Lovers Like Us

by Mary Campisi

  And that’s what Camille intended to find out.

  “Tell me again about your family? I know people in San Diego and I’ve visited several times. Lovely city.” Had the girl flinched just now? Ah, Camille believed she had. Now why was that?

  “I have an older brother and sister.” Pause, a lick of her full lips followed by “My parents died when I was young.”

  What did that mean? “I’m so sorry. How old were you?” Helena’s hesitation filled the room. She didn’t want to answer the question, which meant there was valuable information tucked away just waiting to be unearthed by the right listener.

  Luke’s wife cleared her throat twice, said in a voice that sounded like she was reciting from a book, “I was eleven when Dad died; sixteen with my mother.”

  Oh, how Camille wanted to poke around for details but not even an inquisitive person like herself would be so brazen. At least not yet. The key would be to gain the girl’s trust and then begin peeling away the layers of her past to locate significant gaps and a timeline. Her private investigator friend, Lester Conroy, told her a soft touch got a lot more solved than a rough hand. Lester would know since he’d brokered Jennifer Merrick’s reunion with her mother, no small feat after a ten-year estrangement. “How tragic. Luke’s father died a few years back and it was very difficult on everyone.” Especially since they didn’t know if the fall was an accident or intentional.

  “Yes, he told me it was a horrible accident.”

  An accident? Perhaps it was easier to rewrite a painful experience to make it more manageable and that’s certainly what they’d all done. But it didn’t make it true. Maybe Jonathan’s death was an accident, but probably not. “Horrible, indeed.” Camille set down her coffee cup, leaned toward Helena, and let emotion drip out. “We’ll be your family, dear, don’t you worry. There are enough Donovans and Alexanders to form a small community.” She sniffed, added, “Not all the Alexanders, though. I’ll have to remove my brother-in-law, Harrison, and my soon-to-be-ex-husband, Carter, from the list.”

  Red tinged the girl’s cheeks. “I’m sorry about your...”

  “Estranged husband?” Camille shrugged, pursed her lips. “It’s long overdue.” She’d practiced those words for weeks, but she finally believed them. Divorcing Carter was indeed long overdue, and she’d be glad when she could dissociate herself from him and his pregnant girlfriend. “Sometimes people aren’t who we think they are, or we tend to make them into what we want to believe they are. I know because that’s what I did.” Her gaze drifted to Helena’s, held it. “But over time the truth leaks out, creating chaos and destruction in our lives, making us question the past, the present, even the future. Did he love me? Does he love me? Heavens, does he love her?” Camille’s voice slipped to a whisper. “It makes us question ourselves.” Pause. “Don’t ever let that happen to you because it’s horrible and demeaning.”

  “You’re a strong woman...”

  “I guess that’s what happens when your dreams get crushed too many times and the disappointment drags you under. You get strong because the alternative is to wither away and let everyone else step on you until you don’t recognize yourself any longer.” How had Camille gotten on a rant about independence and self-worth and the mess that was her life right now? She had to redirect the situation or they’d be talking about Carter and his pregnant girlfriend next...and that was not a subject she cared to discuss with Luke’s wife. “So, enough about me and my misadventures in marriage. Tell me about your brother and sister, what you did in San Diego, and why you moved.”

  Twenty minutes later, Camille learned that Dominic and Estelle worked together in the family card stock business, and after Helena finished her Fine Arts degree and couldn’t obtain a job in her field, she settled for retail work and waitressing.

  “The jobs weren’t anything to be thrilled about, but they paid the bills and I received discounts on my clothing and never went hungry.” Helena laughed and picked up a ginger cookie. “Dominic and Estelle weren’t happy about that.”

  “Oh?” Camille tried to catalogue what Helena had told her: parents were deceased, brother and sister worked in the family card stock business, and Helena had a degree in Fine Arts and no applicable job skills, so worked retail and waited tables. Hmm. “What was your maiden name?”

  A pause, followed by a rush of air and a mumbled, “Montrey.”

