Selling Grace: A Light Romance Novel (Art of Grace Book 1)

by Samantha Westlake

  I was home, and here, at least, Sanford couldn't get to me and fill my head with any other lies.

  Still, it was impossible for me not to think about him, and our time together. The way he moved with me, the way he loved up my body - I still couldn't believe that he'd only done that because he wanted sex. Surely, there would have been an easier way to get it from someone? And besides, he seemed like a smart man - why would he risk problems for his marriage by having an affair with the woman literally living next door?

  Eventually, despite the thoughts buzzing in my head, I drifted off into an uneasy doze. I didn't wake up until my mother called upstairs to tell me that dinner was ready.

  The next couple days drifted by in a similar daze. I did some organization on my computer, but there wasn't much unfinished work for me to do. After all, I'd finished almost all the research for Sanford's home, and I just needed to wait for him to pay my bill that I'd left behind. After all, even if he didn't want me selling any of his items - and at this point, I was fairly sure that I'd turn him down if he asked, despite the tempting extra commission - I'd still make more than enough off of the work I'd done already to settle all my debts and be able to afford a nice vacation.

  I didn't start looking for any vacation destinations, however. Somehow, that felt like putting the final nail in whatever Sanford and I had together, and I couldn't yet bring myself to do it. So instead, I just waited, helped my parents with uncountable numbers of little tasks around the house, and tried to not think about Sanford.

  He wasn't making it easy, of course. Sanford called me a couple of times, even though I declined the calls. He sent me a couple of texts, as well, asking what I was up to - apparently, he hadn't realized that I'd run into his fiancee.

  Well, he could figure out on his own that I knew his game, that the jig was up. I wasn't going to be his other woman. I deleted the texts without replying, and then blocked his number for good measure. I didn't want to take a chance on having my heart broken again, on having to listen to or read his lies.

  I did call Della, asking her to stop by my house and check on Whiskers for me. She already had a spare key, and she promised me that she would swing by and make sure that he had adequate water, food, and a clean litterbox. "And I'm happy to keep on doing this, if you want to take a trip somewhere sunny and exotic for a week or two," she said to me when I spoke to her.

  "Thanks, Della," I replied, not telling her about how I refused to kill that last, tiny little guttering spark of hope that still flickered inside my breast.

  Hopefully, it would eventually extinguish itself, I prayed.

  Since no one else wanted to get in contact with me, I started in surprise when my phone rang on the morning of my third day at my parents' house. I fished it out of my pocket, expecting to see Della's face displayed on the screen.

  Instead, however, I saw a number that I didn't recognize. For a moment, I suspiciously wondered if Sanford might be calling me from a different number, but decided that I could still answer it. If it turned out to be Sanford, I'd just hang up on him immediately. For all I knew, it might be another potential client, another job to take my mind off of how my most recent one ended in heartbreak and disaster.

  "Hello?" I said, after swiping across the screen and lifting the phone up to my ear.

  Across the table from me, my mom glared at me for taking a phone call during breakfast. I stuck out my tongue at her, but got up and moved over to the living room.

  "Hello - is this a Miss Elaine Dean?" I didn't recognize the voice at the other end, but it wasn't Sanford. I breathed a little more easily.

  "Yes, I'm Elaine," I replied. "Who is this?"

  "This is the Midtown Veterinary Clinic," the man at the other end of the line replied, and my anxiety rushed back into my brain. "You're listed as the owner of a cat, er..." The voice paused for a second. "Admiral Theodore Whiskers?"

  "Yes, he's my cat. Why? What's going on?" Had something happened? Had Della brought him in to the vet? Why hadn't she called or texted me to let me know?

  "Er, Miss Dean, are you able to make it over to us? It seems that your cat was in some sort of accident - the man who brought him in said that he was accidentally hit by a car-"

  "Oh my god." My throat seized up for a moment. "Is he alive? What happened? Please, tell me that he's okay!"

  "Miss Dean, I'm afraid that he's currently in surgery. Are you able to come here? The man who brought him in is saying-"

  I wasn't listening any longer. "I'm coming, I'm on my way," I half-shouted into the phone, dropping it down onto the couch without even hanging up as I lunged back into the kitchen to retrieve my purse.

