Her eyes widened into saucers when I held her an arm’s length away. Her eyebrows were drawn together and her smile was toothy. She regarded me up and down and mouthed “what the heck” as she took in the zero makeup, plain gray shirt, yoga pants, which stopped above my ankles, and my bare feet. “Did you forget we were coming?” The curiosity and concern in her eyes spoke more. Was I allowed to tell her Vermont broke me?
“No. I...give me fifteen minutes to change and I’ll be back down.” Back to my usual self, I hoped.
“Okay,” she squeaked out.
I gave her another hug before straightening, and only then did I note who else was in the sunroom with us. My mother, Daddy, and Levi. No Alex. No Alex’s girlfriend. I didn’t know if I should be happy or sad.
After showing them around my parents’ estate, we drove to Maple Farm. Danny prepared everything for us, and volunteered to drive us in my Daddy’s truck. I didn’t argue. It would only make Nica more curious. I needed alone time with my bestie before I could spill the beans.
I spread out a large blanket under the maple trees and started handing out the food Chef Paul had made. Levi was very attentive to his wife, helping her sit on the ground. She’d grown so much bigger since the last time I saw her. Danny and Levi got along splendidly as they had back in San Francisco. If this wasn’t bizarro world, the two of them would have made great friends.
The chatter was mostly about Nica and the baby, the business we owned, and changes in the weather in San Francisco.
When Danny offered to show Levi and Nica how the maple syrup was harvested and processed, Nica declined politely, telling him her feet were starting to swell and ache. Levi bent down to give his wife a kiss, and ordered me to take good care of her while he was away. I stuck my tongue out at him.
“Okay, spill.” Nica clapped her hands. “What the hell happened to you? You’re not yourself at all. You’re so...docile.”
Glancing away, tears prickled behind my eyes. Without another word, because I couldn’t stop the world from spinning in the wrong direction, I cried.
“Geez Louise, Chase, what the heck did they do to you?” She rubbed my back and let me lean my head on her shoulder while my tears continued to fall.
Words wouldn’t come out, and if they did, they were garbled nonsense. We weren’t sure how long Danny and Levi would take, and soon after they rested, Nica and Levi would immediately head back to San Francisco. My head ached from all the crying and my chest filled with hurt and sorrow. I missed Nica. I missed my best friend. There were things we couldn’t talk about over the phone. I took advantage of the short time we had.
I told her everything. I told her about my secret rendezvous with Alex. About Charity and why I had to leave Vermont and Danny, to search for my lost sister. I opened up about why I wanted to marry Danny back then, and why I couldn’t see myself with him now.
Nica was speechless through all of it and right after. She didn’t have to say anything. Her presence and listening were all I needed. She never judged me. She produced tissues from her purse and lent me her compact mirror, face powder, and her sunglasses to cover the horror of makeup I’d made with my tears.
I was a right mess. Moreover, I wasn’t me.
We could hear the rumble of the truck drawing near.
“Chase,” Nica started, her hands squeezing mine. “You know who you really are. Are you Chastity Hannah from Vermont, Princess of Maple? Or are you the feisty, takes no nonsense beast of a woman Chase who rode a Harley and lived a full life? Forget Alex and Danny for now, because I truly believe you can’t love another person without loving yourself first. And if you don’t know yourself, you can’t love yourself. You said so yourself.”
Fuck me, I did tell her that.
“I will love you no matter who you choose to be. You know that, right?” God, this woman was good through and through. Why wasn’t the world filled with people like her?
We hugged each other, with her belly squished between us.
Before they left for the airport, Nica reminded me that I would have to return to Napa for her baby shower. Gerard and Jewel were planning the damn thing. We both shuddered at what a colossal collision it could be. She also said she couldn’t wait for me to meet Cara, Levi’s half-sister, and the special someone Alex had talked about in New York.
With that short stay, Nica had given me something I knew no other person in my life right now could.
Hope, acceptance, belonging and unconditional love.
ALEX
I’d gone off the deep end.
