by Mary Campisi
“Luke, talk to us.” His sister’s voice turned soft. “Tell us what happened.”
“Tell you what happened?” he said, surprised his heart could still beat. “A disaster happened. A tsunami.” Pause, a deep breath and a whoosh of air from his lungs pushing out the horrible truth. “She faked our marriage. Imagine that? She friggin’ faked our marriage. And do you know why? She said she wanted to give me a way out in case I got restless and wanted to bail on her and the kid. Nice, huh?”
“Damn.” This from Rogan followed by another, “Damn. I guess maybe I could kind of see her point but that’s rough.”
“You can kind of see her point?” Charlotte scowled at Rogan. “What kind of person does that? I don’t buy it… I don’t buy anything that woman says.”
Well, reference to Helena had shifted to that woman. That was never good in his family. When references to that woman started, it meant his siblings were gunning for the person and it wasn’t going to be good. Family protected family, and the Donovans protected their own even if they didn’t agree with them. Helena had no idea what was in store for her, not with Charlotte making statements like she just had and referring to her as that woman.
Rogan sipped his beer, eyed Luke. “I don’t know what to think. Logic says she could be telling the truth… Or she could have faked the marriage to protect her assets if things go south.”
Luke slapped the kitchen table with the palm of his hand. “I never thought of that one. She’s got a hell of a lot of assets to protect; maybe that’s it. Maybe it was never about me at all.”
Luke opened the bedroom door and slipped inside. The soft glow of the nightlight illuminated a corner of the bed. He eased out of his work boots and socks, unbuckled his belt, and stepped out of his jeans. The long-sleeved flannel shirt came next, leaving him in a T-shirt and boxers. He kicked them into a pile against the dresser and made his way to the bed.
She lay on her side with her back to him, long hair spread on the pillow. He knew the silkiness of that hair, the coconut smell, the way it tickled his chest when she moved over him. How many nights had they lain in each other’s arms talking about the future, their baby, their dreams? So many plans and all of them filled with hope and promise and the absolute knowing it would happen.
And now it was all over. And it had all been a lie.
He should not be surprised that she’d manufactured such emotion. It’s what she did for a friggin’ living. Their relationship had consisted of I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you and we will grow and learn and thrive together. There’d been other phrases, ones meant to tug at his soul and make his heart swell. The woman was a master at creating emotion, and she’d created enough feeling in him to make him believe in happily-ever-after. But once he’d learned the truth about her, the emotion had shifted from joy and love to disgust and anger.
Helena Montrey had stolen his heart and ground it up.
Luke squinted, let his gaze follow the lines of the comforter, take in each curve… He knew them all so well. Had touched, tasted, kissed every one of those curves and now all he wanted to do was block them from his memory and pretend none of it had ever happened. How in the hell was he going to do that? The damn woman lived inside him and the only way he would survive this betrayal was to learn to hate her.
He eased a pillow from the bed, grabbed the afghan resting on the back of a chair, and tossed them on the rug before he slid to the floor and yanked the afghan over his body. Tomorrow he’d wake up sore and stiff, a reminder that he wasn’t twenty anymore. Still, anything was better than sleeping in the same bed as the woman who’d broken his heart.
Luke woke an hour before his usual time, scrubbed a hand over his face and yawned. A glance at the bed told him she’d turned on her side, arms outstretched in the space where he usually slept. A pang of something he refused to identify as compassion shot through him seconds before he snuffed it out, grabbed his clothes, and headed for the shower. Life would go on and they would get through this...his mother would not find out the truth... When the time came to offer her a version of what had happened, it would be reworked, massaged, and manipulated so as not to be identifiable. It would be palatable, though, and as his father had taught his kids, that’s what their mother needed: a reworked story, not the hard and often cruel truth.
Fifteen minutes later, he bounded down the steps and made his way to the kitchen. His mother sat at the table, sipping coffee and paging through a cooking magazine. “Hello, dear, you’re up early today. Is everything all right?”
