Cut back to Elsa.
“The glorious Belinda Oakley lost her way long ago, she also lost her man, but one thing you could say for the woman, she kept hold of her son. But now, my wonderful watchers, many are asking, was that a good thing?”
Photo on screen of Jameson Oakley and his ridiculously handsome son, Judge, walking shoulder-to-shoulder into a posh Dallas eatery the night before Belinda Oakley’s memorial service. They look subdued, but tanned and healthy, with Jameson’s head again turned, this time to speak in his son’s ear. Judge’s head is tilted toward his father and slightly downcast as he walks and listens with visible intent to whatever his father is saying.
Cut back to Elsa.
“Much is being said about the former Mrs. Oakley after her former father-in-law let a few things slip, as he has an alarming tendency to do. At first, even I was shocked at news that Jameson allowed his first wife to wallow in such dire circumstances. This from a man who became known for his utter devotion to his second wife, Rosalind, a woman he heartbreakingly lost not too long ago after she succumbed to her battle with breast cancer. I’ll refrain from sharing the photos that have been circulating that depict where Belinda was found by a dear friend, dead on her couch. Photos we have reason to believe agents of the senior Mr. Oakley took themselves, and then in a shady move that’s signature to said senior Oakley, they released.”
Photo on screen of AJ Oakley, cowboy hat on his head, mouth wide open, buxom, blonde woman five inches taller and sixty-plus years younger standing, looking bored, at his side.
Cut back to Elsa.
“However, barely an hour after AJ planted this morsel in our ever-hungry ears, news started spreading about the senior Oakley’s dastardly deeds. And we’re not talking about the most recent ones, my watchers. We’re talking about how he contrived with Belinda to cut Jameson’s visitation of their son to cruelly meagre levels, financing her never-ending battles against her ex-husband, keeping a boy from his father. About how he bribed officers of the court to look away from Belinda’s troubling downward spiral into drug, alcohol and even sex addiction, and how this detrimentally affected his grandson. Friends of Judge Oakley’s are coming forward and telling it like it was, my wonderful watchers. And it was grim. Tales of a mother who lost her way and a grandfather who enabled it, barring a young man from the functional upbringing every child should be entitled to.”
Photo on screen of Jameson Oakley, his striking, flame-haired wife, her cute-as-a-button adolescent daughter somewhat hidden from view, and a tall, straight, teenage Judge emerging from the Lincoln Center after a performance of the New York Philharmonic.
Cut to photo of a haggard Belinda Oakley emerging from a liquor store with a very full brown paper bag cradled lovingly in her too-thin arm.
Cut back to Elsa.
“I’m afraid to say, it’s not surprising the devious senior Oakley connived in such a fashion. Though the fresh horror of him putting on one of his, let’s face it, what’s becoming tired and boring shows for reporters, is just…” delicate sniff, “not on. Doing this while his grandson grieves, and his son comes to terms with the mother of his only blood child no longer being of this world? Bad form, Mr. Oakley. Bad form. And just a note, sir, from one who watches, it’s not good when it gets boring. But this? Well, this is just desperate and sad, and no one is interested in that.”
Photo on screen of Tom Pierce in an attractive blue and black tennis outfit and Duncan Holloway in navy performance joggers and white short-sleeved compression shirt, sitting together on a bench, courtside at an elite Dallas athletics club. Both men have their dark heads thrown back and the camera has caught them laughing.
Cut back to Elsa.
“But what have we here? With the things I see and the tidbits that pass my way, I will admit to some…doubt as to the assertions that all is well in the Pierce-Swan-Holloway world. Really, no one is that adjusted. But could it be? Is it indeed all friends and family?”
Photo on screen of Imogen Swan in a form-fitting Alice+Olivia bateau-neck, black midi-dress standing with Tom Pierce wearing Tom Ford and Duncan Holloway wearing Emporio Armani outside a funeral home in Lucas, Texas. The three are huddled close, talking, with Duncan having his hand on the small of Imogen’s back, and both Imogen and Duncan seeming riveted at whatever Tom is saying.
