Separation Anxiety

Praise for Jenyfer Matthews

Separation Anxiety is a beautiful story, beautifully told. Jenyfer Matthews crafts a perfect blend of humor and heart that will leave you longing for more.

Gemma Halliday, author of the High Heel Mystery series

Jenyfer Matthews is a skillful writer. She has crafted a tale of romantic affection within a superb suspense story. Recommended."

The Romance Studio, on Here To Stay

Ms. Matthews has delivered a laugh out loud novel full of twists and turns and enough sexual heat to balance the tale perfectly. One Crazy Summer is a sweet sexy read that will have you wanting to read it again and again."

Romance Junkies, on One Crazy Summer

Ms. Jenyfer Matthews’ novel All the Way Home is a touching and poignant tale of healing and rediscovery. {…} Well written and riddled with emotions, sisterly bonds and a deeply moving romance, All the Way Home has secured a permanent place in my heart and on my keeper shelf.

Romance Junkies, on All the Way Home

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Separation Anxiety

Jenyfer Matthews

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 Jenyfer Matthews

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Dedication

For my sister, with love and affection.

And for anyone who has ever found themselves in a position to start over again.

Be brave. Living well really is the best revenge.

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Chapter One

After spending an afternoon making polite small talk with a bunch of underemployed society wives over bacon wrapped scallops and pasta served on oversized plates, the only thing I want to do now that I’m finally home is savor the silence and check my email.

I set my china tea cup and saucer next to my open laptop on the antique roll-top desk and tap the mouse pad to turn off the screen saver. I sit with relief and scroll through the messages in my inbox — a dozen advertisements for mortgages, credit reports, and sexual aids which I delete without opening, a note from my sister, a joke from my best friend Kat, and a message from my husband Bryce. It’s rare for him to send me email anymore so I open his first.

Meet me at Infusion, 7:30pm. Bryce.

I frown. I’d been looking forward to changing into my slippers and favorite robe and settling in to read my book club selection. (We meet next week. Where did the month go?) I just got in. I’m not sure I feel like going out again.

The day started with a brunch for the outgoing president of the library board. That meant dressing up and chatting for two hours with people who bored me at the best of times. At least the food was good. No pot-luck lunches for the members of the Faircrest Library board. Faircrest might be one of the newer suburbs of Philadelphia, but it is still part of the old money Main Line neighborhoods and, as such, is too posh for potluck. Catherine, the president-elect, is a member at the country club and had reserved a table there.

Which was convenient for me because it meant I didn’t have to dash quite as quickly as I might have otherwise for the gardening club meeting which was in the conference room next door.

My day-to-day schedule is filled with charity and committee work. Being the wife of a man who comes from one of the more prominent families in Philadelphia comes with certain social responsibilities. I’d known that when I married Bryce — and just in case I hadn’t fully grasped the situation, his mother had made very clear what was expected of her new daughter-in-law. I had been painfully aware of my mother-in-law’s displeasure when Bryce chose to marry me, a middle class girl with an office job, instead of a pampered daughter of the Philadelphia elite. To compensate, I have always done my best to please them and not to let either Bryce or my mother-in-law down.

Today I would have preferred to stay in and try a new recipe for a seafood paella that I’d come across a few days ago. Cooking started as a hobby for me, a way to fill my time and fulfill my role as a Good Wife. With each successful meal, it has become more of a passion. We used to have elegant dinner parties for Bryce’s colleagues and our friends and I admit it — I enjoyed showing off my talents for our guests. I don’t cook as often as I’d like anymore because I have so many other social obligations taking up my time. And because Bryce is so rarely home to share a meal with these days.

Maybe I’ll try the recipe tomorrow. After my appointment at the salon. Maintaining my hair and manicure — my image — is just another responsibility to our social standing. You can’t get highlights like mine from the sun.

I run my fingers across my pearl choker thoughtfully, staring at Bryce’s email. What is he up to? It’s been ages since we’ve gone out to dinner together and he rarely suggests going to any place as trendy as Infusion. Then I smile. Our tenth wedding anniversary is next week. He must have planned this as a surprise. Even more of a surprise because he remembered before I had to drop any hints.

