Worth It All (All #3)

by Marie Wathen

  “She deserves better than you?” he asks with a kinder tone in his voice, still staring unsympathetically.

  “Who doesn’t?” I mock, leaping off the hood of my car. “It was an ironic realization that I faced after I left her squatting on the ground covered in dust. Father would have never allowed us to be together because in his eyes, she wasn’t worthy, when actually I am beneath Waverly.” Crossing my arms tightly, I redirect back to the original topic. “Righting my wrongs, or whatever the fuck it is I have in mind, presses me to join your cause. Can we get past this bullshit?”

  “We’ll start.” He steps up into the cab of his Jeep and starts the engine. “Before you go off doing reckless shit with these awesome contacts, let me know. Even keeping you safe is my priority.”

  He pulls off and a part of me feels relieved that we finally voiced our issues. I can hear Gran’s voice clearly in the back of my mind saying it’s about damn time. The other part of me wonders if I really do know my brother at all. His weird behavior with the person in the white car and his rehearsed words has confused me even more. My gut says trust him, but a loud obnoxious voice in my head, sounding just like the asshole in me, is telling me that he isn’t to be trusted. More important than resolving my problem with my brother, I finally discovered the answer to Breesan’s question when she asked me if I was getting Waverly back for me. The answer is absolutely not.

  Chapter Ten

  Breesan

  Lifting my heavy eyelids open at the sound of the doorbell, I groan and flip the covers off me. I glance at the clock and notice that it’s already afternoon. Marcus told me this morning he wouldn’t be back until late this evening, and he has a key, so I can’t imagine who could be coming over. My nerves alight with a frenzied awareness that whoever it is at the front door is expecting someone to be home. Rushing to put on a bra with my tee-shirt and sleep shorts, I gather up my tangled hair and pull it into a loose ponytail before walking down the back stairs quickly. Access down the hallway will give me the benefit of seeing who is calling before they spot me. At the end of the corridor, I catch a glimpse of dark hair through the sidelights and skirt along the edge of the wall so that I can get a better look. Outside the front door, dressed in a white casual, loose blouse and dark jeans, stands Casandria.

  Pulling the door open partially, I whisper, “Hey.”

  “Hey, Breesan,” She replies, smiling brightly, her arms loaded down with grocery bags.

  “Come in,” I offer, opening the door a little more so she can enter.

  “I hope I’m not bothering you.” She steps inside and turns around, facing me. “I brought some food by and was hoping we could talk a little more.”

  “No, I’m home alone.” I point toward the direction of the kitchen. “Can I help you with those?” Holy crap, she actually wants to spend time with me.

  “I’ve got them.”

  “So,” I start, pulling up a chair at the island in the center of my kitchen. “Why did you buy so many groceries?” I watch her intently.

  “Well,” smirking, Casandria begins stocking the fridge with milk, fruit and slides a carton of eggs onto the top shelf. “I know you can’t get out and do your own shopping because of this undercover deal. And I can only imagine the amount of bar food you’re suffering through.” She shrugs, an action that would have sent Julia into a tailspin, still digging out random items from her brown bags.

  “It is crap,” I confess, matching her teasing smile.

  “Does it bother you that I did this?” She halts her actions, turning toward me with watchful concern. “I’m sorry that I was so presumptuous. I do the shopping for our patients back at the hospital all of the time, but–”

  “No,” I interject quickly, raising a hand and waving off her explanation. “It’s fine, really. Just a little weird,” I admit, blushing dark red, completely embarrassed. Julia would never show this much concern for me and I don’t really know how to react to her kindness.

  Casandria shrugs again. “It’s not much. I just thought we could get to know each other a little more, and I love snacking while chatting. Actually,” her eyes zone in on me, “I love to cook more than I love to eat. Would you mind?” She wants to cook for me?

  “Sure,” I chance, waiting for her to take the offer back. She doesn’t so I gesture toward the stove. “It’s all yours. I’m afraid I don’t have the talent for culinary greatness, so I’m happy you offered.” I lie and I don’t really know why. My mother has cooking skills and she might be proud by the fact that her daughter takes after her in this area.

