Black Rose by Nora Roberts

truffles and trash the son of a bitch, I’d be happy to listen. If you’d rather sit out here alone, and let it fester, then I’ll take my tea and half these chocolates upstairs.”
    For a moment, Roz just sat, sipping her coffee. Then she thought, what the hell, and had another chocolate. “You know, having lived here all my life, I have a number of friends, and a bevy, we could say, of acquaintances. But I haven’t had what you might call close, important female friends. There’s a reason for that—”
    She lifted a finger, wagged it before Stella could speak. “The reason being my own preference to an extent, and that having its roots in being widowed young. So many of my social circle, in the female area, became just a little wary. Here I was, young, attractive, fairly well off—and available. Or so they assumed. In the other camp were those eager, just innately, to pair me up with a man. A friend, a brother, a cousin, whatever. I found both of those attitudes annoying. As a result, I got out of the habit of having close women friends. So I’m a little rusty. I consider you a friend, the best I have of the female persuasion.”
    “Since I feel the same about you, I wish you’d let me help you. Even if it’s only to say really nasty things about that fucking Bryce Clerk and bring you chocolate.”
    “Why, Stella.” Roz’s voice was as creamy as the truffles. “I believe that’s the first time in this entire year I’ve heard you say fuck.”
    Stella flushed a little, the curse of redheads. “I reserve it for special occasions.”
    “This is certainly that.” Roz tipped her head back and studied the stars. “He didn’t do it to embarrass me. That was just a side benefit.”
    “Then why? Did he think, could he actually be stupid enough to think you’d have let him come in and party?”
    “He may have thought my need to maintain image would give him a pass, and if I had, just a little more grease to oil the gears of whatever moneymaking plots and plans he has going.”
    “If so, he couldn’t know you very well to have underestimated you like that.”
    “He knows enough that he got exactly what he was after tonight. The young woman he had on his arm? She’s very wealthy, and very silly. Chances are she’ll feel some sympathy, even some outrage on his behalf over tonight.”
    “Then she’s more than silly. She’s bone stupid.”
    “Maybe, but he’s an accomplished liar, and slick as a snake. I’m not silly or stupid, and I fell for it.”
    “You loved him, so—”
    “Oh, honey, I didn’t love him. Thank God for that.” She shuddered at the thought of it. “I enjoyed the attention, the flattery, and initially at least, the romance and sex of it. Added to that I had a raging case of empty nest, so I was ripe for plucking. My own fault that I went and married him instead of sleeping with him until I got bored, or saw what was under that pretty exterior.”
    “I don’t know if that makes it worse or better,” Stella said after a moment.
    “Neither do I, but it is what it is. In any case, he wanted to remind me he exists, that he can and does swim in the same social pond. He wanted, primarily, for me to be upset and to think about him. Mission accomplished. He has a need for attention, to have attention focused on him—for better or worse. The worst punishment I can give him is to ignore him, which I’ve done, fairly successfully, since he came back to Memphis. Tonight was a way, a very clever way, of shoving himself in my face, in my own home, in front of my guests.”
    “I wish I’d gotten there quicker. I was nearly at the other end of the house when I heard the rumbles. But I don’t see how anyone could get any sort of satisfaction out of beingturned away, in public, the way I heard you turned him away.”
    “You don’t know Bryce. He’ll dine off the incident for weeks. Center of attention, and he has a smooth way.” Her short, unpainted nails tapped against her teacup.