A/N – It's been awhile, but at least not as long as we waited for the next Harry Potter. I have been busy with writing three other stories and work and blah, blah, blah. I don't think I write this enough, but I truly appreciate your reading and response to this story. Thanks to everyone who reviews. Especially my regular reviewers and followers, whose words I look forward to every time I post.

This was not an easy chapter to write, but I do hope that you enjoy it.

~GeekMom

Martha's Heart

Chapter 35

All's Fair in Love and…

Gina yawned, daintily and properly covering her mouth with the back of her hand even though she was alone and then cat-stretched after closing the manuscript. She reached for her water glass and asked herself when reading had become a thirst-inducing sport. It was a good story and she hadn't spotted too many edits of her first read through. She closed her eyes as the water, even though it was room temperature relieved her parched throat. Her stomach rumbled as if on cue and she glanced at the floor to ceiling windows accenting the contrasting walls of her new office. Black Pawn and Randy Hayes had been more than pleased with her work recently and had promoted her to associate publisher. A prestigious and opulent office befitted the newly endorsed up and coming associate publisher.

"Shit," she muttered and didn't bother to admonish herself about her profanity. She held herself and the people around her, her writers (Richard included), to the standard that if they made their livings in words, they could think of more colorful and polite ways of expressing themselves. She hadn't actually made a word count, but she believed Richard's expletive use had increased.

"Shit, shit, shit," she cursed again: it was completely dark outside and she'd lost track of the time again. She lifted her wrist to examine the expensive watch Richard had given her as a wedding gift, it was lovely, but also his way of teasing her about her penchant for deadlines. Maybe he'd cursed it somehow, making it impossible for her to be on time. It read nine-fifteen, much later than she intended or, she admitted to herself, promised.

She sighed as she began packing up her work for the day. She reached across the large cherry wood desk to switch off her desk lamp but stopped. Her gaze and action aborted at the sight of their framed wedding pictures. She hadn't really looked at them since briefly on their last anniversary. He had been out of town on a tour that she had arranged.

The largest, in the center, was of him and her. It had been a beautiful early July wedding and reception, bigger than he wanted, but oddly it was his mother's unexpected enthusiasm and alliance that influenced him to go big or go home. As a result, Gina had everything she had ever dreamed her wedding could be from the champagne fountains to the reception at the Waldorf to the fifteen-thousand-dollar designer wedding dress, not to mention the six-hundred people who were invited, which did not include the media present. He looked splendid in his Armani tux (she had insisted that he and she be on strict diets and exercise regimes for six months prior to the wedding), and the pictures showed how beautiful they were together. They were the perfect couple, right out of the society pages: good-looking, rich and happy.

The two smaller pictures on either side of theirs was an adorable picture of Richard dancing with Alexis stepping on his feet (and his thousand dollar shoes), and the third was her bridal portrait. She smiled parsimoniously, brushed her hand lovingly across the frame, and then switched the lamp off, plunging her into near darkness, save the recessed lighting around the ceiling molding. She closed and locked her office door and turned for the elevator: her heels click-clacked in the deserted corridor, echoing to no one. The last publisher to leave that evening entered the elevator and waited for the ride from the fifty-fourth floor of the Marlowe Tower.

Gina's mind wandered while she waited. She told people that she had earned the office and she truly believed that she did, but she had Rick's ability to schmooze that sealed the deal. He recently had had a conversation regarding his wife's working environment over a bottle of Jameson's after a rare golfing defeat at Black Pawn's CEO's club. Although she'd never accepted his invitations to play with him or to let him teach her, she knew that Rick was good. Randy wasn't a terrible player, but still not as good as Rick. His handicap on that course was seven while Randy's hovered around fifteen. Richard appreciated the sport and the nuances of judgment and controlled strength it took to play. Randy had complained to her in the past about her client then boyfriend then fiancé and finally husband beating the crap out of him on the links. It embarrassed Gina. At her exclusive school of how to succeed, beating the boss at anything wasn't condoned. She had never let Richard invite Randy to his poker game.

When he revealed he was meeting Randy for golf that past Saturday, she saw the opportunity and had strongly suggested that he not try as hard to win, not to lose specifically, but merely to relax and maybe have a couple of beers on the course. Randy was her boss, after all.

He'd been livid. He took playing his sports and games seriously, whether it was golf, fencing, laser tag or video gaming. He inflexibly and unreasonably refused to throw the game. Richard argued that Randy would know anyway because they had been playing together for years and they knew each other's style. She pressed him, implying that he could just have had a bad day or that maybe he hadn't gotten any sex in a while. He took it as a veiled threat, although she assured him that she'd meant that as a joke. He didn't find it funny.