  “Great.” She walks over to the cabinet housing the pots and pans and confidently begins working her magic. From over her shoulder, she suggests, “I have an iPod stuffed in the front pocket of my purse. Would you get it and find some music for us to listen to while we cook together?” She winks.

  My hand going anywhere near Julia’s purse was another thing she would never allow. “Right here?” I ask, pointing to the unzipped front pocket of her Coach purse. She nods with a smile before turning back to face the stove. “Nice bag.”

  “My favorite designer,” she admits, walking back over to the fridge. “It’s almost dinner time, but would you mind if we eat omelets and pancakes?” She places her hand along the side of her mouth, as if she were going to tell me secret, and whispers, “They’re my favorites.” I laugh at her silliness and nod while still scrolling through her extensive song list on her iPod.

  “Wow, you have tons of great music here and very eclectic taste.” I shake my head, suppressing a laugh as I pass an obscene amount of Volbeat songs followed by “Big Pimpin” by Jay Z.

  “I can’t live without music. It’s cathartic.” Her smile drops slightly as she stares into a bowl of batter, probably remembering some harsh scene where a song pulled her from some turbulent pain.

  “It’s the same for me,” I reassure her.

  Casandria and I cook together, and we talk about general topics, laughing mostly. Sometimes we debate ideals about random issues, and other discussions are in equal accord. There are absolutely no awkward silent moments throughout the evening. I’m actually really enjoying having her here. We devour the fluffy and delicious pancakes and omelets before deciding on taking our cups of coffee out to the sun-room, where we spend another hour getting acquainted. After finally noticing that the sun had gone down while we were chatting, I glance up at the clock and notice that it’s really late. Then I wonder why Marcus hasn’t come home yet.

  “Is that the time?” Casandria yawns deeply, not bothering to cover her mouth.

  I laugh, “Yeah, too early for Daylight Saving Time.”

  “Ugh, that stupid tradition doesn’t make a bit of sense.” She smirks over her shoulder while walking her coffee cup over to the dishwasher.

  “Thanks for coming by today. It was fun.”

  Turning around, she smiles sweetly. A hand reaches out tentatively, but she pulls it back and wraps it around her waist instead. “I’m so happy you let me stay.”

  “What are your plans for this weekend?” I ask after seeing sadness blooming in her dark chocolate eyes. I sort of don’t want her to leave either.

  Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she touches my arm and then reveals, “After the funeral tomorrow, I’m going to visit a friend.” I actually flinch away from her and she notices my jarring reaction. Who could she possibly know here? Suddenly this feels like betrayal. If she has been gone all of this time, how could she call anyone here a friend? Cautiously she corrects, “Well, she’s not really a friend.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She was the nurse on duty when you were born.” Her lips slip downward into a full frown and her brown eyes latch with my grays. “I need answers, Breesan. If Brendt thought I was dead, someone sinister is behind our twenty years of pain. I want to know how this could have happened and who did it. Someone wanted us apart and I’m sure they didn’t expect us to ever find each other. Whoever it was spared no expense in faking your
death, and assured that I couldn’t figure out the truth by shipping me off to another country, penniless and completely broken.” She raises a hand, stroking down and taming the wild wave at the side of my head and sighs. “Honey, one way or another, I’m going to get to the bottom of this. It won’t erase all the lost years, but I need this. You understand?” I nod, gulping down the horrid memories of a sad, little girl, being so alone without her mommy. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Casandria,” I breathe.

