The Widow Read Free Page B

the crowded entrance of the determinedly upscale La Chance for one last look at Charlie Thomas. He couldn’t quite figure her out. On the one hand, he knew all the statistics. Married Pompasse at seventeen, left him at twenty-five, came to New York and opened a trendy restaurant that actually thrived in the competitive world of New York eateries. She was a self-made woman, calm, determined, eerily serene and in charge of her life. And yet, even from a distance he could sense the streak of fragility that ran through her, surrounding the iron core that kept her going.
    It would be interesting to find out which was the more influential, the strength or the vulnerability. Right now she looked as if she was protected by a coat of ice. What would it take to smash that frigid defense?
    He had every intention of finding out.
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    The worst part wasn’t the memorial service or the desperate paparazzi, Charlie thought. The worst was the reception.
    â€œThat’s my brave, darling girl,” Henry said, patting her hand as it rested on his impeccably tailored arm. “You’ve been an absolute brick through all this.”
    Charlie managed a faint smile. Henry was doing his best to be sensitive and soothing, and she could see the strain it was having on his usual imperturbable calm.
    â€œI’m fine, Henry,” she said in a low voice. And indeed, she was surprisingly calm. The reception was going well, but how could it do otherwise, since it was catered by La Chance, Charlie’s own restaurant? Maurice had gone out of his way with the food. The various mourners who’d fawned over Pompasse in life now gossiped viciously about him as they ate and talked and drank and sent covert glances Charlie’s way. She didn’t mind. As long as they didn’t plague her with anything more intimate than the prescribed words of sympathy, she could move through this day, this endless day after a series of endless days, with Henry’s strong, elegant arm beneath her hand.
    Her mother was across the room, her flame-red hair tossed back, brown eyes sparkling. She looked magnificent, as usual, and Charlie wondered whether she’d had any more cosmetic surgery done. If so, she had had plenty of time to heal, and Olivia was looking like the legendary beauty that she was.
    Her only child was a pale substitute for Olivia’s dramatic charms, but Charlie had always counted that as a blessing. Until she met Pompasse, a man who preferred subtlety, and then she was lost.
    No, marrying Pompasse hadn’t been a loss, she reminded herself sharply, her fingers tightening on Henry’s sleeve. He wouldn’t like her wrinkling his impeccable suit, but he wouldn’t say anything. Henry was always the gentleman.
    Unlike Pompasse, who could throw a hysterical fit with the best of them. He’d chosen wisely when he’d married her. She was already adept at dealing with temperament—her mother had taught her well. After Olivia’s histrionics, Pompasse was a lamb to deal with—for the simple fact that Pompasse, unlike her mother, had loved her.
    Henry loved her as well, with dignity and affection and admiration. He was everything she wanted and needed in a man—tenderness, charm, sophistication, maturity. He would take care of her when she needed to be taken care of, and let her fly free when she needed her wings. She would take off the canary-yellow diamond and put on the antique Venetian pearl ring that Henry had searched high and low for, claiming it matched her serene beauty. And this time her husband would only be twice her age.
    â€œI wish you’d let me come to Tuscany with you, darling,” Henry murmured in her ear. “It’s too much for you to take on.”
    She looked up into his solicitous gaze. “I told you that you could come, Henry. As soon as you’re able. I just don’t want to wait until you can free up your schedule. I want to begin dealing with the