The Edge of Eternity

She could feel the woman’s gaze on her as she walked away and she knew that if she turned, Nina Wilson would be staring at her.

Elizabeth knocked, then waited for Paul to say, “Come in,” before she opened the door and stepped inside. He was standing at the wall of windows, looking out at the mountains. Hands shoved in his pockets, he appeared to be a million miles away.

“Did Carter ever call back?” he asked absently.

Elizabeth cleared her throat. “I guess you were expecting someone else.”

At the sound of her voice he spun, a look of astonishment flashing across his handsome features.

It wasn’t fair, Elizabeth thought fleetingly. It wasn’t fair that after everything they’d been through, after all the grief and hurt and bitterness of the past eighteen months, he still had the power to take her breath away.

“Elizabeth! What are you…what brings you by here?”

He chose his words carefully around her, Elizabeth noticed. They’d both been walking on eggshells for so long, she wondered if either of them even knew how to relax anymore.

Coming over to stand behind his desk, his gray eyes raked her curiously. And no wonder. She hadn’t been in his office in over a year. Not since before the accident.

“I was out walking, taking advantage of the beautiful weather, and I found myself near your building,” she tried to say in a normal voice. But what was normal these days? “I decided to drop by and see if you have dinner plans.” Oh, God. She hadn’t meant it to sound that way, as if she were asking him out.

He lifted a brow as he regarded her across the expanse of the desk. For the longest moment he said nothing, and Elizabeth rushed to explain, “There’s…something I need to talk to you about.”

“I see.” His gaze flickered, but she didn’t have a clue what he was thinking. He seemed so remote, so cold. Nothing at all like the man who had barely let her out of bed on their honeymoon.

She didn’t want to remember their honeymoon now, though. Or the night they’d made Damon. Not with Nina Wilson sitting right outside Paul’s door.

“Shall I pick up something on my way home?” he finally asked.

“No, I’ll cook.” It would give her something to do for the rest of the afternoon.

“Are you sure?”

She hadn’t cooked in months, but Elizabeth found herself looking forward to the prospect. “I’ll enjoy puttering around the kitchen again.”

“In that case, what time?”

“Seven-thirty? Is that too early?” He often didn’t get home until well after ten. And even on those nights he didn’t go straight to bed but would sit in the living room with a drink, sometimes watching television, sometimes staring into the dark.

He nodded. “I’ll make sure to get away early. I’ll see you at seven-thirty.”

He came around the desk then to walk her to the door. His shoulder brushed against hers, and Elizabeth was surprised to find herself growing quite breathless again. She could smell his cologne, a rich, classy scent with seductive undertones. Yes, that was Paul. Rich, classy, seductive…

The dark gray pin-striped suit he had on was one of her favorites. But then, Paul could wear anything and look good. He was tall and slender, his body toned from the miles and miles of running he did every week. At thirty-six, he had the physique of a man a decade younger, but the lines around his mouth and eyes gave his face maturity.

Elizabeth had never met any man—and never would, she suspected—who compared in any way to Paul Blackstone.

At the door he gazed down at her, and it was almost as if…for a moment it seemed as if he might…

The door opened and Nina Wilson came in. “Boyd Carter is on line two—” She stopped short when she saw Elizabeth, and her expression became contrite. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you still had someone with you.”

“My wife was just leaving.”

My wife.

Elizabeth glanced at Nina, and for a moment, the woman’s gaze darkened with something that might have been fury. Then she seemed to shrug it off and smiled. “It was nice meeting you…Elizabeth.”

Score one for you, Elizabeth thought as she left the office. Because by using her first name, Nina Wilson had effectively put them on equal footing.

AS PAUL BLACKSTONE watched his wife leave the office, an uneasy premonition tickled along his backbone. So she wanted to have dinner with him tonight. What was that all about?

He wanted to believe that the overture was a good sign. Elizabeth might finally be emerging from the dark place she’d crawled into eighteen months ago. Somehow he didn’t think so, though.

