My father has gone to great lengths to take care of me, and I can’t deny how good it feels to have someone looking after me. Flying me out to meet him shows he wants me in his life, and that speaks volumes. Yes, there’s a teeny-tiny niggling worry at the back of my mind. It’s only natural. I’ve never met him, and this is all a bit cloak-and-dagger. But I trust him.
I was tempted to tell Abby and Shandra, because they are great friends, but Dad asked me not to tell anyone, and their connection with Jackson means I have to hold some stuff back. I want to trust them completely. Genuinely, I do, but I’ve only known them a few weeks, and while they are still friends with that prick, I must keep some walls up.
They have tried to coax me into talking about Jackson, on several occasions, but I don’t want to even think about him, let alone discuss him. Jackson doesn’t deserve to occupy any of my headspace after the shit he’s pulled, so anytime Abby tries to talk to me about guys, I clam up like an oyster.
Abby begged me to attend dinner at her place today, but hell will freeze before I willingly attend an event with my asshole ex. After that stunt he pulled at the party last month, it is easier to hate the cockblocking asshat now.
I was enjoying making out with Bryant before Jackson fucked up my plans. I’d been doing so well that night. I’d barely even looked at my ex and his latest arm candy. I knew I looked like a million dollars, and I was enjoying the attention on the dance floor. I didn’t touch a drop of booze or take anything illegal.
I was high on possibility and determined to fuck Jackson right out of my head.
I would’ve succeeded too if the asshole hadn’t lost his shit and started a fight with Bryant.
I’ve never seen Jackson so out of control. Honestly, it was as if he’d shed his skin and inhabited some feral beast’s body. He was enraged. Barely human.
Bryant gave as good as he got, but it was the dark rage blazing in Jackson’s eyes that separated them. I never saw that side of him when we were together, but watching him unleash a torrent of aggression on Bryant was eye-opening. Jackson is hiding some deep-seated pain, and it’s no wonder he lost it so spectacularly. His reaction intrigued me as much as it scared me and turned me on, and I wonder what that says about me.
Still, it doesn’t excuse his behavior. He ruined my night, robbed me of some much-needed payback, and I won’t forget that in a hurry.
Bryant was hot and surprisingly sweet for such an obvious bad boy. From the expert ways his fingers massaged my pussy, I know he would’ve been a great lay. Now, I’m stuck with the equivalent of lady blue balls, thanks to Jackson fucking Lauder.
Oh, it’s okay for him to sleep around, but the minute I try to get some, he’s all up in my business.
Fucking asshole.
I fucking hate his smug, gorgeous face.
I’ve done everything in my power to avoid him these past few weeks, and not having a physical reminder helps. I wish I could say I’ve managed to successfully evict him from my mind, but I can’t. The asshole still corrals my thoughts more often than I’d like, but at least, I’ve stopped mooning over him.
Now, I’m plain ol’ mad, so I cling to my anger, using it to mask my confusing feelings over the blond-haired, blue-eyed devil.
And now, I’ve let him hijack my mind again. Ugh. I slam my palm into my brow a few times as if that will shake him free from my thoughts. Sighing, I close my eyes, urging my brain to toss the jerk aside.
The plane tilts to the left, dragging me out of my head and back into the moment. Lowering the window blind, I accept a blanket from the flight attendant, recline my chair, and attempt to sleep.
I don’t want to show up yawning and with big bags under my eyes.
Making a good first impression is important to me.
So, I close my eyes and focus on muting my troubling thoughts. The gentle purring of the engine lulls me into unconsciousness, and the last thought I have before I fall asleep is whether my brother Trenton will be there with Chris or not.
_______________
“Where are we?” I ask from the back seat as the driver exits the small airport, heading out onto the highway. Although, calling it a highway is a bit of a joke. It’s only got two lanes on either side of the road, so it’s more like a mini highway.