I glance down at the slim gold watch Bryce gave me for my birthday and the sparkle of the large emerald cut diamond on my wedding set catches my eye. I wonder if Bryce will get me an anniversary band to go with it now that we’ve reached our first big milestone. Has it only been ten years?

It seems like so much longer.

* * * * *

Before I met Bryce I worked downtown at an enormous business consulting firm. They had branch offices all over the world and so many projects on the go at any one time that I’m not completely certain what they really did. Even now the confidentiality agreement I signed when I was hired prevents me from talking about anything I personally worked on while employed there. They have nothing to worry about. They overestimated my attention span and my memory for such detail.

I was hired straight out of university by the managing director of my department because he thought I was pretty. I’m not being vain — he said as much to me. I think he had an idea that I would be useful when they were making pitches to new clients. You know, like a spokesmodel. The feminist in me was mildly insulted but because I had student loans to pay and was desperate to get the job, I smiled and didn’t sue him for sexual harassment.

My immediate supervisor was also aware of why I was hired and resented me for it. As a result she gave me all of the worst assignments she could come up with. I suppose she was trying to ensure that I failed so she would have a legitimate reason to fire me. I’m happy to say that though much of the work was tedious and mind-numbingly dull, I rose to the occasion and never gave her any cause for complaint. After a while, when the spokesmodel idea didn’t materialize, she begrudgingly accepted me as a member of her team. The assignments didn’t improve much but she stopped glaring at me so frequently.

It wasn’t exactly Sex in the City glamorous, but I really was having the time of my life. I was young, had my whole life ahead of me, and was on the first rung of the career ladder. I hadn’t exactly worked out what I wanted to do long term, but I had the idea it would involve throwing cocktail parties in my penthouse apartment with great regularity. And lots of beautiful shoes.

I worked long hours but for the first time I was making enough money to pay the rent on my very own apartment, my student loans, and still had enough left over to treat myself to the finer things in life. I felt so adult and chic wearing my (knock-off) designer suits and high heels when I went in to work every morning. And out for a drink afterwards at the wine bar down the street.

Kat and I were sitting at a small table with some friends with whom I have since lost touch, sharing a bottle of chardonnay and some girl talk, when I caught Bryce’s eye from across the room. Of course I didn’t know who he was then. All I saw was a good-looking man with dark hair and a lean face, the hint of a smile around his mouth. I looked away, but I sat up a little straighter in my chair and flicked my hair, which was longer then, over my shoulder when I laughed at a joke that Kat made. Though I didn’t look back at him, I was aware of his eyes on me.

I was disappointed when he didn’t come over to speak to me, but not confident enough in myself to approach him. As we were preparing to leave, the waiter came to our table.

Your drinks are compliments of the gentleman at the table over there, he said, gesturing in Bryce’s direction. I glanced over at him and he gave me a small smile before turning his attention back to his companions.

Classy, Kat murmured as she looked in his direction and openly appraised him. Then she linked her elbow through mine and we left.

It wasn’t until a week later that I spoke to Bryce. It had been another long day at work and I was ready to blow off a little steam after having been stuck in front of my computer all day. I was meeting Kat at the wine bar again. She was trying to break into acting back then and had a small part in a play in an avant-garde theater nearby. She had hopes that it would move to Broadway and take her with it. I had my doubts but was grateful that at least the part didn’t require her to prance around nude (which I suspect she would have been happy to do).

Since I arrived first I grabbed us a table and sat there, bouncing my foot and looking around, trying to appear nonchalant — which isn’t necessarily easy to do sitting on your own in a barstool height chair, even sitting as close to the edge of the room as possible. I had always hated sitting in bars or restaurants on my own and wished I’d thought to bring a magazine.

Excuse me, Bryce said, coming up from behind me. May I join you?

