Free Second Skin by Eric Van Lustbader

cause.
    He was fervid about Serenissima – always had been – and he took great pride in its enormous success. From time to time, he had brought up the idea of going public, but Margarite was firmly against it. ‘Think of all the added capital that will flow in!’ Rich would say excitedly. ‘A virtual avalanche, bella!’ But, no, she would tell him. Going public meant a board of directors, answering to investors, the threat of being taken over or, worse, ousted from their own company. Margarite had seen it happen time and again. ‘What’s ours is ours,’ she had told him firmly. ‘And I intend to see that it stays that way.’
    ‘So, bring me up to date,’ Margarite said now as she opened her overstuffed Filofax.
    For the next hour, Rich gave her a rundown on sales – up 30 percent for the quarter; research and development – a new overnight cream that dissolved the puffiness of too much alcohol and not enough sleep; the franchise division – seventy-five and counting; the German putsch – the department store experiment at Kaufhof and Karstadt had been wildly successful, and their first two stand-alone boutiques were scheduled to open in the spring in Berlin and Munich. In fact, Rich told her, he had just wrapped up the deal with the German partners who were going to build and manage the boutiques.
    There was not a negative note to Rich’s profit aria, and yet, watching him, Margarite could not shake the feeling that something was amiss. He played nervously with his silver Pelikan fountain pen – a gift from the Germans – and seemed to rush through his presentation instead of drawing it out, relishing every moment as he had every right to do.
    When he was finished and she had initialled the papers and co-signed every contract he had placed before her, she looked over to him and said in her usual blunt style, ‘Okay, what’s up?’
    For a moment, Rich said nothing. He rolled the Pelikan between his fingers like a drum majorette with a baton. Then, abruptly, he shoved his chair back and went to the windows. He pulled apart the heavy drapes, peered out across the city to the Hudson River and, beyond, the smoky haze of industrial New Jersey.
    ‘Rich...?’
    ‘I wish to God you hadn’t come back.’
    ‘What?’
    He let go of the drapes, turned to face her. ‘I had the letter all drafted. It was going to be typed up this morning, sent over to Tony’s office.’
    She stood up, her heart pounding in her chest. ‘What letter?’ She could see him take a deep breath, bracing himself, and she felt a painful constriction in her throat.
    ‘I’ve sold my share, bella.’
    Margarite stared at him, her mind in a numbed state of shock. She could not think of even one word to say except ‘Shit!’ The kind of unconscious expletive you come out with when you see a car coming at you broadside and you know it’s too late to do anything but brace yourself for the impact and hope the seat belt and air bag are enough to save you. What was going to save her now? she wondered.
    At last, as the shock dissipated, she found her voice. ‘You bastard. Why?’
    He shrugged, looking sheepish now in the face of her growing anger. ‘Why else? Money.’
    ‘Money?’ Outraged, she could hardly believe what she was hearing. ‘You mean you aren’t getting enough money, enough perks, now?’
    He shrugged again. ‘There’s always more money, bella.’
    Bella. ‘Stop that! You’ve no right to call me that anymore.’
    He went white, and stricken, he turned back to the window. ‘You see now why the letter would have been better.’
    Margarite put her fingers to her throbbing temples. She went to the credenza, poured herself a glass of water, fumbled in her purse for some extrastrength Bufferin, downed them with a gulp. Then, blotting her lips, she turned to him. ‘Why didn’t you discuss this with me before –’
    ‘Because,’ he said, rounding on her, ‘you haven’t been here in months!’
    They stood close together,