His eyes on hers, he parted the robe, kissed her mouth, then lowered his face to her not yet swollen belly. She caressed his head, pressing against him.
Rather than make love to her, he lay in bed holding her as she slept, and it was like finding a misplaced treasure that was not quite the same as his memory had colored it. Drifting into sleep, he assured himself he would feel the rush of love again, the infatuation, the passion. He would welcome, again, the desire to have her and hers as his family. He would know perfect joy for the child she carried, a joy he had once anticipated and professed to her. Residual hurt formed the barrier now. He would learn to trust her again. He had to. It was the right way.
"Zac!"
The distress in her voice woke him, rendered him fully alert. She stood at the foot of the bed gripping his voluminous black robe around her, tears streaming on her face.
"I'm bleeding!"
* * *
As the doctor approached down the long hospital corridor, Zac's gaze locked onto his life's blood smeared on the green surgery coat. Relinquishing hope, he embraced a sense of sorrow that stained his mind like blood, a new loss forever a part of him now.
"I'm sorry, Mr. ... ?"
"Abriendo."
"Were you the father?"
"Yes." If he'd only known sooner. Soon enough to love.
"She wants to see you."
In her dimly lit room, he kissed her forehead, her wet lashes, her slack mouth. She seemed small in the high bed, wan, vulnerable. He thought of Portofino, how delicate she had seemed, how traumatized, fragile. He had wanted to befriend her, take care of her since the moment he first saw her. A senseless feeling of guilt and failure settled on him now.
He dragged up a chair, held her hand, waiting.
"I'm sorry, Zac." Her voice, distant and crowded with fatalism, lay softly in the sterile room. "I'm not very strong."
"I know." Maybe guilt was the one thing they could share. "It's all right." He reconsidered. "Or it will be in time. You and I know time is the only healer."
"No." She shook her head. "It won't be all right. The doctor said—he talked about risk."
He held her hand tighter, caressed her cheek.
"I don't care about risk to me but... He said I probably can never—No matter how many times I try... He said the twins are a miracle."
"I've always thought so." He wanted her inability to conceive not to matter, but it did. That and her lack of honesty about a frailty she had been aware of, and, even knowing the significance, kept from him. He sensed her waiting for abdication and lied. "It doesn't matter."
"I love you, Zac."
"Sometimes love is the last best thing, novia. It's what you find when you've lost everything else."
It wasn't over between them after all. Not tonight. Not even tomorrow. But the dream had been tainted by a barrage of prejudice and manipulation, reborn in her fear and need, then at God's hand died a second watery death, never to be resurrected. He knew this, not as a result of conscious "if only" thoughts filtering through his mind, but in his heart and his gut, where he craved to be wrong and never was.
He lowered his face to her barren abdomen and wept.
* * *
At home, he pressed the phone to his ear, swallowed to no avail as Maggie's message filled his head. "Zac, thank you for the wonderful afternoon with Marcus. It seemed so right. So much like before... when we had Allie."
The dam shattered. He sobbed above Maggie's voice, trying to listen.
"Marcus is so good with Angel. Didn't you think so? He's a lot like you. His father must have been gentle and kind." She laughed softly. "And susceptible to beautiful women." He heard kindness, forgiveness in her tone. "If you still want us—if you're sure—Angel and I would like to stay with you for a while."
He was sure. Very sure.
"Remember what you always told me, Zac. That you liked me because I came in the handy, take-home size. Well, we'll see. I'll be here packing all day tomorrow. Come by. We'll have Kool-Aid."
Outside, he watched the dawn emerge and turn the bay to momentary molten copper, then to cobalt blue. He waited until he could trust his voice not to betray jumbled thoughts, waited until he knew she'd be awake, showering, bathing Angel, going forward into a world so cruel she should have cowered from it. But that wasn't Maggie's way, and her strength had always been a catalyst to his own courage.
"That's great, Maggie," he said into the cold, hard phone.
"You're sure, Zac?"
"It'll be great. I'll help you pack after fishing."
Nothing could have made him tell her no.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
That night in the Oyster House, Gerald jotted projections for the proposed casino onto a white paper tablecloth with a ballpoint pen. Finally Zac caught his eye, interrupting his enthusiasm.
"I just can't make a commitment concerning the Irish Lady right now."
Gerald frowned, bemused.
Zac debated giving his reason for reneging on their tentative plans, maybe sharing Victoria's affinity for yachts. "Unless you want her back," he offered quickly, heart thudding. "I'll sign her over to you tonight." Then what?
Gerald held up a palm. "She's your boat, son. Carron made that crystal clear. I guess I've been pushing the casino conversion to comply with her wishes."
"I think we've both been trying to comply with her wishes. But last night I re-read that letter she left me." His throat tightened. "All Carron really wanted was for me to be happy. She specifically asked me to do beautiful things with her money. I'm not sure how beautiful a floating casino is. I need to think about it more."
"Let me remind you that timing is everything."
Zac shrugged. "If our timing is off what do we sacrifice?"
"Millions of dollars."
"Millions more dollars. Which one of us needs it?"