I blinked at him, surprised to see him again. I hadn’t really given him much thought after we’d left the wine bar the week before. Seeing him up close, he was a little older than I had originally guessed but just as attractive. He had an aura of polish and sophistication that was unlike any of the men I had dated in the past. Actually, upon reflection, I guess he was the first adult man I had dated. College boys hardly counted.

Of course, I said. I didn’t have the opportunity to thank you for paying our tab the other night.

Bryce shrugged it off. It was my pleasure. Are you meeting someone tonight?

Yes, my friend should be here any time, I answered. Not wanting to put him off I hastily added, But she’s always late.

Would you like some company while you wait? he asked. My name is Bryce Barrington.

Aurora Rodgers, I answered, holding out my hand. Pleased to meet you.

Charmed, Bryce said, taking my hand.

It was Bryce who was charming. Kat ended up calling me to cancel — rehearsal had run long and the cast was going out for drinks afterwards. She wanted to tag along in the hopes that she’d bond with the director and the producer. Normally I would have been annoyed but that night I was grateful. Bryce was so witty and entertaining I didn’t want the interlude to end.

I was astonished and touched when later in the evening, after we’d consumed two bottles of wine and a couple of appetizers between us, Bryce admitted that he’d come to the wine bar every night since he’d first seen me, hoping to run into me again. He was good-looking, charming, and attentive. How could I resist?

Bryce didn’t give me much chance to resist. Once he’d made up his mind that he wanted me, he pursued me with such single-minded dedication no one could have resisted. Flowers, romantic dinners, thoughtful presents, weekends away. I was quite literally overwhelmed.

And the sex. How can I put this delicately? It was…astonishing. Eye opening. Bryce wasn’t my first lover and it wasn’t that he was so adventurous or athletic. It was just that no one had ever paid so much attention to what I enjoyed before. I had my first orgasm with Bryce. Is it any wonder I said yes when he proposed?

* * * * *

I hurry through the door of the restaurant. I’m a bit late and Bryce hates to be kept waiting. I hadn’t counted on it taking so long to buy a present though. Not only is it becoming increasingly difficult to think of something to buy a man who has such particular taste and so few needs, but it’s December and the stores are full of holiday shoppers.

I’d finally settled on an elegant gold watch. It’s an extravagant gift and he already has a watch that he picked out himself, but surely our tenth anniversary deserves to be commemorated in a special way? It’s a shame there hadn’t been time to have it engraved. I’ll have to take it back next week. At least it will be ready for our actual anniversary.

I slip off my coat and hand it to the coat check clerk. I run a hand lightly over my hair and smooth the skirt of the simple black dress I’d chosen to wear before walking past the maître d’ and scanning the room for Bryce. It’s still a little early for dinner so there aren’t many patrons yet. Bryce isn’t hard to spot.

May I help you, Madame? the maître d’ asks.

I smile at him. No, thank you. I see my husband now.

I have my purse tucked under one arm and carry the small gift bag in my hand as I make my way through the dimly-lit dining room to where Bryce is seated in a u-shaped, high-backed, secluded booth.

Hello, darling, I say as I reach his table and slide in across from him. Sorry I’m late. The traffic was terrible. Have you been waiting long?

Aurora? Bryce says, his brows creasing ever-so-slightly over his dark eyes. Oh — no. I haven’t been here long. He turns to the waiter who has materialized near the table. One vodka martini and one scotch — make the scotch a double, please.

I purse my lips and then smile. I would have preferred a glass of white wine, but Bryce always orders me a martini. He says it makes more of a statement than a glass of wine. It doesn’t matter. We can have wine with dinner.

I run my hands across the glossy top of the dark wood table and note the pools of light created by the elegant halogen fixtures that hang above each table on long cords. What wonderful ambiance this place has. Sleek and modern without that noisy, industrial feel so many places have these days. I was surprised when you suggested coming here. Though it has gotten some wonderful reviews.

My suggestion?

I reach out and squeeze his hand. I was so pleased to get your email earlier. Not that I’m complaining, but you so rarely surprise me this way these days. It’s been ages since we’ve been out to dinner together. You work too hard.

