“When there are kindnesses, if I can call them that, they are much more like boxes he is checking off so he can prove how kind he is. No spontaneous expression of affection, just another tool in his arsenal of self-stroking. - Felicity’s Journal, March 3

I appreciate your concern, but I assure you that I am fine. A conflict has come up on my schedule, and I’m not really sure when I will be able to make it back. Tell everyone hello for me, and if you email me the name of the new book, I will read it in hopes that my schedule will change. - Felicity’s email to the Paradise Valley Women’s Book Club, March 7

March 11

“We have to be there in 30 minutes, and it’s halfway across town.”

Brendon strode into the bedroom, his hair slicked and parted to almost plastic proportions. Not that anyone would complain. First of all, no one would dare, and secondly, he managed to make the look work. His navy suit with subtle pinstripes, the earthy scent of his cologne, the infallible smile. Even Felicity - even with all of his judgments and criticisms against her - still found him charming.

As if in answer to her thoughts, Brendon wrapped his arm around her waist, trailing his lips down the back of her neck. He knew exactly the effect on her, and she blew out a slow breath.

“We’re not going to get there tonight if you keep that up,” she squirmed, turning around to face him. He lowered his lips to hers, vising the back of her head so that she couldn’t pull away. “Hmmm…” she complained weakly, and she felt the corner of his mouth raise. A moment later, the cool air where he had stood left her with a chill.

“Well, I’m not going to let you blame me for that,” he grinned. “Let’s go.”

Slipping on her right heel, she grabbed her handbag and followed him to the car.

“We’ll be back around one,” Felicity called to the nanny who had followed them to the door.

“Bueno!” the petite woman replied in her native Spanish, and Felicity felt a small pleasure at the freedom as she walked out into the night air. Brendon might be a selfish bastard most of the time, but he believed in spending his money on fancy things. Fortunately for Felicity, this fancy thing came in the form of a nanny, at least for the past few weeks. Despite the stress that Brendon’s hurry pressed on her, Felicity broke into a smile as she turned back from the door.

“Are you excited?” Brendon smirked as he pulled her down into the limo, completely misinterpreting her excitement. If he didn’t know her better than that after 15 years of relationship, he would never know her.

“Right,” she quipped. “Always up for a party!”

“Me, too,” Brendon murmured, leaning over her and running his hands down her arms and toward her hemline.

“I know you ride in a limo several times a month, and the details fade together, but I can’t block out the fact that there is a man sitting a few feet in front of us who can see everything we do back here.”

Brendon chuckled, lowering his lips to her neck. “He is well paid to notice nothing and forget everything.”

Even though his lips were hot, a shiver ran up Felicity’s spine, and she recognized that it had nothing to do with his touch.

“I can’t, Brendon,” she insisted, struggling out of his arms into a spot a safer distance away. “Not when we’re going to a party. You know how these things stress me out.”

“God, Felicity. Don’t be a child. This party is for my job, and that job pays for your nanny and your car and your clothes. You might learn a little gratitude.”

As if I spend money on clothes, or anything else for myself, Felicity complained internally. Not that she denied herself from any great sense of martyrdom, but she genuinely was a simple woman who liked simple things – she didn’t need to buy fancy toys. No, she just resented the implication by Brendon that she indulged herself at his expense. Then again, Brendon tended to use whatever half-truth he could utilize to accomplish his purpose, and in this case, he wanted to make sure Felicity behaved at his oh-so-important party. Message received.

Before he could delve too deeply into her faults and shortcomings, the car slowed into a long, curved driveway, and Brendon sat up straighter, a part in his routine of what Felicity called “getting his game face on.”

She hadn’t meant to reject him – she hated how he treated her when she rejected him. He just seemed to have no sense of propriety in general and of what made her feel uncomfortable, specifically. If he had known anything about her – had cared anything about her – he would have known she couldn’t play around with an audience.

As if in response to her thoughts, Brendon pulled her out of the car and into a very public kiss, lighted by the ambient glow cast by the high-rise and its nightlights. The limo pulled away, and Felicity suddenly stood completely exposed except for the circle of Brendon’s arms. Of course, he knew she would do the only thing she could – cling to him. His image was established, his dominance visualized to the stream of swankily dressed visitors entering the building. Felicity grabbed his hand, letting him drag her through the massive front doors, past the muted gold and grey of the lobby, and into a crowded elevator. Hiding in the corner, Felicity stared from behind Brendon’s back at the charmed visages of her fellow riders as Brendon managed the miniature venue.