He understood her despair. There had been times in the past year and a half when he’d wanted nothing more than to pull the covers over his head and hide from the world rather than wake up to face another day without his son. But life had to go on. He had a living to make. Mortgage payments, bills, responsibilities that didn’t stop because life no longer seemed worth living.

Eventually he’d been able to see the sunlight again. Dimmer, yes, but it was there if he looked hard enough. But Elizabeth…

Paul closed his eyes briefly. He very much feared that she would never find her way out of the darkness, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Trying to shake off a growing sense of doom, he took the call from Boyd Carter, but his mind wasn’t really on the conversation. When he finally hung up, he swiveled his chair around to stare out the windows. The sun was still shining, but the rainbow over Elliott Bay had long since faded. And in the distance he thought he saw rain clouds gathering over the snowy peak of Mount Olympus.

He let his mind retreat back to the visit from his wife. What did she want to talk to him about? Reconciliation? A fresh start?

Wishful thinking, he decided. He was fairly certain that she’d decided it was time to end the travesty that their marriage had become. And maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to let go. Maybe it had been time over a year ago when she’d sobbed in his arms that she didn’t want to go on. That without their son she had nothing to live for.

Paul understood her grief. He did. But, God, how that had hurt him. How it still hurt him that she hadn’t been able to turn to him for comfort, but instead had pushed him away.

But as devastated and grief-stricken as he’d been that night, the worst had been yet to come. A few days later he’d gotten home from work to find Elizabeth unconscious in their bed. Unable to rouse her, he’d called the paramedics, and they’d rushed her to the hospital, where the sleeping pills had been pumped from her stomach.

When she’d finally awakened a few hours later and seen Paul at her bedside, she’d slipped her hand from his and turned away.

She’d blamed him for saving her. Blamed him for pulling her back from the darkness.

“Why can’t you just let me go?” she’d whispered in despair.

Because I love you, he’d wanted to tell her. Because you mean everything to me.

Instead he’d turned and walked out of the room, and nothing had been the same between them since.

Elizabeth had been moved into the psychiatric ward later that same day and had begun sessions with Dr. Julian Summers, a specialist in grief therapy who had come very highly recommended.

She’d responded to treatment almost at once. It was like a miracle. Almost overnight the color had returned to her cheeks, her eyes had lost that vacant look and she’d even put on a few of the pounds she’d lost after the accident. Paul had begun to hope for the best, but when she’d come home a few weeks later, she was a changed woman. The breakdown had made her stronger in a lot of ways, but she was no longer the woman Paul had married. She’d become a polite stranger who shared his apartment and even his bed, but one who had no desire to share her life with him.

Paul hadn’t known what to do or say to get her back. The worst thing he could do was pressure her in any way, Dr. Summers had warned him. So he’d backed off. He’d given her the space she seemed to want and need. What else could he do? And the next thing he knew, the chasm between them had grown so wide he didn’t have a clue how to breach it.

Maybe he hadn’t tried hard enough to reach her, Paul thought now as he rubbed the back of his neck. In some respects, it had been easier to let her drift away than to fight his way back to her. He’d had his own grief to cope with. His own guilt.

And now Elizabeth was ready to end it.

He knew it. He could feel it. They’d become strangers, but in some ways—important ways—he still knew her so well. They’d been together for thirteen years, and during that time he’d learned to read her expressions and interpret her body language. The nervous flutter of her hands always meant something was on her mind. Something important.

She was going to ask him for a divorce tonight, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about that either.

Maybe it was what he wanted, too, Paul decided. He was tired of walking on eggshells. Tired of the loneliness. The silence. The grief that never seemed to lose its grip on his heart.

It would be nice to have someone to go out to dinner with again. Someone with whom he could share a leisurely Saturday afternoon.

It would be nice to have a woman in his arms again. He and Elizabeth hadn’t been together in over a year, and he wasn’t cut out for the life of a celibate.

He sometimes still found it hard to believe how far apart they’d drifted when they’d once been so close. They’d had what he’d always considered the perfect marriage. Friends first, then lovers. They’d done everything together, shared so much of themselves with one another that it had been hard to tell where he ended and she began.