  “Montrey. What a lovely name.” Dominic, Estelle, and Helena Montrey of San Diego. Good to know... “And what exactly is a card stock business? I imagine you sell paper and such, sort of like a stationery store?” She pictured all colors and sizes of paper, some for writing, others for drawing, and a heavier stock to create cards. There would be envelopes, too, all sizes and colors, and pens, pencils, markers. Camille thought she might enjoy perusing such a place... “What is it called? I might like to visit the next time I’m in San Diego.” And she might like to meet Dominic and Estelle, get a first-hand look at the rest of the family.

  A slight hesitation, a double clearing of her throat before Helena responded. “They sell cards and paper to wholesalers.” Another pause. “So, there’s no storefront.”

  “I see.” It sounded very practical and not the creative venture she’d pictured. “And what did you do?”

  “Packaged the cards mostly.”

  Camille leaned toward her, said in a curious voice, “Is that where you got the idea to write greeting cards?” She’d always been fascinated by those who could manufacture words or visuals from something that didn’t yet exist. The woman blushed, looked away as if she’d rather not share the details of her writing aspirations. Poor thing, she’d probably failed many times. “Don’t give up. If you work hard enough, are persistent, and never stop believing in your abilities, you’ll find success. I know you will.” Hadn’t she told herself this for years? If only Camille had listened to her own words and believed them, she might not be a fifty-something woman with a limited skill set.

  Helena met her gaze, blinked away tears. “Thank you.”

  “What sort of cards do you write? Are they humorous, romantic? Sad?” Emotion was the key to a good greeting card and Camille had spent enough time selecting the perfect sentiment via a card to know exactly what that meant. Her latest obsession happened to be cards from a writer-poet named Annabelle Grace. The woman’s cards were separated under sections: Annabelle Grace Loves, Annabelle Grace Laughs, Annabelle Grace Cries, and Annabelle Grace Lives.

  Helena shrugged. “All sorts. I’m still trying to get a feel for it.”

  “I understand.” Emotions in card form were a delicate balance of poetry and self-expression. Carter was the king of finding the exact words to fit the occasion and he let the cards do his talking—and his double-talking. How many times had Camille been furious with him and then he’d presented her with a card that spoke of love, forgiveness, and an everlasting bond that would never be broken?

  And then she’d go all soft and gooey like warm salted caramel drizzled on top of ice cream. It was those darn words that got her every time. An Annabelle Grace Loves card exclaimed, You are the magic in my life. You are the strength behind me that makes all things possible. You are my life. My love. My forever. Oh, yes, she’d received enough of these cards to memorize a few of her favorite phrases. Love, heart, and soul bound together.

  And while the card was beautiful and touching, the intention was not. Carter had still been a cheater and a philanderer, and powerful words in a fancy card did not change that. Lately, she’d been the one selecting the cards and they hadn’t been lovesick ones about heart and forever. No, they’d been determined, empowered, even angry in their refusal to be controlled or labeled by a person or a situation. They were from the Annabelle Grace Lives card line and spoke of betrayal and disappointment, but the message was one of strength and survival. Camille found the cards when she’d traveled to New York City and had been so moved by them she’d convinced Nicki to order several for the boutique. Last week, they’d learned the co
mpany that supplied the cards would soon include magnets, bookmarks, posters, and a book compiled of the writer-poet’s work.

  How exciting! Camille had considered contacting the woman but hesitated. She’d never reached out to a writer before. What would she say and how would she say it? A person like that probably had an auto-correct button in their brain. But the cards didn’t sound like that at all. Every one of them was heartfelt and honest, not hoity-toity or superior acting. Maybe she’d write to this person and ask for advice on how to pursue a career in the greeting card field. Helena appeared too shy to reach out to a successful person like Annabelle Grace, and if Camille garnered a response, that might create a bond between her and Helena.

  And that could prove very useful when she dug around in Helena’s past. Camille sipped her coffee, smiled at Luke’s wife. Yes, very useful indeed.

