The Family They Chose / Private Partners

Jamison sipped his cabernet. He was nothing like his old man, aside from carrying on his father’s political legacy. In fact, Jamison had consciously tried to stay clear of the womanizing and scandal that not only plagued the Mallory name, but had driven his mother to the bottle and kept his family life in constant upheaval. If he’d gleaned nothing else from observing his parents’ destructive relationship, it was that he knew children could not fix a rocky marriage.

Children simply got caught in the cross fire.

Behind him, the library door creaked open. A slant of light yawned across the wall then disappeared as the door shut. Jamison turned around, hoping Olivia had decided to join him. Instead, his mother stood there, tall and proud and expressionless. Her angular features were rendered even sharper by the dim amber glow of the fire. She glided across the room and slid into the chair next to him.

He could feel her gaze on him, as palpable as the heat of the fire at his feet.

“I thought I’d find you here,” she said. “Anytime you had something on your mind, you’d always hide in here.”

“I’m not hiding, Mother. Simply enjoying the solitude.”

“Don’t try to fool me.” She shifted in her seat, angling her knees toward him, crossing her legs at the ankles, folding her hands in her lap. “You of all people wouldn’t leave a party unless you had something weighing on your mind.”

Jamison took a slow sip of wine, buying time. Interesting that his mother had been drinking most of the day and she still had the uncanny ability to read him. Of course, his retreating into solitude had probably been a big tip-off. Rather than slipping off, he probably should’ve rallied Olivia and simply headed for home. But he’d wanted to think, wanted to find common ground on which they could meet as they drove home.

“I’m exhausted,” he said. “Thanks to work and the weather, it hasn’t exactly been a jolly holiday.”

He set his wine on the end table next to his seat, got up and stoked the fire. It flared, spit and crackled as he turned the log.

“I can see that you’re exhausted,” she said to his back. “You haven’t been yourself all day. I do wish you would stay the night and get a fresh start tomorrow. Grant, Payton and the kids are staying.”

He returned the poker to its brass stand. “Thank you, but we can’t stay. I have an early flight tomorrow. We really should head for home.”

A chain of silent seconds stretched between them.

“You always did love this room,” she said. “It’s too bad you can’t enjoy it more often.”

He shrugged and glanced at her. “I don’t even get to enjoy my own home as often as I’d like.”

A flash as hot as the glint of a flame lit her eyes. “Why are you going back to Washington so soon?”

He disengaged her gaze and turned his attention back to the dancing fire. “An unexpected meeting came up.”

“A meeting. During Christmas week.” There was a goading, knowing tone to her voice, as if she’d caught him in a lie, but was willing to keep his secret.

Despite the pause in conversation, Jamison didn’t elaborate.

“The one-size-fits-all excuse. That’s the one your father used to use all the time. ‘I have a meeting.’ And how was I supposed to know differently?”

“Mom, don’t.”

He hadn’t realized how badly she was slurring her words. He really didn’t want his mother to string together all of his father’s flaws and illuminate them like tawdry lights on a tainted family tree.

“The wife never knows until it’s too late. When she finds out, all she can do to save face is go on pretending she’s none the wiser. It’s a miserable life, Jamison. Don’t put Olivia through that. I hardly think she’s strong enough to cope.”

Was she implying that he was having an affair? It rankled him. Even so, he wasn’t going to defend himself against something he had no intention of doing. Besides, she was drunk and probably wouldn’t remember the conversation in the morning.

“This is your house, Jamison. I know Olivia doesn’t want to live here, but she needs to understand that Mallory men … well, affairs just seem to be away of life. If you move in here, I can help her cope. I can help her understand that it’s just something Mallory men do.”

He held up his hand. “Mother, stop. I am not having an affair. I have no intention of having an affair. I love my wife.”

Helen threw back her head and guffawed a most unladylike sound. “Oh, Jamison, you can level with me. I’m not going to tell her.”

She was talking utter nonsense. It was definitely time to go.

He stood and walked toward the door.

Helen’s body swiveled as she followed him with her gaze.

