Lovers Like Us

by Mary Campisi

  Wow, his brother was admitting he didn’t know everything. Imagine that? “I’ve already had to do that a few times. Not my strong suit, but I did it.” Like opening up and sharing, even the parts he didn’t want to share.

  “Okay, then you get it.” Rogan pushed away from the counter, made his way across the room, and eased a long paper tube from the top of the fridge. “Here are the plans for the house. I’d like you to take a look, see what you can do, and hire out the rest.” He removed the plans from the tube, spread them on the kitchen table. “Elizabeth and I want to make you the foreman on this job.” Rogan glanced at Luke. “I’ve got a list of subcontractors. Tate’s vetted them and—”

  “Damn! Am I really going to have to work with that guy?” Tate Alexander, Savior to the Simple Man?

  Rogan shrugged. “It’s not like he’ll be handing you a screwdriver because he wouldn’t know the difference between a flathead and a Phillips, but he’s a good resource for the subcontractors.”

  “Crap. Not what I wanted to hear.” Luke cursed under his breath, mumbled, “Pain-in-the-ass pretty boy.” He’d like to list all of Tate Alexander’s faults, but the damn guy didn’t have any, other than he was too rich and too self-assured.

  Rogan laughed. “Give the guy time. He kind of grows on you.”

  “Sure.” Luke scowled. “Like moss or mold.”

  Another laugh. “Yeah, but he’s good for Charlotte.”

  The guy was good for their sister: kept her calm, smiling, even-tempered. “I guess. Charlotte drove me to the property they bought and showed me the plans. Wow! Talk about a killer house.” He whistled. “She said Alexander had grander ideas for the place, but she had him tone it down. Three fireplaces? Really?”

  “For a guy who grew up in a mansion, it probably does seem small. Point is, he’s shaving bedrooms, floor space, and whatever else Charlotte wants.” Rogan rubbed his jaw, nodded. “The guy loves her, and I guess we’re going to have to start using his first name instead of Pain in the Ass, Jerk, Pretty Boy...” He cleared his throat, said in a quiet voice, “Speaking of Pretty Boy...” When Luke raised a brow, Rogan grinned. “Seriously, the guy has contacts and if that means we get the job done better and faster, then we’re using them.”

  “What would Dad say?” What would he say?

  “I hope he’d realize Tate’s one of the good guys even if he is an Alexander.”

  Chapter 9

  Sometimes a person has to hide their silly ideas from friends and family, lest those individuals feel compelled to judge and laugh. At least, that’s what Camille thought as she parked the car and stepped through the door of Victor’s Ballroom Dancing, located 22 miles from Reunion Gap in a town called Granite. She’d registered for the class last week after reading an article about a fifty-something-year-old woman who’d drawn up a list of ten accomplishments she wanted to achieve before her time on this earth ended. The only requirement was that each item on the list must help her grow on an emotional or spiritual level.

  Ballroom dancing was top on Camille’s list though she’d never admit it to Rose or her brother Oliver. She’d wanted to take classes years ago, but Carter thought them too time-consuming and unnecessary. Maybe they were for a man who had no interest in learning new things unless they involved young women and sex. She squashed that thought a second after it landed in her brain. A growth-inspiring accomplishment should not be mired in anger and harsh thoughts.

  Camille worked her way to a table where a slender brunette with hair piled on top of her head and heavy black eyeliner signed in new members. Her name was Regina and she spoke with a French accent, though she’d slipped on a few of the vowels, making Camille wonder if the accent were feigned. The instructor was a middle-aged man named Victor Evergreen. He reminded her of a dancer or a magician with his slight build, slicked-back hair, pencil-thin mustache, and dramatic hand gestures. The smile and the perfect diction said he was indeed playing a part, one he enjoyed very much.

  “Camille, welcome.” Victor clasped her hand and bowed. “A true delight and my deepest gratitude for joining us.” His dark eyes sparkled. “We shall have a grand time, of that you may be certain.” He released her hand, said in a voice smothered with enthusiasm, “Please feel free to mingle and we’ll begin shortly.”