The birth of their son had changed all that, in a good way for the most part. But there had been times after Damon was born that Paul had missed the closeness he and Elizabeth had once shared. He’d missed the times when they’d been able to throw a few things in a suitcase and go off for a spur-of-the-moment weekend without having to worry about soccer games and birthday parties. He’d missed the quiet evenings alone. The Sunday mornings in bed.

Those times of discontent had been rare because Paul had loved his son more than anything. And when Damon died, a part of him had died, too. He’d been consumed, not just by grief but with a killing guilt for having longed, however briefly, for a time without his son.

And now he was losing Elizabeth, too. In truth, he’d already lost her. She’d slipped away from him the moment she’d opened her eyes in the hospital, but now he supposed it was time to make it official.

Unless…

He spun back to his desk and picked up the invitation he’d received in the mail that morning.

You are cordially invited for a weekend of rejuvenation at the Fernhaven Hotel…a heavenly retreat deep in the heart of the Cascade Mountains…

Rejuvenation.

Perhaps that was what they both needed right now.

Chapter Three

Elizabeth left the shop in Pioneer Square early that afternoon and headed west on First Avenue, stopping briefly at Pike Place Market for fresh salmon and produce. Normally she liked to linger at the market and watch the tourists’ reactions to the fish throwers or dash in for a quick cup of coffee at the original Starbucks, but today she made her purchases quickly and headed back up First Avenue to their condo in Belltown.

Letting herself inside, she tossed the mail onto the console table in the hallway, then put away the groceries.

Late-afternoon sunlight flooded through the windows in the living room and drew her outside to the balcony, where she stood watching the ferries return from Bainbridge Island. The condo was a rare northwest-corner unit, so they didn’t get the morning light, but the view of Elliott Bay and the Olympic Mountains was more than worth it.

In an hour or so the sun would set and the lights along the waterfront would twinkle on. Elizabeth loved Seattle by night. They had a partial view of the downtown skyline from their dining room window, and she used to sit there and watch the skyscrapers come to life while she waited for Paul and Damon to get home. And then the door would finally burst open and Damon would come charging in, excited about soccer practice or a Mariners game he and Paul had tickets for. Paul would come in behind him, smiling indulgently, the proud father…the loving husband as he came over to brush his lips against Elizabeth’s.

Then they would all sit at the table together and have dinner, usually something kid-friendly—spaghetti, hamburgers, pizza. But sometimes they’d have a grownup meal of seafood and salad, and she and Paul would share a bottle of wine over candlelight.

After dinner they’d watch TV for a while and then later, with Damon tucked in bed, she and Paul would finish off the wine on the balcony as they watched the boats in the harbor. Occasionally they’d see a cruise ship putting out to sea, and the sound of the foghorn—the final goodbye—always made Elizabeth feel lost and forlorn. But with Paul’s arm around her, the loneliness passed quickly.

Sometimes in bed at night, nestled in his arms, she would stay awake thinking about how lucky she was. She had everything any woman could possibly want—a wonderful husband, a beautiful son, a gorgeous home. She even had a promising career as a local fashion designer. And then it had all gone away. Just like that. In the space of a heartbeat, she had taken her eyes off the road to smile at something Damon said…and she’d lost everything.

The home was still there. Paul was still there…for now. Her career was even flourishing. But nothing was ever going to be the same again.

Elizabeth rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Now that the sun was setting, she could feel a chill in the breeze that blew in from the bay and she turned to go back inside. A draft slammed the door shut behind her before she could pull it closed, and the crash caused her to jump.

The wind swept some of the mail off the table in the hallway, and she hurried over to pick it up. Glancing through the stack, she paused on a thick, creamy envelope addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Paul Blackstone. The return address was Fernhaven Hotel.

Elizabeth knew about the place. It was a recently built luxury hotel in the Cascade Mountains. Paul’s brokerage firm had been instrumental in putting the deal together for the owners. On his recommendation, Frankie Loves Johnny—Elizabeth and Frankie’s boutique—had landed the contract to design most of the staff uniforms. It wasn’t couture, but the deal had been financially lucrative and had helped the shop regain its financial footing after an arrangement with a major retailer had drained much of their operating capital. That, and the loan from Paul, of course.