  Chapter 7

  “If I’d known you were going to walk into my life, I might have been a little more careful with my bank account.”

  A grin accompanied the comment, making it difficult to tell if Luke were teasing, serious, or both. That was the thing about him: Helena couldn’t always tell. Yes, he’d admitted to opening up with her in ways he’d never imagined doing, and it wasn’t hard to realize a man like Luke Donovan didn’t talk about emotion and fear very often. He’d done it with her and, to some degree, she’d done the same with him. The big fear sitting in her belly right next to their baby was the fact that she’d been dishonest with him, and while her intent had been honorable—at least in her eyes—he wouldn’t think so. There was still so much she didn’t know or understand about him, so much she wanted to learn... But he wasn’t an easy read and she wondered if that weren’t intentional. “Is that your way of letting me know we’re broke?”

  He trailed a finger to her belly, traced little circles over her flesh. “Broke? Of course not.” The laugh came next. “But who couldn’t use more?”

  Helena homed in on his face, said in a tight voice, “Maybe you should have married a woman with money.” Luke might be teasing but she didn’t see the humor in it, not when she was a woman with money who’d been targeted before because of it.

  Another laugh followed by a kiss on her belly. “Yeah, maybe I should have. No need to worry about bills or college for the kid, just one big party. And a Harley.” He slid her a look, his lips curving into a broad smile. “I’ve always wanted one of those, but they’re damned expensive. I could have two: a touring bike and a cruiser. Hmm.” Three more kisses followed by a gentle “There’s only one problem. You’re the one I want.”

  And I have enough money to buy you five motorcycles and so much more... When he learned of her wealth, would he still want her or would the wanting shift to what he could have because of her? Maybe he’d end up resenting her because she had money, call her a “have” and accuse her of not knowing what “being without” felt like. Oh, she knew exactly what that felt like because while she’d had clothes and a house and material wealth, she’d never had a sense of belonging or being accepted for herself. “Money wouldn’t make you happy. It might give you a temporary high and take you around the world, but life’s got to be about more than that, doesn’t it?”

  He sat up, the pale blueness of his eyes shifting to silver. “I’ve only heard two types of people say money won’t make you happy.” His gaze narrowed. “The ones who have too much money or the ones who are so deep in debt they’ll never dig out. Helena, is there something you haven’t told me?”

  No, she could not tell him yet. It was still too soon. Just a little while longer... But the longer she waited, the worse it would be when she finally told him. Then what? Was it worth the risk? Still, hadn’t he just pretty much admitted he wouldn’t mind a woman with money? Lots of it? The pain of remembering her ex-fiancé’s betrayal won out. “What do you mean?”

  Luke eased back against the wooden headboard, rubbed his jaw. “I think the question is pretty straightforward. Is there something you haven’t told me?”

  She sat up, too, forced a smile. “Like?” Hadn’t her sister and brother played these types of games with her when they wanted to avoid an answer? And hadn’t she hated it? Yes, she had, but this was different...wasn’t it?

  He blew out a sigh that sounded an awful lot like disgust. “Look, I realize we got involved way too fast and skipped over a few areas we should have discussed.” Another sigh, this one softer, his tone gentler. “I don’t regret any of it, but we can’t hide things because we’re embarrassed about them or wish they hadn’t happened.”

  “I know.” She did know and once she was one hundred percent sure her money didn’t matter, she’d tell him. And then she’d find a way to exchange vows again, this time for real. She couldn’t tell him their marriage was a fake, that she’d paid a coworker to pretend he was a minister. Luke would not understand that she’d only been trying to protect him and give him a way out in case he grew tired of her and his married situation. Once she knew for certain he wasn’t after her money and wanted this life, she’d convince him to renew their vows. Nobody would ever have to know...