  “Thank you.” The man’s warm greeting relaxed her, made her anticipate the class. Maybe she would enjoy herself and next time the Donovan clan pushed aside the furniture to dance, she’d join them instead of making excuses about a swollen ankle or lower back pain. She glanced at the packet the young woman with the dubious French accent had given her and was reading about proper shoes and ballroom attire when a familiar voice called her name.

  “Camille?”

  She turned and came eye to eye with Frederick Strong, legal counsel for HA Properties, Inc. “Frederick?” Heat seeped to her cheeks, spread to her forehead. “What...what are you doing here?” Talk about an uncomfortable situation. She’d traveled two towns away, so no one would recognize her and now Harrison Alexander’s lawyer was here. Oh, but this was humiliating.

  The blush that matched his pink shirt said he wasn’t thrilled to be seen either. “My niece is getting married in a few months, and I promised her a dance.” He cleared his throat, adjusted his bowtie. “I can’t disappoint her, and I don’t want to embarrass her, so—” his thin lips pulled into a faint smile “—here I am.”

  Frederick Strong had worked for Harrison at HA Properties, Inc., for years, and yet she knew little about him. Oh, she’d seen him at the office and they’d shared a few conversations about travel and the types of tomatoes that made the best marinara sauce—the travel was firsthand knowledge while the tomato preference was gleaned from a magazine article he’d read. Still, other than those few conversations and one or two run-ins at The Oak Table or the grocery store, she wouldn’t say she knew the man. There was no wife or children, not that she’d heard about anyway.

  Would Frederick stay with Tate, or would he migrate to whatever camp of deception and greed Harrison had set up? There was only one way to find out and while the man could lie to her, she didn’t think he would. She offered him a small smile, tapped the dance booklet against her hand. “My nephew is big on loyalty and doing right by people.” A raised brow, followed by a calculating “I wouldn’t want to see him blindsided because of his trusting nature. Tell me, when Harrison attempts to recruit you, if he hasn’t already done so, will you go with him, or will you stay with my nephew?”

  Frederick Strong squared his shoulders, making him appear three inches taller, and spoke in a voice that left no doubt he was not used to having his intentions or his integrity questioned. “I’m staying with Tate. Harrison and I worked together for years, and while I didn’t always agree with his methods, I was never personally involved or witnessed any wrongdoing.”

  Camille raised a brow. The man wanted to feign integrity? Hah! “How convenient for you. I can’t imagine how you managed such a feat unless you closed your eyes.” She stepped closer, lowered her voice. “Harrison Alexander is a horrible, devious manipulator who doesn’t care who he hurts, including his own family. If you think you’re absolved from the stain of his sin because you didn’t personally witness it, you’re wrong. You had to know the man was up to no good, and I’ll bet you did nothing to try and stop him.”

  The man narrowed his blue gaze on her, his thin lips a straight line. “I suspected he had side deals, but I was never involved with them, nor was I able to find any documentation of wrongdoing—” he paused, cleared his throat “—until Tate took over. Once he started looking, we found the inconsistencies...and acted on them.”

  “Oh?” She waited for him to offer more, but those thin lips remained clamped shut. “Fine. If you don’t want to tell me, I’ll ask my nephew. Tate and I have a very good relationship.” Camille sniffed. “How sad you didn’t exercise a bit more of that integrity you’re so keen to show off when Harrison was conducting all manner of misdeeds. Looking the other
way and not asking questions does not absolve you, no matter what your conscience tells you.” And with that, she turned and headed to the other end of the room, checked her watch, and waited for the ballroom dance class to begin.

  While Camille was able to ignore Frederick Strong during the class, the man’s words remained with her through the night and into the next day. I suspected he had side deals, but I was never involved with them, nor was I able to find any documentation of wrongdoing...we found the inconsistencies...and acted on them. Why hadn’t the man simply shared an inconsistency or two? What would have been the harm? It’s not like she’d blabber his findings all over town. She knew about keeping confidences and secrets, had done so for years. All she’d been trying to determine was the level of loyalty Frederick Strong had toward her nephew. Was he backing him because the board wanted Tate at the helm of HA Properties, Inc., or did the lawyer believe in her nephew’s vision, character, and integrity? Who knew? Apparently, the man wasn’t going to share details that might help Camille determine his intentions. Well, she planned to put her investigative talents to work and find out.