A few minutes later, the doors slid open into a much grander space. Black and white and tan scattered atop an industrial cement floor, where the varying hues of the women’s dresses provided the only splashes of color. She could feel the beat in her legs before she heard the music, and she sucked in a fortifying breath as she stepped directly from the elevator into the posh haunt. Felicity glanced around at the myriad faces, recognizing only a few: David Farnham, VP from New York; Carol Minder, VP from Minneapolis; Amy Mercier, Brendon’s assistant; Dan Dominic, CFO. Not one friendly face. Then one particularly unfriendly: Jenna Whitfield, operations manager for Brendon’s company.

“Felicity,” the gravel voice scratched across the air like nails on a chalkboard. Brendon immediately abandoned her.

Why, God? Felicity lamented. Why did she have to notice me when I need to be good?

One thing Felicity never managed was pretense, and the thoughts she had in response to Jenna Whitfield’s snarky drivel were rarely acceptable for polite company. Still, Felicity plastered on her best smile before turning and forcing herself not to glare. For just a moment, Felicity found glib satisfaction in her feat. Then Jenna spoke again.

“Oh, Felicity. I’m glad you’re hear. My friends and I are deep in the most controversial discussion.”

“Jenna,” Felicity drawled, barely keeping the bite out of her tone. Like Jenna and the universe are colluding against me, Felicity complained. “Do tell,” was all she said aloud.

“None of us has really lived a life…like yours, and so we hated to speculate and just quote what all the ‘experts’ say. What a coincident that an ‘expert’ happened by just when we needed one!”

“Um, expert?”

“Someone who has stayed home to raise children. Never held a career – I just can’t imagine! What is it like not to have a life of your own?”

Felicity paused, trying not to let her mouth fall open.

“What I mean is,” Jenna continued, “you have done nothing but raise children for a decade. Do you lose yourself without a life? How do you bear it?”

That’s me – zombie mom… Felicity bristled at the stupid and demeaning question. Still, there was enough half-truth in it that Felicity couldn’t formulate a ready response. Instead, she fell to her natural state: sarcasm. If the foreign tongue intimidated Jenna, all the better. “Quel dommage!” Felicity crooned. “Mieux vaut être seul que mal accompagné.” Better alone than in bad company…

Someone behind Jenna bubbled a laugh, and Felicity cursed as she recognized Brendon’s assistant. Did she speak French?

“I’m sorry?” Jenna looked truly perplexed, and Felicity felt a moment of pleasure before her mind reminded her that she had to be polite.

Damn. “Í’m sorry,” Felicity struggled. “I fell into French.”

“I guess Brendon likes French girls,” one of the women murmured from behind Jenna, and Felicity fell completely silent. For a moment, Felicity had reveled in flustering Jenna, but the statement of the other woman implied something Felicity would not have believed. What could it mean?

Even Jenna seemed startled for a second, but the catty woman recovered quickly. “What I meant was, motherhood can be so…oppressive. I’ve never met a woman who stayed home with her children who didn’t lack some – I don’t know, mental acuity.”

“You mean being a bitch,” came a deep voice from behind Felicity, and a guffaw burst from her mouth. When she turned, her heart stopped. Who was this man who had come to her rescue? Who looked like he looked? Who smelled as amazing as he smelled? She shook herself.

“I’m sure she didn’t mean that,” Felicity smirked, uncomfortable but amused.

Jenna’s smile beamed at the man behind Felicity, completely ignoring Felicity’s words.

“Jase Hamilton,” Jenna purred, gliding like a dancer through the space between her and her target. Without hesitation, he stepped back, creating a triangle with Felicity rather than the tete-a-tete Jenna had obviously intended.

“I assure you,” Jase smiled warmly at Felicity. “Jenna isn’t offended. That’s impossible.”

For a moment, Jenna’s own grin resembled a shark, but the experienced politician reigned in her irritation almost immediately. “Of course, I’m offended,” Jenna corrected, not sounding remotely sincere.