They hadn't really spoken to each other since then, nearly a week: their exchanges limited to only what was necessary to run a household. They hadn't really seen each other, or shared a meal, be it as a couple or a family. He was either writing when she got home or doing something or other with Alexis. She caught a couple of curious glances from Alexis, shooting between Gina and her father, his indifference, and her unusual silence.

Tonight she had planned to be home before dinnertime. They were supposed to have a family night and maybe ease some of the tension or, at least, culminate the fight and move past it. However, she'd blown that. Nine-fifteen on a school night meant that they'd already eaten, Alexis had already gotten ready for bed and he was currently reading with her or helping her with her homework. Even though she would be fourteen in a few months, she still let him tuck her in and check for monsters, although in a much less childish, more teenage fitting way. Sometimes he'd vanquish the monsters with a light saber; sometimes Alexis would vanquish her father. The whole scene was sweet and endearing…and theirs. She'd offered to help her while he was out of town but was politely declined. Gina didn't play the same way that Rick did and it was something that the two of them did together. Gina had yet to discover something that she could do with Alexis, some shared activity or interest. Something that Richard hadn't already done or still did with her periodically.

She sighed heavily again as she walked to the back of her waiting limo.

"Mrs. Castle. How are you this evening?" Rodney inquired as he opened the door and held her hand.

Stepping off the curb, she smiled absently and slid into the back seat. At work, she was still Ms. Griffin, but since she told Rick that she required the limo, not merely the Town Cars his service provided, he agreed provided that the drivers continue to call her Mrs. Castle.

She settled into the relaxing leather seat and wondered again if he was merely jerking her chain or truly as petty as he sometimes seemed. She closed her eyes and shook her head. They had only been married for a little over two years, but lately; they seemed to be disagreeing more often than not.

She shut her eyes and thought about their engagement, the wedding, and their honeymoon. He had done an unbelievably good job planning the honeymoon. He took her on a multi-national month-long tour. It was breathtakingly beautiful and extraordinarily romantic and it had just been the two of them in Central and South America, half of it on their own island in the Galapagos.

Gina sat up straight. Maybe that was what they needed: a little one-on-one time. Europe. The newest Storm novel took place mostly in and around Brussels. Belgium would be lovely and he could promote the book at the same time. It was perfect.

"Good evening, Mrs. Castle. How are you?"

She smiled and nodded as Eduardo opened the door for her. "Fine thanks, Eduardo. Is everything quiet tonight?" Eduardo acted as an unwitting spy for her so she could be prepared in case if the in-laws or poker buddies had dropped by.

Eduardo smiled slyly. He knew that she used him for intel. Mr. Castle had laughed when he had innocently mentioned their conversations a few months prior. "Everything is relatively quiet here, Mrs. Castle." He leaned in and pressed the fourth-floor button. "Have a good night, ma'am," he bid as he tipped his hat.

The doors closed and Gina looked up. She had messed up tonight and had to find the right words to justify her lateness, her inattentiveness and the fact that she stood her family up for dinner again.

She arrived on the floor, straightened her back and plastered a smile on her face as if she were going into a corporate meeting, not her home. She unlocked the door and walked in. The loft was quiet and dimly lit. She put her keys on the rack, her coat in the closet and her briefcase on the floor beside the table. She looked to her right: the office was dark through the bookshelves and then to her left. She heard no movement or activity from upstairs. Dim lights and the flickering of the fireplace could be seen through the partition dividing the dining room and the main living area, which were not usually closed. He liked the open airiness and natural light when there were no walls. That's why his walls between the great room and his office were bookshelves: openness and light, no hiding in dark corners.

Pursing her lips, she moved toward the office, barely sparing a glance for the room on her way to the bedroom. She stopped. It was also dark, but in here it was completely dark. She sighed again and switched on the small Tiffany lamp on the dresser. She looked in the mirror and assessed her appearance. Tired: no she looked exhausted. They'd both been working hard. That was one reason for their fight. Neither one did well controlling their tempers when they were fatigued. A vacation would be perfect, even though they would technically be working, getting away would do them both good. She startled when she heard the ice in his glass shift as he took a drink and spied him in the mirror's reflection. Her husband sat in their dark bedroom, drinking.

She spun around, "Richard? Why are you sitting in the dark?"

He didn't respond except to take another swallow. He set the tumbler on the floor next to the chair and stood. Gina unconsciously took a step back into the dresser. He was tall and intimidating, especially in the dark. Rick stopped. She watched his shoulders droop a fraction of an inch.

"I…I'm sorry I missed dinner," Gina stumbled over her words. "I was reading an enthralling manuscript. New author: I think you'll like his style." She turned back to the dresser, removing her jewelry, but kept an eye on her lurking husband.

With no warning, Rick covered the space between him and his wife in little more than two steps. He spun Gina around, who cried out in surprise. He stared at her for a moment, assessing as he always did before he tipped her chin up and kissed her deeply.