Cray-cray, as Cara put it. Half of the words she said weren’t real words. I feared for her generation.
But she wasn’t the reason I was going mental. It was that damn woman. Why couldn’t I get her out of my mind?
Every morning, before the break of dawn, I would go for a run to try and rid my mind of her. The high from running was much more exhilarating than a cigarette. And it was much healthier too, no argument there.
During the visit with Levi, he’d asked me point blank over a pint, “What the devil are you on?” He’d somehow made me admit I was aching for a woman who’d cast me aside as though I were rubbish.
He’d called me a ‘git’. And said I should either get her back or get over it.
I chose to run.
The trip back to France had a purpose. I’d planned it a while ago, and would have asked her to join me if she hadn’t kicked me to the curb. If she’d asked, I would have given her the world, handed it to her on a fuckin’ silver platter.
Duty to her family, or me. Those were her choices. I’d been in her position before, and I had chosen to live my own life. But the second time ‘round, I’d chosen to do my due diligence and claim my rightful place on the Laurent throne. I would have understood the reasons, her reasons—it wasn’t easy to deal with a family member threatened by illness—but not the fiancé that came with it.
I’d offered her all of me and she had given me nothing in return. I was in too deep. I was fuckin’ hurt. Crushed and defeated.
Though I’d never said the words, I’d wanted to show her. Experience love with her.
Chase.
That was the joke, wasn’t it? I was chasing a tail that belonged to someone else, like a mutt too stupid to realize and not change course. How many times had she tried to dissuade me? All along, I’d thought she was playing hard to get, but no, she was just playing me.
“Are you sulking again?” Cara looked up from her phone once and kicked my shin. She’d made herself home in Martina’s house in Bordeaux. She took to the open air, and the sun shining over the vineyards. Martina, as expected, adored her.
“I don’t sulk,” I gritted out, sinking deeper into the well-worn chair.
“Mm-hmm. I know what sulking looks like, big bro.”
Out of nowhere I had the urge to stick out my tongue at her, and so I did. She guffawed, slapping her leg with her free hand. I needed more time with adults, especially after a hard day in the fields. Once we arrived at Chateau Laurent, Martina had immediately set me to work, crouching down and plucking grapes off the vines. Muscles I didn’t know existed creaked and caused me discomfort, but I couldn’t complain about it. Not when Martina herself was out under the sun with us too. I bet people thought because I was the CEO of the business, I had it easy. Martina would never let me sit on my ass all day.
Whenever I was in the fields, shadows on the ground would remind me of the curves of her body. My mind was playing havoc on my flailing sanity.
I scrubbed a callused hand over my face and groaned. Enough of this wallowing in self-pity. She was one woman. I’d had many women before her. I could have plenty more after her.
I planted my feet on the floor and tested my balance. My knees didn’t give out, but my back ached if I stood erect. I could use a drink and better company. As I made my way to the door, Cara jumped off the sofa and rushed to reach me.
“Where are you going?” She didn’t bother looking up from her phone
as she spoke. I suspected she was about to post another entry on her blog. She’d admitted lately most of them were about me. I didn’t bother arguing.
“Out,” was my curt reply.
“No, duh. But where?”
“Pub.”
Cara stopped short, twisted the sleeve of my shirt to halt me, and finally, lifted her chin to stare directly into my eyes. One of her brows rose. “You know there’s a huge wine cave thingie in the back, right?”
I rolled my eyes, and continued to drag my ass to the door. “I’m not in the mood for wine. And I’m in need of more mature company.” I stared pointedly at her.
“Right.” She dragged the word out like it had more than one syllable. “Okay.” She raked her lip between her teeth, and cheered. “That sounds fun. Do I need ID?”
I vehemently shook my head when I entered my bedroom, slipped out of my shirt and threw in a fresh one. She, of course, followed me around. “You’re not coming with me, Cara.”
“Yeah I am,” she argued, adding a nod. “Martina said she won’t be back ‘til later tonight. I don’t want to be here by myself.”
