“If you want to talk about her…”
After what seemed like an eternity, Charley said, “She wasn’t my mother.” The disbelief in her voice was palpable. “I’m not their daughter.”
Marlena could tell she wasn’t being flippant.
“Neither one had my blood type, and no one’s ever said a word about it,” she wailed.
She grabbed a beautiful photo of herself as a baby in Olivia’s arms and slammed it against the marble-topped credenza, the glass shattering in a thousand pieces.
“Who am I?” she wailed. “Who am I really?”
Charley started to sob.
Marlena wrapped her arms around the desolate creature and cradled her gently.
THE INTERNATIONAL SECURITY ALLIANCE OPERATED IN CONJUNCTION with numerous branches of law enforcement throughout the world. While their main headquarters were in Washington, D.C., they also had bases in London, Rio, and Hong Kong. The UK headquarters for the ISA were located just down Vauxhall Cross from Britain’s Secret Intelligence Service.
John Black had been recruited through Washington because of his intelligence, physical prowess, and incredible charm. A major aspect of infiltrating dangerous and often-unpredictable situations was the ability to fit into most any environment from blue-collar to white-tie. John was exactly that man.
Until the paralysis that had felled him.
It had been nearly two years since that fateful moment when he had tried to save Marlena from a maniac and ended up taking the shot that had been meant for her. He had saved her and lost her in one fell swoop.
Though he’d been to hell and back with her over the years, he’d finally hit rock bottom. He wanted to believe that their love could survive this seemingly insurmountable obstacle, but as time went on, he doubted it was possible.
Not because he loved her any less; in fact, seeing the sacrifices she had made for him made him love her even more.
No, he believed in his heart that she deserved a whole man. A hero.
Men raised when he was were taught that men were the hunter-gatherers and providers. The protectors and confidants. Lovers and friends. It was not just enough for John to be there for Marlena and love her. He had to feel worthy of that love, and he hadn’t for some time.
In his eyes, he was no longer a man. Not worthy of Marlena or even worthy of the woman who accompanied him to London— Tara, the gentle soul with the strong hands and caring heart.
Tara had no idea what to expect when they arrived at ISA headquarters. The building was not as impressive as the behemoth M16 fortress, which had been nicknamed Legoland because of its massive stacked-brick architecture.
John brought Tara through the back entrance, where they were greeted by black-suited men and women who were cheerful and meticulously groomed.
“John Black, welcome.” The girl smiled.
“Laney,” John said. “And Mac, good to see you,” he added to the middle-aged mustachioed man who operated the phones next to her.
“Mr. Black,” Mac said. “Mr. Donovan’s waiting for you.”
“Second floor,” John remembered. He turned to see Shane getting off the steel-plated elevator.
“John,” Shane said warmly as he gave him a manly hug. “It is so good to see you.”
“Same here,” John said.
“You must be Tara,” Shane offered. “John’s told me a lot about you. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too, thanks.” Tara smiled. The Dutch lilt in her voice was charming.
“You want to show her around?” Shane asked.
“It’s a pretty big place,” John answered. “And I’d like to get to this. That okay with you, Tara?”
“Absolutely,” she said, touching his arm. “This is all about you.”
“We’ve got formal gardens, if you’d like to take a stroll, and a museum with fine art from around the world,” Shane said. “We like our guys to be comfortable in any environment, so there’s plenty to do and see here. This is going to take a while.”
“I’m ready for that,” she said. “I’d like to stick close to John, if you don’t mind.”
“I like that,” Shane told her. “You’ve both eaten?”
“Breakfast at the hotel.”
“Then let’s get started,” Shane said, pushing the Down elevator button.
John was in for a grueling day, but he hoped it was worth it.
Over the years, John had periodically revisited both the ISA in Washington and the headquarters in London. Like Don Corleone in The Godfather, somehow he was always pulled back in.
Today was different. He was not only going to take the psychological exams that would show his intelligence, judgment, and mental stability, but the grueling physical tests that would determine his viability.
