Forever in Love

by Nadia Lee

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Blaine didn’t stop with dinner. The next morning there were a dozen yellow roses on her porch as she stepped out of the house. There wasn’t any card, but she didn’t need one to know where they’d come from.

  She was wearing her best blue dress and had her hair pulled into a simple French twist. She didn’t own a suit…not that there was any need to look like an office worker. She was a curator, not a banker. As she walked to her car, the back of her neck prickled. A few people on the other side of the street were staring and whispering. Were they still talking about how she was looking for a rich husband? Or was it more drug-lord idiocy? Ugh.

  A part of her wanted to march up to them and tell them to mind their own business, but she had better things to do than worry about what they thought. If she delayed much longer, she’d be late for her appointment with Dusty, and she didn’t want to start her first acquisition off that way.

  As she passed by The Line, she almost thought maybe it was open again. The lot was full and people were milling around. She’d never seen this many, not even on a Saturday. Then it hit her. They weren’t there to get food. They wanted a piece of Blaine. Even though the restaurant was closed, they were standing out there just in case he showed.

  Fury surged through her. How can they do this to him?

  Everyone gave lip-service to the idea that money could change people for the worse. But somehow it was more visceral and terrible seeing it happen in person.

  When Catherine arrived in front of a modest two-story white and beige house that the GPS led her to, the hood of Dusty’s truck was up and he was bent over the engine. He extricated himself as she pulled up and she saw he was dressed in his usual baggy shirt and jeans. He smiled as she climbed out of her car.

  “Man, you look pretty as ever,” he said. “I’d give you a hug, but…” He indicated the grease on his clothes.

  “Rain check. And you look great yourself.”

  “Anyone hassle you on the way over?”

  She frowned. “No. Why?”

  “Oh. It’s just…” He shrugged as he opened the door to his house. It was cozy inside with a couple of comfy worn couches and carpet that lay as flat as a sheet of paper. A couple of video game controllers and an open bag of potato chips lay on top of a scarred coffee table. He’d hung photographs on the walls, mostly Ansel Adams prints you could buy from any Internet store. “Everyone heard Blaine went to your place.”

  She couldn’t help herself. “Are they still going on about me being a gold digger?”

  “That stuff? Nah. They’re wondering how tight you are with him. So you can help them.”

  “You mean they want me to help them swindle money out of Blaine.” Her mouth twisted bitterly. “I don’t think so.”

  “They been hounding Blaine for weeks now. He cut off the phone to his place and shut down the bar.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Only way he can get any peace. But he’s still paying everyone’s wages until he decides what to do. I say he should sell it to Rick. He’d be good at it, ya know?” Dusty put his hand on a door at the end of the hall then stopped. “Hey, I gotta ask you something. If you take my paintings, am I gonna end up like him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are people gonna hassle me because…you know.”

  The question made her think. “I guess that depends,” she said. “This isn’t for a gallery but a private collector. So your art may or may not be seen by a lot of people. But you shouldn’t let money worries stop you from realizing your potential.”

  “Still…”

  “Do you think Blaine should’ve given up his trust fund because of them?” She jerked her thumb outside. “Would that be fair?”

  Dusty scowled. “No. Guess not.”

  “So don’t deny yourself. You deserve this, Dusty.”

  Chewing his lower lip, he nodded. “I guess it’s like they say in the good book. ‘Let he who is without sin pass the first stone.’”

  Catherine squinted at him. “Ah—”

  “Come on, you’re right. Let’s go inside.”

  * * *

  Every evening Blaine came to the Blue House to cook dinner. They’d share it and talk about all sorts of topics from art to music to their future plans. Blaine might not have gone to college or done a lot of the stuff that most men in her circle had, but he was smart and witty and surprisingly knowledgeable about a lot of things.

