Before the Storm

by Leslie Tentler

  Both Mark and Carter warmly greeted the housekeeper, who had worked for the St. Clair family for years. Carter rose and hugged her as soon as she’d put down the tray. She poured drinks from a crystal pitcher and handed them out before leaving again.

  “So who’s your leading lady?” Olivia asked as Carter helped himself to one of the dainty ham biscuits.

  “She’s a model, Mom. It’s her first acting job. You’ve probably never heard of her, but—”

  “Not the movie, child. What I mean is who’s your leading lady in real life? And don’t go trying to tell me you don’t have one.” Olivia smiled and batted her eyelashes, pleased by her attempt at cleverness.

  “The truth is, I don’t,” Carter said around a mouthful of biscuit. “There’s no one special right now.”

  He looked at Mark, who’d turned back around but still stood with one hand on the piano. Mark felt himself tense, knowing the exact direction of his brother’s thoughts.

  Carter gave him a sly wink. “Who knows? Maybe that’s something I can work on while I’m here.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Pain exploded in Trina’s cheekbone. She fell against the nightstand, tipping over the Turkish lamp and shattering its cobalt glass. Gasping, she lifted her hand to her face. Devin towered over her, a cold smile planted on his lips.

  “That’s not going to look good on stage, now is it?”

  She tasted blood in her mouth. Above the rising buzz in her ears, she heard her own unsteady voice. “I-I won’t go back! I can’t do it anymore!”

  He jerked her upright, his fingers clamping on to her upper arms.

  “You’ll do what I want,” he ground out in a low voice, nostrils flaring and eyes filled with dark meaning. “Haven’t you learned that by now, little girl?”

  Taking a deep breath, Samantha tried to keep her thoughts from darkening further. She stood in the rising steam cloud inside the shower, hoping the pelting jets of hot water might somehow cleanse her mind along with her body. But at times the memories were so strong she couldn’t shake them. An article in the Sunday newspaper—a profile on adult entertainment clubs in North Charleston—had been the trigger. The piece had talked about the seedier aspects of such establishments, including the women they exploited and often destroyed. It had sent her thoughts hurtling back to places she tried never to go.

  She swayed slightly under the heavy, warm spray. Even now, she felt herself flinching at the recollection of Devin’s husky drawl.

  I own you, Trina. I own you, body and soul.

  When she’d first met Devin, she…Trina…had been on the streets for two solid nights. She’d also run out of the petty sum of cash she had brought with her. She had been cold, hungry and utterly alone. There hadn’t been money to buy a bus ticket back to Mamaw Jean, even if she had wanted to go. Devin had been sweet and protective. He’d taken her to an all-night diner and bought her the first actual meal she’d had in days. Then he had offered to let her sleep on his couch, help her find a job and get on her feet. Craving the love she’d never had at home, Trina had easily fallen under his spell. Before long, she started sleeping in his bed. He bought her clothes. Told her she was beautiful and made her feel special. A short time later, he’d also gotten her a fake driver’s license that said she was four years older than she actually was. Soon, she was dancing at a club he ran—the smoky, dimly lit Blue Iris.

  The other girls did favors for patrons, but Trina belonged only to Devin.

  She had been his obsession. He loved the dark thrill of other men watching her, wanting her, but knowing she was his alone.

  Samantha turned off the water and stood there for several moments, listening to the soft plunk-plunking of water dripping from her hair onto the molded plastic shower floor.

  It’s over. It has been for a long time. That’s not my life now.

  Wrapping a towel around herself, she forced her mind back to the present. She thought of the challenging run she’d had with Mercer that morning and tried to conjure up the calming sounds of ocean waves and cawing sea gulls along the shore. But eventually her wandering thoughts turned to Mark St. Clair and the things she’d learned about him. It had surprised her that such tragedy could touch a life like his—one that otherwise seemed so ideal.

