by Mia Sheridan
She'd left me.
I don't want you. I don't want you at all.
If you were worth more . . .
Maybe she'd driven to San Francisco to stay with Kimberly.
She'd said in her note she'd be back for the party, though.
"Well, when you're done feeling all sorry for yourself, dinner will be—" Charlotte's words ended abruptly and I looked up. She was standing at the closet door, having just hung up the ironed shirts. She turned toward me sharply. "So this is how you see yourself? The villain? Or wait, perhaps the victim. Captain Hook to your brother's Peter Pan? This is what you've come up with?" she asked as she held the costume I'd stopped and rented after being unable to find Kira. There was only one description for the look on her face—utter disappointment.
"What would you have me dress as, Charlotte?" I asked. "A prince? It's just a stupid party anyway. It means nothing. And I'm no prince."
"It's a party your wife is throwing for you out of the kindness in her heart."
I glowered at her. "My wife is gone. She left me. She's only coming back for the party and then she's leaving again—permanently. Just as we’d planned." Just as we'd planned.
Charlotte looked shocked for a brief moment, but then her knowing eyes roamed over my face as silence settled between us. "But it's not just as you planned, is it? Nothing is as you planned. And that scares you very, very much." Charlotte approached me and reached out her hand. I took it and she squeezed mine between both of her own, the comforting scent of her—baked goods and talcum powder—causing my breathing to calm. "Ah, my boy, you've fallen very hard, haven't you?"
"Fallen?" I took my hand from Charlotte's. "Fallen where?"
Charlotte smiled gently at me. "In love of course. With Kira. With your wife."
I swallowed heavily and turned toward the window. "I'm not in love with Kira," I insisted, but the words felt flimsy, as if they didn't hold any weight and might simply float away.
Charlotte sighed. "For the love of all things holy, you're both so stubborn. You two probably deserve no less than to be shackled to each other for life. It's a wonder watching you together hasn't driven me to drink."
I snorted. I was not in love with the little witch. Was I? No, I couldn't be—my emotions for her were too turbulent, too out of control, too . . . terrifying. Maybe I was obsessed with her, enchanted, beguiled. But love? No, not love. "She makes me crazy," I said, turning back to Charlotte. "When we're together, we act like out-of-control children half the time." And the other times like desperate lovers, unable to keep our hands off each other . . .
Charlotte made a clicking sound in the back of her mouth and nodded her head. "We should all be children when it comes to love—open and vulnerable." She paused. "I don't know everything there is to know about Kira's past, but I know you have good reason to guard your heart. And good reason to want to choose someone who doesn't inspire such passion, such intensity, and such fear. But, Gray, those feelings mean you love her. And for those who have been hurt as you've been, and as I suspect Kira's been too, true love is a scary prospect. True love is the greatest leap of faith there is."
I ran my hand through my hair. This was all too much and I didn't even know where to start, what to focus on. I was all twisted up inside, angry with Kira one minute, wanting her desperately the next . . .
"I think a good place to start," Charlotte said as if reading my mind, "is to talk to your brother and Vanessa. And listen to them, not with your hurt, but with your heart." She grasped my hand again. "And bear this in mind; love is not always smooth and easy. Love can be piercing. Love means exposing yourself—all of yourself, every tender part—to being hurt. Because true love is not only the flower, true love is also the thorns."
"Right," I said. "Sharp and painful."
Charlotte's laugh was a warm tinkling sound, like bells in a cathedral. She squeezed my hand tightly. "Sharp, yes, piercing yes. But not always painful. It's meant to strip you bare in order to heal. Be brave enough not to fight it. Surrender, my boy. Let go. For just once, have the courage to let go." She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek and I bent slightly to let her. Then she smiled warmly, turned and left my room.
Love is not always smooth and easy. Was that why I had chosen Vanessa once upon a time? Because my feelings for her were lukewarm? As soon as I posed the question to myself, I knew in my heart the answer was yes. Shane and I had grown up with Vanessa. She'd always been a friend—beautiful and sweet—and I’d noticed the way Shane had looked at her and the way she’d looked back at him, hoping he'd make a move. Neither one realized the other had feelings for them. But I knew, and I asked Vanessa out anyway, knowing Shane would step back for me. Shame filled my heart and I looked down.
