Wishing Well

by Lily White

  “Why don’t we go out into the garden to discuss this?” he suggested, interrupting me just as the desk clerk had. After glancing over his shoulder to ensure no guests had overheard us, he motioned for me to walk ahead of him. “It’s just outside these doors. The gardens are stunning actually. I’m sure you’ll enjoy them.”

  Apparently, he’d neglected to remember the gardens are where my sister had died. I would have to ask him at some point if he would like some salt with his shoe.

  Walking became more difficult with every step we took toward the gardens, not only because of the images flashing through my thoughts of what I’d seen the night my sister died, but also because I could hear Vincent’s laughter, his accented voice that was always teasing or mocking me. Regardless of what happened that morning, Vincent was still very much alive inside this building, his memory engrained in the walls, his vision still standing in elegant wonder as his body turned cold.

  And more painful than that was what lay beneath my feet, in a basement where the man I would always love had taken his life when he believed that everyone who’d ever cared for him was gone.

  I was struggling for breath by the time we made it outside, gulping down the fresh air as fast as I could drag it into my lungs. My distress was not lost on the grim faced attorney who followed behind me.

  Lowering his voice to a gentle whisper, he said, “I’m sorry for what you’ve gone through today, Ms. Graham. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.” He placed his hand on my back as if to escort me, but I pulled away from the contact.

  I didn’t want to be touched or comforted. I wanted to feel this pain for what it was if only to purge it from my body. “It is what it is,” I answered. “And I’m here to retrieve my recorder from you as well as whatever items Vincent had set aside for me.”

  “Ah, yes. Of course.” Handing me the manila envelope, he explained, “Mr. Mercier asked me to give this to you. I’ll ask that you take it somewhere away from the guests’ view. We’re attempting to keep mention of Mr. Mercier’s name to a minimum, and you’re rather recognizable this morning due to pictures of your sister being shown on the news. While you look at that, I’ll go back and speak with the hotel manager to determine where the other items can be located. I’ll return momentarily to take you to them.”

  Nodding absently, I stared at my name written in masculine script across the envelope. Not my name, really. My sister’s. Mr. Chase walked off and I continued along the cobblestone path until arriving at a familiar place. The wishing well in the center of the garden looked exactly as I remembered it.

  “If you could wish for anything in the world, Penelope, what would you wish for?”

  Memories assaulted me. Of Vincent. Of Maurice. It took everything I had not to buckle where I stood. Finally moving to sit on one of the iron benches, I tore open the envelope to pull out a single sheet of paper.

  Penelope,

  If you’re reading this, then I must be dead. Okay, so it’s an awful way to start a letter, but my gifts in life had never been in writing. My point in the sentence is that I know this letter wouldn’t have been given to you unless my execution had taken place and you’d gone to Wishing Well as I hoped you would.

  I also hope you don’t expect some long-winded apology or some other similar nonsense. Whatever I had to say to you I’m positive was said in our interview. But knowing myself, and knowing my refusal to give any person leverage over me while I’m still alive and breathing, I know there was one thing I wouldn’t have brought myself to tell you.

  I want to thank you, Penelope, for everything you were to Maurice and me. Despite the less than honorable reasons for pulling you from that alleyway the night I met you, and despite your atrocious manners and rebellious behavior, you turned out to be a blessing I never saw coming.

  As you well know, both Maurice’s and my lives had been mired in many tragedies. We’d both suffered the grief of his issues, the loneliness not only affected him, but me as well. I may have had wealth, women and businesses to keep me company, but I was never truly happy until you came along. I’ve spent many years trying to figure out what it is you did for the two of us, and then one night while I remembered an afternoon spent in the yellow room that I’d watched my brother smile as I teased you, it hit me.

  You gave us both back the sense of family. And while you became the light that shone in Maurice’s dark prison, you also became a sister figure to me. For all the money, for the lavish lifestyle I led, for all the comforts I had at my fingertips in life, you were more valuable than any of it. Those afternoons spent with you and my brother are what I take with me to my grave. I can promise you that while I waited on the gurney for the drugs to steal my breath, it was that yellow room I imagined last, it was your face looking at me with annoyed exasperation and Maurice’s beaming smile as he watched us talk back and forth.

  He always had faith in you. He knew from the first second he saw you that night by the well, that you belonged to him, and he belonged to you.

  I owe you everything for the role you played in our lives.

  If this was our fairy tale, Penelope, than you were the hero that rode in on the white horse to rescue Maurice and I both. But even more than that, you were the beauty that soothed the violence of the beast, you were the sunrise and sunset in both of our lives.

  I want you to continue being the hero, in every choice you make and in everything that you do. I truly believe you were put on the Earth to make it a better place, and I believe that whatever man ends up with you will be the luckiest man because of it.