Gina's mind raced even as she moaned her approval and encouragement. He deepened the kiss. She tasted the residuum of the whiskey. The intoxicating warmth of it and his mouth soon had her forgetting their quarrel. Lacing her hands around his neck, she tugged him closer. She'd expected him to be angry. She prepared herself for another evening of fighting or worse, silence and inaccessibility. He pulled back from her and looked her in the eyes.

"Rick?" she questioned. He wasn't making any sense. They'd spent the last five days not speaking. They hadn't worked out a détente or even discussed what caused the battle in the first place.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, dipping his head. "I behaved like a spoiled child who didn't want to play. Your career is important and if I am in a position to help you, I should. It was just a round of golf, for Pete's sake, it's not like you asked me to sleep with his wife…or worse with him. I'm really very sorry I reacted that way."

Gina was speechless. Did he apologize? For what, exactly? "Richard, you don't need to apologize. I was…" He kissed her again and she didn't mind him interrupting her, as she normally would have.

He picked her up and took her to the bed, where he stripped her out of her clothes and made love to his wife. She didn't protest.

She awoke to her tea in a cozy she was certain he'd knitted himself (it was pink, her favorite color and adorned with a lopsided heart), fresh fruit, a bagel and the paper on a tray along with a single red rose on her nightstand. She rolled over to find the bed empty, which was not surprising because, after checking her watch, she knew he had already taken Alexis to school, and then he would normally go to the gym and end at the park if it were a nice day. She typically would have her breakfast alone, get ready and go to work. They'd touch base after her morning meeting with her assistant.

"Gina Griffin's office," Joyce answered.

"Hey Joyce: it's Rick Castle.

"Oh hi, Mr. Castle," Joyce gushed brightly.

"Joyce, I thought we agreed that I was going to call you Joyce and you were going to call me Rick."

"Yes, well I have been reminded that I, in point of fact, work for Ms. Griffin, your Mrs. Castle, Mr. Castle. I was also reminded of your status as one of Black Pawn's premiere clients. Therefore, the more formal address is appropriate and requisite. "

"Of course, it is," he sighed, picturing his wife cutting down her assistant because of something he did. "Okay, Ms. Campbell, is she available?"

"Yes, sir; do you want me to put you through?"

"Um, actually no Ms. Campbell," he whispered and then cleared his throat. "Would you want to help me with a little surprise instead?"

Earlier that day, he'd awoken as he normally did, not certain of what year it was, let alone day; shushing his alarm clock and cursing the man who'd invented them. After a few moments of disbelief, he truly woke, blinking and testing his eyes, mouth, and various muscle groups, making sure they still functioned. Yawning, he turned his head toward the back of his wife, no longer gloriously naked, as he was, but clad in some silky barely pink negligee. She always got dressed after sex. She rationalized that his daughter could walk in on them at any time. He countered by reminding her that they had blankets and locks on the doors. She still dressed, every time, even on their honeymoon when they had been completely alone on an island.

Last night had been good, they still needed to talk, but it had been…good. He smiled: it was a new day, full of possibilities and chances. He repeated what had become his daily mantra. "I'm going to make it work," he muttered to his reflection after he brushed his teeth. He looked at himself: thirty-eight, married, father, successful in his chosen field. He let his eyes drop to the sink for just a moment of self-pity, because despite what he repeated to himself, he wasn't very happy. He admonished himself silently: he had every reason to be happy, but one eluded him and it made him crazy. Shaking his head against the negativity and choosing to ignore the melancholy, he plastered on a smile and went to fix breakfast for his best girls. He stopped in the bedroom and placed a feather-light kiss on his wife's cheek. Gina, in her sleep, batted the flutter of a kiss away as if it was an annoying and bothersome gnat. Rick's shoulders drooped in irrational disappointment. She wasn't even awake. She couldn't be held responsible for rejecting his affections while asleep, right? He asked himself questions like that every day.

He walked into the kitchen, turning on lights as he went and immediately started brewing coffee. Gina detested coffee and everything about it. She was much more civilized and drank hot tea in the mornings. He grimaced and tried to switch his train of thought to a more positive track.

A few moments later all the positivity that he needed came bounding down the stairs, her hair fanning out behind her like an orange flame.

"Morning, Daddy," Alexis sang as she plunked down on the stool. She picked up her orange juice and took a healthy swallow.

He turned and leaned across the bar, placing a kiss on her forehead. "Morning, Pumpkin. How did you sleep?" He took a sip of coffee.

"Fine except at one point, I don't know what time it was, but there was a thumping that woke me up." She scowled and he spit out his coffee.

Wiping his chin and the counter he asked, "A…thump, um…a thumping? What…um…what do you suppose it was?" he asked casually while stirring his refilled coffee cup.