Elizabeth slit open the envelope and extracted the brochure and invitation inside.

You are cordially invited for a weekend of rejuvenation at the Fernhaven Hotel…a heavenly retreat deep in the heart of the Cascade Mountains…

The invitation went on to explain that, in appreciation of their contribution to Fernhaven, she and Paul would be pampered guests at a preopening celebration. The official opening was still some weeks away, so the complimentary weekend would be a dry run for the staff.

Elizabeth set aside the invitation and picked up the brochure. She’d seen pictures of the old hotel—it had burned down over seventy years ago—along with photos of the staff and some of the guests. Her designs had been inspired by the original uniforms, much as the architecture of the new hotel, with its gray facade and spired roofline, had been modeled after the first one.

Nestled deep within one of the Pacific Northwest’s magnificent rain forests, Fernhaven wore a mantle of mystery, due in part to its tragic history, but also because of its isolation. Even the deeply shaded grounds looked foreboding, and yet there was also something appealing about the place. Something that seemed to beckon even from the photograph…

The back of her neck tingled in that all-too-familiar manner, and Elizabeth spun toward the balcony doors, the brochure drifting from her fingers. She caught her breath. For one split second she could have sworn someone was on the balcony staring in at her.

Her hand flew to her heart. The figure on the balcony did the same, and then Elizabeth realized that she was seeing her own reflection in the glass.

Laughing nervously, she put away the mail and went into the kitchen to grill the salmon and prepare a salad.

By seven-thirty they had sat down to eat. Paul had gotten home early and changed from his suit into jeans and a black V-neck sweater that she’d given him for his birthday a couple of years ago. Elizabeth wondered if he’d selected it for any particular reason, but then decided that her own anxiety was making her read too much into his actions. He’d always said the sweater was one of his favorites.

They made small, meaningless talk during the meal, and when they were finished, Paul got up and went into the kitchen to grab the bottle of wine. Replenishing both their glasses, he sat back down.

“That was an excellent meal, Elizabeth. You haven’t lost your touch.”

“Thanks. It’s like riding a bike, I guess.” She picked up her wineglass, took a sip and choked a little.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m…fine…” She trailed off nervously and returned her glass to the table.

“So what did you want to talk to me about?” Paul’s eyes gleamed darkly in the candlelight, and for a moment Elizabeth couldn’t tear her gaze away. “Elizabeth?”

She moistened her lips. “I want to talk about…us. Our…arrangement.” She hesitated. “It’s not working, Paul. For either of us.”

“Arrangement?” He frowned. “Do you mean our marriage?”

“Yes.” She drew a breath. “I want a divorce.”

“A divorce,” he repeated in a voice she’d never heard him use before. She couldn’t quite figure out what it meant.

She sucked in another breath. “Our marriage isn’t working, and it hasn’t been for a long time. What we once had…is gone. We can’t get it back. It’s no one’s fault. We just have to accept it.”

“As easy as that.”

“Nothing about this is easy,” she said on a whisper. “But I can’t go on this way. It’s too painful. I’d rather…it would better for both of us if we just…made a clean break.”

“So you not only want a divorce, you also want a clean break. How do you plan to accomplish that?” His gaze deepened as he stared at her over the candlelight.

“I’m thinking of moving back to Chicago,” she said.

One brow lifted slightly. “Really? And what does your business partner have to say about your plans? Or haven’t you told her yet?”

“We’ve discussed it briefly.” Elizabeth paused. “Nothing’s definite. I haven’t made any firm decisions. All I know is that—”

“You want a divorce.”

“Yes.” When he said nothing else, Elizabeth glanced at him. “Surely you don’t want to go on like this either. If you were free, you could start a new life. You could find someone else. Maybe…you already have,” she said hesitantly.

If possible, his expression grew even darker. “Just what are you implying, Elizabeth?”

