by Inara Scott
“The bathroom is the third door on the right. You can take a shower. There’s some things in there you can use. I’ll bring you something to wear.” He disappeared in the other direction.
Kaia stood for a moment, blinking as she took in Garrett’s apartment. The front foyer opened into an extraordinary open living area, full of light from the floor-to-ceiling windows that stretched along the front wall. In the distance, over the edge of a balcony, she could see the grey ocean and a line of whitecapped waves. Reflections from the cars and buildings hundreds of feet below sparkled along the smooth ivory walls and modern couch and love seat. To her right was a corridor with wood floors—bamboo, she recalled reading—and the bathroom where she was apparently supposed to get ready for the art opening. To her left, the silver sheen of a gas range and hood, marble counters and a bar in the kitchen.
The space felt odd, both personal and impersonal at the same time. While she felt instantly soothed by the sight of the ocean and the soft wood beneath her feet, she couldn’t help but feel the pain of the few houseplants that lay dying in a corner by the balcony.
“Someone needs a good florist,” she muttered, shaking off her stupor. She walked down the hallway, counting the doors as she went.
The bathroom must have been for guests. A wicker basket on the counter held bottles of sample-sized shampoo, conditioner, and lotion, a hair dryer, and an assortment of other toiletries. Kaia quickly removed her clothes and hung them on the back of the door, stepping into the shower before it had gotten warm.
It had been simmering down deep, of course. The distrust. He’d never really gotten over it, and now it was back like a bad wound that had never really healed. All the sex and fun and laughter couldn’t make up for it. And now it mattered for all different reasons—not because she’d be banished from Faeria, but because she’d fallen in love with him.
The realization hit her with such force she almost felt dizzy.
It was absurd. Just as he was ready to throw her out, she realized that she’d made the classic human error—she’d fallen in love with a man who didn’t love her back. All her plans and convictions had been for naught. Love, it seemed, cared little for what humans wanted. It took them where it pleased.
A bitter laugh bubbled up in her chest. The voice of the Black Ladies reverberated in her head.
We will have her wings before long.
Wings or no wings, she was as vulnerable as any human. And her heart could just as easily be broken. Did it matter that the Black Ladies were coming for her? Did anything matter, if Garrett hated her?
She washed her hair quickly and was about to step out when she saw Garrett’s shadow enter the room. She pushed open the glass door of the shower and met his eyes as she grabbed a towel.
“You can wear this.” He held something in front of him, fingers barely touching the edges of the material, his expression as cold as the Black Ladies’ breath.
She sucked in her breath.
He’d kept her dress.
§
He crumpled the silvery sheath into a tiny ball and threw it at the counter. Then he turned and walked down the hall to his bathroom. He started the water and pulled out his razor as the buzz of the hair dryer came from Kaia’s bathroom.
He didn’t know why he’d kept it. It was stupid, really. But he couldn’t bring himself to throw it away. The dress had cost him five hundred dollars. That was part of it. If he was honest, he would have to admit that he’d always harbored a secret fantasy of seeing her wear it one more time. Whether to relive that first night together or exorcise it, he didn’t know.
She looked horrified. There was no other way to put it. He found himself strangely pleased by her reaction. He didn’t want her feeling comfortable tonight. He wanted her to feel as off-kilter, as misled and disappointed as he’d felt when he saw her in Rachel’s Roses that afternoon, caught in her lie.
He didn’t really care whether she could drive or not. That wasn’t the issue. The problem was that after all this time, after all they’d been through, he still couldn’t trust her. Worse yet, he had no idea how deep her lies went. She’d never produced any identification beyond her license, and even that was a fake. How could he trust anything she’d ever told him?
Garrett had always hated mysteries. Even as a kid. Puzzles, brainteasers, crosswords—you name it, he hated them. He didn’t mind a challenge but he hated the thought that someone knew the answer and he didn’t. He hated being set up, and he knew with absolute certainty that Kaia was doing just that.
For what end? What did she really want from him?
He should just walk away from her, but she was like a magnet, drawing him back every time he tried to escape. He’d spent more time with her than he’d spent with any other woman, but instead of getting bored, he was only thinking about her more. Each time they made love, it got better. Each time they went dancing, he wanted to hold her closer. Each time he left her, all he could think about was the time when he would see her again.
They’d formed a rhythm over the past week and a half. He’d go get their morning coffee while she showered. He’d shower while she started her morning lists and tallies. They’d read the paper together. It was comfortable.
Easy.
She wasn’t much for chatter. He liked that. Being around her didn’t take effort. He could just relax. He relaxed so much, in fact, he had to stop himself from talking sometimes because he found himself wanting to say things to her, wanting to confide things in her that he’d never confided in anyone before.
