Janet smoothed her hair in an almost defensive gesture. “None, but we’ve heard of the wild parties and loose women.”
Marilyn’s burst of laughter startled even herself. “My husband’s not the stereotypical celebrity. Just like every other demographic in society, some athletes party a lot and some don’t. My husband prefers quiet nights at home—with me.”
Dionne angled her chin. Her gray eyes were troubled. “It was widely reported that Rick Evans was in a Cleveland bar the night before one of the team’s games.”
Widely reported? “Actually, it appeared in one online gossip blog and the writer had an ax to grind against the Monarchs.” Warrick’s words rang nicely—probably because they were true.
Janet waved her hand dismissively. “In any event, we don’t want those rumors reflecting badly on our business interests. We don’t think you’d want that, either.”
No, she didn’t. But what were they suggesting? “What would you recommend I do?”
Dionne leaned forward. “Talk with him. Tell him he has to be aware of how his behavior affects your career.”
Janet commanded her gaze. “We’re looking at two other candidates. You’re well regarded professionally. Our only concern is your husband’s reputation.”
Marilyn suppressed her irritation. She looked from Janet to Dionne. “I’ll speak with him. I’m certain we won’t have any cause for concern.”
That’s because Warrick’s reputation was just as impeccable as the clinic’s partners’, perhaps more.
“We hope so. We’d like you to be part of our team.” Janet’s expression was more avaricious than welcoming.
“I’d like that, too.” Marilyn finished her coffee.
The clinic partnership was another part of her plan to build an identity separate from her larger-than-life parents. But the look in Janet’s eyes made her wonder if she could ever put enough distance between herself and her parents.
“The clinic partnership may not work out.” Marilyn curled up on the rose-colored love seat in the living room of Emma’s condo. Her friend had a penchant for pastels and fluffy furniture.
Emma Mane lowered herself to the matching armchair. Her honey blond hair swept over her left shoulder as she turned toward Marilyn on her right. “What happened? Did they reject your application?”
“No. They said they were impressed with my résumé and my background. They’d checked my credit, which is good. But they seemed more interested in my parents than me.”
Marilyn had changed into her baggy red cotton shorts and Warrick’s silver Monarchs T-shirt. The comfortable outfit usually helped her relax after a long, stressful day at the hospital. But tonight, she couldn’t settle her thoughts.
Emma crossed her legs. Her lemon capris exposed her lower calves and ankles. “Well, your parents are very well known in philanthropic circles. I’m sure your prospective partners have at least considered approaching them for a donation.”
Resentment soured Marilyn stomach. “That’s an irresponsible reason to invite someone to become a partner of a clinic.”
Emma shrugged her thin shoulders beneath her bright white T-shirt. “Maybe. But it’s a strategic move that immediately gets them closer to your parents’ purse.”
Marilyn drummed her fingers against the love seat’s padded arm. “I can’t guarantee that my parents will invest in the clinic. Besides, they’re in northern California. There are plenty of philanthropists in New York.”
“But none of them are your parents.” Emma sounded drained from her hospital duty hours. As a pediatric doctor, she often treated injuries children should never experience.
Marilyn uncurled her legs from the cushions and folded her arms. “Janet and Dionne are going to take a risk on
me
to get to my
parents
. I don’t know who should be more insulted, me or my parents.”
She wanted her own practice so she could be her own boss and set her own hours. More importantly, she wanted to go into private practice so she could provide continuity of care to her patients. Marilyn had no interest in mooching off her parents’ achievements.
“It’s just business, Mary.”
“They’re also concerned about Rick.”
“Why?” Emma dragged her fingers through her wavy blond hair.
A spark of temper shot into Marilyn’s gut at the memory of the partners’ accusations. “They said his lifestyle wouldn’t reflect well on their practice. They implied Rick was a partier and a womanizer. He’s neither.”
Emma straightened. A pensive expression settled over her sharp features. “What makes them think he is?”
Marilyn crossed her legs. She tapped her bare right foot to the staccato beat pounding at her temples. “They read about the night he and the other players went looking for Barron Douglas in that Cleveland bar.”
