Page 52 of The Last Mrs. Parrish

“You really think so?”

“Do you want to lose him?”

“Of course not.”

“Then, yes, get your tail in there and show her who’s really boss. I’ll make sure to keep him occupied while you do, so he doesn’t find out.”

Daphne took a deep breath. “Maybe you’re right.”

Amber smiled. It was perfect—Daphne would embarrass him at his office, which would make him livid. “I’ll be behind you all the way.”

Thirty-One

It was becoming more difficult to keep Gregg out of her bed. Not that she would have minded taking him for a spin—he was a decent enough kisser, and she could tell he was more than willing to please her. But she couldn’t risk it. When she got pregnant, it would be with Jackson’s kid, not Gregg’s. Besides, as soon as her position with Jackson was assured, she’d be kicking Gregg to the curb. All she had to do until then was what she’d learned best in high school. Pushing herself up off her knees, she brushed his stomach with her lips, then kissed him on the lips before going into the bathroom to wash her mouth out. He was still standing there, a dazed look on his face, pants around his ankles.

He gave her a sheepish look and pulled his trousers up. “Sorry. You’re really out of this world, baby.” He pulled her to him, and she had to resist the urge to squirm out of his arms. “When are you going to be ready to make love? I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

“I know, me too. My doctor said I need to wait another six weeks. Then everything will be healed up. It’s killing me too.” He was getting impatient, and she’d had to make up a new excuse. She told a lame story about having some cysts removed that necessitated holding off on intercourse. When she’d started to get graphic, he’d put his hands up and told her to stop, that he didn’t need to know the details.

“Better get dressed, we’ll be late for the play if we don’t start dinner soon,” she said sweetly.Snap out of it, she wanted to say. They had come into New York to seeFiddler on the Roofand were spending the night at his parents’ apartment across from Central Park. Amber had wanted to seeBook of Mormon, but when she’d mentioned it, Gregg had said he wasn’t interested in seeing a religious play.

She’d stupidly agreed to prepare dinner for them before the show—packaged grilled chicken over minute rice and a green salad. Now she was rummaging through cabinets for pots, bowls, and utensils when she felt Gregg bump into her from behind. She turned around and stared at him.

“Oh, sorry,” he said. “I was trying to help you find things.”

“I’ve found everything I need,” she answered curtly.

As Amber turned on the faucet to fill the pot, Gregg’s arm reached out in front of her.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m trying to help you. I was going to take the pot from you and put it on the stove.”

“I think I can handle that,” she said, walking to the stove, but Gregg ran ahead of her to turn the burner on, and they collided. The pot bobbled in Amber’s hand, and water flew everywhere, soaking the front of Amber’s dress.

“Oh my gosh. Are you okay?” Gregg said, grabbing a tea towel and pressing it against Amber’s dress.

Are you a flipping moron?she almost yelled, but instead smiled thinly and said, “I’m fine. How about you go sit down, and I’ll finish in here?”

They arrived at the Broadway Theatre in plenty of time, and he went to the bar to get them each a drink. Amber looked around at the magnificent theater while she waited, admiring the grand chandelier in the opulent lobby of red and gold. Gregg returned with their drinks, two glasses of white wine, even though she’d repeatedly told him she preferred red. Did the moron ever listen?

“I think you’ll be pleased with the seats. Front-row orchestra,” he said, brandishing the tickets with a flourish.

“Great. A front-row seat to all that singing.” Amber had seen the movie, and she didn’t really get what all the fuss was about.Fiddlerwas old news as far as she was concerned. These were his parents’ tickets, and apparently even they weren’t interested in going.

“Have you seen it before?” she asked.

He nodded. “Seven times. It’s my favorite play. I just love the music.”

“Wow, seven times. That must be a record,” Amber said, looking distractedly around the lobby.

Gregg stood up straighter and said with pride, “My family are quite the theater aficionados. Dad buys tickets to all the best shows.”

“How nice for you.”

“Yes, it is. He’s a great man.”

“And what about you?” Amber asked without much interest.

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