Gerald grinned. Settling against the wooden captain's chair, he pulled the lobster-logoed paper bib from around his neck and dropped it in his plate. "I see your point." He shrugged. "I guess I thought it would be fun."
"You know what's fun, Gerald?"
His brows torqued upward.
"Watching rich people look for ways to amuse themselves."
"You're one of us now," Gerald reminded.
"Yeah, but so far I haven't found time to be bored."
"Shuffling all those women keeps you busy, boy. I'm not that young." He smiled kindly.
Having told him about Maggie moving in, about Victoria's re-emergence, Zac smiled, diffidently. "To me, fishing is fun, sir. No big pay off, I guess." Except a few times in his life some of those beautiful women Gerald alluded to had waited on the dock. That had definitely affected his life, even if not always for the better. "Would you like to go fishing with us sometime? Tomorrow morning, maybe? You'd have to get up early."
"I wondered when you'd get around to asking me."
"If you like it—"
"I'll like it."
"My old captain, Ruffin Sloan, is retiring in a few more months. We're getting a fleet together to fish in a big way. Long line, off shore. We'll send those night poachers packing. Maybe you'd like to be part of that." Zac waited, studying his mentor.
Gerald's consideration wavered a fraction before evolving to a brief flicker Zac sensed rather than observed.
"I'm only playing building contractor because I like spending time with you, Gerald."
"I wondered which one of us would have the guts to say that first." He awarded Zac a genuine grin.
"Life's too short to hide the feelings God gives us," Zac said. "A lot of people miss out on knowing they're appreciated."
"And loved."
Zac laughed, feeling as though Gerald had hugged him. "Well I guess you have more guts than I do after all."
Gerald shoved back his chair. "Let's let the tourists eat, son, so you can get home to your visiting family."
* * *
Zac looked around the dimly lighted dining room of Galveston's staid Hotel
Galvez. His gaze took in the century-old grandeur of wall molding, rich wood paneling and balustrades, the opulent chandelier in the center of the room.
He brought his gaze back to Victoria's face, a face flawless with carefully concocted Aura. Her hair gleamed in a simple arrangement, pulled back, brushed to the crown of her head, sleek, tight, exposing every feature in flickering candlelight. She was so beautiful that to look at her almost qualified as abuse.
"Is this the way rich people say goodbye, Victoria?" His tone mocked the hallowed quiet. "They end love affairs in some hushed, sacred place where they wouldn't dare raise their voices. Or cry?"
She nodded, smiling softly.
He wondered if her smile pained her as much as him. Her bearing had returned to the regal quality of when they first met. An era before he was privy to what such bearing could hide. "Nice. This way no one can get hurt."
Her silence allowed him time to assure himself he had tried after the miscarriage, after that stormy, surreal night he sometimes questioned the reality of.
He had taken her, her children, and Angel for a Sunday on the Irish, bringing along one of Sylvania's daughters for Angel, Josh to assist him with navigating, and Lizbett to relieve Victoria of her entourage. He had envisioned family bliss. Victoria hardly acknowledged Angel's presence, although he saw her watching his daughter from time to time. He couldn't identify the look—longing, he thought, or maybe resignation. She never held Angel, and he struggled to split his time impartially between their respective children.
The outing provided a glimpse of the future.
Victoria spent most of the cruise in a lounge pulled aft, far out of reach, staring into the blue Gulf, sleeping, or crying. Zac arranged naps for all the children, and waited in his stateroom. She didn't come to him, let him hold her, love her, take it all away.
Coby was there when they docked at twilight. This time Zac allowed Coby to take her.
A couple of nights later, he took her into Houston for dinner at Anthony's. She drank an inordinate amount of Pierrer-Jouet and then phased into Jordan Cabernet when dinner arrived. She barely touched the duck she had exclaimed about when the pompous waiter presented the menus.
"If you aren't going to eat, you should go easy on the wine, novia," he suggested.
He watched her make a half effort to eat, then pulling words from nowhere, and for no reason he could determine, she said, "My mother had a pitiful relationship with Pierce. I always thought her death was a planned accident."
He thought of how he'd woken with Carron in his arms, her face pressed into the pillow. He understood suspicions like the one Victoria voiced. "Tell me why you thought so."
She shook her head, eyes glistening, but beyond that she seemed numb again. Subject closed.
He waited for her to talk about their own pending marriage, or ask that his grandmother's ring be restored to her finger. He waited for anything resembling a conversation. She drank and stared beyond his shoulder.
"Victoria, we need to talk about—"
"Will you excuse me?" Her eyes ran furtively around the room, finally locating her target. She went to the ladies room and stayed until he sent someone to check on her.
A week later, he reserved a room in the staid Warwick Hotel, knowing she loved historic settings, thinking the clandestine quality of the hotel might appeal to her, stimulate her.
Once inside their room, he held her, then undressed her. She gave no protest or assistance. She lay watching him undress.
"You're cold, novia," he whispered when he took her in his arms.
She nodded against his shoulder, her arms finally going around him. He kissed her, moving his lips on hers, sucking, tugging, probing the silky caverns of her mouth. She warmed eventually, her breath quickening, her body complying.