  Still sitting at the kitchen table, my mom frowned up at me. "Honey, what's going on?" she asked, her cup of coffee still halfway to her lips.

  "Whiskers is at the vet," I gasped back to her, snatching up my purse and fumbling around inside of it for my keys. "He got hurt, hit by a car or something. I need to go there, they said that he's in surgery-"

  Thankfully, my mom understood how much my cat meant to me. "Go, go," she shooed me, waving her hands towards the door. "Don't let us stop you."

  My father, at the head of the table, had even put down his newspaper. "Do you need me to drive you?" he asked, as if I was somehow incapable of driving because of this sudden news, like I was the injured one.

  "No, that's okay," I said, already headed out of the kitchen. "I'll call you from the vet, okay?" I didn't wait for an answer before leaving.

  I snatched up my phone from the couch and ran out to my car in the driveway. I jammed the keys into the ignition and gunned it out the driveway, my brain filled with horrible images of poor Whiskers, yowling and in pain, hit by a car and in agony-

  "No, no, please," I prayed out loud to myself as I drove, trying to glare at the cars in front of me to mentally force them out of the way.

  I'd already lost Sanford, one of the two men in my life. I couldn't bear to even think of losing Whiskers, as well.

  I had to get there, had to make sure that he was okay. Whatever it took - I needed to save my cat.

  How in the world had he even gotten out? Hadn't he been inside, or had Della accidentally opened a door or window or something and he'd slipped out? He usually knew enough to stay away from scary, dangerous things like cars, but I'd always wanted to protect him and keep him as an indoor cat, just because I feared that something like this would happen, that he'd get hurt and I wouldn't be there-

  "Oh god, oh god, come on," I whispered. I knew where the vet was, and I blew across town, probably breaking half a dozen traffic laws, not even counting the speeding. Surely, any police officer would understand.

  I came to a sudden stop in the veterinary clinic's parking lot, my tires screeching across the asphalt as I pulled into an open parking space and yanking the keys out of the ignition. Snatching up my purse and phone, I bolted out of my car, across the lot, and into the clinic.

  "Whiskers!" I shouted out as I came inside, looking around as if my cat would be right there, just inside the door.

  Behind the counter, the receptionist looked alarmed at this crazy woman bursting in and shouting at her about facial hair, but a pair of hands settled on my shoulders. "He's still in surgery," said a strong, deep, familiar voice - the last voice that I wanted to hear.

  My heart pounding, although I couldn't say if it was out of anger or fear or love or some combination of the three, I turned around.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  *

  I heard the voice, and I immediately knew who stood behind me. A part of me wanted to close my eyes and ears, turn away and not confront him, but I knew that I couldn't give in and do that.

  I turned, and looked up into Sanford's concerned, anxious, drawn looking face.

  "I tried to call you, but you didn't pick up," he said, gazing down at me with far more compassion and kindness in his eyes than I wanted to see from him. "The vet said they'd try, too - they must have been able to reach you. I'm so sor
ry, but I promise you that-"

  "You promise me what?" I snapped at him, anger suddenly welling up to run, red and sharp, through my concern and fear and panic. "That you're here to help? That you've told me the truth? That you aren't just using me?"

  "What?" He blinked, and surprise entered his eyes. "Elaine, what are you talking about?"

  "I'm telling you that you don't need to keep up the act any longer!" I yelled, aware that we were in public and that this was totally the wrong place to have this conversation, but forging ahead nonetheless. "I know your secret, asshole!"

  "My secret?" He still looked confused, not yet comprehending that his whole tower of lies had crumbled. "I don't understand-"

  "I talked to Valencia!" I said, throwing the name into his face like venom. "That's right - your fiancee! And she told me everything I needed to know about you, what a total scumbag you are!"

  There, finally. I'd forced it out, and now I saw anger finally darken his face. "Valencia," he growled, and even though I'd been expecting it, I was caught off guard by the rage boiling just under the surface of his voice.