“You mean you have offended,” Jase countered, placing his hand on Felicity’s back. Her breath hitched, and she glanced in shock to see if anyone had noticed. Certainly, Jenna had. Jenna Whitfield leered at the hand on Felicity’s back as if it were a morsel to consume.

Felicity stepped away from the hand, suddenly glancing around to find Brendon. To her relief, Brendon was ensconced with a group of C-level executives from three different divisions, too busy entertaining them to bother noticing Felicity. For once, she was glad to be overlooked.

With a sigh, Felicity turned to smile both at her rescuer and at Jenna, determined to escape. “I’m sure Jenna didn’t mean anything by it. But to tell the truth, I don’t really have anything to add to the conversation. I mean, I have a life that I love.” And a life I don’t. “I hope you’ll excuse me,” she coughed gently. “I need a drink of water.”

“I’ll show you the way,” Jase began, but Felicity cut him off.

“No, I’m okay. Thanks.” With a slight genuflection, she squeezed between two very tall gentlemen who stood with their backs to one another in separate conversations – the move scraped off any intended pursuer. Breathing deeply, she made her way to the refreshment table, turning back to look for Brendon once she had filled a glass. After the strange encounter with Jase, Felicity felt an unusual urge to reconnect with her husband, a need to fill the cold left where Jase’s hand had rested on her back.

Not that she would go talk to Brendon. He had made his entrance with her, but he would spend the rest of the night playing politics. As if to underscore his importance, his assistant walked up to him and nodded imperiously at the roaring fireplace. A moment later, Brendon disappeared around the back side of the double-sided brick structure, and Felicity huffed in irritation, making her way to where she had last seen him.

Felicity heard the voice before she saw its owner, and it reined her up short. Bill Henry, the Chairman and CEO of her husband’s company, ProtoComm, spoke to someone in elevated tones. Once she rounded the corner, she realized the target was her husband.

“I’m not going to let this blow up in my face,” Bill reprimanded. “This is far outside our SOP.”

Brendon stood erect, his body strung tight as if in anticipation of a fight.

“You realize,” Bill continued, “that I have gone out on a limb for you. I have toyed with this idea because you are valuable. This is a little more than I ever intended, though.”

“Just...I’ll take care of everything,” Brendon urged. “You just provide the infrastructure.”

“Bill,” a faintly accented female voice soothed. Felicity realized that the woman stood situated just in front of Brendon, facing Bill. Most of the woman’s form was blocked by the larger men, but Felicity could clearly hear the voice. “You know Brendon can do anything he decides to.”

Tell us what you really think, Felicity seethed, and her mind wandered back to the statement by Jenna’s friend. Did this woman have some deep-seated need to defend Brendon? Felicity reined in her imagination and stood in indecision. Did she walk away, which might draw attention to herself? Or did she stay still and risk eavesdropping.

Bill leaned in to rivet Brendon with his gaze, ignoring the woman's reassurances. “Just know that there will be repercussions,” he leveled. “If this comes back on us, we will throw you to the dogs.”

At that moment, Bill glanced up and saw Felicity. He raised his eyebrows at Brendon who followed his boss’s gaze to Felicity’s confused countenance. Shock and something like anxiety flashed over his face, but he immediately replaced it with an angry glare. His own face eerily reflected that of his boss, and Felicity quickly dropped her eyes to the ground.

Maybe she shouldn't have listened to their conversation, but Brendon at least should have feigned some pleasure at seeing her – for appearances’ sake. Instead, his expression screamed, “Not your business.” Felicity felt her breath speed, but she didn’t know if it was from embarrassment or anger.

Isn’t your life supposed to be my business? she scoffed bitterly.

Yet he had looked as if he wanted to throttle her. Did he think she was five years old? She knew better than to interrupt a discussion between him and his boss, and she knew better than to try to judge the content of a conversation she knew nothing about. Of course, it would have been nice if Brendan had seen her and had instinctively read her distress – rather than creating more. But Brendon was in some ways slave to his impulses, even with all his superior reasoning ability, and his fear of displeasing his boss would suppress any weak natural instincts toward her.

And it wasn't like she could tell him why she wanted to be with him, couldn't even hint about Jase. Whether he overreacted or didn't care, Brendon's response could hardly be pleasant for Felicity.