My email, Bryce says slowly, rubbing his temple. You got the email?

Yes, I laugh. And here I am — bearing gifts!

Gifts?

You weren’t the only one who remembered our anniversary, I answer. I pause and really look at him. Bryce? Is there something wrong? You look a little…strange.

Bryce pauses while the waiter sets our drinks in front of us. Then he takes a long drink before he leans forward and says, Aurora, there’s something that I need to explain —

So sorry I’m late, Bryce. I — oh.

I look up in surprise as Bryce’s personal assistant Audrey stops near our table. I almost don’t recognize her. I’ve only ever seen her wearing stylishly demure business suits at work. Tonight her strawberry blonde hair is swept up into an elegant twist and she’s wearing a red cashmere sweater with a short charcoal gray pleated wool skirt. High-heeled knee-high boots complete the outfit. A diamond tennis bracelet gleams on her wrist. Is she here to meet someone?

She looks away from me quickly. Bryce? I thought when we talked earlier you said — did I misunderstand?

I frown in confusion. Have I muddled things up? Is Audrey here to work? She carries neither a laptop nor a pad of paper. At the moment she doesn’t look like the personal assistant of a successful businessman. She looks fresh and young and beautiful. My confusion grows when Bryce slides over to make a space for Audrey on his side of the booth.

Audrey, please sit down, Bryce says, taking her hand and pulling her down next to him. As I was saying to Aurora, there’s been a bit of confusion this evening.

I don’t understand what’s going on, Bryce, I say with a nervous laugh, my heart suddenly in my throat. Why is Audrey here? Have I interrupted some sort of business meeting?

Bryce sighs heavily and picks up his glass. It’s already empty so he catches the waiter’s eye and shakes it to signal that he needs another. This isn’t the way I wanted to do this.

Do what, Bryce? Looking at the two of them, sitting so close, twin looks of discomfort on their faces, a feeling of dread creeps into my heart. In spite of all the obvious signs, I am still hoping there is an innocent explanation to all of this.

Aurora, I never intended to hurt you, but…

But what, Bryce? What are you trying to say? My drink sits untouched, a film of condensation forming on the cold glass, my hands clench the edge of the table.

There’s no easy way to say this. I’ve fallen in love with Audrey, Bryce says. The email you got today was a mistake. It was supposed to go to Audrey. I was in hurry when I sent it. The auto-complete in my email address book…your names…are similar.

I look from Bryce to Audrey and back again. I’m stunned. I can hardly get my mind around what he is telling me. What? You and Audrey? How long has this been going on? When were you going to tell me? If I hadn’t come tonight would you ever have told me?

The details aren’t important, Bryce says.

They’re important to me! I say, my voice rising in agitation.

Please, Aurora, let’s not make this any more unpleasant than it has to be, Bryce says, lowering his voice and looking around.

Unpleasant? I repeat, astonished. "Is that what this is? Unpleasant?"

I want a divorce, Bryce continues, seemingly immune to my growing distress. He takes Audrey’s hand. I’m sorry to have made this awkward for everyone. I didn’t intend to tell you this way. I didn’t want to ruin the holidays for you.

How considerate of you, I return. Much better to wait until the new year. But wait, what about Valentine’s Day? Or my birthday? Why not wait until after that? There are a whole slew of holidays you haven’t taken into consideration.

Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Aurora, Bryce replies, refusing to rise to my bait. I’ll stay at Audrey’s tonight and come by the house sometime tomorrow to pack.

Audrey tilts her head and gives me a sympathetic smile. A dimple dents one of her smooth, adulterous cheeks. I’m really sorry. I just couldn’t help myself.

I sit still, dumbfounded, for a long moment. I have been the wife, the other half of a couple, and in a moment I am the outsider. Bryce looks the same with his dark good looks, a touch of gray beginning to show at his temples, but now it is Audrey hugging his Armani-clad arm.

I look away and swallow the lump in my throat. I pick up the gift bag and my purse and