  "That's right," I went on, driving the metaphorical knife blade of betrayal home. "And she told me about how the two of you are all nice and happy together, and how she's so glad that I've been cleaning up the house so that you two can move in together. That's why you hired me, isn't it? You just wanted me to get rid of all the junk, and then you decided that you'd go ahead and help yourself, too, since you're all that and I'm nothing-"

  "Enough!"

  The word hit me like thunder, and my jaw snapped shut almost unconsciously from the heat in his voice. For just a moment, Sanford's eyes blazed down at me, and he looked every inch the dark, avenging god of war.

  "It's not like that," he said, after taking a moment to breathe in deeply. "Elaine, you've got entirely the wrong idea about this-"

  "Yeah? What's wrong?" I asked. "That you're engaged? That you decided to help yourself to the little cupcake living next door because it was easy, a break from the diet food? That you've been lying to me, all this time?"

  "All of it!" he snapped back at me, and for just an instant, I felt doubt flicker to life inside me. He didn't sound like he was ashamed or upset at being caught, not how I'd expected him to react when I confronted him. I'd expected him to apologize, or admit it, or maybe even try and beg to get me back, to keep on spinning out the lies.

  I hadn't expected this anger.

  Sanford kept on glaring down at me, and he opened his mouth to continue pressing his point - but then, before he said anything, he paused and glanced up over my shoulder. I didn't want to turn my back on him, not sure what he would do in this state, but I risked a quick look back behind me.

  A man dressed in powder blue scrubs, with a pair of half-moon glasses pushed up on his balding forehead, had appeared from the doorway leading further into the clinic. "Miss Dean?" he asked, eyeing me rather suspiciously.

  "Yes, that's me," I said, taking a step away from Sanford and towards the doctor. "I'm Whiskers' owner. Is he-"

  The doctor risked a look past me at Sanford. "Would you rather discuss this in private?" he asked, clearly not sure what he'd walked in on but not wanting to get caught in the crossfire.

  I glared back at Sanford, and then nodded. "Yes, please."

  "Right this way, then."

  I followed the doctor back into a scrupulously clean room, which must have been linked to the operating room. "First, relax," the man said once we'd reached the back room, turning back to face me. "Whiskers is still unconscious from the anaesthetic, but he should be okay. He had a minor fracture on one leg, but the bone didn't splinter or penetrate the surface of the skin, and we've put a cast on it to keep it in place as it heals."

  "So he's going to be okay?" I felt like a weight that had been sitting on top of my chest had just been lifted off, giving me freedom to breathe once again. "He's not going to die?"

  "Die?" The doctor looked affronted, as if I'd just insulted his medical competence. "I should hope not! Whiskers was lucky - most car accidents are much more severe than this. The cat got off lightly, I'd say."

  "Car accident?" I took a deep breath, still not quite following all the events that had hit me in the last hour. "Doc, what exactly happened? I just got called to the hospital, and they told me that my cat was in surgery. I don't know anything else."

  The doctor frowned at me, as if he shouldn't be the one explaining this. "Yes. Your cat was apparently dashing across the driveway when he was struck by a car, although I suspect that it wasn't moving very fast. Someone pulling out of a driveway, according to the man out front with whom you were just arguing. Apparently, he was shouting at her as she tried to drive away, and she didn't see the cat until it was too late. The man out there said that he brought the cat in here immediately, which seems accurate. We gave him a light dose of anaesthesia so we could X-ray him, checking for broken fractures-"

  "Some woman hit him, and Sanford - er, the man out in the lobby - was yelling at her?" I repeated, confused. Had the woman been Valencia? Why had Sanford been yelling at her? Why hadn't she come with him to the veterinary hospital?"

  This time, there was no mistaking the annoyance in the doctor's expression. "This seems like something that you should ask him directly," he told me shortly. "We've had to put a cast on Whiskers, but it should be ready to be removed in approximately four weeks. If you can wait out in the lobby, we'll bring him out shortly, and the receptionist can go over follow-up care and set up a return date."

