by Mary Campisi
Her face paled. “I don’t think Luke’s family is interested in anything that has to do with us getting back together.” She sat up straighter, placed a hand on her belly. “And if it weren’t for the baby and protecting their mother, they would have kicked me out of this town already.”
She had a point, but there was a hole in her logic. “I’m family, too.” His voice gentled. “And that’s why I’m here.” Not with the Donovans’ blessing or knowledge but once he developed a plan, he’d see if they’d buy into it. His wife might have a thought or two about the implementation of the plan, adding her own flair to it, but he’d be okay with that. What mattered was keeping the truth from Rose and getting Luke to settle down long enough to consider his options—did he really want to spend the rest of his life without Helena? That was an answer Tate intended to find out, but first he had to make sure Helena was willing to fight for a chance to be with the man she loved, even if he hated her right now.
“You’re very kind.” Her lips pulled into a faint smile. “Luke’s comments about you don’t match up to what I’ve seen.”
That made Tate laugh. “Not surprising.” He bet the guy’s surly attitude was about the car Tate drove into town on his twenty-first birthday: black, loaded, lots of chrome. He’d wanted the car dealer to remove the price sheet from the back window, but Tate had been in a hurry and the guy forgot. Luke Donovan was a motorhead who loved anything with an engine and speed. It was Tate’s bad luck the guy happened to step out of the Cherry Top Diner that summer afternoon at the exact same time Tate parked outside. Yeah, he didn’t like to think about the rest, but that’s what sat at the center of the guy’s animosity. You think you’re a hotshot because you got this car? he’d said. It’s always about money with you people, isn’t it? Tate should have kept his mouth shut but when the guy started in on his mother and sister, that was it. You know what your problem is, Donovan? You’re jealous; you’ve always been jealous and from where I’m standing, it’s always about money with you. Tate should have stopped there but, of course, he didn’t. Now leave me alone and go back to your miserable, punk-ass life.
“It must have been hard for you to marry into a family that wasn’t thrilled about your wealth.”
“Hah.” That was a true understatement. “The Donovans are proud, hard-working people, but sometimes they get blinded by that and assume those with money have never known struggle. Most of my life, I’ve wished I were like ordinary people. You know, without the cook, the gardener, the fleet of cars, and the unlimited credit cards.”
Helena nodded. “All I ever wanted was to be part of a family and when I lost my parents a few years apart, I started to write. The first notes were sad and about loss because I wanted to honor my mother. I named the card line Annabelle Grace Cries. Annabelle was a heroine in a book I read about a young woman who could see the future and change it, ten years at a time. I loved that character and wished I could be her. Grace was my mother’s name. Later, I started writing about love and caring and finding that special someone. What did I know about any of it? It was make-believe but I held onto it because I wanted to believe it could exist.”
Tate nodded. “For too many years I didn’t think there was such a thing as real love, especially after witnessing my own parents’ sad relationship. They were more of a merger. And marriage? No thanks, not in my universe.” His voice softened, and he thought of his wife and how she’d shown him just how wrong he’d been.
“But then you met Charlotte,” Helena said, studying him.
“Oh, yes, then I met Charlotte.” Tate frowned as he recalled the disastrous first part of their relationship. “It was a tough climb, but it was all worth it.” The frown relaxed, morphed into a smile. “Definitely worth it.”
“I’m really happy for you, Tate.” She paused, her cheeks coloring with pink. “You’re a good man and you deserve to be happy.”
“Thanks.” He’d never been comfortable with compliments, probably because there’d been so few in his life. Growing up in a household with Harrison Alexander where every single accomplishment was a lesson and a critique for the next effort had made Tate shy away from praise. “So...about the greeting cards...”
