"Are you Pierce's daughter?"
"Someday I'll earn the right to be just myself."
He smiled, properly chastised. "Does this mean you're advocating gambling, the fact that you're here? If so, we're glad to have your endorsement."
She wouldn't let herself look at Zac, but she felt her back go a little stiff as regret for the situation materialized. "I'm here as an observer, like the other business people in the room." She took a sip of the white wine Zac had given her, meeting Gerald's flinty gaze over the rim of the plastic tumbler. "I represent my son. His estate operates the Valdez Hotel."
"Marcus," Zac said softly to Gerald, barely touching his fingers to the back of her waist. "Your surrogate grandson and fellow Taco Bell aficionado. Victoria is the friend I keep talking about. She's Marcus's mother."
Gerald's florid brow creased heavily.
"Excuse me," she said softly. "I see someone I know. I... enjoyed meeting you, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Good luck on your speech, Zac. I'll rate you later."
"Got it."
* * *
They watched her move into the crowd, take a seat without speaking to the "someone she knew."
Smiling wryly, Zac faced Gerald. "I told you the fat lady had sung. Maggie's finished with me. You weren't still hoping were you? About us?"
"Not after the last five minutes. As we say in East Texas, you're whupped, boy. Especially now that I know this woman is Marcus's mother."
"And, she has twins. Two years old. Blond and beautiful." It felt good to talk to someone who didn't appear sickened by the topic, only bemused. "You'll like them too."
"Pierce Chandler's grandchildren."
Zac nodded.
"What an interesting web we're weaving for ourselves."
Thoughts of the Sun editorial stirred Zac's guilt, but he liked how Gerald spoke of them as a team. "Yeah. I guess it is."
"It is, believe me. But I didn't get where I am leading an uninteresting life." He glanced over Zac's shoulder, toward the podium. "Look's like I'm up, and then you. Kill 'em, son. We need an excuse to revamp the Irish Lady into a devil's casino, the way Carron wanted."
Now Zac understood the meaning of straddling a fence.
* * *
Victoria lay in his bed. Her head rested in the crook of his arm, hair enveloping the pillow, eyes a little glazed. A thin film of sexual aftermath glistened on her face. When he touched his lips to her forehead she tasted salty.
"I'll be generous and rate tonight's speech as impressive." Her voice was ragged. "Your most recent performance, however, rates superior," she whispered huskily.
His groin rippled. "I can beat it. Give me a minute."
She smiled.
"Making love with you, novia, is like being taken to Disney World, where the delights are unlimited, and being handed the key to the kingdom. I turn gluttonous."
She smiled again, softly, beautifully.
Zac wallowed in her compliance, in such acceptance and encouragement. She loved being held, kissed, the invasive act of sex itself. Her eyes proclaimed as much, her mouth, her body, in the way it rallied within his hands. He sometimes looked at her across a room—tonight when he'd been speaking—and tried to associate her glacial demeanor with the woman she evolved into once they were sequestered, with her traditional existence on hold. He knew she'd had a world-class teacher in Tomas Cordera, her own Dr. Henry Higgins. He wanted to feel envious, but couldn't get past being grateful.
"You don't think I'm passive?" she asked quietly. Again.
"Yeah. You're passive-perfect." Ritually, she initiated sex, sometimes with a look across the heads of her children, or a kiss, a touch gone astray. She was gifted. Once she attained her goal, however, she simply turned herself over to him. " Who hurt you by saying that?"
"That I'm perfect?" She raised one brow.
He smiled, waiting, needing to know.
"... that I'm passive. Christian."
"Nice guy."
"I hurt him far more than he was capable of hurting me."
"I've been wondering about something. Why did Coby try to kill Christian?" He had asked in Portofino and gotten no answer. He hoped enough time had gone by. "I remember reading they were friends before you ever met Christian. What happened?"