Tara watched behind two-way mirrors as a panel of experts threw him current-events questions about Afghanistan, the Vancouver Olympics, American Idol, Barack Obama’s healthcare plan, the Madoff scandal.
His brain, it was obvious, was working just fine.
Tara joined him as he went up to Shane’s office, which over-looked the Thames.
“Passed that leg with flying colors, my friend,” Shane said in that mellifluous voice with the high British accent.
“You sure you want to do more today?” Tara asked, concerned as John rubbed his forehead.
“Gotta be today,” John said. “Gotta be ready.”
“We’re running the American army fitness test this afternoon,” Shane said.
“Hand to hand?” John asked, adding, “Defensive driving? Jump school?”
“John,” Shane replied, “if you can pass the fitness test, you’re ready for anything.”
The months of his incapacity had eaten away at John’s confidence. Today’s hours of intense scrutiny were changing all that.
Tara was pleased.
It was nearly 11 p.m. when John and Tara arrived at Cecconi’s in Mayfair. Although it was late, the place was buzzing. The classic Italian restaurant had once been owned by the manager of Cipriani in Venice and had been reinvented to become the hottest dining spot in London.
John and Tara opted to sit at a table rather than one of the coveted barreled high stools at the classic bar.
John ordered martinis and a rare steak for himself and grilled sea bass for Tara. They’d had a long, difficult day, and it was time to relax.
The drinks came perfectly iced, and John raised his glass to the woman who’d seen him through one of the most grueling days of his life.
“To me,” he said. His hand was a bit shaky, but with all he’d been through, it was to be expected.
“To you,” she responded as they clinked their crystal-stemmed martini glasses and sipped the cold, crisp Grey Goose with a lemon twist. “I’m ready,” he said.
“I’m glad,” she replied. “More than you know.”
“You knew it was only a matter of time, didn’t you?” he asked.
“You are one of the—no, let me correct that—you are the most perfect male specimen I’ve ever known.”
Tara looked at him with the admiration he used to get from Marlena.
He felt like a man again.
“MOMMY!” CLAIRE SAID, POUNDING ON THE DOOR OF Marlena’s bathroom. She wasn’t used to her mother locking her out.
Belle needed total privacy and not the prying eyes and questions of her nearly four-year-old. She was peeing on the pregnancy test she’d dared not use for fear of the answer.
Not to her surprise, the test was positive. Belle was pregnant, and an avalanche of emotion hit her. What actually was a surprise were the tears that sprang to her eyes as both the joy and complications this would bring washed over her.
“Mommy!” Claire repeated.
Belle took a deep breath as she dabbed at her eyes.
“What are you doing in there?”
Belle steeled herself and unlocked the door. “Hey, lovely girl.”
“Were you puking again?” Claire asked.
&nbs
p; “No, but I probably will be for a while,” Belle said to her precocious daughter.
“Okay!” Claire beamed. “Can I order more frites?”
Belle couldn’t help but smile. Her daughter had no idea what the implications of her condition were—all she wanted were more of the most delicious french fries she’d ever eaten.
“Maybe at the pool!” Claire said, her eyes wide. She loved to swim, and because of Marlena’s room, they had access to the aquafitness center, with its pool and solarium that overlooked the Mediterranean.
Belle really wasn’t in the mood, but pleasing Claire was important to her. She’d learned the value of good parenting from Marlena, but it seemed that Shawn had been the one truly excelling in this area lately, since she’d not only been obsessed with her fashion ideas, but feeling consistently lousy.
“You got it,” Belle said.
There was no doubt that a father’s love was incomparable, but the bond between mother and daughter, with their hormonal similarities and emotional needs, was indescribable.
“I love you, Mommy.” Claire smiled.
“I love you too, pud,” Belle responded.
By the time Shawn and Marlena returned to the hotel, Belle and Claire had spent hours just being girls. They had laughed and splashed in the pool, had ice cream on the beach, and had manicures and pedicures at Les Thermes Marins de Monte-Carlo, the hotel’s spa and beauty center.