All I’ve managed to observe thus far is that I’ve been traveling for more than twenty hours—including the two stopovers to refuel—which means we’re a long way from home. The airport we just left is named Arrecife Airport, and the climate is warm and humid. It feels like it’s pushing eighty outside, and my dress is already clinging to my back. Thank God, this car has an air conditioner, because turning up like a hot sweaty mess is not in my plans.
The guy sitting in the passenger seat narrows his beady eyes in warning at me through the mirror. He’s ginormous with boulders for shoulders, massive thighs squeezed into black pants, and sly, untrustworthy eyes. His thickset mustache infringes his top lip, and his mouth is pulled tight with disapproval. He looks like he eats children for breakfast, and a shiver works its way through me. Tendrils of fear crawl over my skin, and for the first time, I’m regretting my decision to come here without telling a soul.
I don’t even know what country I’m in! What the fuck was I thinking?!
The scary guy turns his attention back to the road, and I release the breath I was holding, rummaging in my bag for my cell. Using the bag to shield my movements, I power up my normal cell, grateful when it switches on and automatically connects to a local network. I leave it on, slipping it into the top zip pocket of the bag, where I can reach it fast should I need to.
Next, I power up the cell phone Chris sent me, opening the new message.
Chris: I’m glad you landed safely. I’ll see you soon. Love, your father.
A layer of stress lifts from my shoulders. He knows where I am, and he is waiting for me. I’m worrying for nothing. Still, I don’t turn my regular cell off. Just in case.
The driver switches the radio on, and I’m startled to hear songs I know because the blue and white road signs are in a foreign language. I studied German and French at school, so I know it’s not that. Maybe Spanish or Portuguese? We drive by industrial buildings and large storefronts, and I’m relieved to see some familiar brands, which hints at a certain level of civilization. Large palm trees line the side of this strip of road, their branches swaying in the wind as cars zip by.
The farther we travel, the more we appear to leave civilization behind and the steeper we climb.
Pressing my nose to the window when we leave the highway, I marvel at the crystal-clear blue ocean on our left. There is barely a ripple in the water and hardly a cloud in the azure sky. I study the landscape as we continue our journey, climbing higher and higher, past small, quaint towns dotted along the coast, overhanging sandy beaches, and that stunning shoreline. The land is a weird mishmash of dry, brown, barren rocky terrain interspersed with green shrubs and pockets of foliage growing out of weird gray earth. Craggy cliffs emerge on both sides, and I can honestly say I have never been to any place like this.
We come to a stop ten minutes later outside high black iron gates. The property is bordered by tall stone walls on both sides. Barbed wire and wall-mounted cameras scan the road outside as the driver speaks into the keypad.
Anxiety flares in my gut, twisting my insides into knots, as the gates open slowly, granting us entry. I’m jostled from side to side as the car bumps along the rough gravel-lined driveway. Unusual flowerbeds line both sides of the driveway, housing several large trees mixed with smaller green shrubs and large cacti with red-fringed tips, planted into the same weird gray earth I spotted previously.
My eyes are out on stalks as we draw up in front of the stylish Mediterranean-type bungalow. Sandstone contrasts with pristine white-painted walls and the floor-to-ceiling-length windows that appear to wrap all the way around the house, making it look bright and airy.
But it’s the handsome older man in loafers, khaki shorts, and a
crisp white polo shirt, waiting at the front door, who invokes the biggest reaction.
My heart is galloping around my chest like an uncontrollable spinning top, and my palms are suddenly clammy. Wiping them down the front of my pale-pink dress, I swallow back the panicked knot clogging my throat, urging my body to calm down.
The driver opens my door, and I swing my trembling legs out, grateful I chose to wear black ballet flats instead of the stilettos I was considering. I have made an effort with my attire because I want to look nice the first time I meet my father.
The scary-looking dude exits the passenger seat, and he retrieves my suitcase from the trunk before slamming it shut. I jump a little, standing rooted to the spot, terrified and unable to move.
The man, my father, Chris, moves toward me with a smile. He’s wearing sunglasses so I can’t see his eyes, but his smile is warm and inviting, and it helps to settle my nerves.
