"What are you up to?" Perry asked, closing the door and setting aside his cane.
"Looking for an ashtray so I can burn this evidence on the balcony," Della teased.
"We asked for nonsmoking rooms," Perry reminded her, coming to look over her shoulder. "No ashtrays. What sort of evidence are you concealing? No specifics, mind you, or I won't be able to defend you."
"Just writing out my frustrations," she excused, quickly folding the letter before he could read her petty fears and insecurities.
He caught a glimpse of the first line before she tucked it away in her folder: Dear Mrs. Robertson, I'd like to formally...
He could only hope that it continued, "I'd like to formally tell you to fuck off…"
"Has Laura left for the evening?" she asked, not able to keep the slight tinge of anger out of her voice when she said the woman's name.
"Just you and me," he answered.
"I'm going to take a shower before bed," she said, trying her best to act like her mind wasn't racing.
"I'll be here," he promised, dropping a kiss on her cheek.
"You'd better be," she replied, unsuccessfully trying to disguise her serious words with a teasing tone.
Perry knew this whole mess was beating at her like waves on a breakwater. She would outlast the storm, could stand for decades after it passed-but the rough seas would slough away at the surface, eroding little cracks and divots in a once pristinely smooth surface. He had no love for Laura anymore-if he were being honest, he had never had love for Laura, and certainly not the kind of love he had for Della.
He wished he could stand in front of her, let the waters break over him instead. It wasn't fair to her that Laura had waltzed back into his life-their lives-and was doing her best to upset...everything.
What he'd interrupted earlier between the two women...he didn't even want to fathom a guess. Laura had had a evilly-satisfied smile on her face as Della made her hasty retreat, and Della? Perry had never seen the combination of contempt and anger on her face. Laura had caught her unawares and landed a hit below the belt.
He knew that throughout the case he hadn't been the person Della needed. They were both tired of digging through the deceit. Their relationship, based completely on trust and communication, was supposed to be their respite from cases. But this case had infiltrated that.
The letter was right there-it would undoubtedly tell him the full depth and breadth of her troubles. But she obviously hadn't wanted to share it with him...reading it would be a breach of her privacy, a breach of their trust.
Had he been 30 years younger and stupider, Perry probably would have marched into the bathroom and interrupted Della's shower, figuring it was best to lay everything on the table, hash out every decision and make certain that everyone involved knew where he stood with Della-especially the woman herself.
But those 30 years had taught him that sometimes patience is truly a virtue, and sometimes it was better not to talk through every single point and show, rather than tell, Della exactly how he felt.
He was sitting at the table, reading through a sheaf of papers, when she got out of the shower. She met his gaze across the table as she ran a comb through her hair. She got into bed after tossing the comb into her bag and slinging her towel over the rod.
"Young lady," he said, calling for her attention.
"Yes?" she asked.
"After we finish our responsibilities here, what do you say we go on that cruise we've been putting off for a few years?" He glanced over his shoulder. Della smiled.
"Would you care to put that in writing?" she asked, the playful lilt that he knew and loved finally returning to her voice.
"You know as well as I do that there are a hundred ways to break a contract," he replied, setting aside his work and coming to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. "No, we need something morally binding. A gentlemen's agreement is settled with a handshake. A compact between lovers...convention calls for a kiss," he said in unspoken request.
"You promise?" she asked, resting against the pillows.
"Yes," he answered solemnly. He leaned in and caught her lips in a kiss. "I promise."
Della rested her hand on his shoulder and leaned into the broad expanse of his chest.
"Coming to bed?"
He knew, then, that all was forgiven.