At Your Service - A.C. Arthur Page 0,50
but I guess that’s not medically possible.”
“Broken heart” had likely never been listed on anybody’s death certificate.
“Your father has COPD, right?”
She nodded. “Yes. It wasn’t so bad at first, but seven years ago he had to stop working and go on disability because it had gotten to the severe point. He’s weak most of the time, has intermittent swelling in his legs and ankles, and gets confused easily. The confusion isn’t a symptom of COPD, I think it’s more from loneliness. Anyway, my sisters and I have been taking care of him up to this point, but the doctor suggested he might need more assistance to make sure he’s taking his medications and to help him do some of the daily getting around.”
It had been a hard conversation to have as a family, but they’d had it. Her father didn’t want to be a burden to his children, insisting he could take care of his own arrangements when the time came.
“That’s a tough situation,” Major said. “Do you have a facility in mind?”
“We’ve visited a few and there’s one that he favors.” She drank from the glass of wine he’d poured for her. “This boost in business from partnering with RGF will be just what I need to get him into the care home.”
She took another bite of pizza because she’d had enough of talking about herself.
“Maybe I could help. I can make some calls, maybe find a place for your father here in New York.” When she only stared at him, he cleared his throat and continued, “I mean, that way you’ll be close to two of the biggest fashion houses in the States, stylists, models and plenty of other industry people that could talk up your app and provide endorsements.”
“But I live in York. That’s where my family and everything I know is.” That was the truth, but there was suddenly something sad about the way it sounded.
“Right,” he said with a curt nod and a quick smile. “If you’re done, we should clean this up and get to bed.”
“Right. I can take care of the mess since you cooked.”
“Nonsense, we’ll do it together.”
Like a couple did things together. Nina didn’t say that but went along with his suggestion until the kitchen was clean and they headed off to bed...to Major’s bed where she would lie all night wondering if he was the man to make her think twice about happy-ever-after.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE WINE-COLORED tulle was even more beautiful as it swayed around them on the dance floor. With Major’s arms wrapped securely around her waist, Nina’s arms remained locked at his neck as they danced. The screens positioned around the banquet room, having earlier displayed a lovely video of their childhood years all the way up to their engagement party, now showed them dancing. Even the people at the back of the four-hundred-seat room could see them close-up.
A slow song played, one that was a favorite of theirs. But she couldn’t hear the lyrics. She just swayed to the rhythm and stared up into his face, remembering the exact moment that she’d agreed to become Mrs. Major Gold.
They danced until the scene changed and she was once again walking through the doors of the RGF building, with a determined smile on her face as she approached the now familiar pretty receptionist with the coal-black hair.
“Good morning, Mrs. Gold. Are you here to see your husband?”
The question startled her and Nina looked down to see the huge emerald-cut diamond on her ring finger.
“Uh, no. I’m actually here to work. I need to check in with a few vendors and make sure that products are being shipped on time.” She continued to talk even though the woman was frowning at her. “There were a couple complaints on the website and I need to get things ironed out.”
“I don’t understand. Maybe you want to report some issues with the company site to your husband?”
“No. I want to take care of the issues—they’re with my company, At Your Service.”
The woman was shaking her head, her silky hair moving from side to side. “You’re welcome to go see your husband. But I’ve never heard of At Your Service...”
Nina’s eyes opened wide into a room filled with slashes of moonlight coming through the partially closed blinds. She pressed a hand to her chest, her heart beating wildly. A few blinks later and she swallowed hard, her gaze falling on the nightstand beside the bed where a clock flashed bright white numbers: 3:54. Beside the