  I had more questions, but the doctor apparently didn't want to answer them. He rapped the clipboard in his hand against the knuckles of his other fist, gave me one last businesslike nod, and then headed away, probably off to check on pets with more serious injuries. I looked after him for a minute, and then turned reluctantly back towards the lobby area.

  As I returned to the lobby, more doubts welled up in my mind. What had happened? Sanford had been yelling at Valencia. He had said that I was wrong about everything, that I didn't understand what was going on. He looked angry, but he also clearly wanted to explain himself to me.

  Part of my mind shouted at me to not give him a single chance, to grab my cat and walk right out of here, keeping him cut out of my life. Any further contact with him would reopen the wound that, I suspected, was still a long way from scabbing over and starting to heal.

  But maybe he deserved one last chance. One single last thread of a chance, one last attempt to explain himself.

  I returned back out to the lobby, where he sat on a bench with his arms crossed, heavy brows drawn and still looking furious.

  "I hate that woman," he muttered, seemingly to himself, as I approached. His eyes rose up to meet mine, and he stood up so abruptly from the bench that I nearly stepped backward from the sudden movement.

  "How is he?" Sanford asked.

  "Who?" I replied, before I remembered why we were here. "Oh, Whiskers. The vet says that he's got a fracture on one of his legs, but they put a cast on him, and he should recover after a few weeks. They're going to bring him out."

  "Oh, thank goodness." Sanford looked down at his standing height, and then sank back down to the bench. "Don't read too much into this, but I've really gotten attached to that furry idiot. I don't know why."

  "Probably because both of you love being aloof and mysterious," I said before I could hold my tongue. For just a moment, Sanford grinned at my comeback, and I forgot about how he'd lied to me.

  After that brief moment, however, his grin faded. "Really, Elaine, just give me a chance to explain," he said, and if I didn't know better, I might have thought that he was begging.

  I crossed my own arms, but didn't shake my head. "You've got until they bring out my cat. Once I get him, I'm leaving forever."

  "Well, no pressure," he muttered to himself, raking a hand back through his hair. "But okay. First, and I cannot stress this enough, I'm not engaged."

  I raised my eyebrows. "That's how you're startin
g off? You're just going to declare that, and assume that I believe you?"

  "My god, woman, you're impossible!" Sanford's glare threatened to take over again, but he forced himself to take a deep breath and calm himself. "Here, again - I'm not engaged. I never lied to you. Valencia is a part of my past, and she's insane. I promise, if you just give me a little bit of time to tell my side of the story, you'll understand."

  I tried to think, tried to ignore the somewhat intoxicating effect of his presence here beside me, just like I'd dreamed about for the last few days, even as I did my best to banish him from my mind whenever possible. He'd snuck in, like a virus, burrowing in amid my thoughts until I couldn't keep out thoughts of him, his voice inside my head commenting richly on my own words and actions.

  If I gave him this chance, my last little bit of strength against him, the little barrier of resistance I'd managed to build up over the last few days, would surely fail. Could I bear to be hurt that deeply again?

  But what if he was telling the truth?

  "Miss Dean?" called out the receptionist's voice, as I sat there and stared at Sanford and tried to think over the pounding of blood in my ears. "Your cat is ready for you to take him."

  I started to stand up to reclaim Whiskers, but Sanford reached out and caught lightly at my wrist. "Please," he said one last time, and I saw my own hurt and pain reflected back in his eyes.

  "I'll listen," I told him. "But only after I get Whiskers home."

  He nodded, as if he hadn't expected anything more. "I'll be right behind you."

  I collected the cat carrier from the receptionist, pausing for a moment to bend down and peer inside of it. Whiskers' eyes blinked groggily back at me. I could see the bright plaster of his cast on his front leg; the doctor apparently decided that bright pink was Whiskers' ideal color. At least it might be easier to spot him, I hoped.

  Outside, I climbed into my car, stowed Whiskers' crate carrier in the passenger seat, and then drove back home - my real home, the little cottage next to Winterhearst mansion. I saw the grille of Sanford's black sports car keep pace behind me, the whole way, never letting me out of his sight for a moment.