No, Mom, everything is not all right. In fact, everything is all wrong. Of course, he couldn’t say that, so he forced a smile, gave his mother a peck on the cheek, and said, “Never better. Crazy day and I want to get started.”
“I understand your brother’s keeping you very busy. I’m so happy you two are getting along so well.”
“Yeah, just dandy.” For once his know-it-all brother wasn’t the problem. Unfortunately, the woman he thought was his wife, the one who was carrying his baby, was the problem. He reached for a mug, poured coffee into it, thought of how Helena used to bring it to him in bed when they were still in Colorado. I thought you should be served in bed, she’d said with a soft smile. You certainly worked hard last night. Her cheeks would turn red, her eyes bright. He’d glance at her half-naked body, murmur, I did work hard, didn’t I? And then he’d set the coffee aside and show her just how grateful he was for her services.
“Lucas? Would you freshen up my coffee?”
He blinked, carried the pot to the table, and refilled his mother’s cup.
Sleep had eluded him last night, his brain bombarded with questions and concerns about how they were all going to keep the disaster that had become his life a secret. And what about the damn marriage vow renewal? What were they going to do about that? Knowing the mayor and his stickler tendencies, he wouldn’t go for anything that looked suspicious even if he’d known the Donovan clan most of their lives. Luke would talk to Rogan and see if he had an idea about how to get past this. Or maybe Tate would know. The guy might be a do-gooder, but his father was a shyster and a double-dealer and maybe some of those genes had rubbed off—for emergency purposes only.
But there was another problem that was more long-term, more painful. How was he going to look at Helena and pretend they hadn’t shared hopes of a life and a future? And that body? Did he really think he could blink and erase the memories? He was a fool, but even he wasn’t that big a fool.
“… and I thought Helena and I would work on making a cake from scratch today. I told her how much you love carrot cake and she wants to make it for your birthday. Oh, I know it’s not for another two months, but still...she wants the practice.” She smiled, flipped a page of the magazine. “She’s such a lovely young girl. Wants to please you so much; it does my heart good to see how much she cares about you.” Her voice dipped, turned soft and sad. “Your father would be overjoyed to know that his children were all settled and some of them were welcoming the next line of Donovans. I wouldn’t be surprised if Charlotte didn’t turn up pregnant in the next year. I’ve seen the way her husband listens when you all talk about babies and pregnancies. Men ignore those sorts of details until they’re interested in becoming a father themselves. Imagine three little Donovans all living in the same town, playing together, going to the same school…”
Yeah, imagine one of those little Donovans where the mother lives in one house and the father lives in the other. “It’s nice to dream, Mom, but don’t turn the dreams into fairy tales. Real life happens, even to the best of us.”
“Dreams are meant to be lived and fairy tales are meant to be created.” Her blue eyes grew wistful. “Your father and I had such dreams and we were so happy, but it just wasn’t long enough. Does that mean I wish I’d never had that joy or known that love?” She shook her head, clasped her coffee cup between her hands. “No, of course not. Besides, your father lives in my heart and my soul and he will never
leave me.”
Luke had to look away from the sadness and pain on her face. That’s what real love looked like. That’s what family and hope and sacrifice were all about. “I wish things could have been different for you, Mom.”
“Whenever you open your heart to love, you also open it to pain. Remember that, Lucas, especially when life gets difficult.”
What to say to that? Fortunately, Luke didn’t need a response because his sister took that exact moment to barrel into the kitchen with Winston close behind. Leave it to a dog to lighten the mood. Charlotte rushed to him, hugged him tight, and whispered, “How are you?”
“Okay.” That wasn’t the truth, but he figured she didn’t expect the truth, not with their mother sitting a few feet away.
“Tate will be down in a minute so I’m going to take Winston outside.” She darted a glance at their mother, smiled. “Hi, Mom. Say good morning to your first grandson.”
Rose laughed. “Who would have thought I’d call a dog my grandchild?” Her voice turned gentle, her lips pulled into a smile. “He’s my buddy. I don’t even want to think about the day you all move out. I’m just hoping you’ll take trips, so I can babysit him.”
