Dear Emily by Fern Michaels Page A

with the perfume Ian had given her years ago. He’d take it as a sign that she was ready to give in, as usual, to whatever he wanted. She put the bottle back on the dresser. She was never going to use this room. Never, ever. When this luncheon was all over, she might very well end up packing her bags and moving out. Sheer bravado as far as her thoughts went. In her heart and gut she knew only an act of God could separate her from Ian. He was her reason for living, her reason for being.
    Emily’s spirits lifted when she walked into Jacques’ shortly before one o’clock. She took a moment to drink in the colorful poinsettias lining the foyer. The blooms were banked at the desk and up the steps and into the bar. Inside the main part of the restaurant they were featured in the boxed windows with porcelain dolls dressed in red velvet. Cheerful, colorful, a reminder that the holiday was just days away. She ordered a glass of white wine and settled down to wait for her husband. He was fifteen minutes late, a huge smile on his face when he was ushered to her booth.
    “Scotch on the rocks,” he said to the waiter at his elbow.
    “Emily, you never cease to amaze me. To what do I owe the pleasure? This is verrry nice,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “I don’t think you ever really invited me to lunch before. Great idea. You’re paying, of course.”
    How handsome he looked in his beige cashmere jacket. His white shirt was so perfectly ironed by herself she felt a ring of heat start to form around her neck. “Of course,” she said carefully.
    “Are you telling me you saved your allowance? Or are you holding out on me again?”
    Emily’s heart thumped in her chest. “Pete gave me a generous Christmas going-away present. I planned to use it for Christmas.”
    “And well he should. You worked your buns off for that man. He owes you. How much did he give you?”
    “Five hundred dollars.”
    “In that case I think I’ll order lobster.” Ian flipped open the huge brown menu and pretended to scan the day’s offerings. “Did you sleep well? I slept like a baby. When the phone rang at three forty-five I just got up and showered and out I went. I felt so rested. I really like the idea of my own room, don’t you? Mine looks the way a man’s room should look and yours looks the way a woman’s room should look. I think it’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. You have no idea, Emily, how many couples have separate rooms. I personally think it makes for a better marriage. I hope this lobster tastes as good as those hot dogs tasted last night. That was great, wasn’t it?”
    “I enjoyed the hot dogs. Ian, about the separate bedrooms, I don’t like sleeping by myself. What kind of marriage is it when we sleep apart? We’re supposed to be a couple. If I’m not going to work anymore and you’re going to be gone all day and most of the evening, when will I see you? I don’t like that yellow room. I slept on the couch.” She put her hands in her lap and then between her knees to keep them from shaking. She wondered if he could tell she was trembling. Ian could sense everything.
    “Emily, it’s just for sleep. We both need a restful night. Did you look at yourself in the mirror before you left the house? You look positively frazzled. That’s what sleeping on the couch will do to you. Now, look at me. I feel like the king of the mountain because for the first time in years I’ve gotten a good night’s sleep. Don’t you care, even a little bit, about my well-being? I need my wits to take care of my patients. You’re being selfish again. If you’re worried we won’t have sex, you can forget that. I’ll knock on your door or you knock on mine. Or we can plan ahead and make appointments. Now, you have to admit, that’s devilish.”
    Devilish. Did he think she was stupid? Obviously. “Why didn’t you talk to me about it before you did it, Ian? You always consult me. At least you used to. I don’t know us