All Our Lives

by Violet Haze

  “Yep, see you there, munchkin.” I blow him a kiss, both of us laughing as we face forward.

  “Three!”

  We both take off like a shot, and he immediately starts outpacing me.

  I admit, I’m impressed. No matter how fast I skate, I won’t catch up to him.

  And I almost let him have his honest win. Almost.

  That is, until he turns around and starts to skate backward, waving at me with a triumphant grin on his face.

  I make as if I’m about to fall, twirling my arms before tucking and rolling while still trying to make the fall look as natural as possible — and of course, me attempting to save myself from being hurt. I swear I can hear everyone on the outside of the rink gasp and suck in their breaths.

  And like a fool, he takes the bait.

  Before I know it, he’s crouched beside me as I get back on all the wheels, my hands against the ground to hold steady. I focus my gaze on the ground as he touches my shoulder.

  “Joce, are you all right?”

  Peeking at him from the corner of my eye, I make certain that when I push him, he’ll land on his ass. Lifting my eyes, I meet his and smile. “Gotcha.”

  Bumping him, his ass meets the floor, hands too busy trying to catch himself to grab me as I scramble away, and take off.

  Hoots of laughter rise up from everyone as I skate fast as possible, not daring to look behind me as I cross over the finish line. Dexter and Iris rush over, laughing as they hug me.

  “Remind me,” Tobias comments as he approaches, “to add cunning to the list of qualities I love about you.”

  “Hey, you’re the one that fell for it.” I can’t keep the grin from my face as Iris and Dexter release me. “No pun intended.”

  I squeal, Tobias pulling me against him before I know what’s happening, lowering his lips to mine. He keeps the kiss short and sweet, but that doesn’t keep Iris from clapping giddily, as Randolf yells, “Get a room!”

  We pull apart with a laugh, Tobias taking my hand in his, as his mother waves at us from the sidelines.

  “Cake time!”

  “Oh, you can’t be serious,” I mutter, glaring at Tobias. “You went so far as to get me a cake?”

  “Technically, my mother made it.”

  “I’m so paying you back for this later.” We approach the table where everyone is standing around chatting. “Just so you know.”

  “How about we call it even,” he whispers in my ear. “That way, I don’t get you back later for your little trick.”

  I slide into the seat he indicates, not responding to his words, and look up as he lights the candles.

  Iris and Dexter sit next to me, while the rest fill in the extra seats or stand around the table.

  Tobias starts off the singing, holding my gaze with his own, but as they all join in, tears fill my eyes.

  Only this time, they are happy tears.

  Because I finally recognize one thing.

  I’m surrounded by people who want me around: either by marriage or by friendship.

  And, whether or not it’s truly my birthday, they don’t care.

  They simply love me.

  Just like my parents who raised me as their own.

  By the time they reach the end of the song my enjoyment is genuine.

  And for the first time in my life, I blow out the candles on my cake, making a wish that everything stays like it is.

  Which ends up being a foolish thing to do.

  Because, of course, a discovery brought to my attention not long after the party means my life will never be the same again.

  ~*~

  A week after our day at the skating rink, Mr. Cain shows up at our house in the late evening, unannounced.

  Having finished dinner not long before, Tobias and I are sitting on the couch watching t.v. when the doorbell rings. I pause the show as he gets up to answer the door, only to return moments later requesting I join him and his lawyer in the study.

  Sitting down in the chair next to Tobias, Mr. Cain takes the seat behind the desk.

  “What’s this about, Brandon?” Tobias seems annoyed as I look over at him, mouth set in a grim line. “It’s quite late for you to show up here without calling first.”

  “Again, I apologize.” His words are rushed as if he can’t get them out fast enough. “I came because I received a request from another client of mine and I don’t believe it should wait.”

  “What does any client of yours, besides me, have to do with my wife?”

  I was looking at Tobias, but now I swing my head until my eyes land on Mr. Cain. “Me?”

