Liars Like Us

by Mary Campisi

  She nodded. “I know. Crazy, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, insane.” Who would have believed it?

  “I think marriage and a baby on the way have softened him up.”

  “Baby on the way?” Ha! He knew that rush wedding had a baby-on-the-way scenario tucked in there.

  Charlotte gasped. “Oh, no! I was not supposed to say anything. Rogan will be so disappointed in me.” She inched forward, rubbed her temples. “Can you please not say anything?”

  She looked truly distressed. “Hey, no worries, I won’t say a word.” Tate eased out of his chair, stood beside her. “I promise.”

  “Thank you.” Her attempt at a smile flopped. She cleared her throat, stepped back until there was an arm’s length between them. “I just want to say one more thing and then I’ll head out. My whole life, it’s always been easier to run away than stay and fight. Maybe because my parents and brothers always fixed my messes. But then it was time to grow up and head off to college, and they expected me to step in and take over. How do you do that when you have no idea what that means? Instead, I ran away, or avoided, or blamed somebody else when life didn’t turn out the way I thought it should.” Her next words divulged even more. “I think that’s why I drove to see Marybeth…because I knew I was a mess, and surely you did, too. I mean, it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” She let out a tiny laugh, shook her head. “So, why not look for your flaw, because if you were really who I thought you were—a decent, good guy—you’d never stay with me once you saw the real me. And if you were flawed, then I was right to ferret out the truth.” Another shake of her head. “But there wasn’t a flaw, not with you. It was me all along.”

  Tate opened his mouth to speak, but emotion blocked the words. How could she think she wasn’t worthy of him? Charlotte was one of the kindest, most generous people he knew, and while she was spontaneous—okay, a bit impulsive—it’s what made her unique.

  “I’m going to leave now, but I had to make sure you knew whatever happened between us wasn’t your fault, and I’m sorry I made it seem like it was. You deserve to be happy.” Her lips quivered, her eyes grew bright. “And I hope you will be.” She offered one last smile before she turned and headed toward the foyer.

  Charlotte Donovan was walking out of his life, and this time, she wasn’t coming back.

  Unless he stopped her.

  Unless he told her what was in his heart.

  “Charlotte.” He closed the distance between them, clasped her hands, and said, “What if you’re the person who makes me happy?”

  A tear slipped down her cheek, followed by another. “What if I’m the same person who makes you miserable?”

  He swiped a finger across her cheek, caught a tear, and said in a gentle voice, “Then I’d say we’re probably even.”

  She sniffed. “We’re from different worlds…”

  “So what?” He caught another tear. “I like your world, and maybe you could grow to like mine.”

  Another sniff. “I don’t want your money.”

  He’d been a jerk to accuse her of targeting him for his money, and she wasn’t going to forget that, not for a long time. Still, he could admit he’d been wrong. “Sorry. It’s part of the package.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, trailed a finger along her jaw. “I’m sorry for being an ass. I said a lot of cruel things because I was hurt, and angry, but that’s no excuse. I know you weren’t after my money, and deep down, I probably knew it then.” His voice turned rough. “We didn’t trust each other enough, and we should have.”

  “Rogan says trust is a big deal in a relationship.”

  “For once I agree with your brother.”

  She smiled at him through her tears, her face glowing like an angel. His angel. “He means well, even if he is a pain in the butt.”

  “Can we not talk about your brother right now?” When she nodded, he said, “Did you really come to Chicago to sleep with me?” The red splashing her cheeks was a giveaway. She didn’t want to talk about it, but he had to know. “So, what was the plan and the rationale? Seduce the guy and see if he comes after you?”

  More red bursting on her cheeks. “Maybe. Kind of.” She fixed her gaze on his chin.

  “Charlotte?” He tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. “Truth, remember?”

  “You were what stood between me and having a normal relationship with another guy. I compared everyone to you.” Her gaze narrowed, her nostrils flared when she caught his smile. “Telling you the truth doesn’t mean you can laugh at me.”

  “Sorry. I’m not laughing.”