  Continue soothing the beast, Penelope. Even when he roars. Especially when he roars. And even when he tells you to play the maiden so he can be the hero, you continue simply being you.

  My heart belongs with you, in this life and in whatever comes next.

  I am forever in your debt,

  Vincent Mercier

  P.S. You must forgive me, Penelope. I am just a man...and a liar.

  More tears. How my body was still able to produce them was a mystery to me. How I hadn’t gone blind from their heat was a mystery as well. I could drown in them, I thought, could fill the wishing well to the rim, until it, too, cried as those tears leaked over to slide down the stone and nourish the ground beneath it. Even now, it felt like I could barely hold my head above water.

  The stain of my tears dabbled the note I held, the ink running along the edges where the tears had bled the words Vincent left for me knowing he would be gone. And in a bright spot where even the sunlight felt cold, I swiped them away wondering what I would do with my life now.

  Being Meadow had been a disguise to hide from my past, but after learning the intricate details, after facing what had been done, I no longer felt the need to hide, no longer wanted to assume the life of my sister who was long gone.

  My job didn’t make me happy. The country where I lived wasn’t my home. The name by which every person knew me was a lie I could no longer choke down.

  I was as lost today as I had been the day Vincent found me in an alley beneath the freezing rain. Except he wasn’t here anymore. There was nobody who could pull me from the streets and lead me to my new home.

  “Are you okay?” a deep voice asked

  Wiping away another tear, I shook myself from the spectacle I was making, opening my mouth to answer, “Yes, I’m -“

  My neck wrenched from how fast my head shot up in recognition of the familiar voice, my eyes locking to a memory, to a man that couldn’t be flesh and blood.

  “You’re -“ my voice failed, the word cracked through as it crumbled apart. Swallowing to shove my heart back down to my chest from where it had lodged in my throat, I said, “You’re supposed to be dead.”

  Arrogance was the arch of a single brow over his green eyes, the sunlight capturing the color and turning it into a glimmering, rare jewel.

  “So are you,” he answered, his hands tucked in the pockets of his slacks, his suit jacket perfectly tailored to the breadth of his broad shoul
ders. With his dark hair a disheveled, wavy mess, his strong cheekbones cutting lines beneath those mesmerizing green eyes, and his mouth set in a cruel, yet compelling hint of amusement, he could have been Vincent on the night we met - a man of wealth, of power, of secrets and sound mind.

  This wasn’t the Maurice I remembered from the basement where we’d spent so many hours. This was a man I didn’t recognize, except for how closely he resembled his older brother.

  “How?” The single word slipped out from between my lips on a rush of exhaled breath. Before I understood I was moving, I’d stood from the bench and crossed the distance to approach him. Maurice didn’t move away or give ground, but he didn’t step toward me or give any indication that he was as surprised by my presence as I was by his.

  “I now own the Wishing Well,” he explained, his voice absent of familiarity, of happiness to see me, of the love we once had shared. Also absent was the self-doubt, the self-loathing, the confusion and sorrow that had always been present seven years ago when I’d known him. “I’ve managed it for the past several years under a corporate name.”

  “You-“

  Fuck...how was this even possible?

  Beyond the shock of seeing him standing here, beyond the shock of understanding what Vincent meant in the letter by calling himself a liar, beyond the shock of standing in a garden I’d swore to never see again, was the shock of seeing Maurice staring down at me with confidence in the set of his shoulders, arrogance in the glimmer of his eyes, anger in the thin line of his lips as if daring me to admit that what I’d done to him was wrong.

  I’d blamed him for my sister’s death. I’d walked away and stayed hidden. I’d deserted him while still loving him for all these years.

  And in that time, he’d become another person.

  It made sense, finally, in how Vincent could have known for a fact that keeping Maurice away from the world had hindered his brother’s true potential. Vincent must have seen the changes in Maurice, must have known his brother had grown into a man as beautiful and strong as the one standing before me now.

  So, instead of hiding behind false pretenses, instead of lying or exhibiting a strength I didn’t have, I abandoned the fake persona I’d kept for seven years and morphed back into the girl I’d been when I called myself Penny.

  “I’ve missed you,” I confessed, exposing my heart, my soul, my weaknesses and injuries for him to do with as he pleased.

  A bark of laughter shook his shoulders. “You lied to me. You ran from me. You never came back. And now you tell me you missed me?”

  “How long have you known?”