  Mr. Cain locks his gaze on mine with a nod. “A client of mine saw your wedding photo in the paper. She sent me here to ask you a couple questions, because she believes you may be related.”

  Family.

  I grip the arms of the chair, my heart picking up pace as it pounds, my palms growing slick with my sudden anxiety. My eyes never leave Mr. Cain’s, who is watching me with a frown, and I feel Tobias pry my hand from its death grip on the chair and interlace our fingers.

  “W-what are the questions?” I can barely breathe through the sudden tightening inside my chest, but I must know. “How does she believe we’re related?”

  “First, I’d like to show you a picture.” He stands up and walks around the desk, perching on the end and extends his hand. “Go on, take it.”

  I reach out and take it.

  I don’t know what I expect when I see it, but I know it wasn’t to feel as if I’ve been punched in the gut.

  Because peering up at me from the photo is a woman who could be my twin, except she’s probably in her mid-to-late thirties; in her arms, an infant, while an older teen with the same black hair stands beside her, glaring angrily at the camera.

  Tears prick my eyes. Tobias is downright motionless next to me, but I’m riveted by this picture, unable to look at him as I ask, “Who is she?”

  “Mrs—Jocelyn,” Mr. Cain says softly, “I need to ask…do you have any marks that would qualify as identifying? Such as a birthmark?”

  The lady in the picture smiles up at me, but I finally drag my eyes away to meet Mr. Cain’s. “Yes, I have a few.”

  He picks up another photo from the pile in his hand and holds it out to me.

  This time, it’s a picture of a baby and I gasp, nearly dropping the photo when my eyes zero in on the distinctive mark on the child’s chest.

  The same mark I examined in the mirror on the morning of my wedding, although it was lighter now and less noticeable than the one in picture.

  A sob escapes, and Tobias squeezes my hand, saying, “Get to the point Brandon before you upset my wife any further. Who does your client believe Jocelyn is to her?”

  “The woman — the one holding the infant in the photograph — believes you may be her grandchild. The girl standing next to her was her daughter, your mother, who had just turned seventeen a week before your birth.”

  I glare up at him, holding the photos out to him. “Why now? I’m adopted after I was found by strangers on a street.”

  Okay, I don’t know if that’s actually what happened, but I’m angry in this moment and not sure what the hell is going on; wondering why this woman would suddenly be interested enough to contact me through her lawyer.

  His eyes fill with pity, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but they didn’t give you away.”

  Now I’m just confused, my voice rising at his unspoken implications. “What do you mean? As far as I know, my parents adopted me when I was three. Are you calling them liars?”

  “Brandon, what the—“

  Mr. Cain holds up a hand, staying the beginning of Tobias’ angry tirade, and holds out a piece of paper this time. When I take it, I realize it’s a birth certificate.

  “Juliette Lorraine West,” I read out loud. “Date of birth: August tenth, nineteen ninety-one. Mother: Amanda Francis West—“

  “No fucking way!”

  My head jerks up at Tobias’ outbu
rst, but Mr. Cain jumps in before he can speak. “We’ll need to do a DNA test, but I’m fairly sure—“

  “Get out!” Tobias points to the door. “Right now!”

  “Hey!” I rise out of my chair, standing in between the two while facing Tobias. “I want to hear what he has to say.”

  His eyes blaze. “You don’t understand—“

  “And I won’t,” I interrupt him, “if you don’t let me hear what he has to say!”

  Whirling to face Mr. Cain, I hold everything he handed me up in his face. “Well, Mr. Cain? None of this proves anything. I was adopted at age three. So, what does this woman want with me? Obviously I was given away by her daughter—”

  Again, he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, but her grandchild wasn’t given away. That picture of the girl in her grandmother’s arms? She was a week old.”

  “And?”

  He takes a deep breath, suddenly looking tired as he says, “The following morning, after that picture was taken, her daughter, the child, and the nanny went missing. Two days later, the child and nanny were still nowhere to be found, the child’s mother found dead in a nearby alley.”