  Samantha couldn’t help but wonder what Mark’s wife had looked like. She imagined a classically pretty, sunny blonde with sky-blue eyes and a beauty queen smile. She could see Mark with someone like that. Samantha—Trina—had been a blonde at one time, at Devin’s insistence. But nothing about it had been natural.

  Don’t go back there, she implored herself. But the haunting memory of that horrific, fateful night seemed to always be waiting to claim her.

  Afterward, she had fled Memphis under cover of darkness, dyeing her hair back to its original color in a dingy bus station bathroom. Then she had headed northeast, hoping to get lost in the biggest city she knew of. Several months later, after getting a job at a high-profile Manhattan nightclub using her new identity, she’d saved enough money to have the breast implants removed. She’d had to wash the outward signs of Trina away. Her life had depended on it.

  You got any idea what you’re worth to me? All those men paying my cover charge and swilling twelve-dollar drinks for the privilege of putting cash between your titties?

  Tits I paid for.

  She shivered at the ghostlike feel of Devin’s hands on her, squeezing. Pinching.

  He had been possessive, volatile and sadistic—things he’d initially hidden from her behind a mask of charisma. Both Devin and his older brother, Red, were frightening and invincible, with their hands in a number of illicit dealings, much of it handled at the club while nude women danced. The Learys were the Southern equivalent of Mafia, and just as dangerous.

  Irritated by the destructive direction of her thoughts, Samantha pulled the towel from her body and used it to blot her hair. She took a long, discerning look at her reflection in the vanity mirror. The woman before her was trim and fit, with dark hair and small, rounded breasts. Trina was gone.

  Still, when she closed her eyes, she was back in that Memphis apartment again—shivering, shards of cobalt glass around her, her hands stained with blood.

  Samantha went into the bedroom to dress. Sunday was her only full day off from the café, and she didn’t want to waste it torturing herself with painful memories. Instead, she planned to go to the outlet mall outside Charleston and look for a new pair of running shoes. Then perhaps later she would catch an afternoon matinee by herself in a dark, air-conditioned theater. Maybe she’d even go by the mega-bookstore and pick up a few new culinary magazines and books. She read a lot, for enjoyment and to make up for her lack of a more formal education.

  During their run, Mercer had invited Samantha to the St. Clair to sunbathe and have lunch by the pool. As enticing as the invitation had been, she hadn’t thought it prudent. There was no point in putting herself in Mark’s path.

  She didn’t really mind being alone—she didn’t. Still, she felt a stab of loneliness.

  It was an isolated life, but far better than the one she’d left behind.

  CHAPTER NINE

  It was the tenth of August and Monday, but as far as Mark was concerned, it might as well have been Friday the thirteenth. Murphy’s Law had been in full effect all day, with everything from a double booking for the honeymoon suite to the hotel’s industrial hygienist voicing concern about bacteria levels in one of the steam rooms. Mark had handled the former with a comped room and a magnum of Cristal champagne for one of the couples, the latter by shutting down the saunas until more testing could be done. Not to mention, the tiered marble fountain in the atrium had stopped working, due to a child’s toy that had found its way into one of the main water lines.

  The hotel business. Glamorous work.

  He’d just sat down in the dining room for a badly needed cup of coffee when Carter entered, carrying a white box tied with a blue satin ribbon. Mark felt a pervading grayness. He did
n’t have to ask—he recognized the packaging and knew it had come from Café Bella. He regarded the box as Carter set it on the table in front of him. “I thought you didn’t do carbs.”

  “I don’t. Usually. These are for Mom or Emily,” he said. “Want a cupcake? They’re called Homemade Sin—chocolate covered with caramel filling on the inside.”

  “No, thanks. Aren’t you supposed to be on location today?”

  Carter dropped into the chair across from Mark. He wore jean shorts and a V-neck T-shirt, not suitable attire for the dining room, although Mark didn’t mention it.

  “I have been. We had a table reading this morning. It finished up at noon, so I thought I’d drive back here and drop by Samantha’s place to try out her menu.”

  He patted his washboard abs. “The food’s good. Great¸ actually. I’m going to have to put in an extra hour in the hotel gym.”