Cut back to Elsa.
“It would appear it is. We should have never doubted America’s Sweetheart. Lesson learned, my wonderful watchers. But let us talk about the next generation.”
Photo on screen of Sasha Pierce, Matthew Pierce, Sullivan Holloway, Gage Holloway and Drusilla Lynch, all in funeral black, walking, heads bent, faces grave, into that same funeral parlor. Sasha Pierce is between her brother, Matthew, and Gage Holloway, a hand on both their arms. Sullivan Holloway has Drusilla Lynch’s hand in his, and his body is positioned as such, it looks as if he’s attempting to protect her from the camera’s lens.
Cut back to Elsa.
“Is this not a collection of the best and brightest and most beautiful? Don’t answer that. It is. I, for one, wonderful watchers, would just love to see Tom Pierce settled and happy with a new love in his life. But my breath is absolutely bated with what might come for this confoundingly exquisite quintet. And no, I haven’t forgotten.”
Photo on screen of Judge Oakley and Chloe Pierce, Judge wearing a black suit, gray shirt, black tie. Chloe wearing a black knit Alexander McQueen with a plunging twisted neckline, sleeves that hug her arms down to her knuckles, hem below the knees. This accompanied by a slender, black leather, double-wrap belt with silver rivets and McQueen’s punk spike stud pumps. They’re holding hands, walking closely into the aforementioned funeral parlor. Judge is facing straight ahead. Chloe’s eyes are cast down.
“This gorgeous pair. What? Rumor has it love is in the air and the powerhouse Pierce-Swan-Holloways are looking at a merger with the power magnate Oakleys. It is, reportedly, a match made in heaven, and not only because these…two…are…glorious. But also, Judge Oakley has a heart of gold and spends his days getting urban kids out into nature, overseeing Duncan Holloway’s Kids and Trails program. But Chloe herself runs a lowkey program out of her delicious boutique in Phoenix, Velvet. FFF, or Fabulous Foot Forward, where Chloe Pierce, who had every leg up imaginable in her life, gives the same to other women who were not as lucky. Whoops! Let’s hope Chloe doesn’t mind that this program of hers will be lowkey no more. But someone needs to shout it from the rooftops, and that, my wonderful watchers, as you know, is always me. Please, see below for your link on how to donate to this fantastic cause.”
Cut to Fabulous Foot Forward graphic of a file of five line-drawn women wearing varying stylish business attire, striding forward with linked arms. Features and coloration depict women that are Black, Brown, Asian, Native American and white.
Cut back to Elsa.
“It really is all no surprise, Tom and Imogen are both known for their charitable endeavors, Duncan far from shies away from the same. Not to mention, this is shades of Chloe’s de facto brother, Hale Wheeler, whose blood runs half Szabo.”
Photo on screen of Hale Wheeler in aviators and slim fit Prada suit folding into a limousine.
Cut back to Elsa.
“He’s got more money than God, since his father laid his empire on his shoulders, but the Extraordinary Mr. Wheeler still spends most of his time and efforts with wayward kids out in the wilderness. And word is being whispered that Hale is preparing to take a very good deal of that money his father made and do something most interesting with it. I mean, could this entire family be more perfect?”
Close in on Elsa.
“Well, my wonderful watchers, no one is that perfect. So we’ll just wait and see. And as ever, be watching very, very closely. Until our next exchange, keep it positive. And for now, Elsa is signing off.”
The branded Elsa wink and blowing of kiss.
Sign off.
* * *
Chloe
Saturday aftern
oon…back in Phoenix…
“What’s this?”
I was all about rubbing down Zeke, who had greetings and love to give after I arrived home from spending the day at Velvet, and he spent the day with his daddy and without me.
But at Judge’s question, I turned to him.
And I saw him at the island, holding an envelope.