They made love, neither of them to each other.
Driving back to the bay area in the early morning hours, he saw her cheeks glisten red and wet in the silent reflection of a traffic light.
"Tell me what's wrong," he urged, his own chest aching. "Don't shut me out. I told you I'd take care of you. But you have to let me."
She shook her head and whispered, "I love you. That's all I can say."
Zac had attributed her distant behavior to depression, to losing the baby. He wasn't as confident of depression, however, after that night at the Warwick—and not at all when she became unresponsive to his phone calls again.
Then Maggie had come to him in the middle of the night.
Her minute shadow had edged across the moonlight filtering through the window at the foot of Angel's crib. She moved next to him, her teeming heat jolting him as he stood looking at their daughter.
"I was awake," she whispered, looking up at him. "I felt you here."
A meaning he couldn't miss suffused her features, sending her intimate smile straight to his groin. An abrupt, sexual stirring quaked through him. His reaction easily invaded the foreboding that had settled on him since Victoria's reappearance and her perfectly subtle, reinstated rejection.
When he lifted Maggie, pulled her up and onto him, her legs circled his waist, arms going round his neck, and he buried his face against her searing breasts. She parted her thin robe and guided his mouth to her familiar flesh.
"Angel," she whispered, bringing him back to place and time.
He carried her from the room to his bed. She was an appendage of his body, a fragment of his soul. She fit those niches known only to her, recesses left empty through two women since her. Her firm little buttocks filled his palms and his head with a familiar rush; her petite legs half enveloped his hips. She was tiny, but powerful. Delicious. Starved and needy, he devoured her, taking his fill. She ran her hand down his body, found his second reasoning, the one which had calculatingly betrayed them both in the past. Forgiveness abounded in her touch, her own hunger, and absolution flourished in the way her warm, wet haven received him, enveloped and welcomed him.
"Querida—"
She covered his mouth quickly with hers, saving him, swallowing any words conceived from thoughts he couldn't sort, before they could be born.
She moved on him passionately, purposefully, never taking her mouth away until eventually she gasped into him, freeing him to fill her with the hot, wet residue of his own need. His greed. Then he lay spent, trembling, satiated, until she unraveled from him and slipped away into the night.
He had stopped trying with Victoria then, left her to her own struggle, and waited. Her phone call asking to see him had come weeks later, just this morning.
He looked across at Victoria now and tried to smile. "Well, this is not a complete shock. I guess eventually I would have stopped calling altogether." He guessed he had, actually.
"Asking you to come here is closure, Zac. I'm painfully wiser now. I never had closure with Tommy, and I affected a lot of lives trying to go back and attain it."
And still trying. "I like all my edges shaved clean, too."
"I've hurt you, I know. I'm sorry."
He managed a shrug. "You have, but I've been broken before. I healed stronger. I'll be even stronger next time. Something good in everything."
She grimaced.
Tonight hurt all right. But not nearly as much as he had let himself believe it would. Instead he felt a kind of sad relief, a reluctant reprieve, even though he was still willing to fight her demons for her. "Take care of yourself, Victoria. I'll survive."
"I'm not sure I will," she murmured softly, to herself, he thought, as much as to him. She looked away, hugging her body. Then she straightened consciously. Shoulders squared, chin lifted, she placed her hands back in her lap. "Cutting through scar tissue is the most painful surgery," she half whispered.
He shrugged again, but his shoulders were oppressive. "I'm no longer sure it would have been perfect with us. I only know we could have made a go of it. But everything comes down to where we started in Portofino with your rancid story of Tommy. History always replays. You've chosen your heritage again. This tim
e over me." He supposed Christian had never lectured her on the Bible theory of whether thou goest. "Actually, I was repeated history, too."
Her reply smacked of rehearsal. "I owe it to the twins to give them a political heritage. They'll be set for life."
He felt his face twist at the omission of Marcus.
She reacted. "I know you hate that, but there are things I have to think about as a mother." Her eyes chilled to the shade of a Texas norther for a moment, then evolved back to jade. "I wanted you, Zac. You loved me in a way—"
Her soft cries echoed in his head. He saw her raise her arms above her head, felt her surrender to him that first time.
"You're good... and gentle, Zac. You've shown me nothing but kindness and concern for my well being—and my children's."
"That was love. It's not complicated, and it wasn't manipulation." Something she was apparently used to. "I loved you, and I'm in love with your children. All of them." It was his turn to look away, not really wanting her to see the ache his eyes surely mirrored. If his pain gave her satisfaction, he wanted to deny her. If it hurt her, too, he wanted to spare her. "I'm not quite sure what to do about the way I love your children. There's not a lot of closure for them and me in this little meeting."
He waited for her to tell him he didn't have to give them up. He willed her to say they could still be friends, he could see the children. All of them. The wait availed nothing.
Instead, she said, "People don't always show their love the way you do. It's been my life pursuit to make those people into someone like you."
Pierce Chandler's confident face flashed in his mind. He understood the confidence now. "You had me. You didn't need those people."
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