Valentine's Fantasy: When Valentines Collide / To Love Again

Edie watched Chanté from over the rim of her glasses for a long time before she prompted, “Well? You have to do something before you kill each other or kill yourselves. You know psychologists have the highest suicide rate.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“I read it somewhere.”

“Huh. I always thought it was dentists who had the highest rate.”

“C’mon. What do you say? Will you go to marriage counseling?”

* * *

Matthew Valentine, handsome in a royal-blue suit, stared over the heads of his studio audience and into the camera. “Today we will be talking about how to take the bitterness out of your marriage.” He smiled, but remained serious. “Oftentimes, it’s not the big things that break a marriage. It’s the small things.” His voice quivered and for a brief moment, Matt appeared to have lost his concentration.

Seth shifted his gaze from one of the monitors to glance at his client on the stage.

The ultimate professional, Matthew recovered and continued with his spiel. The irony of today’s subject matter didn’t escape Seth so he found himself paying close attention to how Matthew interacted with his guests and the advice Matthew gave them.

“Couples tend to argue over something safe or superficial during battle, but they avoid talking about the serious problems.”

Seth nodded as he listened. Everything Matthew said was sound advice. Everything made sense to him—so what were the serious problems between Matthew and Chanté? Where had they gone wrong?

While Matthew continued to mingle with his audience and offer handkerchiefs to sobbing guests, Seth thought back to when he first sensed trouble between Matthew and Chanté. Actually, he didn’t sense, more like he dodged a glass vase when he’d entered the Valentines’ home during a heated argument. Chanté was a small woman but she had one hell of an arm.

Two hours later, with the day’s show finally completed taping and the last of the audience filtered out of the studio, Seth made it to Matt’s dressing room and lingered just outside the door while a young, petite, yet curvaceous intern fawned over her employer.

“Great show today, Dr. Valentine,” she said breathily. “I swear it’s like you really know how a woman thinks and feels.”

Seth lifted an inquisitive brow.

“Thank you, Cookie.” Matt didn’t spare the young girl a glance as he stripped the light coat of makeup from his face.

However, Cookie ignored his indifference and stepped forward until her perky bosom brushed against Matt’s arm. “I know I’ve only been here six weeks, but I have to tell you—working with you has been like a dream come true.” She reached out a hand and gently stroked the side of his face.

Belatedly, Matt flinched from her touch.

“You’re using the cologne I bought you for your birthday.”

“Yeah, I decided what the hell. I’ve been using the same cologne for ten years.”

Smiling like a seasoned temptress, she winked. “If there’s ever anything you need—I’ll be more than happy to help.”

Matt finally met her gaze, but didn’t respond.

Enough was enough. Seth cleared his throat.

Matt jumped again and then his face flushed a deep burgundy. “Seth,” he boomed too loudly. “C’mon in. Cookie, that will be all for today.”

The vixen’s lips managed to spread wider as she demurely cast her gaze down. “If you say so, Dr. Valentine.” She turned and walked saucily toward the door.

“Remember, if you need anything—anything at all—call me.” Cookie winked and disappeared from the door.

“Can you spell trouble?” Seth asked, blinking from the trance her swaying hips induced.

“Who—Cookie?” Matt asked. “She’s harmless.”

“So is a starved lion—as long as you’re not locked inside its cage.” Seth folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Look, Matt. I don’t know how to say this other than to just come out and say it.”

Matt cast a curious glance at the mirror and met Seth’s reflected stare. “All right. Let me have it.”

“I think you and Chanté should see a marriage counselor.”

A silence roared on the heels of his words and judging by the intense glare from Matthew, he expected the vanity mirror to crack at any second.

“Have you lost your mind?” Matthew asked, standing from his chair and storming toward the door.

Seth managed to jump out of the way before Matt slammed it on his arm.

“Chanté and I are fine. The last thing we need is a marriage counselor,” he said and barked a humorless laugh.

Seth glanced around the room and feigned surprise to find there were no other parties surrounding him. “I’m sorry. Are you talking to me—or someone else who hasn’t refereed a few screaming matches at your home?”

“All couples have disagreements,” Matt answered flatly and then exchanged his starched white shirt for something more appropriate for the tennis court. “Of course, they usually refrain from putting itching powder in each other’s clothes.”

“Or cutting each other’s cars in half.”

A wide smile monopolized Matt’s face. “That was pretty good.” He jutted a finger. “Extreme—but pretty good.”

“Come on. What’s the big deal?” Seth shrugged. “You encourage and educate people everyday about the importance of counseling. What’s the big deal in practicing what you preach?”

Matthew unzipped his pants and jerked them down his legs. “The big deal is there isn’t a damn thing that a psychologist can tell us that we don’t already know. We’re both controlling perfectionists with hot tempers. Theories and overblown rhetoric are not what we need. Especially when you’re dealing with someone who is stubborn as an ox.”

Seth frowned. “Help me out. Who’s the ox in this scenario?”

“Not funny.” Matthew tried to pull his left leg out from the bunched pants leg, but instead lost his footing and fell face forward. “Goddamn it.”

Seth covered his mouth in time to cork his laughter.

By the time Matthew recovered and climbed back to his feet there was no trace of amusement on Seth’s face—despite Matt’s sock suspenders and Daffy Duck boxer shorts.

Matthew cleared his throat and then launched into an explanation for the boxers. “Chanté burned just about everything in my underwear drawer after the car incident.”

“I think you got off lucky.”

At last, Matthew smiled as he reached for his pristine-white tennis shorts. “I do, too.”

A knock rapped on the door.

“Come in,” Matt shouted.