I'd wanted her because I’d felt perfectly in control of my feelings where she was concerned and that sort of calm, that lack of risk, the absence of thorns, was something I craved after the deep hurt I'd experienced growing up. After the humiliating grasping for love never returned, the loneliness of hoping for joy. I didn't want to grasp anymore. I didn't care to hope any longer. It hurt too much. And so I chose someone who didn't inspire any of that in me. Vanessa had been too sweet to say no. And somewhere inside, I'd felt a certain satisfaction taking something I knew rightfully belonged to Shane. I'd given all my life, made sure he never suffered the way I'd had to. I’d deserved to step ahead of him where Vanessa had been concerned. Jesus. He was my brother and I'd betrayed him—even if he didn't know it. And I hadn't even thought of her either. Would my tepid feelings have ever been enough for her in the long run? Of course not. I had been wandering into a permanent state of cold detachment, and it was only Kira who had been able to beckon me back with her warmth and exuberance. Vanessa and I would have never made each other happy. I'd told myself there was never a need to confide my secrets to her because she knew my family dynamics, but the truth was, I hadn't wanted to. I'd never wanted to share all of myself with her and so I never had. And if I'd loved her, it had only been as a . . . friend.
She'd told me she wanted to save herself for marriage, and after all the women I'd already been with by the time we started dating, that had seemed right. That I should wait for my wife. Likely, she'd been saving herself for Shane more so than marriage—whether she’d realized it at the time or not. But now . . . thank God I'd never made love to my brother's wife. The things we had done suddenly felt incestuous and one hundred percent unappealing.
I'd gone to prison and they'd somehow found their way to each other. And all I'd felt was a hollow sense of betrayal. Mostly, I'd grieved for the loss of one of the few people who had always been in my corner: my little brother. Since then, I hadn't allowed myself to feel at all. And then came Kira who stirred every single emotion within me and forced me to acknowledge the needs I kept guarded inside. She kept me in such a constant state of anticipation I mostly forgot how to preserve my indifference. And then as soon as I began to build up the cold walls within me again, she melted them with her warmth and vitality. Every. Time.
Kira, who never did anything in half measures.
Kira, who had suffered as much or even more than I had.
And suddenly, I felt even smaller, because I saw so clearly that despite the similarities in our stories, and despite the fact that she’d been severely wronged, Kira had chosen to face the world with hope and optimism, and a kindness close to stunning. And me? I had withdrawn and surrounded myself with coldness, focusing only on my own selfish desires. Unlike my wife, I'd been a coward.
But I longed to be better. I longed to be worthy of her. And I wanted her. But not just her body. Her. God help me, I wanted her body, yes, but I wanted so much more than that too. I wanted her approval, to hear her thoughts, to know her secrets. And I wanted to keep telling her mine.
I sat down heavily on my bed. I loved her. Beautiful, bewitching Kira with her fiery hair and green eyes. Kira, who had brought me back to life. Kira with her combination of fierce defiance and deep vulnerabil
ity. Kira. My wife.
A small scratching came at my still cracked-open door and Sugie pushed it fully open with her nose, trotting over to me. She chuffed a very soft sound and instead of lowering that mangled head, she placed it on my knee, staring up at me with her soulful eyes. I scratched her ear. "That's a good girl, Sug," I said, praising her for finding her voice and being brave enough to use it.
"When did I fall in love with her?" I asked the dog my wife had gifted me, scratching her other ear. Sugie offered no answer other than a small satisfied whine. When had it happened? The first time she'd called me a dragon? Was it those stupid O-named rats? The first time I'd kissed her? Watching her playing with those kids at the drop-in center, her hair flying wildly around her face, her open and loving spirit unmistakable, even though she had every right to be miserable after her father’s cruelty only the night before? When had I fallen in love with her and not even realized it?
