Page 12 of Jordan

And she will. Her time had come for payback. Suddenly the proposal from Jordan made that much sense. She wanted it. She was going to marry him. She would become Mrs. Jordan Wainwright and pay them back for everything they did to her mother. For every ounce of misery.

She smiled grimly as she realized that anticipation and excitement had replaced the burning anger inside her chest. For the first time since her return, she felt a sense of purpose. Closing the diary with a snap, she rose and stretched languidly. Her appetite was back and so was the energy. She would wait until a decent hour to give Jordan a call. The sooner the announcement was made, the better.

Sailing into the kitchen, she took out ingredients to make a Spanish omelet.

*****

"Why are you up so early?"

Harry Wainwright walked into the shared sitting room to see his wife at her desk. They did not share a bedroom and that had been the arrangement ever since they tied the knot some thirty-eight years ago and it suited them fine.

Her ash blonde hair was stylishly groomed and gathered at the back of her head in a neat chignon. She had on a sapphire blue robe over her matching nightgown, and he found himself wondering if she woke up looking like that. She reminded him of a beautiful sculpture he had seen on one of his travels and knew she was just as cold.

Barely sparing him a glance, she continued to make notes in her scholarly handwriting. "I have some correspondences to catch up on. The spring gala is approaching." A tiny frown touched her brow as she paused and looked over at him. "I suppose you've spoken to Jennifer?"

He nodded, belting the robe around his waist. He had a breakfast meeting and after being with Joani most of last night, was feeling the weariness tugging at him.

It was well worth it, he decided.

"Nasty business. She's quite cut up about it." Walking over to the sideboard, he poured coffee and took it with him to sit on her delicate silk sofa. Mindful of her disapproving glance, he made certain the cup was placed on the saucer so that there would be no water rings on the cherry wood table. His wife was a stickler for keeping everything in its place.

"As she should be." Jacquline's lips curled in distaste. "I told her that I do not appreciate her making a scene. She was blubbering all over herself. It was quite unattractive."

Harry had to quell the urge to light into her and find out if she had a heart. Getting upset would only make things worse. Their daughter was suffering, going through hell and all she was concerned about was decorum.

"She just had a miscarriage," he reminded her tightly. "We're not talking about chipping a nail here."

Jacqline sent him an icy amused look. She supposed that at one time or the other during their long courtship and subsequent marriage, she had felt something for him, but that was all gone now. They had respect for each other, and she was secure in her position as his wife. She knew of his affairs and never asked for details or wanted to know the names or where he was seeing them as long as he was discreet.

"You spoil her."

He gave her a disgusted look as he finished his coffee and rose.

"It's human to feel empathy. You should try it."

With that, he marched from the room and slammed the door behind him. His flare of temper had no effect on her, it only surprised her that he had allowed it to surface.

With a flick of one delicate wrist, she dismissed him instantly and went back to her writing.

*****

"I hope I did not wake you."

All of a sudden, she was nervous. After resolving to go through with the crazy idea, she felt as if her heart was bursting out of her chest.

"I was already up," he said. He did not add that he had barely slept a wink last night, anticipating her call. She had suggested they stay out on the porch and brought a pot of coffee and two cups. The spring morning was brisk with the scent of her aunt's begonias heavy on the air.

"Of course." She fussed with the potholder after pouring the coffee and handing him the cup. "I don't know if you would like some breakfast. I have a few scones--"

"Please sit," he ordered her quietly. "I'm fine." He took a sip of coffee and eyed her over the rim of the cup, appreciating and admiring the flawless skin and her youthful appearance. He knew he was probably three or more years older than she was, but she did not look anything like a woman in her thirties. Far from it. Her hair was scraped back into a simple ponytail, and she wasn't wearing makeup. The black sweat suit was zipped all the way to her throat and the bagginess hid her curves very well.

"I read your books."

She looked at him in surprise.

"And?"

A smile curved his lips and brought her gaze to the shape of them.

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