Park Avenue Secrets. Barbara Dunlop

Nobody talks to my wife about the blackmail.” He glanced around the room to drive home his point.

      Everybody nodded, and he rose to his feet.

      He was keeping Elizabeth safe, but it was also his job to keep her calm. When this was over, they had a family to start. And, God help him, it was going to be over soon.

      Three

      “Your marriage is far from over,” said Hanna as she and Elizabeth made their way past groups of diners to a corner table in their favorite deli off Times Square.

      Out of habit, Elizabeth had ordered a thick corned beef on rye, but she was pretty sure her clenched stomach wouldn’t allow her to eat.

      “He won’t talk to me about anything important,” she told Hanna. “He won’t make love with me. And when I ask for more information, he gets angry. How can I stay married to a man who won’t let me into his life?”

      Hanna took a sip of her diet cola. “Stop trying.”

      The answer set Elizabeth back in her chair. “Stop trying to be married?” That wasn’t the answer she’d expected.

      “Stop trying to muscle your way into his life.” Hanna took a bite of her sandwich.

      “That doesn’t make any sense.” They were married. Elizabeth was supposed to be in Reed’s life.

      Hanna peeled a paper napkin from the metal dispenser and dabbed the corners of her mouth. “I say this as your best friend, and as someone who loves you dearly—”

      “This can’t be good,” Elizabeth mumbled.

      “You’ve grown a little, well, dull lately.”

      Dull? What the heck kind of a thing was that for a good friend to say?

      “You are way too invested in Reed and Reed’s life.”

      “He’s my husband.”

      Hanna shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. I know you want a baby. And that’s admirable. And I know you love Reed. And that’s admirable, too. But, Elizabeth, Lizzy, you have got to get a life.”

      “I have a life.”

      Hanna gave her a dubious look.

      Okay, so maybe working out at the spa, buying designer clothes and planning parties wasn’t the most productive life. But Reed did a lot of corporate entertaining. It was important for her to look the part.

      “If you had your own life,” Hanna continued, “you wouldn’t obsess so much about Reed’s.”

      “I don’t care what kind of a full, exciting and enriching life I’m leading, I’m still going to care that my husband is under criminal investigation.”

      “He told you he’d take care of it.”

      “Of course he told me that. He doesn’t want me to worry. He’s psychotic that way.”

      “I think it’s sweet.”

      “Sweet? Whose side are you on?”

      “Lizzy, you’ve lost all perspective. It’s not about sides. It’s about your happiness. Thing is, Reed’s life centers around his job, his business associates, his family and friends, and his marriage.”

      “Not so much his marriage,” Elizabeth muttered.

      “Maybe. But that’s not my point. My point is that your life also centers around his job, his business associates, his family and friends, and your marriage. See the problem?”

      “That’s not true.” It couldn’t be true. Elizabeth wasn’t some 1950s throwback without a thought of her own.

      “Who are your friends? Your old friends? The ones that have nothing to do with Reed?”

      Elizabeth searched her brain, conjuring then discounting those people she’d grown up with or met at college.

      “My old friends don’t live in Manhattan,” she finally answered.

      After her marriage, it had quickly become difficult to spend time with her old friends. They seemed to think Elizabeth’s life was one long party, that money solved everything, that rich people should never have a single problem. And, if they did, they should shut up about it and go shopping.

      “And all of his do,” said Hanna with an expression of triumph.

      Elizabeth eyed her corned beef and decided she could use some comfort food after all. “Your point?”

      “All of your current friends are really Reed’s friends.” “Except for you.”

      “You met me through Trent. You remember Trent? Reed’s friend.”

      “This is starting to feel like an intervention.”

      “That’s because it is an intervention,” said Hanna.

      “Well, I don’t need one.”

      Hanna let out a breath. “Oh, my darling …”

      Elizabeth lifted the succulent sandwich. “I don’t know why I should take your advice anyway. You were the one who insisted I seduce him last week. And that sure went to hell in a handbasket.”

      “That’s because you did it wrong.”

      “I did it perfectly. I rocked in that red negligee. Reed was the problem. He was about to be arrested. How can a man concentrate on passion when he’s about to be arrested?” Point well made, Elizabeth took a bite of her sandwich.

      “You need a job,” said Hanna.

      Elizabeth swallowed. “Trust me on this. The one thing I don’t need is more money.”

      Hanna waved her pickle. “It’s not the paycheck. It’s the getting out of the penthouse, exchanging opinions and ideas with other adults, hanging out with people who have absolutely nothing to do with your husband or with getting pregnant.”

      “And you don’t think that will drag us further apart?”

      “It’ll give you something interesting to talk about when you get home.”

      Elizabeth was about to protest that they already talked about interesting things, but she stopped herself when she realized how hollow that would ring.

      Reed was pretty much a workaholic, and he refused to discuss Wellington International with her. He seemed to think business problems would stress her out as much as SEC investigations. But if she introduced her own business issues, especially if there were problems, she was willing to bet he’d engage in the conversation.

      Hmm. Getting a job. Developing an identity. The idea kind of appealed to her. In fact, she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before.

      But there was a glitch. A big glitch.

      “Who’s going to hire me? I haven’t worked since I graduated from college.” She paused. “With a degree in musical theater.”

      “We’re less than five blocks from the theater district,” Hanna offered.

      Elizabeth couldn’t picture herself as a script girl or a gofer. It would be silly for the wife of a billionaire to take an entry-level position. Not to mention embarrassing for Reed.

      “He doesn’t have to like it,” said Hanna, guessing the direction of Elizabeth’s thoughts.

      “Wouldn’t that pretty much defeat the purpose?” She was trying to save her marriage not alienate her husband.

      “What do you want?”

      Elizabeth suddenly felt tired. “Raspberry cheesecake.”

      “And after that?”

      “A baby. My marriage. To be happy. I don’t know.”