Oh God, I did—I loved her. And I wanted her love. I hungered for it. It was an ache deep in my heart. And I was terrified to want like that. I didn't know how to feel the emotions I was suddenly acknowledging, knew even less how to expose them to her rejection.
Surrender, my boy. Let go.
For just once, have the courage to let go.
I put my head in my hands, not knowing if I was able, not knowing if I could be that brave.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Kira
The Beazley House was a 1902 mansion that had been transformed into a charming bed and breakfast just a short walk from the downtown riverfront. It's where I'd been staying for almost a week now as I simultaneously licked my wounds and completed my portion of the list for the upcoming party at Hawthorn Vineyard. I had been in contact with Charlotte via text, and I knew all was going well with the projects both inside and outside the house. Charlotte had offered repeatedly to come visit me, but I declined. I appreciated it, but there was nothing anyone could do for me. And it would only hurt more in the end if I continued to get closer to the people who were Grayson's family . . . and not mine. I had to start pulling away lest I be even more devastated in the end than I already knew I would be.
It was telling, I supposed, that Grayson hadn't even texted me once, much less tried to call.
What a mess my latest scheme had become. I had to comfort myself with the knowledge that the end goal had actually been accomplished. I was financially independent, in possession of the freedom I'd sought, and as for Grayson, his vineyard was on the way back to being operational and, hopefully, very successful.
And now here I was, putting the finishing touches on my costume for the party tonight. I'd attend as I'd promised, make sure everything went well, and ensure Grayson and I looked like an upstanding married couple, and then I'd immediately leave town. I couldn't return to The Beazley House without it looking suspicious. I'd made friends with the owners and they thought I was staying here because of all the work being done at the vineyard. I'd complained the construction dust was stirring up my asthma. I wouldn't be able to stay in or near Napa after all. If anyone in town found out we weren't in fact a happily married couple, they'd feel duped and the whole point of this party—to improve people's perception of Grayson—would be for nothing. I'd ask Grayson if I could spend one last night in my little cottage, and then ask Walter to give me a ride to collect my car, and leave in the morning. My heart sunk and I swiped at the tear before it fell down my cheek. I'd cried enough this week. And I didn't have time for tears right now, not to mention that I had spent almost an hour on my makeup. And so I squared my shoulders and slipped on my shoes. My cell phone rang, and tonight’s ride had arrived.
I took one final look in the mirror, picked up my suitcase, and left my room. I heard staff in the kitchen off to the left of the front entrance preparing dinner, but no one else was around. I'd already paid my bill, and I'd see the owners at the party—they'd been invited.
The car was waiting in front of the house and the driver looked me over with wide eyes when I descended the stairs. "Wow," he said, "that is quite the costume." He took my suitcase and opened the door, offering me his hand, but his eyes moved over me appreciatively.
I smiled. "Thank you," I said, climbing inside the car and gathering my long, poufy gown around me and arranging it as best as I could so it didn't swallow me up. This gown was the main reason I wasn't driving myself. I would never fit behind a steering wheel. The dress was a confection of black and deep green satin and tulle, the skirt made larger by three hoops. It was strapless and had a built-in corset that made my waist look tiny. I'd accessorized it with long, black, sheer gloves. Black jewels wound around my neck, and a wide-brimmed, sheer witch’s hat completed the look. My hair was left long and made even wilder than it normally was with the help of a curling iron. I was wearing bright red lipstick. My eyes were rimmed in black, and my mask was black and covered only my eyes, making them look even more cat-like.
I had considered a number of costumes, and in the end, this was the only one that felt right. I'd leave Grayson as I arrived to him: his little witch. No, I thought dejectedly, not his. Never his. Despair swirled in my belly with the knowledge that this would be the last night I'd spend time at Hawthorn Vineyard. Maybe this costume was really just my pathetic way to privately acknowledge my love for him. I wanted him to accept me as I was. All of me. Instead, Grayson wanted my body and nothing more. What a fool you are, Kira. A stupid, desperate fool. I would never be enough in his eyes, just as I'd never been enough in my father's eyes, or even in Cooper's. I needed to be enough in my own eyes, and for now, that would have to be okay.