  “You are, but you have half a second to stop.” When his smile faded, she said, “Thank you. So, as I was saying, I thought the only way to move on with my life was to search you out and sleep with you…to get you out of my system.”

  “Gee. Thanks.”

  A big sigh, a huff, as though the memory were not particularly pleasing. “But once we got together…it was never going to be enough, and the next morning when I left, I knew it. I waited to see what you’d do, hoped you’d call and tell me you felt the same way.” The clipped tone said she was not happy with that memory. “Months went by and nothing. But then I landed in Reunion Gap, and imagine my surprise to find you there, all hospitable and wanting to get cozy again.”

  “Yeah, I really screwed up.” He remembered those months and his squeamish behavior. No woman had ever touched his soul the way Charlotte had, and it had paralyzed him.

  “That’s an understatement. You acted so cool and calm, taunting me with what happened in Chicago, and there I was, struggling to formulate a thought with you so close.” Her words sliced him. “It infuriated me.”

  He touched her cheek and let the truth slip out. “There’s nothing cool or calm about me when you’re near.” He paused, said in a soft voice, “I just hide it better than you do.” When she scowled, he said, “I tried to find out if and when you’d be heading back this way, but Rogan shut down the conversation. Maybe he didn’t like the way I asked, or spotted something in my question that told him my reason for asking was way more than a casual inquiry. But then Camille told me you were coming home, and that you and she had a lunch date at The Oak Table.”

  Those green eyes grew wide, sparkled. “You knew I’d be there?” Her voice grew breathy. “It wasn’t a coincidence?”

  Tate shook his head. “I timed it down to the minute, with Camille’s help, of course.”

  It was Charlotte’s turn to smile. “Well, who would have thought…?”

  “You have no idea the hours I used to spend contemplating ways to get your attention, earn your trust, maybe get a chance with you.” He shook his head. “It was brutal, and it wasn’t pretty, and then you blasted my hopes with Jason.”

  Her laughter spun through him, made him join in. “Yes, Jason.” Another laugh. “I’m sorry about that. I had to protect my heart even when I knew I’d already lost it.” Her smile faded. “I am so sorry for hurting you and destroying your faith in me. All I want, all I could ever hope for, is another chance to earn your trust and your love.” She cupped his face between her hands, whispered, “Do you think that’s possible?”

  “Possible?” His heart swelled, burst with joy. “Definitely.” Tate lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers. “If you come to bed, we can negotiate terms.” He pulled her against him, stroked a hand along her back. “I have a feeling you can be very convincing.”

  Charlotte threw her arms around his neck, murmured, “Indeed I can, though it might take a few attempts.” She let out the softest sigh before she added, “Are you up for it?”

  Chapter 16

  Three hours later, Charlotte lay curled against Tate’s side, her hand thrust across his belly, soothed by his even breathing as he slept. They’d made love twice and it had been powerful, all-consuming, and so exquisite, she’d cried. Tate had held her, murmured words like cherish and forever.

  This was what she’d dreamed of—a union of body, heart, soul. There was so
much they still needed to understand about one another, so much they needed to accept. But if their minds were open and their hearts were full, anything was possible.

  Even love between a Donovan and an Alexander.

  She carried that dream with her for nine days, kissed Tate goodbye each morning, and fell asleep in his arms each night. And talked. Lots of talk, about everything: trust, hope, fear, children, even a dog. There’d been no talk of marriage, but one day soon, she knew it would surface. Patience and perseverance had become her new mantra. Life didn’t happen in a day, and just because she wanted answers now did not mean she’d get them or that she should rush to a decision to hurry them along.

  Tate had wanted her to consider leaving the factory and coming back to work at HA Properties. You could get hurt. Do you really not mind getting splattered with paint and wearing steel-toed boots? He’d looked so concerned, she almost told him she’d think about it, but the truth was, she liked working with her hands. It made her feel close to her father, and it felt good to be a part of his dream. Would she want to do this long-term? Who knew? Patience and perseverance told her she should stick with it right now, and keep paying down the debt—debt that Tate had tiptoed around and mentioned taking care of for her. That was an absolute big no. She’d gotten herself into this mess, and she planned to dig herself out. According to Rogan’s calculations, in six months, she’d be up to date.

