Married...Again. Stephanie Doyle

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СКАЧАТЬ “You’re right. I’m sorry. If you’re willing to be whatever you need to be for Mom, then I’m willing to be whatever you need. I want this to be a happy time for you.”

      Allie nodded. “Okay, well, get ready. Here she comes, and she doesn’t look happy...like at all. She must have run out of something. Please let it not be the liquor.”

      Eleanor saw her mother approaching, and it was true. She was nearly ashen. Her makeup unable to hide whatever had shocked her.

      “Eleanor,” she began, then stopped. She put her hand over her heart and took a few breaths.

      “Mom, what is it? Are you having chest pains? Do we need to call an ambulance?”

      Fear gripped Eleanor. A sudden heart attack was how they had lost her father all those years ago.

      “No, it’s nothing like that. Just a shock. We have a...guest. I’ve asked him to wait in your father’s study. I don’t want to upset the party and ruin Allie’s night. Eleanor, come with me. Just you. Alone.”

      Eleanor had no concept of why her mother needed her alone. Or why a guest had to be sent to her father’s study. An old high school friend? Or more likely a frenemy. There was Tony Santino, whom she dated for a while in high school until he ended up cheating on her with her best friend. Definitely not someone she would enjoy seeing again. Then again, there was no reason why he’d be here tonight. He’d been three years ahead of Allie in school.

      Marilyn turned the corner, then stopped in front of the door to the study. Really? Whoever was inside was so startling he needed to be shut in?

      “Mom, what is this?”

      Marilyn was wringing her hands, clearly upset.

      “There’s nothing to do,” she said eventually. “You’ll just have to go in. I’ll go let your sister know what’s happening.”

      With that, her mother left. Cautiously, Eleanor opened the door. Inside was a man. He stood by the windows. Tall, his back to her. His hair was dark with a little gray woven through it. Something about the way he held himself. His hands clasped behind his back. His legs separated like the floor was the bow of ship and he needed the extra balance.

      She knew that pose. She knew those shoulders. But of course, none of that was possible.

      Then he turned. His face was weathered, more weathered than three years ago. But it was his face.

      The face of her dead husband.

      “Hey, Nor.”

      Immediately she bent over and threw up the champagne she’d been drinking onto her pretty Jimmy Choo pumps. It was as if her whole body was rejecting what she was seeing.

      He took a step toward her, and she held up a hand to keep him at bay.

      “How is this happening?” she muttered, still bent over.

      “I know this is a shock. I didn’t know how else to do this. I came home and my parents—”

      “Your parents are dead. You’re dead.”

      These were two things she knew to be true. A year after Max was officially declared dead, Harry and Sarah were in a car accident. As Max had been their only son, Eleanor, even though she’d been trying to get a divorce at the time of their son’s death, was their only remaining family. She’d been listed as the emergency contact.

      She’d arranged the funeral, the sale of their home. But she’d kept the cabin in the mountains. How could she not?

      “I didn’t know how to find you. I did some internet searches. I found your company, but then I saw the announcement of Allie getting married. It mentioned the engagement party tonight. I knew you would be here.”

      “Stop talking,” Eleanor snapped. She couldn’t process this. She couldn’t accept the fact that she was seeing him again. He was dead.

      For more than two years, he’d been dead.

      For more than two years, she’d been dead.

      “You died,” she said as if she had to explain some fundamental truth to him.

      “I didn’t.”

      “How?”

      He sighed. “That’s a very long story.”

      She looked at him. Full-on. It was only then that she realized she had been looking at him like he was the sun. Indirectly. As if she would go blind if she stared at him full-on.

      “You’re here,” she said. “You. Are. Here.”

      He nodded. “I am.”

      The door opened.

      “Eleanor, are you all right? I saw you come in here alone. Oh, hello. And you are?” Daniel said, looking over at the stranger in the room.

      Eleanor finally was able to stand straight. Her stomach no longer in jeopardy of upheaving anything. Her knees were shaky, but she was fairly certain she wasn’t going to faint.

      “Daniel, this is...this is...”

      “Max Harper,” Max said, reaching out to shake Daniel’s hand.

      Daniel’s eyes got wide. “Oh, my goodness. You’re...you’re...”

      “I’m Eleanor’s not-dead husband.”

       Chapter Three

      “AND YOU ARE?” Max asked.

      He knew. In his heart of hearts, he knew coming back here now might be too late. But he had to try. Of course she would have moved on. Of course she would have remarried.

      She might have done that even if he hadn’t been declared dead.

      He looked at her again because he could. Because he was alive, standing in her family home—a place he’d been to on a couple occasions during their short marriage. He knew she was experiencing shock. But it wasn’t all that different for him, either.

      Because there was a time when he never thought he would see her again.

      Eleanor.

      She’d always been beautiful. Long, chestnut hair, dark brown eyes. Lips that were a smidge bigger than they should, which made every man around her want to kiss them.

      Two and half years had only added to that beauty. Instead of the young woman he’d first met, full of all the hope and excitement of the future that was coming, now she was fully a woman.

      He’d loved that young woman. Desperately. This person he wanted to get to know. If she would give him a chance. If this man wasn’t who Max suspected he was.

      He held his breath waiting for the introduction.

      Waiting to hear the word husband.

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