  Ferreting out truths had become her mission, and Frederick Strong’s role at HA Properties, Inc., was a truth she planned to uncover. But there was a more pressing investigation she’d undertaken: finding out Helena Montrey’s backstory, including family, life, and anything else that occurred before she met Luke. She’d contacted Lester Conroy last week and put him in charge of reconstructing the woman’s past. If his findings matched what she’d told them, then Camille would relax and welcome her new “niece” into the Donovan clan. However, if there were discrepancies—especially, significant ones—then that would be a whole other issue, and a huge problem, considering there was a baby involved. She recalled her conversation with the private investigator who’d been happy to hear from her but cautious about her request.

  Camille, gathering information on someone can be dangerous. It can ruin lives.

  Oh, Lester, why the melodrama? You’ve been doing it for years.

  There’d been a long pause and then, And I’ve caused my own share of heartache and sorrow. I got bushels full of regret, too. I should have known when to refuse a client and I let it go too far. Another pause followed by a painful, Everybody paid the price.

  I need your help. My nephew’s future depends upon it. He brought home a pregnant wife we know nothing about, and her story about who she is and where she’s been is flimsy.

  Can you be more specific?

  The woman’s got class and breeding, and that means she’s got a past my nephew doesn’t know about. We have to find out what she’s hiding before it’s too late.

  Isn’t the woman pregnant? Sounds like it might already be too late.

  It’s never too late to extricate oneself from a bad relationship, unless he’s fallen so deeply in love with her that it would be more painful to sever the relationship than to continue it.

  The drawl in his Texas accent turned softer. Are you talking about your nephew, Camille? Or would those words pertain to yourself?

  I guess both. Will you help him, Lester? Please? I planned to attempt the investigation myself, but that could be a disaster.

  You could do some basic groundwork for me, gather details, make observations. But the question is, can you be objective and take the emotion from the situation? A good investigator observes; he does not interject emotion or the outcome he prefers. If you can do that, then I’ll accept your help. If you can’t, then it’s best for both of us if you let me handle it.

  I’ll do it.

  The Donovans were a family and if Helena was very lucky, she would become a part of that family. As the days rolled by and winter settled into spring, Helena eased into life in Reunion Gap. Most mornings, she had breakfast with Rose, and then Elizabeth would head over with her sketchpads and drawing utensils. They sat in the sunroom, each lost in her own world as Elizabeth drew and Helena wrote. For Elizabeth it was about finding the perfect subject for her next creation, whether it be a flower, a leaf, or the intricate details of a vine, and then bringing it to life.

  Helena’s world involved words: heartfelt, sincere, honest. She’d given up trying to produce work for the Annabelle Grace Lives and Annabelle Grace Cries lines because it was difficult to pretend anger, resentment, and sorrow when she felt none of those. She was happy, at peace—in love. That’s why she’d begun producing for the Annabelle Grace Loves line again, and while Dominic and Estelle weren’t pleased about it, they did agree that at least she was contributing work on a steady basis. What would they say if they knew she were going to have a baby with a man she met fewer than six months ago? A man who thought they were married and knew nothing about her real life?

  Soon, Helena would have to tell Luke who she really was and that the Annabelle Grace Loves card he bought her the other day was one she’d written. What would he say to that? She believed Luke loved her and she even believed he wanted to be a father. But what if he tired of the domestic life? It wouldn’t be about him or even about them anymore, not once the baby came. Elizabeth said she’d read it was important for couples to remain couples and not lose themselves in the baby. But how did successful parents manage that? Camille Alexander told Helena that Jameson and Nicki Price were perfect examples of two people who still enjoyed date nights and spending time together—without children. She’d said more people should be like that, should not forget what brought them together in the first place.