She yawned. "I don't know. Maybe one of those car stereos, you know? The ones with the bass turned up really, annoyingly high? The kind that the gangsta cars have."

He frowned. "How do you know about…"

"We live in New York, Dad?"

"Yeah, but in SoHo. It's not like we're in the Bronx."

Alexis tut-tutted and shook her head. "And my friends think I'm sheltered."

"Hey," he protested and pursed his lips, but grateful that Alexis assumed he was sheltered. He knew that the thumping was not due to any gangstas or their sound systems, but he would never be ready to talk to his daughter about angry sex or any other kink. He and Gina were normally reserved and quiet: some might say boring. He heaved a sigh as he took a sip of the last of his coffee, blowing bubbles in the tan liquid. His eyes betrayed his smile over the rim of his cup.

Alexis looked at him questioningly but seemed to dismiss her father's antics. "Will you braid my hair, please?"

"Of course, Pumpkin," he answered, thankful that the subject had changed.

He grabbed the brush and moved behind her. "What'll it be today?"

"A French? Is that okay?"

"As you wish, Buttercup," he answered with a partial bow. Standing behind her, he brushed through her hair letting the coppery strands flow freely through his fingers. He loved her hair and loved that at thirteen she wasn't too old to let him do this for her. He'd been braiding, pig and pony tailing her hair for over ten years, sometimes successfully, sometimes not and he hoped it would never stop. For a moment, his thoughts and mood were truly lighter as he let himself be transported back to when it was just them.

"Did Gina make it home okay?"

He swallowed and separated the strands with practiced fingers. "Yeah, she just had to work late. Reading a new manuscript and you know how you get lost in Harry Potter?" Alexis nodded. "She got lost in the book and lost track of time. It happens." He wove her hair grabbing extra bits along the way.

"Yeah…" she began as she munched a strip of bacon. "A lot."

He placed the final hair band around the end of the braid. "Alexis, I knew she was a hard worker when I started dating her." He kissed the crown of her head and walked back toward the stove. "None of this is a surprise, is it?"

"No, but…"

"No buts." He smirked, raised an eyebrow, turned around and shook his butt. Turning back to her, he leaned on the counter. "Gina is a very successful editor and publisher and she has to work long hours." He didn't want her to assume that all jobs required Gina's uber-over-devotion and workaholism, so he backtracked. He flipped his palm before laying it on his chest. "On the other hand, I'm a very successful author and, as you know, I hardly work." He scrunched up his face, shrugged but then grinned. "I guess I'm better at my job, huh," he added cheekily.

"You work, Dad, but it is unorthodox." She patted his shoulder in an almost patronizing or pitying way. Rick again spluttered in his drink: orange juice that time. His thirteen-year-old was turning forty-five this year. "Are Gram and Oscar still coming over this weekend?"

"As far as I know." He looked at his watch. "Bus is leaving. Better go brush your teeth."

He watched her run up the stairs with a smile on his face. He turned back to the kitchen to clean it up and set Gina's breakfast on the tray.

His phone rang, blasting the chorus of Diva's Lament from Spamalot to the deserted playground at Franklin Middle School as he walked by. He scowled: he didn't usually hear from her early in the morning. "Hello? Mother? Is everything alright?"

"Good morning, Darling: of course it is. Why would you ask?"

"Just, it's seven-forty-five. I didn't think you were aware of this time of day. My friends used to think you were a vampire."

"Funny man. As a matter of fact, nowadays, I am always up with the sun."

"Always?" Rick asked skeptically.

"Alright, maybe not every day…"

"Or every ever?"

"Can't you be supportive of someone trying to turn over a new leaf?"

"Depends on the someone and the leaf. What's going on, Mother?"

Martha spoke in hushed tones. "Can we meet? Maybe for breakfast or lunch…today?"

"Are you alright?" He'd reached the entrance to the subway, but stayed above ground so he wouldn't drop the call.

"Yes Richard, I've just noticed some things."

"What kind of things?"

"Oh, you're back so soon, dear," her voice was muffled. "Richard?" she continued in a normal voice, "How about lunch and we can talk about your problem, okay?"

"My prob…oh, oh, yeah…right, right. Yeah, Mother," he sighed. "I'll text you the address."

Rick stayed at the gym longer than usual, he'd feel it later, but he had so much pent up energy he needed to dispel it. Even his trainer, Eddie, who looked like he had fallen out of a Rocky movie, asked why he was so motivated. Rick knew why but deflected asking about Eddie's grandkids. Eddie could talk about his grandkids all day.

Martha sat in a corner booth at the diner. She checked her watch and the door every few seconds. She caught sight of the matching bands on her finger and stared at the white gold. They had been married for nearly three years. It had been wonderful: Oscar was kind, attentive and let Martha have the spotlight while he sat in the background, seemingly content to do so. She was being silly: all this fuss over a feeling.