  “So—” he held out a hand, squeezed hers when she placed it in his. “Honesty, right? I’ll go first. I’ve blown a lot of money over the years and got myself into a scrape or two that required a little...assistance. Rogan helped me out, tried to convince me to save or at least not spend more than I made. I didn’t listen; why would I when it was always about the next good time?” A dull blush spread from his neck to his cheeks. “Tossing money around gets the girl’s interest every time, but you were different. You didn’t act like you cared about money and you didn’t seem to want fancy dinners or gifts or—”

  “Because I didn’t.” She leaned toward him, stroked his cheek. “And I don’t.” Helena held up her left hand. “This ring wasn’t necessary.” A row of diamonds glittered from the band. “I would have been happy with a simple band, minus the diamonds.”

  “You deserved more.” His jaw twitched. “But there was no way you were getting less.”

  “Luke, all I want is you. Us. Our baby. Money can’t buy those.”

  “I know, and I’m going to take my brother’s advice and learn about saving and money management and all of those other terms I used to hate.” He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed each finger. “I’m going to be practical, another word I’ve always hated, but I’m going to do it because it makes sense and it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Thank you.”

  His lips pulled into a gentle smile. “It’s your turn. I want you to tell me the truth.” He paused, cleared his throat. “No matter how bad it is, I want you to tell me.” One more throat clearing before he spoke the words that said he’d never guess the truth and might not believe it once she told him. “Are you in financial trouble? Like, deep debt? It’s okay if you are, but you have to tell me so I can help. Okay?”

  There would be countless times after when she’d wonder what life might have looked like if she’d confessed the whole tale, including the ex-fiancé who’d only wanted her money and the siblings who were more interested in production times than family bonding. Could he have understood or at least forgiven her when the anger subsided? She’d never know because she changed the truth and offered up a different version—one that did not implicate her as anything other than a victim.

  “Yes, I did make some bad financial choices. I trusted the wrong person.” An ex-fiancé who wanted her money more than he wanted her. “The experience made it hard to trust and it’s still hard.” She willed him to understand what she couldn’t say.

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that. How bad was it?” His voice dipped, spilled sympathy. “Bankruptcy?”

  Helena shook her head, settled her gaze on the opening of his shirt. “Not quite that bad, but bad enough.” Bad enough to cost her half a house, a car, chunks of money, her self-esteem, and the ability to trust. It was the last two that were unforgivable.

  “Is that why you left San Diego? Too many bad
memories?”

  Another nod. At least this was true. “I wanted to start fresh where no one knew me or judged me.” Her gaze inched to his, held it. “People are judged all the time, by what they wear, how they look, what kind of car they drive… Society deems them worthy or unworthy based on profession, education...who knows what? A friend once told me that net worth does not equal self-worth and it took a long time to understand that, but I finally got it.”

  “When I look at you, I see a million dollars in your smile, ten million in your touch, one hundred million in your heart.” Luke placed a hand over her heart, smiled. “I love you, Helena Donovan. No matter what, never forget that.”

  When the tears came she couldn’t stop them from running down her cheeks, spilling onto her shirt. “I’m sorry,” she said, shoulders shaking, words snuffed out by the tears. “So sorry.”

  “It’s okay. We’re in this together and I’ll help you any way I can. If you want, I’ll even ask Rogan to get involved. He’s a pain but he means well, and the guy knows his numbers. If you’re in a jam, I know he can help. You’re family now, and family helps one another.”

  Luke drove to Rogan’s that night because he needed his brother’s help. Rogan was a hard ass who would no doubt point out the mistakes and miscalculations in his brother’s past, but in the end, he’d offer advice and a plan that made sense. It was the lectures Luke dreaded. Couldn’t the guy get to the point and forget the commentary? Just this once? Of course not—his brother wasn’t made that way, so Luke sat through the scowl and the lesson about not blowing six hundred dollars on a leather jacket when you only had one hundred until payday, even if the leather was Italian. Big sigh and more talk about not spending money you didn’t have and staying away from credit cards. Okay, he got it.

  “I agree with everything you’ve said and if you give me a budget, I’ll follow it.” Luke studied the label on his beer bottle. “I’ve got two other people to consider now, and I don’t want to screw up.”