  “The place busy?”

  “Packed. I went after the lunch hour, but there was still a line waiting to order. I’d hoped to get a chance to talk to Sam privately, but no dice.”

  Mark wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he took the plunge anyway. “Talk to her about what?”

  “The reception Olivia’s throwing on Saturday night.” Carter casually scratched his cheek. “I’m going to ask her to go with me.”

  Mark felt his jaw clench. He set the delicate china cup in its saucer with a soft clatter. “Can’t you just ask someone from the movie set? I’m sure there’re plenty of actresses hanging around who’d die to go with you.”

  Carter shrugged. “I’d rather go with Samantha.”

  “You can’t.”

  “Why not? She’s single, right?”

  Mark absently twisted the gold band on his ring finger. Not meeting Carter’s eyes, he said, “Because she’s already going with me.”

  Carter’s mouth hung open for a full three seconds. “You’re making that up.”

  “I’m not.” Mark felt his face infuse with heat. “I asked her as soon as I heard about the reception, before you even got into town. Stop staring at me like that.”

  “You have a date. With Samantha.”

  “Why is that so hard for you to process?” But the truth was, Carter wasn’t the only one caught off guard by the announcement. Mark couldn’t believe the impulsive lie that had come out of his mouth. He tried not to think about Samantha’s rejection of him the past weekend.

  “So how come this didn’t come up when we ran into her at Mila’s?”

  It was Mark’s turn to shrug.

  Carter studied him. “Well, I guess you really are doing all right. You’re getting on with your life. It’s time, Mark. Good for you.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed in a tight voice. “Good for me.”

  “But you could’ve told me about this earlier. I feel like a jackass now for the way I’ve been going on about her.” Carter frowned at him, a suspicious tone in his voice. “Were you planning to just spring her on everyone on Saturday?”

  “No. I…just wasn’t ready to talk about it yet.”

  Carter gave a slow shake of his head. “But you enjoyed watching me fawn over her, didn’t you? Knowing full well—”

  “Carter.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He sounded nonchalant as he rose from the chair and glanced at Mercer as she entered the dining room with Emily in tow. Before he left the table, he reached over and tapped Mark’s ring with his index finger. “One small piece of advice, though. You might want to consider ditching the wedding band. At least for Saturday night. From what I hear, that kind of thing tends to start dates off on the wrong foot.”

  Carter picked up his niece, nuzzling his nose playfully against her cheek, then returned her to the floor. To Mercer, he said, “Did you hear? Big brother has a D-A-T-E.”

  He spelled out the word so Emily wouldn’t pick up on the meaning. Although Mark didn’t look up, he could practically feel Mercer’s surprised gaze burning a hole through his dress shirt.

  “Really?” she asked.

  Emily squeezed between the table and Mark’s chair so she stood in front of him. She blinked her large blue eyes and smiled.

  Shelley’s smile.

  Mark stroked her blond curls and pulled her onto his lap. He kissed the top of her head as she wriggled into a more comfortable spot.

  He had a date, apparently. Now all he had to do was somehow break the news to Samantha that she had plans for Saturday night.

  A light breeze traveling in from the bay ruffled the tops of the palm trees lining Market Street just off the town square. From inside the café, Samantha watched their sway as overhead, the evening sky faded closer to dusk. It was just before eight o’clock, and she and Luther were still there, cleaning up after an early evening rush. Luther had settled into the role of helping Samantha with the morning food preparation each day, but tonight he’d also come by to assist with closing since one of the other workers was out with a stomach bug. At the moment, he was busy moving cold food items from the front display into the larger refrigeration unit in the rear of the kitchen.

  Samantha was standing at the door, turning over the sign from open to closed, when a silver Volvo station wagon pulled up at the curb out front. A moment later, Mark emerged from the driver’s side. As his eyes met hers through the door’s glass pane, she felt her heart do an involuntary somersault. Lifting her hand in a slight wave as he approached, she opened the door so he could enter.