"Mother?"

Martha looked up into the concerned eyes of her son. "Oh Darling, I didn't see you come in." She tilted her head and presented her cheek to him.

He obliged her with a kiss. "Apparently," he drawled, his apprehension practically dripping from the word. Martha Rodgers could be the epitome of the carefree, devil-may-care; I don't give a damn diva. To witness her obviously worrying was like hearing a three-alarm fire klaxon.

"Just thinking," she dismissed. He sighed and sat opposite her.

"Let's order: I'm starved. I just came from the gym and then you can come clean, okay?"

"There's really nothing…"

"Mother," he sharply cut off her denials, not in the mood for any more emotional games. Exhaling, he suggested, "Let's just order lunch, okay?"

She raised an eyebrow. "All right, but then maybe we'll talk about you, too," she said shrewdly.

Martha pushed the last of her Caesar Salad around her plate with her fork, having successfully avoided giving voice to her petty concerns regarding Oscar and their finances. She happily dispensed advice to her son, "You've just gotten yourself into a rut. We Rodgers weren't made for routine, we need to shake it up every once in a while."

Rick picked up a fry and dredged it through his mother's dressing. He popped it in his mouth and made a face. "Once in a while? Is that why we moved so frequently: the fear of routine?" He shook his head and reached for his soda. "I like routines, Mother. Maybe there's more of my dad than Rodgers in me," he flippantly remarked.

"Richard Alexander Rodgers," she darkly intoned. Rick whipped his head up; she hadn't used his full given name in nearly twenty-years. She inhaled and continued, "Your father didn't stick around long enough to create any routines," she hissed.

Rick looked up. He immediately recognized that he'd hit a nerve, crossed that ever-shifting line. "I'm sorry, Mother. I didn't mean…"

"I know, Kiddo," she dismissed with a wave of her gloved hand. And just like that, it was forgotten. "Tell me what you're going to do about your rut."

He arrived at Marlowe Tower, which contained therein the offices of Black Pawn, generally and Gina Griffin Castle, specifically. He met Rodney in the parking garage and after asking about his wife and kids, transferred his packages and preparations to the back of the limo and then tipped the man. He was sure Gina never went out of her way to show her gratitude.

Rick pursed his lips. Thoughts like those would not help. He called Gina's assistant instead of Gina's direct line.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Campbell," he proclaimed as he exited the elevator with a beautiful bouquet of mixed exotic flowers, boasting an array of vibrant colors. "May I please see Ms. Griffin?" he asked cheekily as he approached Joyce's desk.

The assistant stopped short of rolling her eyes and smiled brightly. "I'll see if Ms. Griffin is available, Mr. Castle. Those are very beautiful. Would you like anything while you wait?"

"No, no, I'm good. Do you think your boss will like them?"

"I'm sure she will." She gave him another smile. She wasn't so sure anymore. She could no longer read her boss' moods as she once did.

He tilted his head toward the sofa. "I'll just wait there."

Joyce winked and smiled her fan-girl smile for him as she picked up her phone. He had always been a nice man. Joyce didn't believe half the things that used to be printed about him. "Ms. Griffin, there's a delivery for you, ma'am." She listened. "I know, but this has to be delivered directly to you. Yes, ma'am." She hung up the phone and sighed. She directed her comments to Rick who had walked back to her desk. "She said to leave whatever it was with me." Rick deflated a bit and let the flowers drop to his side. Joyce smiled and continued, "But she also instructed me to get Mr. Castle on the line as soon as possible."

"Thanks, Joyce. You are remarkably efficient." He sauntered to her door and after pausing long enough to run his tongue over his teeth, he opened the door.

Gina had her back to the door when he walked in. He hadn't been to her new office. It was nice, if not a little dark and pretentious. She was on the phone and turned to glare at the intruder. "Hang on, Randy. Who…Richard?"

"Um…hi," he greeted her awkwardly. He laid the flowers down on the conference table.

"Let me call you back. Richard Castle just walked in." She pursed her lips.

He had sat down in one of the leather chairs at the table. As she approached him, he said, "Hey."

"I thought we agreed that you wouldn't just drop in."

"This is different." He laid his hand on her hips, pulling her into the vee of his legs. "I had to deliver those. They're from a secret admirer."

"Secret, Richard?" She twisted to elude his grasp without success.

"Okay, not so secret," he clarified as he pulled her onto his lap.

She wriggled and batted his hands away. "Stop it. My assistant is right outside the door and…"

"And she knows that your husband is right inside the door." He shifted her on his lap and kissed her. "Now, come on. I've got plans."

"I can't just leave." She struggled to regain her feet.

"Why not?" He narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "I thought you were some high-powered bigwig. Don't you represent that highly successful, extremely handsome mystery writer? Um…what's his name?"