  Charlotte stayed at Tate’s every night, but they also spent time at her mother’s. Rose loved Tate, filled him with food and stories of Charlotte’s escapades as a youngster. She was so confounded cute, but what a handful! On the few occasions Rogan and Tate were together, her brother seemed to tolerate him, even had a conversation that wasn’t stuffed with sarcasm or accusations. It helped that Elizabeth was with him and kept him on good behavior. Interesting, how the right partner could bring out all the good qualities in the other while suppressing the not-so-good.

  Christmas was a few weeks away, and Charlotte had convinced Tate to Christmas-tree hunt for a real tree. How had a grown man never experienced the smell and feel of a real Christmas tree? She wouldn’t tell him about the pine needles he’d find months after the tree was gone. Nope, she’d let him find out for himself.

  Could life get any better? Could she be any happier? Oh, there were a few things they needed to straighten out, like how she preferred her clothing in drawers and not on hangers. Why would a person hang every single pair of jeans? And the boxes of Meredith’s clothes that were still stacked in her room were going to remain in boxes or in the closet. They were not going on Charlotte’s body. Maybe it was petty, but she didn’t mean for it to be that way; she just wasn’t interested in the fancy clothes, especially ones she didn’t need. Practical was another of her new mantras.

  Of course, Tate didn’t like that response, but he was learning a few mantras of his own: acceptance and tolerance. And then there was his father. Harrison Seymour Alexander, a man whose wealth and reputation would outlive him, his children, maybe even his children’s children! Yes, he’d been a tyrant capable of deceit and cruelty toward others, including Charlotte’s father, but it was hard to picture this shell of a man hurting anyone now. His speech was slow, his movements unsure, and she wasn’t always certain he remembered what he’d just said. What if Tate could forgive his father and move on, invest his energy in other possibilities, like their relationship? Maybe talk of forgiveness was easier because her heart was so full of love.

  And that made her the perfect target for a man who’d spent his life attacking others.

  “Charlotte?” Harrison’s private nurse rushed toward her. “Mr. Alexander would like to see you in the library.”

  “Oh. Sure.” She’d been about to head to the grocery store to pick up ingredients for Tate’s sugar cookies. Astrid said they were one of his favorites and Charlotte had wanted to surprise him—with Astrid’s help, of course. If a person had to work on a Saturday, at least he should get a surprise when he got home. She folded her coat over her arm, followed the nurse to the library. The request for a meeting should have alarmed her, but a woman in love didn’t always notice caution signs. “Good morning, Harrison.”

  His smile stretched farther than it had in days. “Hello, dear. Come closer.” He patted the spot on the couch next to him, waited for her to sit. “I understand my son’s at work?” When she nodded, he tsk-tsked. “He’s a hard worker, motivated, and intelligent, but I don’t have to tell you that. Still, I do hope he doesn’t leave you alone too long.” The smile stretched even farther. “An unattended beautiful woman is indeed a sad sight and can lead to a series of pitfalls.”

  What was he talking about? He didn’t sound like the feeble man who’d struggled to gather his words into a sentence without stumbling. That man was the one she’d grown comfortable around, the one she pitied, maybe even hoped Tate would one day forgive. But this one? She sat up straight, sipped air. This man reminded her too much of the old Harrison Alexander, and his next words said that’s exactly who he was, and she’d been a fool to think otherwise.

  “If you had to choose a fault where my son is concerned, what would it be?”

  “A fault?” The air in the room grew thin, snaked around her. Was this a trick question?

  “Yes, a fault.” He stroked his clean-shaven jaw—Tate’s jaw—and studied her. “He doesn’t have many, but he does have one that’s caused him an emotional upheaval a time or two.” Pause, more jaw stroking. “Do you know what that is?” When she shook her head, he lowered his voice and said, “He’s too kind.”

  “Too kind?” That was a fault?

  “Yes, haven’t you noticed? Tate can’t say no, even when he should. He’s the one who donates to every cause, and one cause begets requests from twenty. Does my son care? No, he does not. He writes a check and does so without an ounce of concern that he’s being manipulated. He’s quite fond of strays.” He eyed her cotton turtleneck and faded jeans. “Especially untamed ones.”