She shook her head, pressed her fingers against her temples. “Right, about that. Like I said, it started out as a way to express my feelings after my mother died, but when my brother and sister told me I could be a part of our parents’ legacy if I wrote cards for the company, I agreed. I dreamed and wrote and watched my thoughts turn into greeting cards that people could relate to and understand. When Dominic and Estelle told me that sales had spiked and the line they created for me was selling well, I was so happy. I thought it would draw us closer together, make us a real family who cared about one another. When they asked me to create more cards, why wouldn’t I do it for them? I wanted us to be a family...but that didn’t happen...”
Tate studied Helena, pulled in by the heartache of belonging to a family who chose the bottom line over their own sister. Why did some people think the only thing that mattered was the next dollar? Did they not see it was about caring and relationships and doing the right thing by your family because you were family? “It must have been very hard for you.”
She shrugged, cleared her throat. “All I wanted them to do was treat me like I mattered, like I was their sister and not some machine spitting out words. But the more I wrote, the more they wanted. Instead of making me feel closer to them, it distanced me. They asked me to transfer colleges after my freshman year and work closer to home. Oh, they said the environment was better for me and we’d see more of each other, but it wasn’t about that at all.” Her words swirled through the room, landed between them: sad, dejected. “It was all about making money. The more I created, the happier they were, and the more isolated I felt. But I wanted to please them, so I did it. I finished college, continued to work on the cards, and that’s when I met my fiancé.”
“Ah, the fiancé...”
Her voice turned hard and she spat out, “Right. Him. He acted so excited to hear I created greeting cards, said it was a true art. Right. He just saw the dollar signs and did the math. Money never mattered to me and I was so naïve. I thought he really cared about me, but all he wanted was my money and what it could buy him. A few weeks before the wedding, he spilled the truth and said he couldn’t marry me because he loved someone else. Imagine that?”
“Jerk.”
“Oh, yes. But guess what? While he told me he couldn’t marry me, he could, however, collect the proceeds from the half of the house I’d signed over to him, the car I’d put in his name, the tailor-made suits... I paid for the wedding that never happened and the debts he left behind. That’s what love got me and that’s when I vowed never to trust a man again.”
“And then you met Luke.”
She closed her eyes, said in a voice coated with pain, “And then I met Luke.”
Harrison Alexander did not like to lose. Had the man ever lost at anything? Camille doubted it, and yet there was a sadness about him at times that spoke of loss. How could that be? How could the man know what loss meant unless he’d cared about something or someone and lost?
Had he loved Marguerite despite his indiscretions? Camille couldn’t say, and yet she doubted it. The man had never spoken of his wife with compassion or kindness. No, his references contained words like inconvenient and overdramatic.
No matter, Harrison would lose this time, and Camille would know the joy of unburdening herself from her husband. Carter could learn what freedom felt like if he joined forces with her and did what needed done. That’s why she stood in Carter’s rented condo right now, forcing a smile that pretended she could stomach him and his pregnant girlfriend. If they all joined together, they could beat Harrison Alexander: Camille would get her divorce, Carter would get his pregnant sex-toy, and Mindy would play at being Mrs. Carter Alexander.
Victory could taste so sweet.
She dug her stilettos into the carpet, placed a hand on
her hip, and homed in on her estranged husband. “I have a strategy that will destroy Harrison’s threats, and if you follow my plans, Mindy may even gain his acceptance.” Camille eyed the girl whose pregnant belly stuck out in a shrink-wrapped top, revealing the results of Carter’s inability to keep his pants zipped. She cared less right now. All that mattered was achieving her goal of uncoupling—a goal that required assistance.
Mindy clutched Carter’s arm, stuck her pointed chin in the air, and said in a voice laced with possessiveness and suspicion, “Why should we trust you? Why would you want to help us now when you’ve tried to break us up tons of times?” The pointy chin inched higher. “You smeared my name in front of the whole town, so nobody comes into the Cherry Top Diner without staring me down.”
It was obvious Mindy was the one to convince. Carter was simply the good-looking mouthpiece with no courage or insight. Camille started in. “I’m tired of letting Harrison dictate what the people in this town do and don’t do, what his family can and can’t accept, who we marry and who we love. Aren’t you?” She homed in on the girl’s pale face. “I’ve devised a way for Harrison Alexander to not only acknowledge you, but accept you. And by accepting you, he’ll have to accept the child.”