She stopped her squirming and looked at him. "No, Connelly is with another house," she deadpanned.

"You wound me, wife." Gina crumpled her nose. She hated when he called her wife. "Seriously, Gina, we need this."

"But last night…"

"Was great," he finished. "But we still need to talk, alone. Mother is watching Alexis for a diva-in-training weekend."

"You probably should have checked with me first."

He stiffened, exhaled and shifted her again; he stopped fighting her resistance and released her. Gina slid off his lap, stood and straightened her skirt. She raised her eyes to his, defiantly. "I have to work and so do you, actually."

Rick stared at her for a moment and then stood and walked to the window. " Why?"

Gina was startled. "Why what?"

"Why do you have to work? You already put in, what: eighty hours a week and…" He turned back towards her. "That's part of why I love you, your drive, but Sweetheart, we need some time for us: time alone, time to figure out what's going on." He scowled. "Wait, what do you mean I have to work? I'm not scheduled…"

"We're not happy with the summer sales numbers. I just spoke to Randy and he agrees that we'll need a tour this fall."

"This fall: as in now?"

"Yes, Richard, but don't worry, it will most likely just be local with a few West Coast jaunts. Also, we would like to set something up in Europe."

"Europe: when?"

"Probably October. The next Storm book is set in and around Brussels…"

"I know where the hell it's set, Gina."

"We could take some time, for just you and me: the time alone you spoke about? And we could do the promotions at the same time. I've already asked Paula to make arrangements."

"What about Alexis?"

"What about her?"

"I thought we, meaning Black Pawn and I, came to an agreement several years ago that I wouldn't be required to leave her for extended amounts of time."

"She's nearly fourteen, Richard."

"God, I know how old my daughter is, too. You know I don't…"

"You've got to let her grow up sometime."

"Not only will you be able to promote the new book before Christmas, but also I've sent Marlon Elliot's office and email. Hopefully, we'll be able to meet…"

"Marlon?"

"The CEO of Black Pawn International."

"Damn it, I know who he is. Marlon first signed me. Why do we need to meet with him?"

"He can get us into different parties; I have friends there and would love to show you off in the European social circles."

"No."

"To which part?"

"All of it."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I felt like a goddamned whipping boy last weekend. Hell, I might as well as slept with Randy so you could get this office," he yelled. He closed his eyes and inhaled, trying to calm down; yelling at each other had been the only way they communicated lately. He hadn't intended this to become another screaming match. Quite the opposite, he'd hoped for some healing that night.

"Richard, as an author, you're very important to this firm. As your wife, I should be entitled to the benefits from your standing here. Don't you agree?"

He didn't begrudge her any of the benefits, as she called them, gained from being married to him. He turned slowly from the window and walked until he stood directly in front of her. Rick searched her defiant eyes for a moment before he cupped her jaw in his hands. "I love you, Gina."

"But?" she whispered. 'God, his eyes are so intense,' she thought as she looked up. They were intense because he was angry, but she was still drawn to them.

"There's no but. It's unconditional." He walked back toward the table.

"I…I thought you were going to kiss me." She sounded vaguely disappointed.

"Not if you're working. I can respect those boundaries as long as you can respect mine."

"Your boundaries?" she scoffed, "Richard, you have no boundaries, no rules, and no discipline. You just do whatever the hell you want whenever you want. That's why my working long hours is so foreign to you," she accused. Gina huffed, folded her arms over her chest and asked, "What kind of boundaries do you have?"

He stared at her, knowing what he was going to say would change their relationship, maybe for the better, but maybe for the worse. "I'm not going to be on exhibition anymore, Gina. Not for Black Pawn and not for your friends."

"Exhibition? What…"

"I've already done the dog and pony circuit here for your friends, family and clients ever since we announced our engagement, I'm done being paraded around like I was first in show. Randy joked about it on Saturday. I'm pretty sure I've lost his respect. I know for a fact that I've lost my self-respect. So work all the hours you want, but I'll no longer be the prize ribbon around your neck and I'll do a local tour: no overnights."

"But…" She stared at him. He was serious. "Damn it, Richard, what else do I have besides my work? It's not like I'm included in your club at home."

He squinted in confusion. "What are you talking about? The poker game? Hell, I'll deal you in myself."

"Not the damn poker game, your exclusive club with Alexis."

"My what?"

"You won't let me near her Rick. We've been married for over two years and I still don't have a close relationship with her."

"I…" he stopped and thought. "I …you said you didn't want kids."

"I said I didn't want any more children, but that doesn't mean I don't want to get to know her."

"You say want to get to know her, but you just made plans to abandon her for over a month. I grew up that way, Gina; I'm not doing that to Alexis."

"Oh my God, Richard: we're not abandoning her; she will survive if we go away for a few weeks," she shouted.