She fell quiet, as though considering. "I think it was because of the effect Christian had on me, the way I strived to get his attention and approval. Coby said he was afraid I would go back to Christian once Tommy was dead. He didn't want to risk that. They weren't friends at the last." She closed her eyes. "Christian found Coby and me in bed together. In London. Just before I began seeing Tommy again."
His gut roiled, threatening. "I guess I need to hear about that."
Her eyes opened. "We never had sex. But if we had, would you want me?"
"If you didn't, I don't have to answer, do I?"
The familiar furrow appeared.
"I want to hear about London."
"Christian and I went there for a while. It had to do with a sister church he was affiliated with. Coby came to see me. Christian was tied up with volunteer counseling and couldn't join us for dinner the one night Coby was there. I was hurt that Christian—We made a night of it, as only Coby and I could." She looked away, silent.
He caught her chin, drew her back, waited.
"We had dinner and went dancing. We made all the clubs—lots of champagne. There's no one like Coby when a party is at hand... "
He watched her drift back, and listened wordlessly as she unfolded the tale, revealing that had she been more sober, she would have been shocked, or concerned—or both—to discover Christian still absent from the apartment when she and Coby returned from their night out. But given her state of mind she simply went into the study with Coby where they staggered and struggled, laughing outrageously until they were able to undo the sofa and provide Coby with a bed. Then she had attempted to say goodnight.
"Don't go," he coaxed. "Let's listen to the new Clapton CD. You get some brandy and I'll put it on."
She could hardly make out his face, but she spoke in that direction. "No. I have to go to bed. It's late. I'm tired. You're tired, too."
"Not that tired." He reached for her.
She stepped back, laughed drunkenly.
"Come on, Tori," he said smiling. "I have to go home tomorrow. You can sleep all day. Stay with me a while."
"I can't."
I really can't, Coby. Even if I want to more than I want anything else in the world, at this moment. More than I want my marriage, or Tommy to forgive me for that marriage, or to see Los Niños grow up. I can't.
But she didn't move when he advanced on her. She let him unzip her dress, felt it fall past the silky half slip to the floor. She held onto him, balancing while he knelt and took off her shoes. "That's enough," she whispered.
He stood. "Get in bed," he said gently. "I'll put Eric on. We'll listen a while." A childhood ritual.
She got between the crisp white sheets. He unfolded a blanket, spread it over her, and over the empty side of the bed. Then she watched him, his form hazy, as he turned away and began performing mechanical operations on the sound system.
"Don't turn off the light." She felt that pressing need, knowing he wouldn't violate her in a brightly lit room. She heard music from behind her closed lids, but she sensed light still, and it was somehow significant. Then she felt him next to her, his weight on the narrow bed, his body heat, the smoothness of his skin. He slipped his arm beneath her head, his other arm across her waist. It felt right. Christian found them like that in the morning.
He hadn't spoken, but some force that she was never able to recognize entered her, pushing her upward and over the brink of wakefulness. She opened her eyes to see him standing in the open doorway. Her second, cognizant thought concerned his uncharacteristically wrinkled clothing. Her third, thankful realization was that all the lights in the room still burned.
She attempted to sit up but Coby's arm pinned her waist, just like the night befo
re. She could rise only onto her elbows. When Coby stirred, she moved his arm from around her. He opened his eyes, took in the situation, smiled. They sat up in unison, her senselessly clutching the sheet to her chest. Through the linen, she felt her bra against her forearm. Somehow, that, too, held significance.
Christian turned wordlessly, closing the door behind him.
"Oh, Jesus!" she moaned, lowering her face into her palms.
"It'll be all right," Coby whispered calmly.
His arm went about her shoulders, drew her against him. When she stiffened he loosened his hold, but didn't take his arm away.
"We're innocent, Tori. I'll explain to him."
She lowered her hands from her eyes, gaping at him incredulously. "We are not innocent. I slept with you. There is nothing innocent in that."
"But that's all," he insisted. "We didn't sleep together. You just never made it out of her. We had too much to drink." Again. "I can explain it to him. Don't cry."
Suddenly she realized she was.
"Come on," Coby urged. "Get up. Put your clothes on. I'll go out and talk to him."
