Daddy by Danielle Steel

suddenly she had her own life. It was like listening to someone else. She was pleased for him, but his success was no longer a shared accomplishment, It was his alone. She knew that now. And as they finished their meal, he sat back and looked at her, sensing that something had changed, but not sure what it was. He usually read her well, but not tonight. There was something distant and sad about the way she looked at him, and he suddenly felt a finger of fear touch his heart. What if she were having an affair? Even a passing one … one of those suburban wives' involvements with the insurance man, or the orthodontist, or one of their friends. He couldn't believe it of her. She had always been so loyal to him, it was the way she was, straight-arrow and sure and honest, it was part of what he loved so much about her. It couldn't be that. And he had never cheated on her. But he just couldn't figure out what was going on with her, and as he ordered champagne and dessert, he looked at her in the candlelight and thought she had never looked lovelier or younger. At forty-one, she was better-looking than most women at thirty. The dark red hair still shone, her figure was great, her waistline almost as trim as it had been before their babies.
    “What's bothering you, sweetheart?” His voice was a caress as he reached out and took her hand. He was a good man, a decent one, she knew that, and she also knew how much he loved her.
    “Nothing. Why? What makes you say that? I had a wonderful time tonight.” She was lying, but she didn't want him to know. He always did anyway. He knew her too well. Twenty-two years was a long, long time.
    “I'd say on a scale of ten, tonight was about a two in your book. Maybe a one. If you count going to the dentist as a zero.”
    She laughed at him, and he chuckled as he poured her champagne. “You're crazy, you know that?” she accused him.
    “Yeah. About you. Imagine an old fart like me still being nuts about his wife. Pretty amusing, huh, after eighteen years of marriage.”
    “I take it forty-four is an 'old fart' now? When did you decide that?”
    He lowered his voice conspiratorially as he answered. “When I couldn't make love to you the third time last Sunday night. I think that pushed me over the edge into that category forever.”
    She grinned. Their lovemaking was almost always terrific. “I thought twice in an hour and a half wasn't too shabby myself. Besides, you'd had a hell of a lot of wine to drink. Don't forget that.”
    He looked at the empty wine bottle and the champagne in front of them and grinned at her. “I guess that blows tonight, too, huh?”
    “I don't know. Maybe we ought to go home and check it out before you're too far gone.” She was laughing at him, glad they'd gone out to dinner after all. It had relieved some of her tension.
    “Thanks a lot. But I want to know what's bothering you first.”
    “Absolutely nothing.” And at that precise moment, she was being honest.
    “Maybe not now, but a little while ago, something was. You looked like your best friend had died when I came home.”
    “No, I didn't.” But she had been feeling some of that. He was her best friend, after all, and if she went back to school, in some ways she would lose him. “Don't be silly, Ol.”
    “Don't try to bullshit me. Something's worrying you, or preoccupying you. Is it your writing?” He knew she hadn't written anything in two years, but it didn't matter to him. He just wanted her to be happy.
    “Maybe. I'm not getting anywhere with that. Maybe I can't write anymore. Maybe that was just a flash in my youth.” She shrugged and for the first time in two years, it didn't seem to matter.
    “I don't believe that, Sarah. You were good. I think it'll come back to you in time. Maybe you just haven't figured out what you want to write about. Maybe you ought to get out in the world more … do something different …” Without knowing it, he was opening the door to her, but she was