Belle gave Claire a bubble bath in Marlena’s tub and asked, “Would you like a little brother or sister?”
“A sister!” Claire giggled. “No boys, Mommy. Uh-uh.”
Belle understood. If they had a boy, it would be wonderful for Shawn, but Belle had always wanted a little sister of her own. Someone who would look up to her and be her very best friend, not how she had been treated by her half sister, Sami.
“Where’s my CB?” they heard as Shawn and Marlena returned.
“Da!” Claire squealed as she jumped out of the bathtub, covered with bubbles.
He scooped her up in his arms and gave her a big kiss.
“Am I really getting a baby sister?” Claire spurted.
Shawn was thrown. “No.” Then he caught a glimpse of Belle in the doorway to the bath. “Yes?”
Belle nodded.
Shawn swung Claire around. “Yes!” He laughed. “Isn’t that great?”
Claire giggled, and Belle smiled with relief. But as soon as Shawn looked away, her expression sank.
Marlena saw Belle’s concern. There was more to this than her daughter was admitting.
OLIVIA MARINI GAINES COULD NOT HAVE PICKED A MORE beautiful day for her funeral. It was seventy-eight degrees in one of the most special places on the planet, and crowds were gathering.
The paparazzi had all been invited to this one. Like Princess Grace’s funeral or Princess Diana’s or the service for revered Italian designer Gianni Versace, who had been gunned down in front of his home, it was a veritable who’s who.
While most funerals were seas of black, this one was a sea of black and yellow. Those who hardly knew Olivia, or the hangers-on to the celebrity aspect, were in respectable black. Those who knew Olivia personally wore her favorite shades of yellow. From the air, it must have looked like a swarm of bumblebees had landed.
The cars and the stars were flash-photo worthy. Diddy was still in the south of France, and Madonna had flown in for the occasion. Princesses Caroline and Stéphanie were both there, and Prince Albert had returned from a publicity junket for the occasion.
The front of the cathedral was adorned with a crown of yellow and cream roses, which was a perfect photo op for all who entered.
The majority of the guests were already seated, when two white limos pulled up in front of St. Nicholas Cathedral.
The door to the first limo opened, and Richie stepped out, his ankle monitor fully visible above his handmade John Lobb St. James’s Street shoes.
Jackson and Chance exited the limo next, dressed in smart slate gray suits with pale yellow shirts and Hermès ties.
They made their way through the paparazzi, who paid little attention to them. Their lenses were directed to the second limo, which contained a stoic Charley, who was escorted by a beautiful blonde in a simple black dress.
The cameras went wild taking photos of Charley and Marlena.
Shawn had opted not to attend, even though Charley had asked him to join them. With the news of Belle’s pregnancy, he felt it would be wrong of him to leave her at the Fancy Face IV with Claire, and a funeral was no place for a nearly four-year-old.
Charley respected him for that. If she’d admit it to herself, it made him even more attracted to her.
The cathedral itself was overflowing, and there was a buzz as the Gaineses entered and took their seats in the second pew. There was a mixture of deep sympathy for the children, who’d lost their mother, but disdain for their once-revered patriarch, who had just destroyed the lives of so many in the solemn chamber with his egregious scam.
Marlena opted to sit directly behind Charley. She turned and found herself sitting next to Blake. Again.
Was it fate?
She nodded a pleasant hello, and he nodded back, smiling.
Abby and Chelsea were several rows back. Abby poked her friend in the ribs as she noticed the exchange between Marlena and Blake.
“No,” Chelsea whispered firmly.
“No?” Abby asked. She then changed the subject with a “yes?” as she pointed in the direction of Jackson Gaines. True, he was known as a rogue who’d dated and dumped most of the celebutantes in Hollywood, but he was one hot number.
“Hardly the time to hook up,” Chelsea admonished her friend.
Samuel Barber’s “Adagio for Strings” resonated throughout the cathedral from the bows of Yo-Yo Ma, Joshua Bell, and Itzhak Perlman.
“Taken too soon” was the theme of the funeral that lasted just over an hour.