Fear manifested, colored her tone. "No! I'll talk to him."
"I'll go with you." He got out of bed, reached for his pants, her dress.
She brushed away tears as she held onto him to fit the straps of her shoes behind her ankles. Then she let go, quickly, not liking the feel of him beneath her fingers. "You did this on purpose." She heard him laugh, softly, and watched him stuff his shirt into his pants. "God damn you, Coby," she whispered hoarsely.
"Calm down, Victoria." He stepped into his shoes. "I don't even love you on purpose. Why would I go to this much trouble? I've missed you, and I wanted to hold you. That's all. I have every right. You wanted that as much as I did."
"Shut up." She sobbed, covering her face, shoulders shaking. "Please. Just shut up! We have no rights, and now you're going to see that for yourself."
She ran into the bathroom and slammed the door.
"Christian slept in that same study—without touching me, until I couldn't stand the alienation. Until I seduced him." Her voice a whisper, she lay lifeless in Zac's arms. He sensed her struggle to pull herself back. Reluctance to let go of Coby? Of Christian?
"What would you have done, Zac? If you had been in Christian's place?"
"Worse than withhold sex, Victoria. A lot worse."
"That scares me."
He held her, grateful for her reaction.
"And it scares me that Coby's—that our obsession has become a tradition that can be passed on to Ari and Alex."
"Not all traditions are worth preserving, novia. Some need to be torn down and rebuilt. I'll help you do that."
"But he—"
"I'll take care of Coby. Trust me, Victoria, is all I ask."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Zac looked across a candlelit table in the staid Valdez dining room into Andrea Von Felsberg's classic face. They were alone. Victoria had gone upstairs to check on Alex, who hadn't felt well before dinner.
"Are you aware you've been staring at me all evening?" she asked.
"I'm sure that happens a lot. You're beautiful."
She smiled.
"Actually you remind me of someone. She had a lot of your characteristics. Red hair. Freckles. Tall, too." He smiled apologetically. "Looking at you is kind of painful."
"Carron."
He nodded. Andrea and Victoria were close, all right.
"And you remind Victoria and me of Tomas Cordera. If we worked it properly, perhaps we could experiment with a menage a trois, of a sort."
The arching of her brows seemed practiced, not inherent like Victoria's, but he got a little lost in her English accent. "Probably not. Victoria's pretty puritanical, in her own way."
"And you aren't puritanical?" Her smile went slightly off kilter.
"Yeah. Actually I am, because I've been the triangle route. I wasn't comfortable with having my heart ripped in half." He settled against his chair.
"Very good. I was testing, you know."
"Thanks for caring about Victoria enough to test me."
"Oh, I care, most assuredly." He could have listened all night, but the face and body haunted him. "She is my bequest from Tomas Macario Cordera. All I have left of him."
Zac nodded, surprised at how little curiosity he had for the volumes remaining to be understood concerning Andrea and Tommy. Understanding Victoria was the task at hand.
"I will take this opportunity, if you allow it, to share some insight with you. Entres nous."
"About Victoria?"
"Do you mind?"
He wasn't sure. She didn't seem to care.
"She's very lovable isn't she? She has a vulnerable quality that makes one want to protect her. Am I right, Zac?"
"That's part of it."
"She also has a tendency to lean in the direction toward which she suffers the most powerful pull. I have seen this, first hand. However, the direction she leans is not necessarily the one she truly advocates." Her amber eyes weighed the effect of her diatribe, thus far. "You may find it advisable to apply your own, more potent, pressure at times. I believe the local expression is,'the squeaky wheel is awarded the grease?"
He couldn't help smiling. "Something close to that."
"Along those lines, quickness is often of the essence. She detests contention or dissonance of any nature. She will often sacrifice her own well being, or desires, in order to conform and keep harmony." She took a deep breath and settled back in her own chair, contemplating him. Andrea was older than Carron had been, but softer, more seasoned. "What I think I saw pass between the two of you tonight is encouraging to me. I have been through two tragedies with her—Tomas and Los Niños." She raised her brows. "You do know about Los Niños?"