He shoved his hands in his pants and let his head droop. "You're right, Gina." He lifted his gaze to her. She almost looked smug. "Alexis will survive if we go away…but I don't think we will." He looked sadly at her and then walked out of her office.

"Richard, wait."

He didn't. Shutting the door with an almost silent click, he stood outside composing himself for a moment, swallowing nothing in a dry mouth and straightening his posture.

Walking past her desk, he smiled kindly and quietly bid, "Have a good evening, Joyce."

Joyce surveyed the man as he walked by her desk and escaped into the elevator. "Good night, Rick," she whispered, rules be damned.

Martha looked up from her magazine as the key rattled in the lock. "Oh my: Gina?" she asked as her daughter-in-law wearily stepped over the threshold. "What are you doing here, dear? Richard said he was taking you away for the weekend."

Gina's shoulders dropped as she closed the door and realized he hadn't come home. She shrugged out of her coat and hung it in the closet, not yet having answered Martha, who was staring at her intently.

"Gina?"

Gina wanted nothing more than to ignore the world around her; ignore her mother-in-law, ignore the gigantic mess she'd made of their marriage, ignore the gaping hole that began when he looked at her with wounded eyes and only seemed to grow from the quietness of the closing of her office door to finding the array of romantic bits and parcels in the limo to finding his mother, oblivious to the ache inside of her.

"I'm sorry, Martha. We decided not to go away. You can go."

"Like hell, I can. Where's Richard?"

She considered telling her to mind her own business, but Gina had found that her mother-in-law could be formidable and truthfully didn't have the energy for another fight. "I...""She looked toward the dark office. "I don't know," she whimpered sadly. Gina bit her lips; she couldn't lose control in front of Martha.

"Oh my dear, my dear." Gina didn't register that Martha had moved, but suddenly she was enveloped in a teal and orange caftan and Chanel number five. "Come and sit. Tell me what happened."

Martha fixed them both tea and listened to Gina's description of the weeklong fight. She offered her daughter-in-law tissues and her ears.

"I've really made horrible mistakes, Martha. I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt him."

"Darling, he's a man and a proud man at that. Richard has worked hard his whole life to get where he is. He may play the fool or behave childishly, but he's very perceptive and almost frighteningly intelligent. He rarely forgets anything." She cracked a sardonic smile. "He has remembered things I have forgotten." The humor wasn't working. She squeezed Gina's hand. "That being understood, he can be arrogant and obstinate and a great big pain in the ass." Gina looked as if she were going to defend him. Martha put up her palm. "I love him, Darling, with all my heart despite all that other stuff. And not just because he's my son, but because he is a loving, caring, kind man who is generous to a fault and understanding and," she paused making sure Gina was looking her I the eye. "He is extremely tolerant until pushed too far and then he can be frightening and ruthlessly harsh when he's angry. Those words of his can cut just as deeply as one of his swords. Nevertheless, and I don't know why or where he gets it, he is also very forgiving once he's calmed down."

"I know…I know all that Martha. He just gets under my skin and pushes all the right buttons. He makes me so angry, it's like he's deliberately baiting me, teasing me." Gina put her head in her hands. "Oh and then I say something and then he does and…" she inhaled and wiped away a traitorous tear from the corner of her eye.

"Hmm," Martha considered. "I don't know about you, Kiddo, but I think I want something stronger to deal with this." She stood and crossed to the wine cooler.

Rick opened the door of his home with a sigh. He was bone-weary tired. The fight and then walking around the city for the hours after had exhausted him. He didn't know what was going to happen with his marriage, but he did figure out that they couldn't continue on their current path.

The lights were dimmed. He assumed Gina had eventually come home and sent his mother home, but what he saw after he hung up his coat surprised him. His wife, on the sofa, curled up in his mother's embrace, asleep.

Martha looked over at the door and when her son had made eye contact, she smiled apologetically and placed two fingers over her lips. Rick stopped at the refrigerator for a water bottle before sitting on the coffee table by his mother, scowling.

"What's going on here?" he croaked. He hadn't used his voice since the fight with Gina. He opened the bottle and downed half of it.

"Have you been drinking?" Martha eyed her son for any of the tell-tale signs. He had turned to alcohol and worse in the past to numb his pain.

"No, I've been walking…"

"Oh my boy, that's also dangerous at this time of night."

He glared at her for the interruption. "And thinking."

"Sounds like it was one hell of a fight."

"D' she tell you about it?" He nodded in his wife's direction.

"We had a conversation, yes."

He inhaled as he looked past her, staring in the distance and then when he exhaled he looked like a deflating balloon. "Is Alexis asleep?"

"Yes, of course," Martha assured. "Have you eaten?"

"No," he mumbled as he headed up the stairs.

