The Scent of Rain Read Free Page A

feel for him now is wasted on the likes of him.”
    â€œThis is a fresh diagnosis.”
    â€œIt makes me feel better, all right?”
    â€œI thought I was the luckiest girl alive because Mark wanted to marry me.”
    â€œSo did he. Think you were the luckiest woman in the world for getting to marry him, I mean.”
    Daphne stared across the choppy water and pondered what life would look like without Mark Goodsmith by her side. Tomorrow she would allow herself to feel the full depth of the day’s events and book her one-way ticket to the Midwest. Without a doubt she’d be the talk of her parents’ social circle for years to come; crushing failure was always a favorite topic among the city’s elite. But she could rejoice over one thing: she’d be in Dayton, Ohio, far out of ear’s reach. It wasn’t exactly Paris, but it wasn’t San Francisco either. That alone was cause for rejoicing.
    â€œI still need to get the cologne bottles back from the reception,” she said abruptly. “Volatility! is my best work, and I want Arnaud to smell it.”
    â€œIt’s not your best work; it’s just your first work. You have so much more to create, Daph. But maybe you need to smell it again to know you’re capable of more great things.”
    Sophie reached into her pocket. “And you thought the pocket in the gown was tacky. I can powder your nose and produce Volatility!” She pulled out the cobalt blue bottle. “Not so tacky now that it’s practical, is it? I snatched a few for souvenirs when we were dropping them off at the hotel last night. Maybe you should give one to Tony the limo driver.”
    Sophie grasped the bottle so that Daphne couldn’t see the writing in gold: Mark & Daphne Goodsmith, June 4, 2011 . “Smell it!” she ordered and lifted the stopper from the bottle.
    â€œI don’t want to smell it. I just want it shipped off to Arnaud so that he remembers what I’m capable of.”
    Sophie kept waving the bottle underneath Daphne’s nose while she wrestled to move away.
    â€œStop!” Daphne said. “You’re going to spill it on me, and then we can’t sell the gown. I know what it smells like. I designed it. Besides, I can’t smell anything out here with all the competing odors on the wharf.”
    â€œYou’ve forgotten how good you are. Mark didn’t inspire you. Love inspired you, and if you can love that guy, you have to believe there’s another one out there with a shred of decency. One who’s worthy of you.”
    â€œWait a minute!” Daphne grasped the bottle from Sophie’s hand and lifted it to her nose. She inhaled deeply. “I can’t smell it!” She narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Did you put water in here?” If this was some kind of joke, Daphne didn’t find it funny. She searched the air for the pungent fish odor she’d just been smelling.
    Sophie looked indignant. “Why on earth would I do that?”
    Daphne inhaled deeply and smelled nothing. Not the Indonesian patchouli, the bergamot, not even the rosemary or the hint of citrus. “I can’t smell it. I can’t smell anything.”
    Sophie grabbed the bottle and took a deep whiff. “It’s still incredible. Is that what you need to hear?”
    Daphne shook her head and felt her throat tighten. She was trained to identify over five thousand scents, and suddenly her whole world, the aromatic world, had gone silent. “I must be getting a cold. Or maybe the tears are messing with my olfactory system.”
    â€œYou haven’t cried yet. It’s just stress, Daph. You’ll be fine when you’re in your jeans and have a plan.”
    Daphne nodded. Emotion finally bubbled from within the pit of her stomach. “But what if it isn’t just stress?” She’d used everything she had to create Volatility! Like a desperate Victorian poet, maybe