He nodded.
"Three tragedies, actually. For her, the most tragic of all was losing Coby. That in itself is a very long scenario, one which I hope is not about to become a sequel."
Zac had hoped to hear more about Coby, but she veered away.
"What I'm saying, I suppose, is to keep an open mind toward what I've told you, and if you suspect pressure from an opposing camp, simply raise enough hell to counteract what is influencing her."
"How did Tomas Cordera screw up? He let her walk away."
She appeared to have gotten a sudden headache. "Worshipping her as he did, he took a more subtle approach. Subtlety doesn't work with Victoria." She lapsed into silence, signaling for more coffee. They waited it out. She doctored the fresh cup, stirred, sipped and finally said, "Tomas was aware of the threat of Coby—the profundity of his hold on Victoria. Tomas was also gravely aware of her love for her imagined twin. Tomas chose to let her handle it in her own way." She put the cup down with a tiny clap. "I am here to tell you, Zac, that will not work with Victoria where Coby is concerned. I had hoped perhaps it would, after all these years, but after spending today with her and having her air her deepest concerns, I am not convinced. Her frailty cost Tomas his life, and cost her a vital part of her own life. I would urge you not to let that happen a second time."
"I'll try like hell."
"I assumed you would."
* * *
Victoria gazed at Zac's perfect profile from the passenger side of the Toyota SUV, as the road wound through lush Texas hill country toward Kerrville.
The twins occupied their bulky carriers on each side of the back seat. Their heads bobbed listlessly in midmorning sun invading the cool interior of the truck; two sets of eyes heavily fixed. Buckled in the seat between the twins, Marcus read his Spanish textbook in rapt silence.
"This is wonderful, Zac. It's like playing house."
"I like playing house. Especially the warm, damp aspects."
Her middle contracted. The sensation moved downward, showing on her face, she imagined. His brilliant smile mirrored her reaction. She glanced at the back seat, narrowing her eyes, chastising him. When she leaned to briefly touch her lips to his, she caught her ref
lection in his dark aviator glasses. She would rather see his eyes, as she often saw them in her mind, during odd intervals of her days now. When he looked back to the road, she kissed the corner of his full lips.
"Cool," Marcus murmured, provoking Zac's laughter.
Smiling, he adjusted the rearview mirror to make eye contact with Marcus. "Aren't you sleepy too, compadre?"
"No, amigo. I'm hungry, and I have to go to the bathroom."
"See? It's just like playing house." Zac reset the mirror. "I have a distinct memory of that phase."
"I don't hear grief," Victoria said softly. "Concerning Allie. Is it still there, but I'm getting conditioned? If it isn't, that's wonderful."
"It's still there. I have a better perspective now."
"How much longer?" From the back seat. In Spanish.
"Darling, do you really need to stop?" She peered back at him with a placating smile, then glanced at Zac. "Christian never wanted to stop for him."
Zac signaled and jerked the wheel. Gravel pinged beneath the truck as the tires gripped an instant halt beside the sparsely traveled road. "Well, hell," he said, putting the truck in park, turning toward her and the back seat, smiling his defeat. "I don't want you two telling the next guy I wouldn't stop. How do you feel about the woods, Marcus?"
"He feels like you should go with him."
"Do you?"
Marcus shrugged, unbuckling his seat belt.
"Because if you feel brave, I'd like to stay here and make out with your mother."
Marcus grinned, edging toward the door behind the passenger seat.
"But if you don't, just say the word, and I'll continue to suffer."
Marcus pulled the door handle, inched the door open.
"See that tree?" Zac motioned to one near by. "Once you've done business behind a tree, all by yourself, marble bathrooms will never be the same."
Marcus slipped down to the pebbly, sandy shoulder.
"Remember you heard that wisdom from me, Macario."
Marcus closed the door and made his way, with confident strides, through knee high grass, and disappeared behind the tree.
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