Felicity knew she had done nothing wrong with Jase Hamilton, but she had felt something wrong. His imposition should have upset her, but something in his protectiveness endeared him to her. Since when had anyone felt the need to protect her?

Apparently not Brendon.

In the beginning of their relationship, Brendon had seemed so compassionate, sharing her irritation with all the little quirks of her family – the greatest source of her stress in life. Felicity had mistaken annoyance for understanding or empathy or protectiveness. No, it hadn’t been empathy. Instead, it had been Brendan’s innate need to purge the world of stupidity. He had shared her frustrations, but not carried them.

Annoyed and confused, Felicity stalked away, her mind whirling. In only fifteen minutes, her night had devolved to depths even her general loathing for social occasions could not have predicted. Desperate for distraction, she headed back to the refreshment table, threw a few cheese cubes and grapes on a plate, and snuggled up to a window to stare down at the toy lights and cars several stories below. Life was simple from so high. Maybe that’s why God doesn’t seem to get how hard things really are from the ground level.

As she gazed forlornly out the window, a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts. Jase, she realized. She glanced covertly, almost eagerly, toward him only to discover his eyes directed toward her. Why had he looked – why did he look – protective when he stared at her? It was odd, and exhilarating. Her heart thudded in her chest. Trying not to appear self-conscious, Felicity smiled indifferently at him and turned away. He had definitely been staring at her. Why would he do that? Maybe he just had a thing for married women. Felicity tried unsuccessfully to calm herself with the thought, dismissing him, but her mind didn't believe it.

For one, nothing about the man spoke lowlife, from his disarming authenticity to his ready wit. Too, Jenna would not have pursued someone unworthy of attention; she was too ambitious. Of course, Jenna would admire power in any of its forms, and while Felicity could not discern the nature of that power, Jase definitely held power. He expected recognition, he demanded respect, but on what basis? A man could more easily wield power for self-interests than for a more noble cause, and Felicity tried to keep that in mind as her thoughts pulled her repeatedly to Jase Hamilton.

In the reflection of the glass, Felicity could make out his form, so consequential and impressive compared to those around him. Broad-shouldered, tall, a confident stance, attentive expression. Jase had deep chestnut eyes, she had noted, almost black in their depth, and his hair, also a near-ebony brown, waved gently across his forehead. He wore no facial hair, but one could tell that he had trouble keeping an afternoon shadow from breaking out on his chin. A perpetual smile adorned his face: not the artificial smile of a charlatan, but an amused vitality that spoke internal contentment and wit. Strangely, inexplicably, his eyes met hers in the glass, and she turned her gaze to the floor at her feet. No, Jase needed not settle. Jase could have had any woman he wanted. Yet, he continued to stare at Felicity. She forcibly turned away from Jase’s gaze, once again hoping to find Brendon.

Instead, she felt Jase’s presence before she saw him.

“I’m sorry Jenna scared you away,” Jase intoned, leaning an elbow casually against the window ledge beside her. The motion hemmed Felicity into a corner, and she felt the window behind her when she stepped back. His characteristic smirk stood firmly in place on his dark face, and as she stared up at him, she couldn't imagine how he had moved so close to her without her noticing. Though she tried to maintain her composure, her normal casual stance brought her face too close to his.

Flustered, she glanced nervously at the ground, and she felt him move even closer. Felicity's heart fluttered like a trapped bird as her heels scraped the mirrored glass behind her.

“I wasn't scared off,” she feigned bravado, but her voice quivered infinitesimally. “I've known Jenna too long to be scared by her. I just wasn't enjoying the conversation and wanted a drink.” With the words, Felicity inched toward the nearby table and its colorful display of beverages. She prayed that she could gain some breathing room.

“Was it Aimée that sent you running then?” he wondered, keeping step with her.

“Amy?” Felicity queried, turning to glance sideways toward him as she set her plate down and grabbed a cup. She took a sip as she waited for the explanation.

“The young redhead who was talking to Jenna when you came up. Have you not met Brendon’s assistant?” Jase crooned, as if the words were beautiful instead of slightly terrifying. Still, he seemed to wear an expression that confused Felicity. Like pity and longing melded into one thought.

