The Secret Arrangement

by Vanessa Waltz

  “Everything is wrecked. Your dad torched the fields and he—he razed the crops.”

  “He followed through,” he deadpans.

  “I’m so sorry. It meant so much to you.”

  Fury breaks through the calm dam. Black flame consumes him. August paces the too-small enclosure, reminding me irresistibly of a lion. He catches his reflection in the electrical box and hurls a fist. He unleashes his rage, pounding the steel like a punching bag. Blood smears the concave metal.

  “That’s not helping!”

  He whirls around, trembling. “I fucking hate him.”

  “Some people lost all their things. You weren’t there—you can’t imagine how devastating it was to see everyone. I don’t know what to do.”

  “There’s little you can do except return home.”

  My mouth is numb. “What?”

  The fire banks, dampened by grief. He pulls me into his arms. “Leave without me.”

  Bitterness curls my tongue. “So that’s it?”

  He softens. “I wish you could stay.”

  Another lie. “Now that citizenship is off the table, I guess you want nothing to do with me.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Don’t worry, August. I’ll find a shack in California and raise your baby. Everything will be fine, right?” I wipe my face, frustrated by my tears. “Fuck you. You never wanted me.”

  “Lily, that’s insane. From day one, I was obsessed with you.”

  “Give me a break, August! I was your ticket out of here.” My voice rings off the walls. “You hoodwinked me into changing my whole damn life forever. It’s over.”

  “You’re not ready to hear this,” he says, lips shaking. “But I’m saying it anyway. I love you. I’d fucking die for you.”

  He’s wrong. It’s too late. “Save it, August. I’m done.”

  29

  It’s over. After six months, I’m going home. Pregnant, broke, and homeless.

  What a disaster.

  After General Espada’s speech about family, he ordered me on the first plane out of here. I wasn’t that surprised. Tyrants like him talk a big game, but they always trample on the virtues they espouse.

  Photos of me sobbing at the government-sponsored bonfire prompted a response from Amnesty International. They demanded the release of the “imprisoned American.” After the dissolution of the embassy, President Cortés decided I was a liability.

  I’m flying on a private jet. Which is great, because I’ve had no privacy to grieve.

  I’ll never, ever see August again.

  Heavy rain pelts the windows, condensation rising up the glass like fog. A thick blanket of moisture presses over my nostrils as I walk. The drizzle makes the jungle heat oppressive, but it doesn’t matter. I won’t deal with humidity again. Instead I’ll bake under California’s punishing sun. Without housing, I’m in for a rough summer.

  I ignore the panic climbing my throat. I have nowhere to stay. My friends might let me crash for a few weeks, and then what?

  A homeless shelter?

  Behind a steel wall in my mind, my fists rage and I scream.

  I’ll figure it out.

  “Sorry,” Alex says, as though it can erase the past forty-eight hours. “I wish I could take it back.”

  My disgust simmers to a boil as Alex rakes his black hair in the lobby, his eyes shining with grief. “What I did was selfish and reckless.” He enunciates his words with a tortured despair. “And now you hate me.”

  “I don’t.” I can’t muster the energy. “You didn’t set those farms ablaze.”

  Their father deserves all the blame.

  He rips the gold stripes from his shoulder. “I’ll build them homes. I swear.”

  I hope he does.

  “It’s time to go.” Alex grabs my luggage, pain radiating from his young face.

  I hesitate. “What’ll happen to August?”

  Tension tics in his jaw. “I’ll do what I can.”

  We walk outside the airport, following a train of guards. Alex rolls my suitcase and hands it to an attendant.

  I can’t quite smile. “Goodbye.”

  “Lily, wait!”

  I pause up the stairs leading to the airplane.

  Alex faces me, devastated. “What will you do?”

  “Live.” I don’t need August for that. “That’s all anyone can do.”

  “Thank you for what you’ve done,” he shouts over the wind. “I’m sorry.”