Jogging out to my Triumph and trying to dissuade Cara from following, I swung a leg over it, straddled the seat and started the engine. “Martina has people in the house at all times. You’ll be fine.”
Cara, naturally, did not listen and settled behind me. “I’ll drive this back when you get drunk. So yeah, I’m going with you.”
Swearing under my breath, I relented. “Fine.” I donned my helmet and ordered her to use the extra one. There was no point in arguing with her, ever.
I chose the closest English pub to the property, which had changed hands several times. The bartender, an Irish bloke about my age, recognized me from previous nights I’d banged out a pint or two. He nodded by way of greeting when Cara and I sat at the bar, and I threw my keys on the bench.
“Bon soir, Alexandre, comment ça va?” Kieran wiped the weathered wood in front of us.
“Bon soir!” Cara beat me to a reply. She’d been learning French with Martina; it was passable at best. “Je m’apelle Cara,” she carefully enunciated, pressing a hand on her chest.
Kieran, with a massive grin plastered on his face, crossed his arms over the bar and leaned over. I’d seen this sort of behavior around Cara before.
Clearing my throat, I made introductions, “Kieran, this is my sister, Cara. She’s nineteen.” I emphasized the words ‘my sister’ and ‘nineteen’, but to ensure the warning was clear, I added, “Don’t even think about it.”
Cara slapped my arm at the same time Kieran’s smile dropped. He polished the bar again, and laughed. “What can I get you both?”
“I’ll have a diet coke please.” Cara raised a dainty finger.
“The usual for me.”
While Kieran fetched us our drinks, Cara jabbed me in the ribs. I glared at her, but she was turned in the opposite direction.
“What is it?” Why did I agree to bring her here again?
“Someone’s checking you out.” The always-friendly Cara waved at someone across the bar.
The woman, sitting alone at the far end waved back, stood, and sashayed toward us in a black and red dress, which hugged curves that appealed to me. Her hips swung from side to side in a sultry Tango.
“Ehmergerd, she’s coming.” Cara practically shook in her seat. When the woman approached us, Cara’s smile brightened, and she held out a hand. “Hi!” Her tone was giddy from excitement.
“Bon Soir, I am Marielle.” Marielle gathered her dark hair and let it tumble over one shoulder, leaving one side of her smooth, regal neck exposed.
Kieran brought our drinks. “Another one, Marie?”
“Oui, s’il vous plâit.” She returned her attention back to me and Cara. “Would you mind if I joined your party?”
“Not at all!” Cara answered and scooted over the next stool, leaving Marielle to sit between us. The hem of Marielle’s dress pulled higher up her thighs.
“I’m Cara, and he’s my brother, Alex.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Cara, but I know your brother very well.” Marielle spoke in accented English. Not a French accent, but Italian distinction.
“You do?”
Marielle flitted a hand over her chest, and I couldn’t help but appreciate the sight in the vee of her dress. “I used to work for your grandmother. As a matter of fact, my entire family did.”
I dragged my eyes from her cleavage to gaze at her verdant eyes, rimmed with thick curly lashes. A few lines crept from the corners of her eyes and lips as she smiled and winked. I knotted my brows together, trying to conjure any memories. The only Italian family who worked for Martina were the Cerillos, and if I could recall correctly, they had two daughters and a son. Marielle was several years older than me but she’d worked hard alongside her parents in the vineyard during harvest.
The only evidence of her age were those little crinkles in her eyes. I could have spent hours exploring her flawless olive skin. Her thick, black curls framed a beautiful face. She licked her lips every time she glanced my way.
“You know what I just remembered?” Cara piped up.
Marielle and I turned to Cara who sipped her soda before standing and grabbing the Triumph keys off the bar.
“I have some blogging to do. I’ll take the bike, Alex. You gonna walk or do you want me to pick you up?” It didn’t take a genius to figure out what Cara was doing, but I wasn’t going to fight her. Marielle might be the distraction I needed.
“I can give him a lift,” Marielle offered, smiling back at me. My eyes darted to her red lips, the tip of her tongue sticking out between them.