Why had the team’s captain gone bar hopping the night before a game anyway?
“Rick should have known how it would look for him to be in a bar.” Emma’s gaze dropped to Marilyn’s Monarchs T-shirt before lifting again to her eyes. “He should have thought about how his actions would affect you, personally and professionally.”
“He was trying to help a teammate. You’d do the same thing for me, wouldn’t you?”
Emma shrugged. “Of course. We’re friends.”
“The players care about each other.”
Emma shook her head. “You’re Rick’s wife. His first loyalty should be to you.”
“I don’t blame Rick for looking for Barron.”
Emma’s gaze bore into Marilyn’s. “Then why are you here?”
The question almost stole her breath. “Because the media is all over Rick now that the Monarchs are winning. That kind of constant public scrutiny wasn’t part of my life plan.”
Emma smiled. “Ah, your famous plan.”
Marilyn shrugged. “You laugh, but I put a lot of thought and hard work into that plan. I moved across the country to escape my parents’ celebrity and just as I begin to develop my own identity, I get caught up in the media storm of my husband’s celebrity.”
Emma spread her arms. “I’d be frustrated, too. It makes it harder that Rick doesn’t understand what he’s putting you through.”
Marilyn wished he did. She uncrossed her arms. “I’m returning home Wednesday.”
Emma’s green eyes darkened with concern. “Did I say something to upset you?”
“No.” Marilyn’s knees were unsteady as she stood. Her bare feet sank into the plush pink carpeting. “Rick leaves for Miami in two days for the Monarchs’ first game against the Waves. He and I agreed that I’d move back home while he’s away.”
Emma stood, too. “You don’t have to leave. You can stay as long as you’d like.”
Marilyn shook her head. “Thank you for the offer, but I don’t want to impose on you any longer. Besides, I want my own things around me.”
“You’re not an imposition. We’ve been friends since college. Just remember I’m only a phone call away. We can still talk whenever you need to.”
“Thanks. I just need to think things through.” Marilyn started toward the bedroom, but Emma’s voice stopped her.
“Mary, it’s fine to be supportive of Rick’s career. But don’t forget your own.”
Marilyn’s smile felt stiff. “Good night.”
“Good night.” Emma’s wishes followed Marilyn into the nearby guest bedroom.
Marilyn leaned against the closed door and exhaled.
It’s fine to be supportive of Rick’s career, but don’t forget your own.
She crossed the thick carpet to stand beside the bed. Marilyn pulled Rick’s jersey over her head and held the material to her nose. It didn’t carry his scent, soap, and sandalwood, anymore.
She and Warrick supported each other’s careers to the best of their abilities. She’d missed so many of his games when her patients went into labor. But he attended as many hospital functions as his schedule would allow. And he was a generous donor to their causes. She smiled, recalling the way his wicked banter kept her from being bored out of her mind during those forced-fun events.
But what about now? Could she adjust her life plan to this unexpected development in her marriage? Should she?
3
Warrick’s pulse kicked when he heard the key turn in the front door Tuesday evening. He stepped into the hallway as Marilyn entered. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.” He’d been sure she’d wait until he was out of the state before moving back into their home.
Marilyn hesitated, then pulled her key from the lock and secured the door. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“You’re not interrupting anything. This is your home, too.” How many times would he have to remind her before it sunk in? “How did your meeting with the clinic partners go yesterday?”
She set her suitcase beside her on the hardwood flooring. “It went well. My references and my credit report are good.”
Warrick’s gaze dropped to Marilyn’s mouth. She was biting the corner of her lower lip. What wasn’t she telling him?
He closed the distance between them and took her suitcase. “When will they give you their decision?”
“Hopefully, any day now.” Marilyn followed him farther into their home.
“I know how important having your own practice is to you. You’d be an asset to any clinic. They’d be stupid not to accept your offer.”
Don’t talk too much. Don’t let her know that you’re nervous.
Warrick mounted the wide polished maple staircase.
“Thank you.” Her voice trailed behind him. “I thought I’d sleep in the guest room tonight since you’re leaving tomorrow afternoon anyway.”
Warrick welcomed her words. “It’ll give us a chance to talk.”