  Mark raised both palms in a reassuring manner. “Don’t worry. I know you’re closing. I promise I’m not here to order anything.”

  “That’s a relief,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. Samantha eyed him curiously, wondering why he was here.

  He handed her a check, her payment for Emily’s party. “I know I could’ve just given it to Mercer, but I had to come into town anyway.”

  “Thank you.” She folded the paper in half and dropped it into her apron pocket.

  He hesitated, releasing a breath. “The truth is, I also wanted to talk to you about something—”

  “All finished up in back, Sam,” Luther announced as he returned to the storefront through the swinging double doors. Seeing Mark, he nodded his head in polite greeting. “Evenin’, Mr. St. Clair. Nice to see you again.”

  “You, too, Luther. But just call me Mark.”

  “Oh…all right.” Luther’s gaze shifted to Samantha. She wondered if he’d picked up on her unease, because he appeared reluctant to leave. Instead, he loitered by the cash register, taking extra care in erasing the daily specials from the chalkboard.

  “You can go ahead, Luther,” she said. “Thanks for helping out.”

  “Don’t you want me to stick around and walk you to the bank to make the evenin’ deposit?”

  “I’ll be fine.” Samantha gave him a reassuring smile, although part of her wanted to ask him to stay. That way, she wouldn’t be left alone with Mark and another brush with temptation. He looked handsome, as usual, still dressed for work in dark suit pants and a blue dress shirt that matched the color of his eyes. His tie, however, had been disposed of.

  “Then I reckon I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.” Luther removed his apron and hung it on a wooden peg, then went back into the kitchen and left the shop through the rear service door.

  Swallowing, Samantha returned her attention to Mark. “You wanted to talk to me?”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets in what seemed like a nervous gesture. “I have a business proposition for you, actually. Café Bella is getting rave reviews around town, and I’ve been wondering if you’d be interested in the St. Clair gift shop carrying some of your food products.” His gaze traveled to the shelving that held various jars of condiments, pestos and relishes, all with the café’s logo on their labels. “If you’re interested, I was also thinking we could feature some of your products in our food preparation at the hotel. Our head chef could collaborate with you on the recipes.”

  She stared at him, her lips parting in sur
prise. What he was offering would be an incredible boon for her business. “I…I’d love that. It sounds like a wonderful opportunity. Thank you.”

  He nodded. “We’ll have to discuss pricing, of course. The gift shop will require a modest profit margin. Maybe around fifteen percent?”

  “That would work.”

  They talked for a while about the products Mark thought might be most appropriate for the shop, including the possibility of Samantha creating gift baskets that would contain an assortment of items. Lowering the blinds on the storefront windows so no one got the impression the café was still open, Samantha went about creating a sampler platter of olive tapenade, parsley and sun-dried tomato pestos, spreading them on thin water biscuits for Mark to sample. She felt a glow of pride when he declared them all delicious.

  When it seemed that most of the initial decisions were nailed down, Mark glanced at his wristwatch. Outside, the streetlights were on, and the evening sky had transformed into a darkened canvas streaked with smoky purples and blues.

  “Luther mentioned a nighttime deposit? I could walk you to the bank.”

  Samantha shook her head. “Thanks, but you really don’t have to. I’m sure you need to get back to Emily.”

  “It’s all right. My mother has her for the evening. She wanted a little Nana time.” He frowned slightly, hesitating again. “I also need a favor from you, Samantha. There’s a reception at the St. Clair this Saturday for my brother…I need you to be there.”

  She was puzzled. “Be there? Does it have something to do with the gift shop?”

  “Not really. I need you to sort of be my…date.” Mark rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this, am I?”

  Samantha felt a wave of anxiety wash through her. Mark was light years away from Devin—from any other man she’d ever known. But she still couldn’t control the feeling he’d just attempted to buy her. Old resentment squeezed her lungs.

  “Is that why you offered me space at your gift shop?” she asked in a tight voice. “So I’d go out with you?”