“If Tate has his way, he’ll be flying me all over the country. And you know he’s building you a mother-in-law suite.” Charlotte leaned down, rubbed Winston’s ears. “Did you hear about that, Luke?”
“A mother-in-law suite?” Luke glanced from Charlotte to his mother. “Guess somebody forgot to tell me.” Tate Alexander was building their mother her own suite in his mini-mansion? Charlotte hadn’t said she was the one doing it, which he found very interesting.
Rose laughed and lifted her coffee cup to salute them both. “At least my son-in-law looks out for me. He’s mentioned Winston might want a brother or sister, and someone else for me to babysit.” She tilted her head, studied Charlotte. “What I can’t figure out is if he’s talking about a four-legged sibling or a two-legged one.”
“A two-legged what?” The subject of their conversation walked into the kitchen. “Why is everybody looking at me?”
His wife leaned on tiptoe, whispered in his ear. He laughed, said in a voice filled with humor and gentleness. “I’m talking about a dog, Rose. When I’m talking about a baby, I think Charlotte should be the first one to know, don’t you?”
Luke thought about his sister and her husband as he worked at Rogan’s that day. He was glad they’d found each other, gotten through their differences, and were making a life together. Marriage was a damn crapshoot and it wasn’t easy. He’d never been interested in it, had been determined to remain unattached and uninvolved. But then she’d come along and changed his mind. Not that she’d had to work very hard to change his mind because there was something about her that made him want to reconsider his position on permanent bachelorhood. He’d been a fool to think he was the one making the choice when it had been her all along.
Chapter 14
“How could you?” Anger and disgust spilled from Charlotte’s lips, spread through Rogan and Elizabeth Donovan’s living room. “Don’t you know what you’ve done?”
Helena swiped at her eyes. How could there be more tears after yesterday? Luke’s words singed her brain. I was so sure you were different, so sure you’d made me different, but it was all a joke...I wish I’d never met you... She and Luke were over, done, their hearts and hopes crushed, and she was responsible for all of it. “I never meant to hurt him. I would never do that.” She forced out a truth Luke’s sister might not want to hear. “I love him.”
Charlotte balled her hands into fists, burned Helena with those green eyes. “Love? What do you know about love? Do you have any idea what my brother has done for you? He’s never brought a girl home, never introduced us to anyone, and there’ve been a lot of women. Luke’s not the kind to open up and share, but he said you were different; he called you an angel who’d been sent to save him from himself.” Her laughter spun around the room, changed to a snarl. “But you’re no angel, are you? No, you’re the she-devil who betrayed him.”
“Charlotte.” Elizabeth laid a hand on her sister-in-law’s arm. “Why don’t we listen to what Helena has to say so we can understand what happened?”
“What are we going to understand? Will she tell us how my brother got played? How she ripped his heart apart and left him to bleed out?” She glared at Helena, spat out, “Are you really pregnant? And if you are, is the baby Luke’s?”
“Of course, it’s his. I would never…”
Those green eyes turned to slits. “Yeah, right. You would never… Everybody says that, until they do.”
Elizabeth became the mediator once again. “Charlotte, we’ve all done things we wish we hadn’t. Sometimes we do them because we’re afraid of getting hurt or afraid to trust. And sometimes we do them for reasons even we don’t understand. Let’s give Helena a chance like people gave us a chance.”
“It is not the same. No way.”
“Yes, in some ways it’s exactly the same; we just don’t like to admit it.”
What were they talking about? Helena couldn’t imagine Elizabeth doing anything wrong. As for Charlotte... Well, she could definitely see where Luke’s sister had a temper and a tendency to get into situations of her own making.
Charlotte blinked hard, the left side of her jaw twitching. “Did you see Luke’s face? He’ll never recover… Never trust anyone again.” Her voice cracked, shook with anger and sadness. “We’ve lost him, and we’d only just found him. He’ll leave.” More anger, piled on top of sadness. “You’ll see, and we’ll never be able to find him again.”