My brows drew together, I straightened and moved to him. “I don’t know. What is it?”
“It was sitting here.” He gestured to the island. “And it wasn’t there when I left to pick you up.”
I made it to him and saw on the front of the envelope, handwritten in black, it only said, “C.”
Oh my.
I held out a hand. “Can I see?”
Judge gave it to me.
Upon touching it, I noted the cardstock was thick and expensive.
I turned it over, slid a nail under the flap and slit it open.
I pulled out the notecard inside.
A familiar one.
An embossed edge, the paper creamy, like the envelope.
But that was it.
Except the words scrawled on it.
I have more. Say the word. -R
“Jesus Christ,” Judge bit out, looking over my shoulder at the card.
I was confused and turned my gaze up to him. “What?”
“It’s from that Rhys guy. He broke into your house and left it.”
Of course he did.
Though, I doubt he “broke in.” He probably just activated a special mechanism some mad genius made him so he could apparate and walked through one of the walls.
“I know. But what does he mean—?”
I stopped myself and then made an entirely unattractive noise as I swallowed a delighted giggle.
“Yeah, that mystery is solved,” Judge groused. “He’s the one who laid Granddad out.”
Back in Texas, that fateful afternoon, once things started turning in the media, this being before we even left the hotel to go out to dinner that Tuesday night, we’d all wondered.
I thought it might be Jameson’s spin doctors, but he assured us it wasn’t him.
I then thought Mom’s PR people might have stepped in, because she’d be launching a new series money was being poured into this fall and they’d want to nip any bad press that might cling to her in the bud.
But that couldn’t be possible, because what was leaked was too intimate, too deep. Given a few weeks (or even a few days), maybe.
Within hours of AJ’s nefarious deeds?
Impossible.
(She’d called to check regardless, and they’d shared it was not them.)
It was a mystery we’d all chewed over since.
I should have thought of Rhys Vaughan from the start.
And now I was curious as to what “more” he had on AJ.
I stared up at Judge, then asked an unnecessary question, “Are you angry?”
I watched, again fighting a giggle, as Judge’s eyes went wide.
Then he spoke.
“First, he broke into your house. Second, he investigated my grandfather. Which means, third, he is keeping tabs on you, and as an extension of you, me.”
“Because I love you.”
Judge shut his mouth.
I tossed the card on the island, turned to him, and scooped him in my arms.
He dropped one of his own around my shoulders, the hand at the end of the other one, he sifted into my hair.
“As good as this feels, this does not make me any happier about this dude out there doing random shit for you,” Judge remarked. “I can’t believe I have to say this to you, but it’s creepy as fuck.”
“Let me explain the love of Corey Szabo,” I said quietly.
Judge had looked annoyed, not at me.
He now looked intent, definitely at me.
“AJ was hurting you. I was hurting for you. Enter Uncle Corey,” I said softly.
“Babe—”
I shook him with my arms. “That’s the way he works. That’s the way he always worked. In the background, seeing to things. And frankly, I am not sorry that happened. Furthermore, I will admit right now that I’m not only happy it did, I’m gleeful it did. I’ll even go so far as to share I feel strongly it needed to happen. Your grandfather was a bastion of the old days, who some looked at with nostalgia, others just found him amusing. Now, he seems like a mean old man who had a hand in abusing his grandson, doing this for no reason but to take pieces out of the son he was pathologically jealous of. Now, most everyone thinks he is what he is. A complete asshole, one of the last of a dying breed we’ll all be glad to see gone. And I think that’s the perfect comeuppance for someone as arrogant and destructive as your granddad. Or at least it’s half of it. Deservedly, your dad will deliver the other half.”
“And maybe you’ll also admit to it meaning something to you, that even though your uncle is gone, he’s also not. He’s still looking out for you.”
“I will freely admit that,” I replied blithely.
Judge’s eyes warmed.
And I knew with the way they did that he was giving in on the topic of Rhys Vaughan.