“Where are you going?” she demanded.

“Home, Mother. It’s late, but I thank you for a wonderful evening. Merry Christmas.”

“Jamison, don’t walk away from me. I need to ask you a question.”

He stopped, his hand on the doorknob.

“Seven generations of Mallorys have lived here, son. How much longer are you planning on allowing that woman to deny you what’s yours? You need to set your wife straight. Tell her it’s time.”

“It’s not time, and it won’t be until and unless Olivia is ready.”

Helen made a clucking sound and stood up, wobbling as she did.

“You’re just like your father, Jamison, always letting a pretty face cloud your judgment and sway your decision. Stand up and be a man, son.”

Jamison shook his head. “Oh, Mother, what you don’t understand is that the main difference between Dad and me is that I am being a man. The pretty face that influences me is my wife. I’m sorry he never showed you the same courtesy.”

Chapter Three

Where do you go when you can’t go home?

Back to the purgatory of Washington, D.C., Jamison thought. Even though it was the last place he wanted to be.

But duty called. Olivia should understand that.

Jamison stood in the dining room of his house, pouring himself a stiff glass of scotch.

It was nearly nine o’clock. The tense ride home from his mother’s had mirrored the mostly silent drive up. Olivia was upset, and he understood why—on so many levels. The only problem was there was nothing he could do about it.

He carried his drink back into the living room where Olivia waited for him, perched on the edge of the white living room sofa, anxiously fidgeting with the too-big cocktail ring he’d given her for Christmas, twisting it around and around on her index finger.

He’d been so bogged down with work he’d hadn’t had time to shop. His mom had offered to pick out something nice for Olivia, something tasteful, yet lavish. Why hadn’t Helen opted for a bracelet or a necklace? No. Not a necklace because that would’ve paled in comparison to the diamond necklace Grant had had designed for Payton—one obscenely large diamond representing each child they’d had together. Payton, of course, had been very quick to notice and point out that the design provided plenty of room for endless additions. A sudden rush of guilt washed over Jamison as he remembered Olivia opening her gift that was noticeably too large and, really, more his mother’s style than her own.

So maybe his wife was partially right. Maybe they needed to reevaluate, reprioritize. In fact, that’s exactly what they would do right after this diplomatic visit was over. Then after they’d worked on themselves, they could revisit babies and parenthood.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” he asked as he walked over to the fireplace. He set his glass on the mantel and picked up the poker to stir the fire he’d lit when they arrived.

“No, thank you,” she said. “I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t fine. She was looked anything but fine, and he almost couldn’t stand it. He plugged in the Christmas tree lights and dimmed the rheostat, hoping to gain a more romantic atmosphere that would lift her mood and turn the tide in their favor for once.

“I’m sorry the ring is too big. The jeweler can resize it.”

“I guess your mother didn’t know my size?” The corners of her mouth turned up, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“You know I didn’t plan on having to go back to Washington so soon,” Jamison said. “No more than I planned on spending Christmas Eve at the mercy of the weather.”

Inhaling a weary breath, she said, “I thought that story was strictly reserved for the family’s benefit.” The words weren’t sharp or nasty. More disappointed … or, worse yet, defeated.

For a moment, neither of them said a word.

“I’m just tired of begging for your time, Jamison,” she said as if answering his thoughts.

“Honey, you knew when you married me that sometimes my job would preempt pleasure.”

Even the pleasure of making love to his wife. What a pity that they were arguing rather than doing exactly that in the small amount of time they had together.

She simply shook her head.

“I don’t want to fight, Jamison. Not tonight. It’s just too exhausting.” She stood.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to take a bath, and then I’m going to bed. What time is your flight tomorrow?”

“Nine o’clock. The ambassador arrives at one.”

She nodded. “I’m sure the weather will cooperate for you.”

As she brushed past him, he was enveloped in a light floral breeze—the scent of her. He longed to reach out and pull her back, pull her into his arms. Because it felt as if every time she walked away from him, she was that much closer to walking out the door.