A few moments later she found him sitting in the armchair in his daughter's bedroom. "Richard, go to bed," she whispered.

"I'm going to stay in here tonight," he responded in the same hushed tone. "Tell Gina she can have the bed. I'm sure she'll be more comfortable without me there."

"That's nonsense."

"Mother," he warned.

"That girl just," she began but was cut off by his glare and nod to his sleeping daughter.

Martha gestured to the hallway and when he followed and had shut Alexis' door, she continued, "That girl just spent the better part of three hours worrying, crying and blaming herself for everything wrong with the world, in general, and your marriage specifically." She placed a warm palm on his shoulder and squeezed, her own heart breaking because of the pain on his face. "Oh my Darling, in the morning you both need to talk about this, but first you need to get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning."

Gina awoke alone as she customarily did, but there was no breakfast waiting for her. She stumbled out of bed, peered out the window, confirming the earliness of the hour: it was still dark out. She slipped her robe over her shoulders and walked out to the kitchen, stopping short in the office. Her six foot two husband was curled up like a cat on the four-foot love seat: a large uncomfortable looking cat whose legs dangled over the arm. She scowled. The blue screen on the TV provided the only light in the room: its light danced green with the amber liquid in the half-empty scotch bottle, which stood as a silent sentinel on the desk.

Gina stood for a moment, unsure if she should wake him. Unsure if she wanted to resume their fight so early in the morning. Unsure if he would even speak to her. Martha had provided a listening ear, a bottle of wine and sound advice, not to mention stern talking. She had been right about all of it. Once she gained some perspective, Gina could see how she had been treating Rick. She had been, in his words, displaying him as if he were a trophy. It was degrading and humiliating and Gina would not have stood for being treated that way. It attested to her husband's sense of loyalty and goodwill. She knew their problems wouldn't be completely solved overnight. They had issues that they needed to work on together. She had to do more than recognize her faults: she had to change. He did too, but she had spent too long in their marriage policing him. Martha pointed out that he was a grown man, who raised Alexis on his own, who was very successful and who accomplished all of that before he was married to her. In short, she needed to curb being his publisher and editor and simply be his wife, at home at least.

Kneeling down in front of the loveseat, she combed her fingers through his bangs. They always fell over his forehead when he'd been sleeping, other times too. His face was relaxed until he moved at her touch. She could plainly see the discomfort from his sleeping arrangement.

"Rick, come on sweetheart. You should sleep in your own bed."

He grunted, winced again and rolled over, smacking his face on the back of the loveseat.

"Rick, I'm sorry, please come to bed with me."

"Wha? What…" He yawned a cavernous yawn while trying to keep his eyes open. He looked as if he were trying out new eyes, opening and closing his eyes slowly and deliberately. Gina suspected he hadn't been asleep for very long.

"Come on," she coaxed, maneuvering her arm around his shoulders and gently prying him off the cushions."

"Gina? What's…No," He twisted out of her embrace and his scowl deepened. "No: I'm mad at you…"

She bit her lip: it all sounded ludicrous now.

He eyed her, puzzled. "And, you're…you're mad at me. No, I'm fine here." His petulance was accentuated at that point by an audible crack. "Shit," he said and rubbed his neck.

"How can you be comfortable on a piece of furniture that is only as big as roughly two-thirds of you?"

He blinked at her again and then scowled. "What?"

"Come on," she persisted.

"What time's it?"

"Still in the middle of the night: it's time to come to bed." She could have been speaking Swahili for all the comprehension on his face. He was always hard to wake, but once he was, he was completely awake.

He stood with her help and then really looked at her, awake. He stared at her, searching her face and her eyes. He swallowed, dipped his head and blurted, "I'm sorry."

Gina met his probing eyes and whispered, "I'm so sorry," at the same time.

He cracked a small smile and she shyly responded in kind.

He took a step closer to her. "I was stupid."

"No, Rick, I was overbearing and controlling and disrespectful and…"

He placed his finger over her mouth. "I'm too tired to come up with my idiocies in response to that. Would you mind waiting until the morning for a detailed list? I could include illustrations."

"As long as we really talk about this and resolve it. I feel like we've been having the same fight on replay."

"Agreed, but every time it seems to get worse. Definitely talking in the morning."

"Time for bed?"

"Past time, I think." He stood back and motioned for her to go through the door to their bedroom first.

Gina grabbed his hand and pulled him closely behind her.

After snuggling down together and they lay in silence, winding down to each other's familiar reassuring breathing and heartbeats, he asked, "Hypothetically, can you have make-up sex if you've agreed to make up?"

Gina smiled and nestled backward closer to his chest. Rick tightened his embrace and closed his eyes; more content than he had been in a long while. Tomorrow would be hell, but if it meant they could get closer and be better together, he'd gladly go through hell, as long as they went together.