  I close and lock the door behind her, watching as she climbs into her rental car and drives away before I turn around. Walking into the quiet kitchen, I spot a box sitting on top of the large, wooden dinner table. I tilt my head trying to remember if I’ve seen it before, but the aged, white box doesn’t appear familiar. Lifting it carefully, I slip the top off. Tucked inside is a small heart-shaped locket, dangling from a thin silver rope chain. I pop open the locket and tears sting my eyes while heartache bites into my reserve. The fat droplets cling to my long eyelashes for a moment and then streak rapidly down my cheeks, followed by dozens more. Inside the tiny tarnished silver heart is a picture of my mother and father, kissing so sweetly and looking immensely happy. I take it out, feeling the light weight of the trinket in my small hand, but the full weight of what I lost by not having these two people in my life for nineteen years feels like a solid steel beam has fallen down, splitting my heart in two like this precious memento. I drop into the chair pulled away from the table and sob hard body-racking tears, still clearly pained by the stolen relationships with my parents. I swallow the severity and drag myself upstairs, still clutching the necklace. Inside my bathroom, I look from the mirror to the man and woman in the small picture and then back at myself again. I am theirs, Brendt and Casandria’s daughter. Maybe, just maybe my mother and I have been given a once-in-a-lifetime chance to regain a piece of what was stolen from us. Slipping my hair over one shoulder, I link the delicate chain around my neck and finger the heart lying against my chest, as if I were touching them physically.

  “What do you have there?” Marcus inquires, leaning against the door frame behind me and staring at my reflection in the mirror. I turn slowly, thankful that my cheeks are clear of the sad tears, and smile up at him. “Do you normally wear two necklaces at once?” He smirks with glowing green eyes transfixed on the tiny umbrella charm he gave me recently.

  Shaking my head, my hand drifts to his gift, and I rub the small raindrop shaped jewel, dangling at the bottom. “No, the other isn’t mine,” I tell him truthfully.

  “Not yours?” His eyebrows push upward and his smile breaks fuller.

  “No,” I drop my hand, stepping closer, needing to touch him desperately all of a sudden. “Casandria left it.”

  “Oh,” he drawls, confusion crinkling his forehead. “Did she come by again?”

  “Yes.” Standing in front of him, I place my hand on his broad shoulders before wrapping them around the back of his neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

  “Go somewhere with me?” he whispers against my lips, and I nod excitedly. Except for working the club and staying at Rhys’ house for a short time, I haven’t ventured out much. Unless you count the trip to Walker mansion with Morgan–which feels like forever ago–I’m basically a prisoner of some evil killer’s design. Getting out and spending quality time with Marcus is exactly what I need.

  Taking his Jeep through the back roads, well off the main path just in case we’re being followed, Marcus drives us up the private dirt road leading to where Renaissance Castle rests majestically, hanging over the edge of the perilous cliff of Castle mountain. I absorb every detail of the monumental structure and sigh when we approach the large, looming entrance. He parks his vehicle beside the stone structure and positions it out of sight, deep into the shadows.

  “Come on,” he encourages, jumping down from the driver’s seat. He walks around the back, waiting with an outstretched hand.

  “Why did you bring me here?” My eyes grow wide as we sneak across the private property line, nearing the place I used to walk so I could stare up at the castle.

  “Because it’s your favorite place,” he replies in a hushed voice. “Since everything has been so hectic lately, you haven’t had a chance to visit. I thought you might need it.”

  “You know,” I stall, pulling on our linked hands and making him stop. He turns around, facing me. “I think you are probably the best boyfriend that has ever existed.”

  “I like that,” he claims, stepping closer with his sexy-as-hell smirk firmly in place. “No, actually, I love hearing you call me your boyfriend.”

  “Is that really so amazing? After all, we’ve said I love you and made love a couple of times.” I shrug casually, but the term of endearment is equally important to me, because it tags him as mine.

  “I want to be all for you, Breesan,” he vows, stroking his thumb over my bottom lip before dipping down and kissing it softly.

  “You are my be-all, Marcus,” I affirm, still touching my lips to his.

  “My God, I love you,” he reminds me, pulling my body tightly against his. His arms cinch around my waist and he lifts me slightly before lowering me, so that my toes are on top of his boots. “It will always only be you that I love.” His serious green eyes reflect the promise of his words, like he’s swearing the most precious gift known to man. For someone who has denied love from everyone, something as simple as his promise is the best present anyone has ever given me.