Alison Krauss ended the service at the piano with her rendition of “I’ll Fly Away,” and the assembled guests were caught up in the shock and awe of the Baptist hymn being performed in a cathedral. Southern Baptist song or not, Olivia had always said that she wanted that sung at her funeral, and her sons were respecting her wishes. She hadn’t expected they would have to be fulfilled so soon.
The family filed out to pass the flower-laden casket. There were few tears at this point; they were all still in shock. Charley stopped. She just stared. She then bent over and kissed on the cheek the woman she had believed was her natural mother.
Charley made her way out of the cathedral on the arm of Jackson. Her brothers were both amazingly protective.
Once the family exited, the rest of the assembly passed by the open casket. Some cried, others threw kisses, and several crossed themselves. It wasn’t a particularly religious crowd, but moments like this always seemed to bring out one’s spiritual side.
Richie’s driver, Garrison, was waiting with the door open to the first stretch limo.
“Sorry I can’t be there,” Richie told his kids, lying. While he would have welcomed getting out of his home prison, he’d have to face dozens, if not hundreds, of former friends he’d screwed. Often not only financially, but physically.
Jackson, Chance, and Charley all just nodded as Richie got into the limo. After the door closed, Richie glanced out the window in time to see their former staff member and his former lover Kelsey in the crowd of mourners. Her expression was blank. He turned away, rolling up the window to avoid her.
“Where’s your brother?” Gemma Kasagian demanded to the new girl, the one she’d hired the same day the girl had been fired by Richie. Whenever Gemma caught wind that experienced help was available, she hired them before anyone else could get to them.
“Your car’s across the street, Ms. Kasagian,” Kelsey answered sweetly through gritted teeth. While she hated the way Gemma spoke to her, she knew it was best not to show she was perturbed.
“He couldn’t have parked on this side?” Gemma snappe
d, rolling her eyes. “Dalita, come,” she called to her daughter. “Serge!”
Serge Kasagian maneuvered his way to his wife. “I’ve invited a few friends to meet me at the casino, then back to the yacht at midnight.” He directed his remarks to Kelsey.
Gemma’s eyes lit up. “They’re fun, I hope.”
“Make sure the majordomo’s on top of it,” he said to Kelsey.
“Yes, sir, of course,” Kelsey answered.
Serge waved her off with one hand and patted her behind with the other. “So, go!” he added as he guided Gemma and Dalita to the waiting Rolls-Royce Phantom stretch limo.
“Lovely man,” Abby said from behind Kelsey.
“Pardon?” Kelsey asked.
“You work for him?” Abby replied.
Kelsey nodded.
“If you ever have any info, call me,” Abby said, handing Kelsey her Spectator.com business card. “Sources are strictly protected, and you could make some money.”
Abby winked as Chelsea joined her. “Sorry, but I had to go bad,” Chelsea apologized.
“No problem, Chels,” Abby said. “Nice to meet you—”
“Kelsey Silviera,” Kelsey answered. “Nice to meet you too.”
Kelsey slipped Abby’s card in her pocket and headed toward the docks.
“Need you ask?” Abby responded to Chelsea’s quizzical look. “She works for the Kasagians, and she doesn’t look happy.”
Serge Kasagian’s limo, the most expensive in the world, started the short, short trip to the Hôtel de Paris.
Abby caught sight of the driver of the frighteningly ostentatious car as it passed in front of the cathedral. For a second, she felt like she’d seen him before.
“SO SORRY YOU DIDN’T LET US HOST EVERYONE ON THE YACHT,” Gemma Kasagian cooed as she kissed Chance on the cheek. Gemma was sure the rumors about Chance were true, but in case he could be turned straight, she felt he’d be a perfect match for her little Dali.
“Mum’s fave room in town was this one,” he said of La Salle Empire, the prestigious Renaissance banquet room overlooking Place du Casino. “Besides, she wouldn’t have wanted you to be working while going through all your grief, Gemma,” Chance said, pasting on the phoniest smile he could muster.
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