  Once inside, I sink into the same white leather chair I used on the way here. The space where August sat eats at the shell around my heart.

  Even if he called, I wouldn’t want to hear his voice. All his lies stole that comfort from me.

  With a loud scream, the jet rushes forward. My spine presses into the seat. I hold tears until I glance out the window at the rapidly shrinking jungle that was home.

  He was a liar, but he made me feel loved.

  And I’ve left that behind. For good.

  I take my time leaving the plane’s cabin. It’s my last tie to the place where I had a husband, a home, and a purpose.

  A chilly fog descends as we approach the gate. I breathe in the mild air, shivering in the lack of humidity. The moment I walk through, my phone pings with dozens of missed texts. A dull ache pounds in my heart as I roll the suitcase. I should have spent the flight begging people, but I couldn’t face it.

  Now what?

  I stand in the bustling airport. I must be the only person here without a destination. Laughter shakes from my chest, and then a choked sob.

  “Excuse me, miss.” A man dressed in a suit approaches me, holding a placard with my name. “Are you Lily Osborn?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lovely. I’m Arthur.” He beams. “I’m pleased to meet you, Ms. Osborn. Please follow me.”

  We shake hands. “Who are you?”

  “Oh, sorry. Luke Pardini comped your transportation. Are you familiar with him?”

  “The vice president of the hotel chain?” A vague image of a handsome man splashed over San Francisco local news cycles through my head. “I know little about him.”

  “He emailed you weeks ago,” Arthur says.

  Eyes widening, I swipe my cell phone to check my email. Hundreds of unread messages pile in my inbox. “I haven’t been up to date. Could you tell me what this is?”

  He takes my luggage and leads me outside. The air is frigid. It bites my limbs as he packs my bag into the trunk.

  “When Mr. Pardini learned you were from the Bay Area, he set you up in an apartment near the city to help you get on your feet. His charity also allows for a stipend.”

  Numb with shock, I duck into the Benz. “I don’t understand. Why do all this for a stranger?”

  Arthur starts the car, pulling from the curb. “Mr. Pardini is involved in many humanitarian efforts around the globe. Your case was highly publicized. Millions of Americans watched that video, Miss Osborn.”

  “It’s Espada, actually.” I feel the need to defend myself. “I didn’t have a choice.”

  Arthur gazes at me through the rearview mirror, voice softening. “We know, hon.”

  “You do? I-I thought I’d return to a lynch mob.”

  He clicks his tongue. “Of course not. The moment I saw you stammering through that press conference, I knew you were coerced. It was obvious.”

  I sink into the seat, exhaling a tense breath. “Not to everyone.”

  Especially that fucker in the embassy. I’m silent for the rest of the ride, overwhelmed by the scenery rolling by. It’s so different. We pass a street with Victorian homes. He gestures toward a salmon-colored apartment building with enormous bay windows.

  “Here we are.”

  I gape at the ritzy neighborhood. I’ve never been here, but it looks expensive. “Where are we?”

  “Noe Valley.” Arthur smiles, opening the trunk. “You should visit the chocolate store on Twenty-fourth.”

  “Wait—I can’t pay him back.
This is way too much.”

  “Don’t worry about that.” He laughs at my suggestion. “Mr. Pardini has more money than he knows what to do with. Trust me.”

  It doesn’t feel right to mooch off him. “Can I get in touch with him? I’d like to thank him for everything.”

  “His contact information is inside.” Arthur hauls my bag to the top of the landing and slides a key into the green door. It reveals a narrow hallway with wooden floorboards.

  They creak as I walk.

  “You’ll find an envelope with keys and a letter from Mr. Pardini. Welcome home.”

  I have a place to sleep because of a generous stranger. Blinking away tears, I throw my arms around Arthur. “Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome.” He gently disengages from me. “I’ll let you settle in.”

  “Bye.”

  He bounds down the steps, and I close the door, mind buzzing with fatigue. I peek through the furnished rooms. It’s a two-bedroom apartment. Gorgeous. Probably costs a fortune.