“Great! Nice to meet you.” Cara hugged Marielle and kissed my cheek and whispered in my ear, “Have fun, brother.”
Then there was just Marielle and me. I hunched over my drink, three fingers of Scotch, neat—her usual drink of choice—as I felt Marielle’s hand snake over my leg. Through the smoky mirror behind the bar, I caught her sultry gaze. I didn’t look away. I didn’t flinch or move. I didn’t think of the chase. I just let it be.
CHASE
The last thing on my list to worry about was what I should wear, but stressing over it in front of the mirror helped contain my raw emotions.
Daddy’s dying.
I swiped the runaway tears from my eyes, cursing at each drop. My face had turned splotchy and no amount of cover-up would help. Screw wearing makeup too. Any sort of mascara, even the so-called waterproof ones, would only cause black streaks down my puffy face. I showered but I hadn’t bothered with shampoo, so why should I care about brushing my hair? The ends soaked my back, turning the loose white shirt transparent against my back.
The shirt didn’t belong to me. It was Alex’s. It was the only thing I had of his, and for some reason, today, I’d wanted to wear it. The shirt vaguely smelled of him. I should be disgusted with myself for a lot of reasons, but today, I didn’t care.
I let the thoughts run through my head. If I didn’t, I would lose my mind.
Today, my father had his first chemo treatment since finding me in San Francisco. I met my parents out at the front courtyard, and kept quiet when I got into the car. Nica’s glasses covered my reddened eyes, and I hid the rest of my face behind my curtain of wet black hair.
The hospital wasn’t far, but the trip seemed to take hours. My mother had hired a local man to take the wheel. I would have volunteered to drive if I weren’t a total basket case.
The silence was excruciating. I stole glances in the rearview mirror to check on my father. Every now and then, I caught him kissing her hair or her temple. I pretended to scratch my cheek with my left hand, and I spotted their hands tangled on my father’s leg.
My father loved her. That much was obvious. But what did she really feel about him?
In the mirror, I saw my mother’s expression hadn’t changed. She was quiet, but not contemplative. She wasn’t in a panic, but neither was she calm. Her eyes were hidden b
ehind dark lenses, but her mouth was set into a flat line. Not a smile. Not a frown. Not a hiccup or sob. Not hate. Not love.
Yet, my father held onto her like she was his rock.
I never thought my mother was someone who’d stick around through thick and thin, but like my father had said, she had been there when I left. Was that how she showed love? And was it enough to ignore all her imperfections?
My mother was manipulative. She’d always been the kind of mom who pushed her kids to get better grades, kick the ball harder, jump through higher hoops. Be faster. Be smarter. Be better. Was I ever a disappointment to her! Charity was the brainy one. She was the natural athlete. She was creative. Her toes were pointier in ballet. She scored more goals in peewee soccer. Her horse had never bucked and thrown her off its back. All because of my mother. Had all of her pushing caused Charity to flee? I’d always thought so.
When Char left to explore southeast Asia, my mother had set her sights on me. But I had Daddy on my side. He’d been my shield. Still, Mom had been a force I couldn’t mess with or ignore. She’d found ways to get into my head. I’d competed on all fronts—sports, arts, academics, but never dance. That had been Charity’s forte, but I couldn’t even do the hokey-pokey. I’d shredded my tutu after my first recital. I was five, climbed up a ladder and dropped the pink, frilly skirt into the tree chopper.
Then at fourteen, Danny became my boyfriend. Was Mom ever ecstatic! From then on, she’d tuned into my life through Danny. She’d known how intelligent Danny was. She’d known that despite his father running off, Danny had turned into a man’s man, responsible, polite, and respectful. He was adored by many, emulated by some. He was a star set to shine over all of us.
Now, he had become my mother’s pet project.
I wondered...if Alex were here, how would he handle my mother? He had been so at ease with my father the only time they’d met outside my apartment. Would he recognize my mother’s uncanny ability to poke her nose into other people’s business? Would he let her?
Chasing the Runaway Bride (Bliss Series Book 3) Page 16