  Camille had a lot to say about a lot of things, and Helena was tempted to ask her how she could be so knowledgeable and yet had acted on none of that knowledge in her own relationship? Of course, she’d never ask but she wanted to... The woman intimidated and unsettled her. Was that intentional or simply Camille Alexander’s personality? Either way, when Luke’s aunt paid them a visit, usually unannounced, Helena ended up with heartburn or a headache, sometimes both.

  She glanced at Elizabeth, whose blonde head was bent over her sketchpad, fingers busy creating a crocus. Elegant, poised, and beautiful, Rogan’s wife possessed a gentleness that drew Helena to her, made her wish the other family members were a bit more reserved and less opinionated. Elizabeth and Rogan were a good couple and it was obvious they loved each other very much. Did the Donovans think she and Luke were a good couple, and was it obvious they loved each other very much? Or did they wonder if they were together because of the baby or worse, because of Luke’s reckless lifestyle? It was hard to tell and while there were moments when Helena wanted to know, there were more moments when she did not.

  Elizabeth glanced up from her sketchpad. “Know what I was just thinking?”

  Helena shook her head. “No idea.”

  A smile inched across Elizabeth’s lips. “This time next year, I’ll be drawing our babies and you’ll be writing about them.” She placed a hand on her large, round belly. “I’m so glad you’re here. It’s exciting to know our children will grow up together.” Her brows pinched, her voice turned melancholy. “I always wished for a brother or sister, even a cousin, so I didn’t have to be alone.”

  “My siblings are older than I am, so in a lot of ways I was an only child.” Helena placed both hands on her belly, massaged it. “And when my parents died a few years apart, I always hoped my brother and sister would take over, kind of become the parents.” She let the sadness spill out. “That never happened.”

  “Well, we’re going to make sure our children don’t grow up alone.” Elizabeth leaned forward, laid a hand on Helena’s arm. “Rogan and I don’t want this baby to be an only child, but if that’s how it turns out, at least there’ll be a cousin close by.”

  “Yes, at least there’s that.” Oh, how she wished she weren’t keeping two gigantic secrets from Luke, ones that could affect her destiny and the baby’s. What if he couldn’t accept the fact that she’d lied about her real identity? What if he viewed it as a betrayal? Would his feelings for her wither and die? She swallowed, sucked in air. He’d held her last night, spoken o
f his love for her and the baby with such emotion, she’d cried. She could not lose that love and yet, she could not continue sharing a life with him where he didn’t know the truth.

  “Helena? Are you okay?” Elizabeth’s gaze shot to her belly. “Is it the baby?”

  The poor baby had become the excuse for every uncomfortable situation or unwanted response. It wasn’t right or fair to the child, and yet Helena had let the Donovans’ assumptions stand uncorrected. The quiet spells, the indigestion and headaches were not about the baby at all. No, they were about the secrets that remained hidden that could tear her and Luke apart, kill their love, and the future of their family. That’s what made her sick and a bit too quiet, that’s what worried her deep into the night, long after Luke had fallen into a post lovemaking sleep.

  “Helena? Should I call Luke?”

  “No. I’m fine.” Helena dragged her gaze to Elizabeth, spotted the concern and anxiety on her face. “I guess sometimes I think about how much I want to be a part of this family, and I don’t know if they’ll ever really accept me.” There was truth in her words, even if they weren’t the reason for her upset. “They’re a tight family and they’re loyal. You can tell they stand behind one another even if they don’t agree.” Pause, a deep breath before she rushed on. “And heaven help anyone who hurts one of them.”

  “Yes, heaven help that person.” Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, let out a soft sigh. “I’ve been on the end of that anger and I never want to be there again.” Her voice drifted, turned sad and wistful. “I thought I’d lost Rogan forever. Who would have thought Tate Alexander would come to the rescue, huh? That man is worth a whole bank vault of gold, no matter what the men have to say about him.” Elizabeth tsk-tsked. “I think they’re jealous of his kindness. And his manners...his looks...”

  Tate Alexander was handsome, charming, attentive, and gracious, with a gentleness about him that made him approachable. He’d made several efforts to talk with her but if Luke were in the vicinity, the efforts sizzled. “Charlotte’s a lucky woman.”