Carter attempted a smile, failed. He’d have to work on that smile if he were going to convince the town and the patients who were leaving his practice with the steadiness of a dripping faucet, that while he might have made a mistake and disregarded his marriage vows, he did love the mother of his unborn child. There could be no willy-nilly tepidness, no uncertainty when he made that claim, or he’d be considered weak and unbelievable.
“May I sit?” Camille eyed the cream leather couch, a low-end version of the one sitting in her living room at home. Hmm. Interesting. Carter’s handsome face turned three shades of red as he nodded and scooped up gossip magazines from the center of the couch.
“Have a seat, Camille.” More red darkened his cheeks. “Can I get you a drink?
Oh, but she should give him a break and ignore the clutter and shabbiness of the place, but she couldn’t. There was a part of her that wanted to say, See what you’re missing, jerk? See what you gave up? But she didn’t, because maybe he didn’t think he was missing anything. Maybe he really did love Mindy. “No, thank you. I’m fine.” She eased onto the couch, folded her hands in her lap.
So?” Mindy plopped on the couch beside her, tucked a strand of limp hair behind an ear dotted with several studs. “Carter told me we should listen to what you had to say, but if you’re just going to be mean, then you can leave now.”
Well. Talk about little Miss Superiority. Camille tilted her head, studied the girl. The long hair needed to go, the dark eyeliner, too. And the clothes? Did the girl really need to advertise a bulging belly with a skin-tight top as though people wanted to see that? Her gaze slid to the chipped nails, took in the rows of costume jewelry circling her wrists, the heart necklace dangling between her breasts on a silver chain. Goodness, this was going to be a lot of work. Still, if the effort gained her a divorce, it would be worth it. Camille pulled her lips into a thin smile and said, “I’m offering you a chance to fill my spot.”
The girl let out a laugh that shot straight to Camille’s brain. “I’ve already filled your spot.” Mindy rubbed her belly, tossed a knowing smile at Carter. “Didn’t I fill her spot, babe?” Another laugh, followed by a sultry sigh. “And then some.”
“Mindy.” Carter shook his head, a warning that his girlfriend did not heed. He shook his head again. “Please.”
Mindy rolled her eyes, flopped back against the leather couch, and folded her arms over her belly, pushing her breasts out to reveal a scrap of red lace. It was Camille’s turn to shake her head; some things never changed. “If you want a chance to make people in this town forget how you two got together and eventually accept you as a couple—” she unzipped her handbag, pulled out a folded sheet of paper “—you’re going to have to change a few things.” Camille unfolded the paper, dug around in her satchel for her reading glasses and put them on. “The first section is for you, Carter. No more flirting with other women, no suggestive looks, no sexual innuendoes, no—”
“He doesn’t do that!” Mindy spat out, turned to the man in question. “You don’t do that anymore...do you?”
Oh, but this girl had a lot to learn about the man sitting next to her. Of course, he did it, had done it for years, and if someone didn’t hit him over the head with the reality of his dead-end future if he didn’t change, then he was never going to stop. Carter was like a hound dog on the hunt: his nose always going after the next scent. Nature versus nurture, or whatever you wanted to call it. Camille called it lack of control and lack of consequences. “Carter? Do you still do that?” She watched him bend his head and rub the back of his neck, a sign that he was deciding what and how much to reveal. Did Mindy recognize this for what it was?
The neck rubbing ceased and he lifted his head, laid a hand on Mindy’s and said, “No. Of course not.”
Which could mean—anything. Camille shrugged, turned back to the list. “Good, because this plan won’t work if you don’t cut off all extracurricular activities.” She paused, let the silence accentuate her meaning. “We want the people of Reunion Gap, who are also your patients, to gain trust in you, believe you’re a stand-up man who will do right by your...significant other and the baby.”