  Charlotte stared at him, bit her bottom lip. Was he talking about her? Did he think she was a stray? “Tate’s a good person, and I’m sure you’re proud of him.” What else could she say? He’s a good person, despite your cruelty?

  “There’s truth to that, and yet, there are instances when his kindness blinds him to others’ motives.” Pause, a narrowing of silver eyes, before he added, “At times it limits him to the world of possibilities awaiting him.” Another smile, this one as cold as the last. “Surely you see that, don’t you, Charlotte?”

  She fought to keep her voice even. “I’m not really sure I know what you’re talking about.”

  “No?” He reached for the coffee cup on the table, took a sip. “Could I interest you in coffee or tea? The cook will be happy to fix it for you. Oh, that’s right,” he said, his cup halfway to his mouth. “You eat in the dining room, and my staff fixes your breakfast, as though you lived here. Hmm. Almost as though you belonged here. But you don’t belong here, and you know that, don’t you, Charlotte Donovan? My son might be distracted by your beauty and think he loves you, but what is love other than a way to control another person? Tate belongs with a woman of his own breeding, someone who can conduct herself as befits a person of her station…bear his children…entertain in society…make him proud.”

  She balled her hands into fists, buried them in her lap. “Tate and I love each other, and we want to be together.”

  He waved a hand in the air, dismissing her comments. “That’s irrelevant. Duty and family lineage are what count.”

  “I disagree.” She would not listen to his venomous words. “Love is relevant, and it should be honored and respected.”

  That silver gaze turned to soot. “You’re a fool if you think my son will marry you.” More venom spilled from his lips. “You might think I’m feeble and content to sit in my library while you play wife, but I rule this house, and I will not see my son marry a woman beneath him, especially a Donovan.” He leaned forward, face red, spittle flying from
his mouth, and bit out, “Now get the hell out of my sight!”

  Charlotte flew out of the house, drove to her mother’s, half-blinded by tears and shock. Why had Tate’s father acted that way toward her? He’d been so kind before, almost gentle, but the man she’d seen today? That man was a monster, bent on removing her from his son’s life. Tate didn’t care about social status or breeding. He loved her, and soon he’d ask her to marry him again.

  Wouldn’t he?

  By the time she pulled into her mother’s driveway, she’d half convinced herself Tate was too soft and would be strong-armed into marrying a woman with money and a pedigree. Charlotte trudged through the snow to the front door, opened it, and stepped inside.

  The plainness and second-class state of the house smothered her with doubt. Why would a man like Tate Alexander want to marry into a simple family like this one? Doubt clouded her soul, pierced her heart. He’ll never marry you, it said. He’s too good for you…never marry you…he’s too good for you…

  “Charlotte?” Her mother touched her arm. “Sweet child, what is it?”

  “Oh, Mom.” She hugged her mother, held tight.

  “What’s wrong?” Rose stroked her back like she’d done when Charlotte was a child. “Is it Tate? Did something happen?”

  Charlotte pulled away, swiped at her cheeks. “It’s him.”

  “What’s happened between you and Tate? He’s a good man, but relationships require patience, and—”

  “No, him. Tate’s father.” The words burned her tongue as she recalled the man’s vile comments. They weren’t even threats, but more statements of fact. You’re a fool if you think my son will marry you…I will not see my son marry a woman beneath him, especially a Donovan.

  “Harrison?” Her mother paled. “What did he say? Tell me everything.”

  Harrison Alexander had just finished a late afternoon snack of cheese and crackers and retired to the library when the cook announced the visitor. Why his son thought it acceptable to have the person who baked his salmon fill in as a “butler” was incomprehensible. People had their stations and their jobs, and they should understand them and remain within their confines. There was a reason for titles, and people might think his financial situation was in jeopardy if he continued to double up on the hired help. A cook belonged in the kitchen, and a butler belonged in the receiving area. He shifted in his chair, heaved a long sigh of anticipation. Changes were coming, and they’d started with Charlotte Donovan.