel," he said quietly. "That wasn't fun for you at all, I'm sure."
"Anytime, Preppy," she replied lightly, before hurrying out the door once again.