  And just like that, my world spins around me, my hand dropping to my side, the items in my hand float to the floor as he finishes with, “Amanda was an only child, her child the only grandchild of the West family, and the sole heiress to a fortune.”

  The last thing I recall is Tobias calling Mr. Cain a son of a bitch and telling him to get the fuck out.

  CHAPTER NINE

  There’s something about getting the answers I’ve always wanted that makes me realize, perhaps I really don’t want them all.

  What’s the saying?

  Ah, yes.

  Too little, too late.

  I’m lying in bed early the next morning, curled into a ball on my side as Tobias sleeps next to me.

  I woke up, and unable to sleep, I logged onto the computer to read up on the West family. Something I wish I hadn’t done.

  Too little, too late, indeed.

  It didn’t take long before I turned the computer back off and crawled back into bed.

  Which brings me back to lying here in bed, listening to him snore beside me, and wishing I could forget what I’ve been told.

  What I’ve seen.

  And knowing, even without a test to verify it, that I’m the missing child.

  I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry.

  Laugh because Tobias’ comments about me always being the rich one were true. Because I’m simply astounded at finding out I’m most likely in line to be one of the richest heiresses in the world.

  A terrifying thought for a girl whose always had ‘just enough.’

  As for crying, I’m definitely closer to crying than laughing.

  According to every single article I could find, of which there were many, Amanda West had been found murdered in an alley, her daughter and the nanny nowhere to be found, exactly as Mr. Cain had told us. There were pictures, but I hadn’t looked. I didn’t want to know.

  Following a search and pleas from the family — mainly her mother and father, Marshall and Francis West — for the nanny to bring the child home, or for anyone with information to step forward, nothing ever happened. It seemed as if the nanny and child had disappeared into thin air.

  But then the article listed the nanny’s name and picture. I didn’t remember the name, but I knew her face.

  It wasn’t even a memory, but a recognition I couldn’t ignore.

  She’d been my mommy, the woman I searched for so frantically in my dream before stepping outside.

  And all I want to know is ‘why?’

  Why would she steal me? What purpose did it serve? Did she just want a child and so she took the first one she could get her hands on?

  And how had she done it? Had killing my mother been a part of the plan or had she been running away?

  It couldn’t have been about the money. There’d never been any ransom demands, at least none had been mentioned.

  A tear slips out, making it clear I have to stop thinking about this, but I can’t.

  Because, even worse than knowing someone stole me from my family, is the knowledge this discovery will take me away from the one I’ve just acquired.

  I’m honest enough to admit to myself that I want to meet this woman who thinks I’m her granddaughter. Not because she’s rich, but because she may be family.

  Family. Something I never thought I’d have again after my parents died, leaving me without any relatives.

  There’s no way to ignore the fact I may have a connection with someone other than by choice and by marriage.

  As another tear slips down my cheek, Tobias wraps his arms around me from behind, pressing a soft kiss against my shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, but I feel the need to explain why I’m sniffling at five a.m. instead of sleeping.

  “It’s weird,” I begin, coughing to clear my throat, “how it feels like everything that has happened so far was for a reason. I hate that saying, but if I hadn’t married you, my picture most likely wouldn’t have been in a newspaper and this woman wouldn’t have found me.”

  “You don’t know she’s right.” His words join another kiss on my shoulder before his mouth moves up toward the nape of my neck. “But if you want to know for sure, we will find out, love. I hate it when you cry, especially when I just want to see you happy.”

  The sweetness of his words, the kindness of his voice, don’t soothe me; instead, my silent tears escalate into full-on sobs. He gently turns me around, tucking my head against his chest, and strokes my hair. He reaches away for a second, coming back with a tissue, which I promptly use. Excusing myself to the bathroom, I return to the bed and back into his arms, cuddling against him.