At least on this.
He then murmured, “You’re ruthless,” but it wasn’t an admonition.
Not at all.
“I am a beast made by the hands of Corey Szabo. So when it comes to the ones I love…absolutely.”
Judge gave me a look.
Then he gave me a kiss.
It was much later when I would find my phone and the business card Rhys Vaughan left me.
First, I programmed him into my phone.
And then I sent a text.
Thank you. I think that did it. But we may talk later. Best, C
I was not expecting him to, but even so…
Rhys did not reply.
Chapter 30
The Understanding
Corey
Twenty-four years ago…
His ass covered in linen trousers, the hems rolled up, the loose-fitting linen shirt billowing against his chest, Corey sat in the sand, his head turned to look down the beach.
Marilyn was wearing a black, one-piece swimsuit with a plunging neckline. It showed cleavage. It was cut high on her thighs.
She was in her fifties and her figure was fabulous.
She was also dancing with the sea, racing the waves up the sand as they arrived, chasing after them in their retreat.
And in her arms was a baby.
Head covered in a little, white, baby sun hat with a wide brim and laces at the sides that tied under her chin. Her body was covered in a tiny red bathing suit with white polka dots and a tufted white skirt made of tulle.
Coming in with the breeze, Corey could hear Marilyn’s peals of laughter accompanied by abandoned squeals from the child.
Grandmother and grandbaby were consumed with the sun and the sand and their dance with the waves.
And each other.
Eventually, as was always Marilyn’s way, her dance brought her to Corey.
She blocked out the bright rays as she stood above him, half her body coated with droplets of water.
Baby Chloe clung to her neck, but like her grandmother, she gazed down at Corey.
Although she often smiled and giggled, she could be a solemn child. Watchful. Assessing.
Corey didn’t know many babies, but he knew ones like that were few and far between.
He didn’t want to, but he found her utterly fascinating.
“We don’t need a bodyguard, honey lumpkin,” Marilyn said to him.
“You are holding Imogen Swan and Tom Pierce’s firstborn in your arms and there is not a man out here with you, strapped with a gun and trained to protect,” he retorted.
Marilyn threw her head back and sang with laughter.
This time, Chloe did not do it with her.
She watched her grandmother for a spell, then she cast her gaze down to her Uncle Corey.
She reached both her chubby arms h
is way.
Corey grew tense.
Marilyn stopped laughing.
“We’re fine,” she assured.
“You are, because I’m out here making sure you stay that way,” he returned.
She clicked her teeth and shook her head.
And then she whispered, “You were always such a good boy.”
He was not.
He didn’t inform her of that, and regardless, he’d lost her attention.
She’d looked to her granddaughter, who was now straining Corey’s way.
Don’t, don’t, don’t.
Don’t do it.
“Do you want your Uncle Corey, my gorgeous girl?” Marilyn asked Chloe.
Chloe didn’t even look at her.
She emitted a little baby grunt and pushed further Corey’s way.
“As long as I have breath in my body, you will have what you want,” Marilyn decreed.
And then she dumped Chloe into Corey’s lap.
“And I suspect your uncle feels the same way,” she finished.
With nothing further, Marilyn turned in the sand and ran gracefully into the surf, eventually diving over a wave and disappearing under it, to emerge much further out with hair flat to her head and face pointed to the sky.
It was the first time Corey had been left alone with Genny’s baby girl.
Chloe banged on his chest.
He looked to the little girl whose blue eyes were shading brown.
She studied him, and it was uncanny, the girl couldn’t even speak her first words, but he felt…
Seen.
She then wobbled and fell forward against his chest, her sun hat brushing his throat, her arms splayed to his sides.
And Corey did not know how he knew, but he knew.
His little girl was tired.
It was fun being with Grandma.
But it could wipe you out.
“I know, honey,” he murmured, sliding an arm around her, holding her diapered bottom secure with his other hand.
Chasing Serenity Page 42