  But to her bemusement, he never made any move to take what they had to the next level. Well, there was the kiss at the end of the evening, but that wasn’t the same, especially when it landed on her forehead. Catherine began to understand why Prince Charming was so frustrated that Cinderella had disappeared after the romantic dance.

  “Blaine, I heard things are…well, pretty bad with your social situation. Are you all right?” she asked one evening while they were sitting on the couch. The TV was on but muted. He’d made the most delicious meal of steak and buttery mashed potatoes.

  He sighed. “Not really. The longer I stay here the more I realize I’m probably gonna have to move someplace else. Now folks from Greensville are starting to come around.”

  “Wow.”

  He frowned. “They haven’t been approaching you to get you to talk to me or anything, have they?”

  “No. I can be pretty unapproachable when I want to be, and they probably aren’t as comfortable talking to me as they are with you.”

  “Good. I feel bad about saying no to them. I’ve known a lot of these folks all my life. But I can’t handle this new side to them either. It’s pretty rough.”

  She mulled that over. “Do you know why people like Salazar, Barron and Gavin have assistants?”

  “Of course. They’re busy.”

  “They are, but that’s not really the reason. They need gatekeepers. Otherwise they would have the same problem you do except much worse. And you have to learn to say no. It’s your money. You shouldn’t have to give it away to every person who ever said hello to you. If you want, you can ask Gavin’s firm to handle your fund. They’re very good at managing money, and I’m sure Gavin can recommend somebody you can use as a filter between you and the people who want a piece of you.”

  He sighed. “I’ll think about it. I’m just disappointed that so many of the townsfolk changed.”

  “Money often changes people.”

  “You think it changed me too?”

  She moved and sat next to him on the couch and rested her head on his shoulder. “No. You’re still you. And I’m thankful for that.” She put a hand over his chest and felt his heart thud in unison with hers. How could they be so in sync?

  They sat in a companionable silence. She ran her fingers over his chest. Would he finally make a move or would he end the evening with a chaste kiss again? He never did more than that, no matter how she signaled to him it was okay to kiss her on the mouth. Either the man was dense—except she knew he wasn’t—or trying to drive her crazy, which she was certain of. Every night in bed, she’d think of the things he could’ve done to her, the scorching hot things they’d done before everything had gotten so complicated.

  But she sensed he wouldn’t make the next move. It was up to her, and she couldn’t bring herself to do it yet. She’d just found a measure of independence and had stopped thinking about how men would view what she did. She was afraid if she initiated sex with Blaine, she might start reverting to her old habits of trying to please men first.

  And she wasn’t even sure when she would be ready. It wasn’t fair to string Blaine along…but at the same time she didn’t want him with anyone else but her.

  “Are you almost done with Dusty’s paintings?” he asked.

  “Almost.” Actually, she was finished. She could’ve left a couple of days before, but she hadn’t.

  “You must be pretty serious about his talent to spend so much of Barron’s money.”

  “He’s really good. I don’t know how you guys d
idn’t realize you had the next great artist in your own backyard when he’s been drawing things for you all these years.”

  Blaine shrugged. “We just never knew. He sometimes doodled on The Line walls, and I had to tell him to stop. I was planning to paint over them next time I cleaned the place up.”

  “Oh my god, no!” she said, gasping in horror. “That ‘doodling’ will probably quadruple the value of the building.”

  “Is that so?” He shook his head slightly. “Wish I painted.”

  “Why?”

  “Cause then you might look at me with half the interest you have for your artists.”

  She reached over and held his hand gently. “You don’t have to be an artist to hold my attention, Blaine. Do you have any idea how grateful I am for your support and patience?”

  “I’m happy to be on your side.”

