The Millionaire Claims His Wife

That was what he’d thought, but reality was another thing entirely.

He hadn’t counted on what it would be like to stand at the altar, with Annie standing beside him looking impossibly young and—what was the point in denying it—impossibly beautiful in a dress of palest green. Her hair had been the wild cluster of silky strawberry curls she’d always hated and he’d always loved, and her nose had been suspiciously pink. She’d sniffled and wept her way through the ceremony. Well, hell, his throat had been pretty tight there, once or twice. In fact, when the minister had gone through all that nonsense about speaking up or forever holding your peace, he’d been tempted to put an arm around her and tell her it was okay, they weren’t losing a daughter, they were gaining a son.

Except that it would have been a lie. They were losing a daughter, and it was all Annie’s fault.

By the time they’d been stuck together at the head of the receiving line as if they were a pair of Siamese twins, he’d felt about as surly as a lion with a thorn in its paw.

“Smile, you two,” Dawn had hissed, and they’d obeyed, though Annie’s smile had been as phony-looking as his felt.

At least they’d traveled to the Stratham Inn in separate cars—except that once they’d gotten there, they’d had to take seats beside each other at the table on the dais.

Chase felt as if his smile was frozen on his face. It must have looked that way, too, from the way Dawn lifted her eyebrows when she looked at him.

Okay, Cooper, he told himself. Pull it together. You know how to make small talk with strangers. Surely you can manage a conversation with your ex-wife.

He looked at Annie and cleared his throat. “So,” he said briskly, “how’ve you been?”

Annie turned her head and looked at him. “I’m sorry,” she said politely, “I didn’t quite get that. Were you talking to me?”

Chase’s eyes narrowed. Who else would he have been talking to? The waiter, leaning over to pour his champagne?

Keep your cool, he told himself, and bared his teeth in a smile.

“I asked how you’ve been.”

“Very well, thank you. And you?”

Very well, thank you... What was with this prissy tone?

“Oh, I can’t complain.” He forced another smile, and waited for Annie to pick up the ball. She didn’t, so he plunged into the conversational waters again. “Matter of fact, I don’t know if Dawn mentioned it, but we just landed a big contract.”

“We?” she said, in a tone that could have given chilblains to an Eskimo.

“Well, Cooper Construction. We bid on this job in—”

“How nice,” she said, and turned away.

Chase felt his blood pressure shoot off the scale. So much for his attempt at being polite. Annie was not just cutting him dead, she was icing the corpse, craning her neck, looking everywhere but at him.

Suddenly a smile, a real one, curved across her mouth.

“Yoo hoo,” she called softly.

Yoo hoo? Yoo hoo?

“Hi, there,” she mouthed, and waved, and damned if some Bozo the Clown at a nearby table didn’t wave back.

“Who is that jerk?” Chase said before he could stop himself.

Annie didn’t even look at him. She was too busy looking at the jerk, and smiling.

“That ‘jerk,’” she said, “is Milton Hoffman. He’s an English professor at the university.”

Chase watched as the professor rose to his feet and threaded through the tables toward the dais. The guy was tall, and thin; he was wearing a shiny blue serge suit and he had on a bow tie. He looked more like a cadaver than a professor.

He had a smile on his face, too, as he approached Annie, and it was the smile, more than anything, that suddenly put a red film over Chase’s eyes.

“Anne,” Hoffman said. “Anne, my dear.” Annie held out her hand. Hoffman clasped it in a pasty, marshmallow paw and raised it to his lips. “It was a beautiful ceremony.”

“Thank you, Milton.”

“The flowers were perfect.”

“Thank you, Milton.”

“The music, the decorations...all wonderful.”

“Thank you, Milton.”

“And you look exquisite.”

“Thank you, Milton,” Chase said.

Annie and the Prof both swung their heads toward him. Chase smiled, showing all his teeth.

“She does, doesn’t she?” he said. “Look great, I mean.”

Annie looked at him, her eyes flaming a warning, but Chase ignored it. He leaned toward her and hooked an arm around her shoulders.

“Love that low-cut neckline, especially, babe, but then, you know how it is.” He shot Hoffman a leering grin. “Some guys are leg men, right, Milty? But me, I was always a—”