  “Two years,” he admitted, the shadow of anger rolling behind his eyes. “It wasn’t Vincent that figured it out. He only invited you to the interview because I asked him to. We didn’t know you had an identical twin, and even when we discovered it, we didn’t think it was your sister that died that night. But then you started your journalism career and I scoured the photos of you, watched the broadcasts, saw the subtle signs of who you were. Even twins don’t share all the same expressions, the same tells and body language. You might have been able to fool the rest of the world, but you couldn’t fool me. And I hated you for it.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  His lips crooked in challenge, his brow arching again. It was such a Vincent-esque expression that it should have been foreign on the face of Maurice. Pure masculine mischief was written into the glimmer of his eyes. “Make it up to me.”

  “How?”

  His lips crooked higher, his eyes darting suggestively toward the small, hidden alcove that was down the path from the well. Following his gaze, I shook my head in disbelief before returning my attention to the man who was now staring at me like I was his next conquest.

  “You can’t be serious. Here? Now? Like this?”

  He shrugged a disinterested shoulder. “Or not. Goodbye, Penelope.”

  I watched helplessly as he turned to walk off, his stride powerful and assured. Panic tore at my heart with clawed fingers. “Wait!” I called out. Maurice turned to glance at me from over his shoulder.

  Son of a bitch...He was just like his brother now.

  “Fine,” I relented, trying to ignore how my heart swelled in my chest, how heat bloomed between my thighs.

  Carnal satisfaction curled his lips. Following slowly behind me, Maurice stood at the opening to the alcove while I backed up against the stone wall. We were hidden from view by the flowering bushes, shielded from the bright sunlight by the tree branch that stretched lazily above our heads.

  “Turn around,” he demanded, his voice a deep vibration against my senses.

  Our eyes locked, and I would have accused him of challenging me to do something he had no intention to do if not for the dark heat behind his gaze. On shaky legs, I did as I was told, turning slowly to splay my palms against the wall and leave myself defenseless to whatever he desired.

  He was on me before I could take another breath, his chest a wall of heat against my back, his hips so tight against my ass that there was no mistaken how serious he was about taking what had always been his.

  Seven years later and I still belonged to him alone.

  I trembled when the tip of his nose trailed the line of my neck, his nostrils flaring as he breathed in my scent.

  There he is...the Maurice I remember.

  His teeth locked on the lobe of my ear, one hand moving up to cover my mouth and mute my cry of surprise. And with the other hand, he fisted my skirt, lifting it to give him access to everything he wanted.

  It was so easy to submit to him...so natural. The years, the pain, the lies and the tears had done nothing to dampen the love I had for him.

  But, he did nothing, simply laughed and moved away.

  Spinning, I narrowed my eyes on him, the first touch of anger edging my thoughts. “Where are you going?”

  Sliding his hands in his pockets, he twisted around just enough to look at me. “Back to work. Where do you think? I’m a busy man now.”

  Pulling my clothes into place, my forehead wrinkled with confusion. “But, you didn’t-“

  “You didn’t deserve it,” he interrupted, amusement curling his lips. “But if you think that would fix everything, you have a lot to learn.”

  “I thought you wanted me back? I thought-“

  “You can come back. You’re always welcome here. But that doesn’t mean you won’t have to work to regain what we once had.”

  “You can’t be serious, Maurice? How can I come back here? I have no home, no job. My entire life is in Germany.”

  I was beginning to hate the way he so easily shrugged his shoulder as if to dismiss what I had to say. “There’s a room available on the fifth floor, and we have a position open in housekeeping, if I’m not mistaken. You’re welcome to both.”

  My jaw fell open as he turned to walk away again, his stride satisfied and in no hurry as he wound his way up the path. My eyes flared open with anger, my teeth set in frustration with this impossible man. Chasing after him on shaky legs, I called out, “You can’t be serious! Are you seriously offering me a job in housekeeping? After everything that’s happened?”

  I was going to kill him. For real this time. So that he was actually dead. It was like Maurice had taken over Vincent’s persona to become the most aggravating man in the world.

  Stopping in place, he spun slowly to face me, a wicked grin tilting the corners of his lips.

  “If I’m not mistaken, even in some fairy tales, the princess started out as the maid. It’s your choice, Penelope. I’ve made my offer.”

  And after flashing me another knowing grin, he turned to walk away, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

  Oh, yeah. He was going to be a dead man when I was done with him.

  But what could I do? I had to say yes. At the end of our fairy tale, the beast had become the prince, and I was the beauty chasing after him.

  Knowing what my decision would be, knowing that I would return to
Wishing Well to be with the man I’d never stopped wanting, I followed behind him wanting to slam my fist into the back of his pretty head.

  But I did so with the hope that our stories would finally become what they should have been all along, knowing that we both would live happily ever ...

  ...Oh, who am I kidding?...

  We would drive each other crazy, every day and every hour, for the rest of our fairy tale lives.

  THE END

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  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX