LITMIR.BIZ

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appeared to be in order. But then again, Fiona knew firsthand the difference between appearances and actual reality.

      Sadness washed over her. Grabbing a glass of water from a nearby beverage station, she continued on as Henri went to speak to his brothers. Movement was good. Movement was necessary. The busier she stayed, the less her emotions would sting through her veins.

      And it was as if the world knew she needed a distraction. As she slipped out onto the pool deck, she saw two of her favorite Hurricanes’ players—wide receiver “Wild Card” Wade and “Freight Train” Freddy. Not only did they inspire her with how much of their time they donated to worthwhile causes, the two men always made her laugh.

      It seemed that tonight would be no exception. Freight Train was in a black suit, but his tie had dog butts all over it and his belt buckle was a silver paw print. He and Wild Card were posing for pictures with two of the shelter dogs. Their energy was contagious.

      Directly across from Freight Train and Wild Card were the Texas branch of the Reynaud clan. When fund-raisers or troubles arose, despite the complicated and sometimes strained relationships, they jumped in. The two Texas boys were sipping wine and talking to a Louisiana senator. The cousins were supporting their relative who played for the Hurricanes. Brant Reynaud wore his ever-present small yellow rosebud on his lapel.

      Everyone was out in full force to support her latest cause. She would miss this sense of family.

      Landscape lighting highlighted ornamental plantings and statues. She checked the outdoor kitchen to one side of the pool to make sure all was in order. The hearth area was unmistakably popular, a fire already ablaze in the stone surround. Built-in stone seating was covered with thick cushions and protected by a pergola with a casual wrought-iron framework. The Reynaud brothers were there. Well, at least two of them. Fiona watched as Gervais waved Henri over.

      One of the things that amused Fiona was the sheer amount of posturing the boys did when they were around each other. They loved each other—there was no doubt about that. But the brothers were all driven and natural-born competitors.

      They were all tall, with athletic builds, dark eyes and even darker hair, thick and lush. While Gervais, Henri and Jean-Pierre were full brothers, Dempsey was the result of one of their father’s affairs. The brothers had each gotten their mother’s hair coloring, while their father had donated his size and strength.

      The semicircle of the Reynaud clan was an elegant one. Gervais, the most refined of the brothers, was at ease in his role as oldest, leader of the pack. Erika, his fiancée, laid a gentle hand on Gervais’s forearm as she leaned into the conversation. The light from the hearth caught on her silver rings and cushion-cut diamond engagement ring. One would likely never guess Erika had served in her home country’s military, although her princess bearing was entirely clear.

      To Gervais’s immediate left stood Dempsey, ever-present football pin on the lapel of his tuxedo, with lovely, efficient Adelaide at his side.

      Fiona told herself that she was lucky not to have to work. That she made a positive impact in the world with her volunteer philanthropic efforts. Not holding down a regular job outside the home also enabled her to travel with her husband. She helped organize outings for the other family members who traveled with the Hurricanes, as well. Keeping the players and their families happy kept the team focused and out of trouble.

      She looked around at the packed event, a total success. Anyone would think she had a full life.

      Except she couldn’t bring herself to have sex with her husband. She’d been so certain the surgery was the right decision. She’d gone to counseling before and after. Her husband had been completely supportive.

      And still the distance between them had grown wider and wider these past months, emphasizing how little they knew about each other. They’d married because of infatuation, great sex, a shared love of art and a pregnancy scare that sped up the wedding date.

      Now that the initial glow of infatuation had passed and they didn’t even have sex to carry them through the rough patches, a common love for gallery showings wasn’t enough to hold them together. Their marriage was floundering. Badly. She needed to keep in mind how dangerous it would be to let her guard down around a man who had worked hard to take care of her through her decision.

      And with a cancer scare looming over her today, she couldn’t bear the thought that he would stay with her out of sympathy.

      * * *

      Henri wasn’t in much of a party mood, no matter how much his brothers elbowed him and teased him about his latest fumble. His Texas cousins weren’t cutting him any slack, either.

      He’d been thinking about the divorce his wife insisted on pursuing.

      While the love had left their marriage, he’d heard plenty say that marriage had ups and downs. He wasn’t a quitter. And damn it all, he still burned to have her.

      His gaze skimmed the guests around the pool, landing on his wife. Her trailing curls and slim curves called to him, reminding him of the enticing feel of her back as he’d tugged her zipper up.

      She smiled at whomever she spoke to—a man with his back to the rest of the crowd—and nodded as she walked away. The man turned and Henri’s breath froze in his chest. He knew the man well. Dr. Carlson was a partner in the practice Fiona used to see before they’d transferred her to another physician for the surgery.

      Fear jelling in his gut, Henri charged away from his brothers and cousins, shouldering through the crowd to his wife.

      “Henri—”

      He grasped her arm and guided her toward the shore of Lake Pontchartrain. “In a moment. When no one can overhear us.”

      Lights from yachts and boats dotted the distance. Along the shoreline, couples walked hand in hand. Henri opened the boathouse door and stepped inside. Moonlight streaked through the windows, across Fiona’s face. Confusion and frustration stamped her lovely features.

      He angled them beneath a pontoon boat on a lift. The boat was still wet from use, and water tapped the ground in a rhythm that almost matched his pounding heart. Inhaling deeply, he caught the musty scent of the boathouse mixed with the cinnamon notes of Fiona’s perfume. He’d bought it for her on a trip to France before all of these difficulties had really gotten out of control.

      “Enough already, Henri. Would you please tell me why we’re out here?”

      He clasped both of her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “I saw you talking to Dr. Carlson.” He looked in her sherry-colored eyes, trying to read her. Something flickered there, something he could have sworn was fear, but then she looked away, her lashes shielding her expression.

      Staring at the floor, she chewed her bottom lip for an instant before answering, “We were discussing a fund-raiser and party for the pediatric oncology ward. The planner had a heart attack and they need someone to step in and help.”

      Okay, but why was she looking away? “You’re sure that’s all?”

      She hesitated a second too long. “What do you mean?”

      Fear exploded inside him. “Are you feeling all right?” He clasped her shoulders. “Physically. Is there something wrong? If so, you know I’m here for you. Whatever you need, just tell me.”

      She squeezed her eyes closed, shaking her head, tears sliding free.

      He reached to sketch his knuckles along her cheeks and capture the tears, hands shaking. “Oh, God, Fiona, is it...” His throat moved in a long swallow. “Do you have...”

      She touched his mouth. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine. Thank you, but you have no reason to feel obligated.”

      “Obligated?” He kissed her fingertips. “You are my wife, my responsibility—”

      “Please, Henri.”

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