She couldn’t do it after all, Elizabeth discovered. She couldn’t confront him with what she’d seen earlier that day. Because she didn’t want to see the truth in his eyes, she supposed.

But she couldn’t hide from the image. It came back to her now, and she had to swallow back a wave of panic. Paul and another woman…

She closed her eyes for a moment, willing away the image. “I’m not implying anything. I just thought that if you were free, you might meet someone else. Someone who could be the kind of wife to you that you need.”

“Please don’t presume to know what I need.” He scooted back his chair and stood abruptly. It was the first time he’d shown any emotion during the conversation, and his anger seemed to take him by surprise. He strode into the kitchen for a moment, and when he came back out, he had his feelings firmly under control. His expression was a mask of indifference as he stood behind his chair, gazing down at her. “Just answer one question for me.”

“Of course. If I can.”

“Do you still love me?”

The question caught Elizabeth off guard and hit her like a fist to her solar plexus. Breathless, she glanced down at her laced fingers. She couldn’t look at Paul when she answered. “I’ll always love you. But it isn’t enough anymore.”

“That’s such a cliché,” he said bitterly.

And now it was Elizabeth who felt a quick stab of anger. “It’s a cliché because it happens to be the truth! I do love you, Paul, but I’m not…I can’t be married to you anymore. It hurts too much. Every time I look at you…” She trailed off and put a trembling hand to her mouth.

“You see our son.”

She nodded. “And every time you look at me, you must think of the accident. You have to ask yourself over and over why I chose that moment to take my eyes off the road.”

“You’re wrong.” He clenched his fists at his sides. “I’ve never blamed you for what happened. No one was at fault except the drunken bastard who decided to get behind the wheel of his car that day.”

“But if I hadn’t looked away—”

“Elizabeth, don’t. We can’t change the past.”

“I know that. But we can change the future. We can try to salvage something of our lives. You deserve to be happy, Paul. We both do.”

“And you think a divorce will make us happy?”

Elizabeth shook her head helplessly. “I don’t know. All I do know is that I can’t go on like this.”

He turned away for a moment, running his hand through his dark hair. When he looked back at her, his eyes had gone so cold and distant that Elizabeth wanted to cry. “All right. You can have your divorce. I won’t try to stop you. You can have the condo, the savings, whatever you want.” When she started to protest, his dark gaze silenced her. “But I am going to need something from you.”

An edge in his voice made her frown. “What is it?”

He shrugged. “A little time, that’s all. I’m in the middle of negotiations for another multimillion-dollar hotel, and for a number of reasons some of the investors are getting skittish. If even one of them pulls out, it could have a domino effect on the others. And if they get wind that my personal life is in upheaval, they might lose faith in my ability to put this deal together. I don’t want that to happen. I can’t let it happen. My career is on the line here, Elizabeth, so I’m going to need you to put the divorce proceedings on hold for the time being.”

Elizabeth’s frown deepened. “For how long?”

“A couple of weeks. A month at the most. It’s not much to ask, is it?”

“No, I suppose not.” Although now that the decision was made, Elizabeth just wanted it over and done with. “Will you be staying here until then?”

He shrugged again. “My moving out would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?” He smiled over the flickering candles, but there was no humor in his dark eyes. “The investor I’m most concerned about is a man named Boyd Carter. He was one of the major backers in the Fernhaven project and he’ll be at the retreat next weekend, along with some of the potential investors.”

“The preopening celebration, you mean. I saw the invitation earlier,” Elizabeth said.

“One came here?” He seemed surprised by that. “I received one at the office, too. I suspect you and Frankie will be getting one at the shop. At any rate, if I can get a few moments alone with Carter, I think I can allay his concerns. Once he’s sold on the deal, the others will fall in line. If everything goes the way I expect it to, you can file for divorce as soon as we get back.”

She stared at him for a moment. “When we get back?”

“I’m hoping that you’ll go with me. Carter is big on family. If we’re seen together—”

“Wait a minute,” Elizabeth said in dismay. “You want me to convince him that we have a happy marriage just so you can work a deal with him? That’s ridiculous. And dishonest.”