  “It’s just…scary. Because I have to make this work. When I was growing up, nobody thought I’d amount to anything except some rich guy’s wife. I believed it too. I don’t have the confidence and self-reliance you have. I feel so guilty that I’m asking you to wait because this can’t be what you want and—”

  “Shhhh.” Putting a finger on her lips, Blaine shook his head. “I wouldn’t be here with you like this if it wasn’t what I wanted. I wish I could do more to prove that I’m not gonna be like your asshole ex, but it is what it is.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. If he hadn’t been such a dickhead, you might not be this wary…but at the same time you might’ve never come to Cooter’s Bluff at all. So, you know. It all worked out.”

  Blaine was right about that. If Jacob hadn’t turned out to be a bigamist, she would’ve still been trapped in her miserable marriage. Her in-laws would still think the worst of her, her relationship with her cousins would still be strained, and she would have never found the courage to take care of herself.

  And she would never have met Blaine.

  Then Blaine glanced at his watch and rose. “Well, ten o’clock. Guess I should get on home.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  He shifted his weight. “If I stay, I’m going to want to make love to you.” He ran a hand down her cheek. “I promised myself I wouldn’t rush you, but I also know myself. I’m weak for you, Catherine.”

  None of Jacob’s pretty words and empty promises had touched her the way Blaine’s simple ones did. He never just said them, but showed her with action. The need she had for him was fierce and frightening, and she wrapped herself around him. “You think I’m not weak for you?” She whispered as she felt an erection grow against her belly. “You think I don’t want you? I’m scared at how much I want you. I’m so afraid that if I give in to this need, I might never find myself again.”

  “I’ll find you, Catherine,” Blaine said, his voice low. “I’ll never let you get lost.”

  She rose on her toes and kissed him. It was true he made her weak with longing, but at the same time his support and love formed pillars upon which she could stand.

  Suddenly there was knocking on the door. When she didn’t immediately move to answer, it became a pounding. “Catherine Scarlett Fairchild, I know you’re in there!”

  Every cell in her body froze at the determined voice of her mother. Olivia had never left Charleston since she’d returned to her hometown after Sebastian’s death. What was she doing here in Cooter’s Bluff?

  “I can’t believe this,” Catherine said.

  “Somebody you know?”

  “Yes. My mother.” Catherine forced herself to pull away from him and opened the door. No need to give the entire town something to talk about.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Blaine had expected Catherine’s mother to be beautiful—that stunning face had to come from somewhere—but he’d never expected her to be so cold and hard. The woman didn’t even have to open her mouth. It was in her eyes, in the way she carried herself; she was far better than anybody around.

  She walked inside like an empress, her shiny high heels clacking on the hardwood floor. The black knee-length silk dress she wore made her appear even thinner than she was, and she was already pretty damn thin. Maybe she was on a salad diet like Catherine had been.

  “Hello, mother. I wasn’t expecting you.” The warmth in Catherine’s voice had vanished. She sounded wary and stiff.

  “If you’d given me your phone number, I wouldn’t have had to come all the way out here.” Olivia curled her lips. Her gaze barely flickered to Blaine, immediately dismissing him as inconsequential. “This is such a horrid town.”

  “Sorry about that,” Catherine said. “What’s wrong?”

  “Salazar told me the most bizarre story about you, and I simply had to confirm it myself. He sounded entirely too gleeful.” Olivia took a deep breath. “Is it true you took a job?”

  “Yes. I’m working for Barron Sterling, curating pieces for his art collection.”

  Olivia closed her eyes as though she’d seen something distasteful. “Catherine, how many times have I told you? We do not serve.”

  “I’m not fetching morning tea in a French maid’s outfit, mother. It’s an excellent job, and he pays me well. He appreciates me.”

  “Hogwash. If he really appreciated you, he would’ve married you.”

  Blaine stared at the older woman, incredulous. This was the sort of mother Catherine had to put up with all her life? An alligator would’ve been more maternal.

  He took a step forward. “Hey, now.” No one talked to Catherine like that. No one, especially not in front of him.

  Catherine held his wrist and shook her head. “This is my fight, not yours, Blaine.”