  I can’t believe my luck. A billionaire took pity on me. What are the chances?

  In a daze, I leave my suitcase in the foyer and head into the kitchen. A gift basket sits on the round table. I take the envelope attached to the plastic and rip it open.

  Dear Lily,

  We’ve never met, but we have a mutual friend. Your husband.

  August and I have done business in the past. I’m a longtime client of his fair trade bean to bar chocolate. Weeks ago, he got in touch and asked for my assistance. He wanted to wire money, but his father froze his accounts. I have been told that travel to the United States is impossible for August. I can’t imagine what you’re dealing with, but I want you to know that I’ll do everything in my power to help. If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to call.

  Yours,

  Luke Pardini

  A sob breaks from my chest, and the letter floats to the floor. I grab my phone to dial his number, but the tears are flowing too thick. He won’t understand me through my sobbing.

  I’ll email instead.

  I scroll through my cell, heart stopping as a familiar name blinks in my inbox.

  August.

  Lily,

  You should be standing in your new apartment. I scoured Craigslist weeks ago and found a place where I thought we’d both end up.

  The salmon color is a little dodgy, but you can have that changed. There’s a yard in the back. It’s big enough to barbecue and plant tomatoes, which was all I cared about. After a lifetime of living in a gigantic garden, I wanted something more manageable.

  Sue me.

  You always told me you wanted a house in the city. I tried to match your descriptions of your dream home. Anyway, it’s yours.

  Please accept this gift as an apology. I’m sorry for lying to you. I kept telling myself the ends justified the means, but things spiraled out of control, way beyond anything I imagined.

  I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry that I can’t be there.

  But I’m not sorry that I love you. I’m in awe of your selflessness—your dignity.

  I love you. God, I wish you understood. You are far more amazing than I deserve.

  I won’t rest until I’m by your side, but you won’t hear from me for a while.

  I fucking love you. That’s why this hurts so much.

  Goodbye.

  - August

  30

  My morning sickness is gone. I should celebrate.

  I force a smile as I head outside, descending the tall staircase. It’s another mild Sunday in Noe Valley, and people throng the streets for brunch. I turn onto Twenty-fourth, walking under hanging flowerpots to window shop the trendy fashions. It’s a beautiful neighborhood. Perfect for raising a family. There’s even yoga for pregnant moms.

  I don’t need Lamaze classes yet. I’ve barely passed the first trimester. The nausea disappeared, but it makes me sad. If anything, it’s an indicator of how long we’ve been apart. It’s been three months since that letter from August and praying my baby would have a father. Weeks of scanning the news for updates.

  Three agonizing, soul-wrenching months.

  He might never come.

  I stop in the street, choked with emotion. None of this is fair, but I can’t keep doing this to myself.

  But it’s different now. Luke gave me an entry-level position at his non-profit. I owe him and his wife, Jessica, so much. They did more than facilitate a transaction for my husband. They gave me a future.

  I wander inside the chocolate store, smiling at the wizened owner. Ryan looks up from the register, greeting me with a heavy Brooklyn accent. “Welcome.”

  Two shelves packed with bars fill the narrow shoebox. I read brightly colored labels from imported chocolate. Most of them are too expensive. A twelve-dollar bar is overkill. My heart skips as I recognize a familiar name.

  Cecilia Chocolate.

  August’s mother smiles in watercolor. I take a bar, smoothing the bright paper as a horrible lump builds in my throat. Her legacy was destroyed. Everything is gone.

  “I know the chocolatier,” the shopkeeper booms. “August Espada. He shut down the company. There was an accident at his farm, I think. He told me not to expect any more shipments. Too bad. Customers loved it.”

  I bite my lip. No matter how hard I try, I can’t escape him.

  I grab the stack—only seven left—and dump them onto the counter. Ryan chimes with a cheerful “Thank you!” as I pay, and then I head home.