“Significant other?” Mindy laughed. “I’m his girlfriend. His one and only. His one true love. His—”
“I get it.” Camille narrowed her gaze on the woman. She really had no clue... “You’re all of those and more, but nobody will look at you that way unless you give them a reason to...and that requires you and Carter to work together—with me.”
Mindy sat up, laced her hand through Carter’s. “I’m listening. What would we need to do?”
Oh, so now she had her attention. Most likely because of the acknowledgment that indeed she was Carter’s one true love. Ahem, if the naïve woman believed that, then let her. Camille wanted this divorce and while she’d give these two the tools to carve a place in this town as a couple, she would not take sides or play mediator. Carter had a choice and for once in his fifty-some years, he would have to make it without the help of his brother. She flipped the reading glasses on top of her head, smiled. “We’re going to make you a couple the town accepts. How do we do that? Carter, you’ll spend time honing that charm of yours on your patients for the purpose of retention only. You’ll use those brains of yours to write articles for the newspaper, offer talks at the library, anything to get yourself in front of the town and show them you’ve changed. No more flirting, no more arrogance, no more foolishness. Humble and contrite is your new image, and you will do it if you want a chance to keep the designer-label lifestyle you so enjoy.”
“He’ll do it,” Mindy said, sliding a glance at Carter who sat next to her looking bewildered and out of his element.
Camille nodded, turned to the young woman. “You’ll get a makeover. I’m not just talking about changing your clothes or makeup; I’m talking about a total makeover.” Camille studied the limp hair, the string of studs climbing up her ear, the heavy eyeliner, the shrink-wrapped top...the high boots that said cheap and no class.
“What kind of complete makeover?” Mindy tilted her head, homed in on Camille’s diamond bracelet.
“Everything and anything. We’ll work on speech patterns, posture, mannerisms. The way a woman walks and holds her head says a lot about who she is and what she represents. You must always be mindful of that and choose accordingly. People will be observing, never forget that.” She tapped a finger against her chin, flipped her glasses on her face, and scanned the list. “We’ll go over music and television selections, food choices...” Camille removed her glasses, pointed them at Mindy. “If you want acceptance, you have to learn to play the game. Once you’ve undergone your transformation, you get to decide how much you want to keep and what you want to discard. You’ll wor
k with my friend Nicki Price. She’s a transplant from Chicago, closer to your age; knows all about style and fashion. Great businessperson. The people in Reunion Gap love her, love her husband, her kids, even her dog. Wouldn’t you like to have that kind of admiration?” Camille knew the exact moment she’d sold Mindy on her proposal.
“I would,” Mindy said, her brown eyes wide, her voice filled with awe. “Nicki Price will work with me?”
Yes indeed, Mindy was interested and willing. All Camille had to do now was reel her in. “Of course, she will. We’ve already talked about it. You see, she’s my friend and you can learn a lot from her.” Time to drop the final nugget. “Maybe one day she’ll be your friend, too.”
The rest of the meeting fell together with ease as Mindy gushed and sputtered over Nicki Price and all the wonderful things the woman could do. Carter, baby, she can make me look like a movie star. And Carter, sweetie, Nicki Price wants to work with me. She’s from Chicago. She’s beautiful and classy and she can make me look like that, too. On and on it went, as Camille nodded, smiled, and jotted down notes, while Carter shifted on the couch, cleared his throat, and attempted to look interested. Too bad for him. He wanted Mindy? He wanted a young thing and a new family? Well, now he was going to have one, and if he wanted to continue to live in luxury, then he’d do what Camille said.
She’d helped him with his PR nightmares and guided him on ways to improve his image, but he was going to give her the divorce. They were meeting with the lawyers next week to sign the final papers. Of course, she’d continue to help them because she’d given her word, and Donovans never went back on their word. However, if he decided to chase another skirt or return to his old ways and jeopardize his chance of redemption, she’d let him sink. He’d lose his patients, his practice, his precious Mindy. Let him see how many women wanted to be with him when he had nothing but an overblown smile to offer.