Olivia turned the bathtub faucet on as hot as it could go, and went to lie down while the tub filled.

The bedroom was spacious enough to comfortably house a king-size bed, antique armoire and dresser. There was also a sitting area with a couch, two chintz-covered wingback chairs and a coffee table arranged around a good-size fireplace.

They’d moved into the massive three-story brick house about five years ago. At the time, even though they’d been married two years, they still acted as if they were on their honeymoon—so much in love, dreaming and planning for the future.

Olivia rolled over on her side and hugged a silk throw pillow to her middle.

She couldn’t remember when their relationship had taken such a bad turn. Or maybe it wasn’t a turn so much as they’d simply lost themselves somewhere along the way.

Funny how they were still fooling even those closest to them. Everyone looked at them in their fancy dream house and thought they had it all—the perfect American dream.

Yet, here she was on Christmas, feeling further away from her husband than she ever had, rather than putting back together the marriage they’d secretly taken apart. Her head throbbed and her heart ached and she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to block a pain that wasn’t physical as much as emotional.

Obviously, there was no reasoning with Jamison once he’d made up his mind. But no matter what happened between them, she was bound and determined to have the baby she so desperately wanted.

Which meant since things were so uncertain between them, she’d better get pregnant as soon as possible, while their friends, families—and Jamison’s constituents—still believed they were the happy couple.

The ache of regret deepened as her heart bucked against the thought of her marriage ending. She wasn’t trying to be negative, just the realist she’d become over the years she’d been married to Jamison. Another possibility niggled at her. If … no, when she got pregnant, it would be an insurance policy for her marriage. After all, when Jamison made his bid for the presidency, he certainly wouldn’t win any votes if his constituents learned he’d divorced his wife when she was pregnant.

She sat up stock straight in her bed. She couldn’t think that way. Nothing negative, only positive, good thoughts for the baby.

Across the room, a blinking light on the telephone caught her eye. Absently, she got to her feet, padded over to the phone and pressed the button to check the messages.

“Merry Christmas, Olivia and Jamison,” a male and female voice rang out in unison. It was her brother, Paul, and his fiancée, Ramona. Hearing their voices brought an involuntary smile to Olivia’s lips.

“We missed you last night at Mom and Dad’s.” Now it was only her big brother’s voice on the message. “I just wanted to wish you well. Please call when you get back from the Berkshires.”

Even though she and Paul were as different as night and day, they’d always been close. In fact, she was much closer to him than she was to her younger sister, Lisa, and Paul’s twin Derek. Her three siblings were career-minded, following in their father’s footsteps, running the institute, while Olivia had no interest in the family business. All she’d ever wanted to be was a supportive wife and good mother—to invest in a family of her own. She wasn’t unambitious—making their home and supporting Jamison in his career made her happy.

Or at least that’s what had made her happy once upon a time.

Now, the only way she could recapture that contentment was to have a baby. To accomplish that, she needed to talk to her doctor, Chance Demetrios, as soon as possible.

As the medical director at the Armstrong Institute, Paul would know Chance’s schedule. Plus, hearing Paul’s voice would be like an infusion of sunshine, and the voice of reason, to boot. While she couldn’t confide in him about her marital woes—she couldn’t risk trusting anyone with that personal information—she could trust him with the secret that she’d decided to move ahead with the artificial insemination.

She turned off the tub, then walked back into the bedroom, settled into one of the wingback chairs, and dialed his number with a nervous hand.

Chapter Four

Jamison climbed the stairs toward the master bedroom. It was Christmas, for God’s sake. He couldn’t let her go to bed mad. He hated that things had digressed to this point. Before he went to bed he had to try and apologize, because the last thing he wanted was to leave for Washington with things like this. They were supposed to be gaining ground in their relationship, not losing it.

As he raised his hand to knock on the door, he thought he heard a voice—Olivia’s voice. Was she talking to someone?

Her tone was light and happy—a bit giddy, in fact—though he couldn’t make out what she was saying until he got to the door and heard her say, “I have to see him as soon as possible. If not, I think I’m going to die.”