Forcing my limbs to move, I walk toward him.
“Vanessa.” His voice is deep and masculine. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
“I’m happy to be here too,” I croak, hating how my voice quakes with nerves.
“Don’t be nervous,” he says, still smiling at me. “I don’t bite.” He flashes me a set of dazzling pearly whites, almost blinding me.
Prickles of apprehension snake up my spine, but I force them aside, staring at my father as a whole host of emotions threatens to drown me.
“This has been a long time coming,” he says. “I wish I had known about you sooner, but better late than never. Now, we have all the time in the world to get to know one another.” He stops, looking a little unsure. “Could I?” He pauses momentarily, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Could I have a hug?”
I find myself nodding, because it’s not a strange request. Most fathers hug their daughters, right?
Very gently, he wraps his arms around me, and I rest my head on his chest. He holds me tighter, pressing kisses into my hair, and it feels … strange, uncomfortable. I’m not used to affection from a parental figure, and I’m unaccustomed to such loving gestures in general. This entire trip is stretching me out of my comfort zone, and I’m trying to be brave, but I can’t deny I’m grateful when he doesn’t prolong the hug for too long.
“I imagine you are tired after your long trip. It’s the afternoon here, so I thought you might like to freshen up in your room and then we could enjoy a drink on the terrace before an early dinner.”
“That sounds lovely.”
“Very well.” He clicks his fingers at the scary-looking dude, and it’s only then I realize the driver has disappeared with the car. “Ivan. Take my daughter’s suitcase to her room.”
He nods, taking my suitcase and disappearing inside the house. My gaze scans several cameras mounted on top of the house, along with a couple of men walking the perimeter of the grounds. “Are they bodyguards?” I inquire. It’s not unusual for high-powered businessmen to have bodyguards, but it seems a bit over the top considering the idyllic setting.
“Yes,” Chris confirms, sweeping his arm to the side and ushering me into the house. “I know you were brought up in similar social circles, so I’m assuming you are familiar with the need for important men to hire security details to protect them and their families. Every successful man attracts enemies. It’s par for the course.”
“I understand,” I say, instantly cooling down when we step into the air-conditioned villa.
He escorts me into a large open-plan living area with a sophisticated modern kitchen and a comfortable living room. The windows open out to an exquisite view of the cliffs and the sparkling ocean in the distance. “Where are we?” I ask again, hoping my father will give me an answer this time.
“We are on Lanzarote. It’s one of the Canary Islands. Just off the coast of Spain,” he confirms, opening the refrigerator door. “Have you ever been here before?”
I shake my head. “I’ve visited Cannes and Paris in France, and we took a family vacation to Greece one year, but most of my summers were spent in The Hamptons.”
“Of course. I know Aaron was into that scene.”
I turn away from the view, arching a brow as Chris approaches. “You knew him?”
He hands me a glass of water, shaking his head. “Only after the fact,” he cryptically replies.
He steers me out of the living area to the back of the property where the bedrooms are. “I’ve put your things in there,” he says, opening the door to a large airy white bedroom. It opens out onto the outside space, and the double doors are open a smidgeon. The soft breeze flowing into the room lifts the light gossamer curtains, tossing them around. “You have an en suite bath to yourself.” Chris points at the closed door. “Take whatever time you need, and join me outside when you are ready.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I shuffle anxiously on my feet. It’s all so awkward.
He walks off, stopping with one foot out in the hallway. Slowly, he turns around. “I’m very glad you’re here.” His voice drops a few decibels. Shoving his shades on his head, he stabs me with piercing blue eyes. “You look like her, you know. Your mom,” he adds. “Only more beautiful.”
“Thank you.” To me, that’s not actually a compliment, because I don’t want to be compared to that woman in any shape or form, but I accept it as one so as not to appear rude.