  After a few moments, he kisses the top of my head, sighing. “My first thought when Brandon told you, other than how much of an asshole he was to tell you like he did, was ‘story of my life’ and how much it figured that this time around, I’d marry you and get you into my bed, only to have something like this happen.”

  “I know how you feel about me,” I reply softly. “And we do have an agreement, but if I am this child…I can’t ignore it. I need to…”

  He tightens his hold on me as my voice fades away. “Joce, in this regard, our agreement and what I want comes second.”

  “And my diner…”

  “Yes.” He tilts my chin up, holding it in place as he gives me a brief kiss on the lips. “It’s all yours now, no matter what happens.”

  “But—“

  “Shh.” Putting a finger against my mouth to silence me, he rolls me under him as he continues, “I love you. I wanted you, so I did whatever it took to get you in my life, in my bed. If what he said is true, I know you; you’ll want to go there, meet your family. I get it. I understand completely. But it was never about that diner. It’s one hundred percent yours. Got it?”

  It’s pitch black, yet as I nod, I know he’s smiling at me. The subtle change in his intentions is clear as I feel his cock hard against my belly.

  His hand — the one with a finger resting against my lips to silence me — moves, sliding down to cup the back of my neck as his mouth descends on mine, seeking immediate entrance with a teasing caress of his tongue. Granting him access, I bring my arms up and wrap them around his neck, sliding my hands up into his hair while he deepens our kiss. Our tongues engaged in a leisurely battle, he adjusts his body until he’s lying on his side next to me, skimming his free hand down to my breast. Cupping it, my nipple instantly tightens, seeking his attention with an almost desperation he doesn’t ignore.

  Flicking his thumb back and forth over it, he chuckles into my mouth, catching my tongue between his teeth for a brief nip before releasing it. He moves to the other breast, repeating the action until I’m arching into his hand, wanting and needing more.

  Instead of obliging, he presses me back to the bed and glides his hand down, and down. Stopping right before where his hand is mos
t wanted, he drags his mouth away as he commands, “Spread your legs.”

  I don’t argue. I’m not in the mood to play games; I’m in the mood to have his touch on me everywhere and forget, for just a little while, that everything is about to change. I do as he says, only for him to say, “More.”

  Then he taps me between the legs, enough to get my attention, yet not hurt me.

  “Ooh!” I gasp, opening my legs a bit more as I laugh in surprise. “There. How’s that?”

  “Perfect.”

  When he taps me again, harder this time, my eyes flutter closed as I moan, my arousal heightened. As he does it once more, it smarts, yet the sting is so sweet, an unbidden sob of need escaping. He keeps his hand there where it lands, using two fingers to slip inside my pussy, his thrusting sending trembles of delight through me.

  “I knew you’d like that.” The words are thick with desire, pulling his fingers out and teasing my clit by circling it. “You’re so wet.”

  I can’t even respond, whimpering as his two fingers thrust back inside, his thumb continuing to torment my clit, relief nowhere in sight. His fingers curl up inside me, caressing my g-spot, and I grab his hair tighter while I try to fuck his hand.

  Between his movements and mine, my orgasm rapidly approaches. It’s his voice that yanks me over the edge.

  “God, you’re gorgeous, love.” He puts his mouth against mine and murmurs, “Come for me.”

  Then he pulls his hand out and smacks just right, fusing our lips and catching my cry as I orgasm. While I tremble, he repositions himself over my body and wraps one of my legs around his waist, his cock fucking me within seconds.

  “I can’t go slow.” I barely recognize what he says, jumbled as they are against my mouth. “Hard and fast is what I need.”

  I move my hands to his shoulders, wrapping my other leg around his waist, holding on for dear life as he grasps one hip and slams into me.

  Each stroke in out and has me gasping, my nails digging in, as he possesses me with his body.

  Showing me I’m what he wants, what he needs, what he loves.

  And when it’s over, his body coming down over mine, the weight is delicious.

  I stroke his back before the urge to hug him and memorize this moment has me stopping abruptly.