  “But—”

  “Let me.” She turned to her mother. “In case you haven’t realized, Barron is Kerri’s grandfather. Marrying him would turn me into her grandmother. Do you know how awkward that would be?”

  “What’s awkward about becoming Mrs. Barron Sterling?” Olivia said. “He’s been widowed for years now. Nobody would think anything of it that he wants a beautiful young wife.”

  “I would be an ornament, nothing more. Do you honestly want that over a real, respectable career for me?”

  “Catherine, dear. This is your chance. Barron’s already got a granddaughter, so he won’t want you to produce a child at his age. And what’s all this talk about a career? You know you aren’t particularly intelligent. You can barely read. Your teachers, bless their hearts, worried you might be a bit disabled…mentally that is.”

  Blaine flinched at the way Olivia so blithely flung such hurtful words at her own daughter, but Catherine didn’t even flicker an eyelash. She stood still enough to have been carved from ice.

  Olivia wasn’t done: “Does Barron know about all this?”

  “Yes. He does. He said it was irrelevant.”

  “Irrelevant!”

  “Unlike my so-called teachers, he doesn’t think that poor reading and writing skills make me unfit for anything except being somebody’s trophy wife.”

  Olivia’s jaw dropped. She sucked air in quickly enough for it to be audible, then turned to Blaine. “You’re a man. Talk some sense into her.”

  He put an arm around Catherine’s shoulders. “Ma’am, I think your daughter’s plenty sensible. Fact is, it’s you who need a talking to.”

  Olivia drew back and gave Blaine a scorching head-to-toe look.

  “Please don’t ask a man to talk sense into me,” Catherine said, speaking calmly. “I’m not some silly girl who needs male guidance, and can think perfectly well for myself. It’s really quite embarrassing for everyone involved. And I’ll thank you not to refer to me as disabled—or anything along those lines—anymore. Regardless of what my teachers may have thought, I know I’m not. I just needed some help. Apparently, Aunt Chantelle thought I might have been dyslexic. I may talk to a specialist about the possibility.”

  “But Catherine, that would mark you for life!”

  “Mother, I have a problem. It’
s time to admit the fact. Seeing a specialist may help me better understand it and manage it. Now if you can’t be civil, please don’t say anything at all.”

  “You’d rather hear pointless lies?”

  “I’d rather have a positive self-image. One not based on my looks.” Catherine gestured at the door. “I think we’re finished now. You should go.”

  “I certainly will not stay here one minute longer and be insulted by you and that redneck beer-swilling boy toy of yours.”

  “This beer-swilling redneck happens to be Salazar’s son. He might let your insult go, but Salazar might not take it so kindly,” Catherine said.

  Olivia stood staring at her daughter for a long moment, then spun and made her grand exit. Her skirt swirled so expertly Blaine was sure she’d practiced the move for hours in front of a mirror. The front door slammed shut and Catherine sagged against him.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize she’d show up like that.”

  “Tough that you have to deal with somebody like her,” Blaine said. “She’s…” He stopped and selected his word carefully. No matter what, she was Catherine’s mother. “…kind of awful.”

  Catherine laughed. It wasn’t pretty. “You’re right. She is awful.” Tears formed in her eyes, and he held her tight, trying to absorb some of the hurt she must’ve felt.

  “I’m so proud of you, Catherine,” he whispered into her silky hair. “You were great.”

  Catherine blinked the tears away. “You think so?”

  “Yeah. Your mother shouldn’t talk to you like that. Hell, no one should.”

  “You know what? You’re right. And I actually feel good that I was able to stand up to her.” She took a deep breath then smiled up at him. It was so beautiful it made him dizzy with longing. “You don’t mind that she’s right about my reading and writing, do you?”

  “Honey, I ain’t exactly Shakespeare myself.”

  She melted into him, her arms tight around his torso. “It’s so nice to know I don’t have to hide it. I never let anybody get too close in case they found out. I thought if they knew, they wouldn’t want me.”