  “And I will forever love only you,” I vow, grabbing the sides of his face and crashing his mouth against mine again.

  “Mmm, I have another reason for bringing you here.” Helping me to stand on my own again, he wraps his hand around mine and we walk up the peak toward the castle. The slight incline is dark with overgrowth from the hanging Willow trees and high rocks along the cliff, poised over the rushing waters below. Silently, we continue climbing until he suddenly stops at a small ridge jutting out in a peculiar triangle shape. I’ve never seen this spot before so curiosity gets the better of me, urging me to step out.

  “Careful, love,” he pleads, squeezing my hand slightly.

  Looking down at the wild, roaring ocean, I notice a large flat surface where the waves barely skim over the top of it. The moonlight reflects some of the granite crystals off the rock, making it appear a violet.

  “Oh my God, that’s so beautiful,” I whisper ecstatically. “Have you ever seen anything more bewitching?”

  “Only once,” he answers back, wrapping his arm around my waist and drawing me into a side hug. I peek up at him, and while facing toward the open sea, he tilts his head sideways, gesturing down at me. “You are immensely more bewitching, Love.” He winks and then stares down at the violent waters. “Have you ever heard the legend of Jagged Rock?”

  Tilting my head to gaze at the peculiar stone while trying to hide my grin, I convey, “Everyone from Willow has heard those ridiculous fairytales of Jagged Rock’s kiss.”

  “Those fairytales are true, baby,” he says seriously. “My Gran told me the story of Elizabet and Isaac being the first couple to come to this very spot, after running away from their family’s prejudices. She was vastly poor and he was an aristocrat from Britain.” I nod familiar with that epic love story. “Okay, so the second couple of the romantic tale was Elijah and Isabella. Much like ours, theirs was a young love, only she was fifteen and he was twenty-one. They were betrothed, but during the process of getting to know each other, they actually fell in love, contradictory to most relationships in an era where loving each other never mattered. Being the true romantic, Isabella insisted they test the theory of Jagged Rock.”

  “I love that you know these romantic stories so well,” I confess, squeezing both of my arms around his waist securely. He drops a velvety kiss to my forehead and then presses his chin on top of my head, staring out toward the moon hanging over the horizon.

  “The third couple was Stella and Charles. Unlike the other two couples, they didn
’t have such a romantic reason for coming to this spot. Charles was a well-respected doctor in the community. And on an island the size of Willow everyone looked to both he and his wife as if they were celebrities. After several heartbreaking miscarriages, Stella was distraught. Her physician surmised that she would never conceive a child of her own. But, being the good doctor’s wife, she suffered silently for many years, never telling him of her anguish. The guilt ate away at her for another long year. Finally she decided that the best thing she could offer Charles was her disappearance, giving him the opportunity to remarry, so he would have a chance at a new family. After leaving him a note, she stood here on this very spot, prepared to end her life when Charles rushed to her side. He declared to her that if it was always only them, a life with her is the best that he could ever pray for.”

  “Aww, that is gut-wrenching. I didn’t know about the babies,” I admit, feeling tears stinging my eyes. Closing them, I sniff back the crushing feeling playing along the edge of my heart.

  “And the last couple marked on the top of the stone is my favorite story,” he starts before turning toward me. Touching warm fingers under my chin, he looks adoringly into my eyes. “Mackenzie brought Ally here because it was her favorite place to sit and swoon over the love stories she’d heard growing up on Willow. He didn’t necessarily buy into the whole tale of ‘kiss on the ledge and lightning would strike the rock below, signifying eternal love,’ but he knew it would be the most romantic place to propose marriage. After she said yes, they kissed and just like the previous three stories, the jagged lightning streak cut through the clouds, straight from the heavens, marking the stone with the fourth impression.” He points down at the rocks surface. Nodding, I literally sigh like a lovesick girl after the last story and he chuckles.

  “Breesan, the fourth couple was my grandparents,” he whispers, watching me. My heart seizes from the intense look in his eye. Oh God, he wants to kiss me, testing the theory of the Jagged Rock’s story against our relationship.