The drive seemed to take only moments, and I forced myself to breathe deeply. Thank goodness I was wearing gloves. I was sure my hands were cold and clammy.
My car pulled to a stop, and when the driver opened the door and I took his hand and stepped out, I sucked in my breath, my heart dipping into my stomach and then rising again.
The fountain was filled with water, splashing softly as it cascaded from the top tier down to the shimmering pool below. The pinks and purples of approaching twilight filled the sky and offset the golden lights of the fully lit house. The ivy was trimmed and tended, the window boxes on each balcony filled with lush greenery and white cascading petunias. The scent of roses, and what I now recognized as hawthorn flowers, drifted on the breeze rustling the now beautifully landscaped foliage. I turned slowly in a full circle, taking it all in, noticing the twinkle lights that filled the trees leading up the driveway, adding to the magical ambiance. It was gloriously beautiful, captivating—the perfect setting for a fairy tale.
How I wished it were mine.
Taking a deep sustaining breath, I pulled my shoulders straight and nodded once to the driver, who handed me my suitcase and nodded back.
The only vehicles in the driveway were a catering van and two other cars that most likely belonged to the musicians I'd hired, which meant I'd made it in perfect time to greet the first guests. I'd be greeting them with Grayson by my side. For just a moment, panic threatened to shatter my composure, but I took another deep breath and brought my chin up, whispering a quiet prayer to my gram, asking her to send me strength. Then I relaxed my shoulders, reassuring myself.
You can do this—one final thing.
I nodded in greeting to the two valets dressed in black pants, white shirts, and red vests, who stood off to the side, waiting for the first cars to arrive. They nodded back. I rang the doorbell even though I had become accustomed to letting myself in since Grayson and I had gotten married. Walter pulled it open, his eyes widening before they crinkled very slightly at the corners. I blinked. Had I just received my first semi-smile from Walter? I grinned at him as he took my hand in his and bowed his head. "Mrs. Hawthorn."
"Walter . . ." I said, about to tell him to call me Kira for the hundredth time, when my voice caught in my throat from noticing the foyer, and emptied living room beyond. I set my suitcase down so Walter could store it somewhere, my eyes widening. The wood m
olding was shined to a high polish, the chandeliers glittered brightly, and the very last vestiges of daylight streamed in through the windows, creating shifting shards of prisms on the walls. Tall vases of roses, lilies, and greenery were on every exposed surface, scenting the rooms with their intoxicating sweetness. As I wandered into the living room, I saw the small string quartet had set up in one corner, and a fully stocked bar had been installed in the opposite corner. The furniture had been arranged to provide ample seating, but also plenty of room to mingle, and even slow dance to the orchestra, should guests desire.
Walking to the window, I looked out over the clear, clean aqua water of the swimming pool below, where a small band would begin playing after the cocktail hour concluded. Small, intimate tables dotted the patio, and beautifully positioned votive candles set the whole scene alight with a romantic aura.
Turning back to face the room, I stood silently for a moment, a feeling of joy, mingled with sadness coursing through my body. I loved this place deeply. And I was leaving it. I looked down, despair making me feel weak.
I felt the weight of someone's stare and raised my gaze. Grayson stood across the room. And as that beautifully sensuous mouth curved into a grin, I sucked in a breath, taking in his costume.
The delight I felt was sudden and fierce, and I brought my gloved hands to my mouth, bending forward as I laughed joyously. Elation, hope, happiness, surprise, and sorrow, and a hundred other emotions, slammed into me. I took a step toward him at the same moment he began to walk to where I stood. Had he done this for me?
He was wearing a black tuxedo. The mask he wore covered only the top half his face, made to look like iridescent blue, green, and black dragon scales curving around his eyes and the sides of his head. There were small horns at the top and threads of shimmering red and orange running through it to look like fire.