When he slips out of the room, carefully closing the door behind him, I flop down on the big bed, smiling to myself like a goober as I contemplate the strange turn my life has taken.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Vanessa
“I WAS HOPING Trenton might be here,” I admit as we eat dinner outside on the gorgeous terrace. We are under a large canopy with an impressive pool on one side and an exotic garden on the other. In the distance, a few boats bob on the placid blue-green expanse of the Atlantic Ocean.
We’ve spent a couple of hours chatting over wine, just getting to know one another. I allowed myself one glass, to help settle my nerves, but I’ve been careful to pace myself because I don’t want to lose control or embarrass myself. Chris has been peppering me with questions about my life, and I can’t remember the last time someone took this much interest in me.
Contemplating my question, he lowers his head but not before I spot the pain flaring in his eyes. Setting his silverware down, he dabs the corners of his mouth with a napkin, exhaling heavily. His chest heaves, and his hands shake. Silence engulfs us, and I fear I’ve said something wrong. I chew my chicken slowly, debating whether I should ask him what’s wrong or wait for him to explain. I decide to keep my mouth shut in case I fuck up again.
Clearing his throat, he lifts his head. “I was hoping to avoid this topic of conversation until tomorrow.” The tormented expression on his face, and the tears welling in his eyes, sends panic flooding through me.
“We don’t have to talk about it,” I whisper, inherently knowing this isn’t going to be a happy story.
“Your brother is dead, Vanessa. He was murdered a few months ago.”
My fork drops to the table with a loud clang. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” I clasp my hand over my mouth, struggling to process the conflicting emotions tearing through me. I’m sad that I never got the chance to know my brother, and I want to ask Chris what happened, but I don’t want to be insensitive either, because it’s obvious he’s grieving.
“He would have loved you,” Chris says with a sad smile. “He always wanted a sibling, and he was a fan of all pretty things.” He reaches out, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “You share similar features. He had blond hair and blue eyes too. I’m sorry you never got to meet. That’s something else you can blame your parents for. They have taken so much from you. It’s so wrong.”
I bob my head, agreeing with him, and he doesn’t even know the half of it. “You don’t have any other children?” I ask even though I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.
“You’re my only surviving heir.”
It’s an odd way
of putting it. “What was he like?” I inquire, pushing my half-eaten plate away.
A woman appears from behind us, clearing our plates away. It’s the same lady who brought me extra towels and cooked our gorgeous dinner, so I’m guessing she’s the housekeeper.
Chris smiles up at her, and her pretty cheeks flush with color.
“Trent was a good boy,” Chris says, starting off into space while sipping his sangria. “He knew his place in this world, and he always made me proud. He had a bright future ahead of him. A future snuffed out by that degenerate L—” He stops mid-sentence. “Forgive me, my dear.” He takes my hand in his much larger one, and I fight the urge to flinch. I’m not used to adults being touchy-feely in a purely platonic way, and it’s going to take a while to get used to it. “It’s still hurts too much to speak about it.”
“That’s okay,” I assure him. “I understand.”
“I know you’ll make me proud too, Vanessa. I can already tell you’re a good girl and that you have a bright future ahead of you too.” His eyes bore into mine as he squeezes my hand before releasing me.
“Thank you for everything, Chris. I’m very appreciative of all you have done for me.”
He scowls briefly, but the look is gone so fast I’m not sure I didn’t imagine it. “It’s my pleasure, and, please, call me Christian. No one calls me Chris. My name is Christian Montgomery.”
He pins me with a funny look, peering into my eyes, as if he can break into my thoughts. I think I may have offended him. He’s only ever referred to himself in his messages as C.M. or Father, so this is the first time I’m hearing his full name.
Why does it sound familiar?
“I apologize for any offense,” I say. “Mom called you Chris, so I just assumed that was your name.”
A blinding smile is back on his face. “It’s not a big deal. Just my name.” He chuckles, eyeing me as if he’s expecting a reaction. Relaxing a little in his chair, he beams at me, and his smile seems more genuine this time. “And if you would prefer to call me Father, nothing would make me happier.”
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