“What more is there to say?”
“You can start with whatever you’re not telling me.” At the top of the stairs, Warrick turned right toward the guest bedroom and set her suitcase on the bed.
“Weren’t you in the middle of something when I arrived?”
He recognized stalling tactics when he heard them.
Warrick crossed back to the doorway and stared down into his wife’s chocolate eyes. Marilyn’s soft jasmine scent floated up to him. “I was preparing for the Waves but it can wait. What’s wrong?”
Marilyn squeezed past him to wander farther into the room. “I’m concerned about the partnership.”
“Why?” He tracked her agitated movements.
She shrugged a slender shoulder beneath her off-white blouse. “Janet and Dionne seem more interested in having a connection to my parents than in what I can bring to the partnership.”
“Why do you think that?”
“They recounted my parents’ praises as though they were submitting their names for canonization.” Marilyn toed off her sensible black flats. “I want this partnership on my own merits, not because of who my parents are.”
Warrick watched her finger the dust catchers on the dressing table—votive candles, figurines, and bottles of lotion. “Maybe it’s both, honey. They wouldn’t check your references and credit if your professional background didn’t matter. They’d have just rubber stamped your offer.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Marilyn moved past the table and closed the window blinds against the growing shadows outside. “I’ve worked hard to build my career as Marilyn Devry-Evans. I thought I’d finally stopped being Terrell and Celeste’s daughter.”
“You have.” Warrick watched her jerky movements, sensed the tension circling her. What else wasn’t she telling him? He tried to lighten the mood. “Janet and Dionne will realize you’d be a good fit for their clinic. What’s not to love?”
Marilyn stiffened at his question. She faced him from across the room. “They do have one concern about me.”
Her expression filled him with dread. “What?”
“You.”
Warrick’s eyebrows jumped up his forehead. “What about me?”
She twined her fingers together. “They’re concerned that the media attention on you could reflect badly on their practice.”
His anger melted the ice that had settled in his gut. “What does my press have to do with their practice?”
Marilyn met his gaze. “Negative coverage might make patients wonder why Dionne and Janet allowed me to join their practice.”
Warrick crossed his arms. “What did you say?”
“That the media coverage is a misrepresentation of the truth, if not outright lies. They amount to deliberate smear campaigns against you.”
Her outrage calmed him. He wasn’t alone. She still believed in him. “Were they satisfied?”
“No.” Marilyn’s eyes scanned the room’s warm wood and green decor. “The press is a large part of the reason you and I have arrived where we are.”
The weight returned to Warrick’s back. “I know.”
She hugged her arms around her torso. “Janet and Dionne’s comments are another reason I’m just not certain I can be a celebrity’s wife.”
He stilled. “What do you mean?”
“The media’s personal attacks against us affect me professionally.”
“Those aren’t even real reporters.” Warrick clenched his hands. They were damp with sweat. “They’re gossip columnists. You shouldn’t pay attention to them.”
Marilyn swung her right hand toward the room’s two windows. “Even if I don’t, they do.”
“The public will take their cue from you.” Warrick struggled to keep his tone reasonable. “You handled Janet and Dionne well. People will eventually stop asking you about the gossip because they’ll know you don’t give it any credence.”
Marilyn smoothed her hand over her hair. “I spent the first twenty years of my life trying to meet the standards my parents had set with their high profile. Now I have to defend myself from media attacks because of my husband’s fame.” She pulled the clip from her hair and drew her fingers through her thick tresses. “I had other plans for my life. I hadn’t intended to live it with a camera in my face.”
Warrick leaned his right shoulder against the doorjamb as the pressure beat against him. “I know this is hard, Mary. The negative attention is new to you. But I’ve been dealing with it since college. It does get easier.”
“I can’t wait that long.” Marilyn’s voice trembled.
Warrick heard his heart beating. “What are you saying?”
“Your celebrity is affecting our marriage. Now, it’s also affecting my career.” She paused for forever. “Maybe we should get a divorce.”
Marilyn’s words echoed in his head.
Maybe we should get a divorce. Maybe we should get a divorce. Maybe we should get a divorce.