It made Felicity want to cry. The sentiment didn’t last long.

“Aimée has proven quite indispensable to your husband over the past year,” Jase explained. “Really longer than that, though she didn't formally work for him last year. She's just a really competent, intelligent woman.”

Felicity tried not to read too much into the word “indispensable,” but Jase seemed intentionally to infuse the word with meaning. Unfortunately, the contrast with Brendon's opinion of Felicity herself could not be missed. Competent, indispensable, intelligent Amy. Forgetful, forgettable, brain-dead Felicity. Even Jenna had seen it.

I trust Brendon, she reassured herself.

Of course, Brendon wasn’t the only one who mattered. Felicity thought of Amy: not particularly beautiful, but kind of a plain pleasantness. Even more, Felicity thought of how Amy looked at Brendon, with undisguised admiration. Of course, lots of people gave Brendon that look. But those people didn't travel with Brendon; they didn't follow him around and see to his every whim; they didn't gush constantly about Brendon's brilliance. “It wasn’t Amy,” Felicity insisted, a bit harsher than she intended.

Smirking, Jase seemed to take in her intensity. “Well, if it wasn’t Aimée, maybe you were just trying to escape me...”

“Oh, no,” she replied guiltily, turning to face him. “I wasn't trying to get away from you.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. She had meant only to undo any incivility she had communicated to him. Once she had said them, though, the glimmer that returned to his eye told her that she had somehow offered him encouragement.

His warmth should have repulsed her. If she valued her marriage, she should have despised him for his audacity, but she instead found it irresistible. Especially playing on the insecurity brought on by her thoughts of Amy. Drawn to his attentiveness, Felicity peered up into Jase’s eyes. They pierced through her for a moment before relaxing and glancing over her shoulder.

The voice knifed through the air, punching Felicity in the gut and sending her reeling. A second later, Brendon's form forced itself into the narrow space between Jase and her.

“Felicity,” Brendon commanded, though he looked only at Jase. Her husband quickly placed his arm around Felicity’s shoulders, rather more possessive than affectionate, and said, “You have to go, Sweetheart.”

Felicity felt herself torn between fury and guilt, trying to ignore her new insecurities about Brendon while holding herself fully accountable for her own weakness.

Turning quickly to Jase, Brendon pressed Felicity behind himself. “Good evening, Jase,” he proclaimed in a terse, powerful tone. A dismissal, not a greeting.

“Brendon,” Jase replied with equally pained restraint.

“Briel has a family emergency,” Brendon claimed as he pushed Felicity to the door. And of course, you’ll be staying for the party, she silently chastised. As Brendon led Felicity from the room, his arm firmly encircling her waist, Felicity seethed with a confusing mix of anger and regret. Any suspicions Brendon had were at least somewhat justified, she knew, but somehow it riled her to know that Brendon trusted her so little. Maybe a guilty conscience, she accused herself. Too, he could easily have picked a less confrontational method to deal with the situation, one that didn't humiliate Felicity quite so completely. Then again, she realized, maybe his jealousy proves that he cares enough to interfere.

“I guess I can't take you anywhere,” he murmured.

Or maybe not. His words sounded like teasing, but his tone and his expression belied Brendan’s true opinion. Felicity had embarrassed him. Again.

She tried to suppress the thought, to feel gratitude for Brendon's attentive concern. She couldn't quite manage it, though. Not this time.

On the heels of Brendon's judgment, somewhere in the back of her mind, a seed had taken root - one that terrified Felicity, if she were honest with herself. It told Felicity that she had a choice. Just because Brendon couldn't appreciate her qualities, someone else might. Even as the thought bubbled from the ugly depths of her heart, Felicity suppressed it. If every married woman listened to her own dissatisfaction – if she compared her husband to other men – no one would stay married for long. What if there really was a problem, though? What if her discontent revealed a deeper crack in the structure of the foundation? Felicity did not know how to determine the truth. And above all, she was the queen of maintaining the status quo. An ironic skill, she knew, for someone who had always prided herself in her defiance.

As Brendon led Felicity to the car, she blinked away the tears that might have exposed her new struggle to her husband. She would have to figure out what to do with her brewing uneasiness because it promised a storm inside her that she had never thought possible.