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Sheer embarrassment? Maybe. He was of a different generation, by time and inclination, and he was a very private man besides. Surely, though, that couldn’t account for the depth of the foreboding clouding his vision.
“Is something wrong, my darling?”
He looked up and ran his hungry gaze over the woman who completed his soul. She sat on the side of the bed, leaning in concern toward him.
He knew how to make food look as superb as it tasted, which gave him an artist’s appreciation of how magnificent she looked in her bedroom’s soft lamplight. Her black silk robe was the perfect offset for her silvering hair and the alabaster and rose of her face. She was so beautiful she sometimes made him sing, and sometimes made him cry.
“You wanted no one to know,” he said slowly. “We wanted no one to know. And now they do. Things havechanged.We’veknownfromthebeginningthat a society doyenne couldn’t have anything serious going on with the man who caters her parties.”
“We have known nothing of the kind. Brock, our silence about us was to make sure the kids kept their heads together, planning some ridiculous marriage for me.”
“Sure.” He wanted to hold her until the world went away. Why was it so difficult now that the world had intruded on them? It shouldn’t be. She was right, mostly. If he weren’t so shaken, he’d probably never have brought it up. He was an artist in food, after all. People in her circles begged him to exercise his artistry at their parties. When he took care to think straight, he knew he was the equal of anyone. Why didn’t he feel that way? “It’s such a shame they’ve found out. Can they behave sensibly on their own, without our interference?”
“Can Van behave sensibly, you mean.”
Brock half smiled. “I suppose you could say that is what I mean.” He stood up and paced. “It’s the first thing that has gone wrong between us.”
“It isn’t anything wrong between us.”
“Perhaps. Something wrong around us, then.”
“Brock, something is really bothering you. It isn’t any of the things you’ve been trying to claim it is.”
Brockrubbedhisforehead.Shewasrightagain.He didn’t want to face what was bothering him.
He’d settled this in his own mind years ago. He’d swatted the thought away ever since, every time it tried to sneak in. What he was feeling now was someone walking over his grave, that’s all.
Or her grave? No, no. It was ordinary foreboding, the kind of black, fearful mood that could strike anyone, anytime, especially if something, anything had gone wrong to set it all off.
“It’s foolish,” he said. “At least, I think it is.” But what if it isn’t?
Brock sat beside her on the bed and took her hand in both of his. “Have you ever been sure, for what is probably no good reason, that something is about to go terribly wrong?”
Cyn gave a small, inarticulate shrug.
Brock stroked her hand. “Yes, perhaps not. You do not spring from a family that is cursed.”
“What?”
“I’ve wanted so badly to believe a man in our family could escape the curse, even if the women can’t. If I am cursed, I would be the first man in the family.”
“Curse? This is about some curse? Brock, what are you talking about? I know what matters. I know how much I love being with you, talking with you, making love with you — ”
Brock ran his palm across his balding pate. He had to pull himself together. He didn’t want to pull himself together. He wanted to howl his pain to the sky. How could he live without Cyn? “Let’s get dressed and have some tea, and I’ll try to make youunderstand.”Maybehecouldevenmakehimself understand.
Cynrefusedtopartwithherrobe,butBrockputhis clothes on, turning his back in an agony of shyness forthefirsttimeeverintheirrelationship.Hisfingers shook on the buttons.
He followed her into the kitchen, and smiled sadly as she snuck some of her “secret” ginger concoction into the Blue Mountain Black Tea she brewed. Some called ginger an aphrodisiac. Adding the spice to their tea was one of her joyful foibles, and he loved her for every single one. They had never needed an aphrodisiac, but he didn’t mind her doctored beverage. He adored her enthusiasm for exploring all things sensual.
Tears sparkled in her eyes now, and they all but broke Brock’s heart.
“Sit down, my love,” he said. “Sit down.”
He held out the chair for her and seated her, a courtly gesture he loved performing for her. But then he loved doing anything and everything with and for Cyn.
He sat down opposite her and reached out for her hand. She pulled it back. Anger was drying her tears. Maybe that was for the best.
“This is about some ridiculous family curse?” she snapped.