“You don’t know that.” Elizabeth touched Charlotte’s arm, offered a smile. “Let’s sit down and listen, okay? And try to keep an open mind. It wasn’t that long ago that both of us were on the outs with our men, and no matter how much we don’t want to admit it, we were the cause.”
“That’s not exactly—”
“Yes, it is, and we both know it.” Elizabeth patted a spot on the couch next to her. “Now sit and don’t talk until Helena is finished.” A mumble and a curse escaped Charlotte’s lips before she crossed her arms over her chest and fixed her gaze on the floor. “Go ahead,” Elizabeth said, her voice soft and persuasive, so unlike her sister-in-law’s. “Help us to understand.”
What did any of it matter now? There was no sense trying to protect her pride or her privacy when it was obvious she’d lost both. Helena perched on the edge of the rocker, studied the wood trim Luke had replaced last week. He was talented and kind and—
“Well? We’re waiting.”
Helena met Charlotte’s gaze, held it. “I was sixteen when my mother died. My father had passed away five years earlier, so when Mom died, it was just me and my two siblings. We had money, lots of it, but we didn’t have family to care about us or guide us. That’s what the lawyers and trustees were for, I guess.” She shrugged, looked away as memories of the early days without her mother clogged her brain, burned her heart. “We’d always hung around the company; it’s what made us feel closest to our parents.” Pause. “My brother and sister were older and already in college. Once they finished, they took over the business and marketing departments.” Her voice dipped with remembering. “I became the creative director when my sister found the stacks of cards I’d written to mourn my mother’s death. She said I’d found my calling, but I always thought it was just a way to honor my mother.”
“So, you wrote sympathy cards?”
Helena sighed, glanced at Elizabeth. “That’s how it started out. When you’re a child and you’re lost, you try to find an anchor somewhere. Anywhere. The sympathy cards were my anchor back then until I fell for a philosophy major my freshman year in college. He used to quote Democritus and Aristotle, and I could hardly breathe when he was near. I was sure I was in love, even though I’d never spoken a word to him and I’m certain he didn’t know I existed. That’s when I replaced the sympathy cards with love and forever ones. I’d stay up at nigh
t writing them and they became so popular my brother and sister talked me into transferring closer to home sophomore year.” She paused, rubbed her temples. “That way I could commute and produce more work.”
“But what about your studies and enjoying college life?”
It was easier to focus on Elizabeth and her concern and pretend Charlotte weren’t there. Rogan’s wife had a softness about her that said she cared and understood. Charlotte, on the other hand, did not seem to possess that same softness or interest in anything Helena had to say. “There was too much money involved. The cards sold well and the people they hired to replicate the work couldn’t get the same feel.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Did you mind transferring?”
Helena opened her mouth to spit out phrases like My brother and sister needed me, and I wanted to help out, or even, I had a gift and I had to give back—for my parents, but she couldn’t do it. Not this time. If they wanted the truth, she’d give it to them. “Yes, I hated it. I didn’t want to write cards. Not then, maybe later, after college, but not when I was twenty years old. I did what they wanted, though; I transferred and had to settle for average grades because I spent so much time creating cards about love and soulmates. Meanwhile, I lost my time, my freedom, my friends.” Her voice wobbled, cracked. “I lost my choice.”
Charlotte snaked her a look, gaze narrowed, watchful. “I’d be pissed.”
Elizabeth had a gentler response. “I’d be torn. I’d want to stand up for myself and follow my heart, but I’d probably let guilt creep in.” Her amber eyes turned bright. “And the desire not to disappoint. I know what that’s like.”
“I guess I do, too,” Charlotte said. “It’s no fun being the only girl, especially with a perfect oldest brother like mine. At least Luke and I were on even ground with the screw-ups, but I get it. You don’t always want to be the odd one out. You want to do something that makes someone proud.” Her tone shifted from understanding to unhappy. “But that didn’t mean it was okay to lie to my brother.”