See who?

He resisted the urge to eavesdrop and rapped lightly on the door. It wasn’t just the way Olivia flinched when she turned and saw him standing there, or the way she stiffened when he walked in, but it was the way her voice changed that gave him pause.

“I have to go,” she said. “I’ll talk to you soon.” With that, she abruptly ended the call.

They looked at each other for a moment. When it became clear that she wasn’t going to offer any information, he asked, “Who was that?”

“Nobody.” She spit the word too fast, stood too quickly and crossed to the bed, aimlessly smoothing wrinkles from the comforter.

“Nobody?” His tone was a little sharper than he’d intended, but something was up. She wasn’t talking to nobody. “It sounded like somebody to me.”

She ducked her head, refusing to look him in the eye. He fought the urge to cross to her and take her face in his hands and force her to look at him. He’d never been a suspicious man, but then again, his wife had always been very open and sharing. They’d never harbored secrets. This definitely smelled like a secret.

He heaved an exasperated, full-body sigh that was laced with anger and resentment.

She must have sensed his mood.

“It was Paul.” Her words were flat with a terse edge. “He called to wish us a Merry Christmas.”

“He called? I didn’t hear the phone ring.”

She squinted at him, shooting poisonous darts with her eyes. “He and Ramona called earlier and left a message while we were at your mother’s house. I returned their call. Any other questions?”

Yes, he had question, such as how she could be so light and giddy one moment and then turn so cold and guarded when he walked into the room. And who was this man she so desperately needed to see?

Jamison knew his wife well enough to sense that something wasn’t quite right. Something that stretched beyond the baby issue. Something that she wasn’t telling him. Even though he might not get it out of her tonight, he’d find out eventually … one way or another.

At seven o’clock the next morning, Olivia and Jamison sat at the dining room table eating poached eggs on whole wheat toast, which Olivia had prepared. A peace offering after the run-in last night. Actually, it was an olive branch after a reunion that had more closely resembled a train wreck than the rekindling of the relationship they’d both wanted.

She tried to keep her mood light. She shouldn’t have been so defensive last night, but she wasn’t sure how much he’d heard after surprising her while she was talking to Paul, who’d told her that Chance Demetrios was indeed in town this week. Jamison had walked in as Paul was explaining that Chance had planned to use the week while the institute was closed to catch up on some paperwork. Paul had promised to have Chance call her as soon as possible.

Jamison was quietly subdued this morning, and as each minute passed without him asking questions or flat out telling her what he’d heard, she relaxed a little more, allowing herself to believe that her plan was still securely in place.

She hated keeping secrets from him. Frankly, she wasn’t used to doing so and obviously wasn’t very good at it—as evidenced by her defensive display last night, when she was tired and emotionally drained.

Now that she was rested, it was sinking in that Jamison’s having to return to Washington this morning might actually be a blessing in disguise. With her husband away, she wouldn’t have to lie to him about her decision to pursue the in vitro fertilization on her own.

Rather than looking at it as a lie of omission, she chose to think of it in terms of asking for forgiveness later rather than asking for permission right now.

“Breakfast was delicious, as always,” Jamison said after he swallowed the last bite. “I’ll try to get home by New Year’s Eve. I’ll call you tonight and let you know how things are shaping up.”

Olivia nodded and sipped her herbal tea. “That sounds like a plan.”

He smiled at her and reached out and covered her free hand with his. “You do know how much I love you, don’t you?”

The earnestness in his voice tugged at Olivia’s heart, and when she looked at him, the depth of emotion in his blue eyes nearly took away her breath.

“Yes, Jamison, I do. And I love you, too.”

He leaned in, and his lips brushed hers. A whisper of a kiss so unexpected, it made her stiffen and brace her hands against his chest. But then, like sweet ice cream melting in the heat of the sun, she softened and kissed him back, slowly at first.

His mouth tasted of grapefruit juice and coffee and that indefinable flavor that was uniquely him—something for which, she realized suddenly and desperately, she’d been hungering—no, starving—for far too long. She didn’t want him to stop. So she slid her arms around his neck and opened her mouth, deepening the kiss, and fisting her hands into his shirt, pulling their bodies closer.