  The warmth might’ve vanished from the sky.

  Stop being miserable.

  Everything’s going well. I have a house. A job. A supportive community. For the first time in my life, I’m doing great.

  Then I walk past couples pushing a stroller. I watch fathers dote on their children, and every good feeling evaporates because I miss him. I love him. I’ll be a single mom, and that scares me.

  I climb the stairs, turning away from the glorious outdoors. The plastic bag heavy with chocolate swings at my side. I’ll save a bar and keep it somewhere cool. One day I’ll pass it on to my child.

  I imagine the conversation. My eyes pulse with the threat of a crying fit as I unlock the door. It opens to a man standing in the hallway. His back faces me.

  Someone broke into my apartment.

  My scream makes him jump. “Get the fuck out!”

  I toss the chocolate aside, but then he says my name. “Lily.”

  I recognize his rolling accent before I take in the physical details. August wears a plain T-shirt over jeans. His hair is longer. Overgrown. And his skin looks paler than usual, as though he was starved from sunlight.

  But he’s whole. And he’s here.

  “August!” I launch myself into his embrace, so happy I burst into tears. “Oh my God.”

  He embraces me, his beard rough against my cheek. “I missed you so fucking much.”

  I sag in his arms, the stress of three months pouring from me in a tidal wave. August kisses my neck and lifts me, carrying me to the couch.

  He sinks into the cushions with a sigh. “I’m here, Lily. For good.”

  “What happened?” I unstick myself from his chest, overcome with emotion. “How did you get here?”

  “Alejandro smuggled me out of the country. From there, I traveled to Mexico and applied for asylum. It took a while, but I made it.” August grins, dimples carving into his cheeks. “How’s everything?”

  He palms my stomach, caressing my baby bump. “Fine—everything’s fine. I have a job. Luke gave me a position.”

  “Really? Where?”

  “Never mind that.” I wipe my face, shaking. “I haven’t heard anything about you or your father. Where’s Alex? Did he come, too?”

  His smile disappears. “No.”

  Alarm pierces my heart. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know. He went AWOL after helping me.”

  “He—he didn’t go back home?”

  “No, he can’t.” Augus
t sighs. “He said he’d contact us whenever it was safe. Lily, he’ll be okay.”

  I burst into fresh sobs. “It’s been so lonely without you. And so fucking hard.”

  He kisses me. It’s gentle. Sweet. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” For the first time, I don’t see the monster wrestling for control. “You’ve changed.”

  He smiles, and it’s different from the one I remember. “I’m free.”

  Author’s Note

  Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed Lily and August’s adventure. If you have, I’d love it if you left a review on Amazon!

  You probably noticed that I never name the country in The Secret Arrangement. That’s because it’s a fictional place and I wanted to focus on the Beauty and the Beast theme.

  If you haven’t had a chance to read the other books in my Arrangement series, they’re including in this copy! Luke and Jessica’s story is told in The Cinderella Arrangement. The Roommate Arrangement is a fun, sexy romp where a down on her luck heroine rooms with seven hot athletes.

  I’ve also included the first chapter of my upcoming release, The Ex Arrangement! It releases June 19th!

  The Roommate Arrangement

  1

  Saffie

  My brother lives in a whorehouse.

  Bras hang on the gate of Los Albos Ranch like little flags. They swing violently as the mechanical hinge opens, revealing a gorgeous Mediterranean villa sprawled over an acre of pure, Californian paradise. I gape at the panties littering the lawn, the empty cups rolling down the driveway. Either last night was the scene of the world’s biggest orgy, or debris from a plane carrying women’s clothing exploded all over my brother’s lawn.

  It’s disgusting.

  Maybe all those years sucking on a silver spoon turned him into a slob. It’s been five years since I saw him, but I can’t connect the Henry I knew with this. Every day there’s an outrageous story about the San Francisco Grizzlies complete with a stream of lurid photographs. I was naive enough to believe they were Photoshopped.