Maybe he’d changed his mind and would stay with her in Boston rather than going back to D.C. The thought made her heart pound. On one level, she relished the feeling of being alive again, having her husband touch her and respond to her touching him back. Yet on a deeper plane, she sought refuge in the shelter of his arms, their kisses healing the hurt they’d both suffered during their time apart.

At that moment, she knew that they would be okay. They had to be. Because there was no alternative. Plain and simple, she simply couldn’t imagine life without him. She intended to tell him so by leading him up to the bedroom, but the ringing phone preempted her physical love note.

“That’s probably the driver,” Jamison whispered. “Wow, he’s early.” He kissed her again, trailing his lips down her neck, but even that didn’t stop the incessant ringing. Finally, holding her, his forehead pressed against hers, he sighed. “I hate it that I have to go. I’m sorry. It’s not what I planned.” He gathered her hands in his. “Would you mind answering and telling him I’ll be right out?”

Olivia answered the phone on the fourth ring, just before it switched over to the answering service.

“Hello?”

“Good morning,” said a deep male voice. “May I speak to Olivia, please?”

“This is she.”

“It’s Chance Demetrios. Your brother, Paul, asked me to call you this morning about setting up another appointment.”

Olivia’s heart slammed against her breastbone.

She glanced toward the kitchen door for signs of Jamison, then lowered her voice and started walking toward the office where she could close the door and not risk her husband overhearing. “Thank you for calling, Dr. Demetrios, especially since the institute is closed for the holidays.”

“It’s not a problem. I’m working through the holiday. I noticed that your file indicates that we called and ultimately sent you a letter several months ago asking you to come in for further tests. Did you receive that letter?”

Olivia swallowed a twinge of guilt. “Yes, Dr. Demetrios, I did. For a while, we were thinking of delaying starting our family, but that’s no longer the case. We’re ready to move ahead.”

“Wonderful,” said Demetrios. “If you’re available, I can see you tomorrow.”

“That would be lovely. I must apologize for not following up sooner.”

“Well, I was reviewing your file a moment ago and I think I may have some new insight to what is causing your problems.”

Olivia’s heart leaped. “Does that mean you know how to fix what’s wrong with me?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Olivia couldn’t tell if that meant the doctor had good news or bad.

“We’ll need to run some more tests, but we can do that and talk about it tomorrow when you come in.”

After wheeling his bag into the living room, Jamison came back into the kitchen to kiss his wife goodbye. She wasn’t there.

“Olivia,” he called. “I have to go, the car’s waiting.”

No answer.

He fought back a surge of impatience. Calm down. Things had finally started getting back on track. He didn’t want to ruin it now. But where had she disappeared to, knowing that he had to leave?

Rather than stew over it, Jamison decided to signal to the driver that he’d be out in a moment. Maybe by that time Olivia would reappear.

Yet when he opened the front door and looked out into the impossibly sunny cold morning to busy Commonwealth Avenue, the car wasn’t there. Perplexed, he stepped back inside and closed the door. Then, as if driven by a sixth sense, he followed his intuition down the hall to the study. He stopped outside the door when he heard Olivia talking in hushed tones.

“That sounds absolutely perfect,” she said. “But may I call you back? I can’t really talk right now.”

At that moment, the doorbell rang. The car, no doubt. Jamison walked soundlessly down the hall so that Olivia wouldn’t see him and ducked back into the living room.

When she finally joined him a moment later, he patted his pockets. “I think I forgot something. Would you tell the driver I’ll be right out?”

“Sure.”

Jamison went into the spare bedroom where he’d spent the past two nights, picked up the phone extension, and pressed the record for the caller ID log.

The name that appeared was Chance Demetrios. The doctor that she’d seen only once—or at least only one time that he was aware of.

All sorts of questions raced through his mind: Why was he calling her now? Was this the man who, last night, she’d sounded so anxious to see?