If he started doing that, he’d give her the wrong impression. Because despite what his body might want, his mind absolutely knew better. Women like Kaia didn’t change. They just waited and made their bad decisions again later on, when they’d be most likely to lead to disaster. He’d learned his lesson as a child.
He dressed in a hurry and walked down the hall to bang on the bathroom door. As he raised his hand, Kaia walked out. She was hesitant, nervously adjusting the neckline of the dress. He stopped still, feeling a weight suddenly land on his throat.
Stupid. The dress had been a stupid, stupid idea.
She looked glorious, a mix of the sun and the moon with her golden-brown hair and the silvery sheen of the dress. He’d forgotten how the fine, shimmery silk molded to her every curve. The body in the dress was different now, less buxom, but she was all the more elegant for that, her legs an endless length of golden skin, her face sun-kissed and sprinkled with freckles across the bridge of her nose.
He knew every inch of that body. He’d kissed the flesh below the hollow of her waist, laved his tongue across the nipples that peaked through her thin lacy bra, held those hips from behind while he buried himself inside her.
“Are you ready to go?” she asked.
Damn it. He had to turn away. “I need a drink,” he said. He poured himself a shot of whiskey from the wet bar in the living room and took a deep breath.
It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rachel leaned her head forward and straightened her pillow—for the eighteenth time. It was no use. A straight pillow wasn’t going to help the throbbing in her legs, the aching in her ribs, or the pounding in her head.
The sun was starting to set, sending orange and pink rays shooting through her room. She checked her watch; almost eight. She took her next pain meds at 8:30. This was the worst time.
Although honestly, the pain wasn’t going to kill her. The boredom might. The boredom, and the frustration. The frustration of lying here in bed while everyone around her bustled in and out, busy and fulfilled. Kaia was doing a great job at the store—such a great job she didn’t have time to check in every day and tell Rachel how things were going. Rachel was disconnected and unable to help, to be a part of the process. She’d told Ted how difficult that was and he’d said it was good. She needed to rest.
She needed more rest like she needed a hole in the head.
“Rach?” A whisper sound
ed from across the room. “Rachel, are you awake?”
Oh no. Not him. Ted’s curly head peeked through the door. “Yes,” she sighed. “I’m awake.”
He walked in with a jaunty swing to his step, holding out a carton of ice cream. “It’s Friday night. I thought we should celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?” She didn’t mean to snap. She really didn’t. But if he was here, now, she should do it. Tonight. And that felt so wrong when he’d brought her ice cream.
“It’s our anniversary.” He leaned over the bed and gave her a kiss, surprising her, as he always did, with his unique mix of sexy and sweet.
“Our… ” Rachel dropped her head against the pillow. “Oh. Our anniversary. Like, the anniversary of the day we met.”
Ted nodded. “Two years ago.”
“And you remembered.”
“How could I forget? You were driving that horrible little car of yours and you dinged me in the parking lot at the bookstore.”
Rachel smiled at the memory. “I was terrified you’d make me pay to fix it.”
“I took a date instead.”
Ted pulled bowls and spoons out of a grocery sack and cleared a space on a table beside Rachel’s bed. Rachel cleared her throat. “Look, Ted, I’ve been thinking and I—”
“No.” He did not look up.
She tilted her head. “What?”
He opened the container and spooned the ice cream into their bowls. “No.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re going to try to break up with me,” he said calmly. “You’ve been thinking about it for days. I happen to know you quite well, sweetheart. You fiddle with things when you’re nervous, and you’ve been pleating that sheet ever since I walked into the room. You have been all week.”
Rachel dropped the sheet. “I wasn’t—”
“It doesn’t really matter, because the answer is no.”
Rachel shook her head with confusion. “I haven’t asked a question.”
“You don’t have to.” He handed her a bowl and spoon, and looked up at the television that was mounted on the wall above their heads. “Any good movies on tonight?”
“Wait a minute—I’m going to break up with you and all you can say is, ‘any good movies on tonight?’”
Ted pulled up a chair and assumed a comfortable slouch, balancing his bowl on one knee while he grabbed the remote control from Rachel’s bed with the other. “I guess I could also say, we’re getting married a week from Monday. The doctors told me you’ll be pretty handy with a wheelchair by then. My mom’s pastor is available, and we can get married in your dad’s church. I’ve got it all arranged. We’ll have to put off the honeymoon but I figured that would be okay.”
Rachel stared at the ice cream in her hand, and back at Ted. “I’m not sure you understand what ‘breaking up’ means, Ted. It doesn’t mean you get married. It means you don’t get married.”
“Right. Well, I decided we’re getting married.”
Rachel found herself strangely torn between the desire to scream and laugh. “You can’t do that. Just decide we’re getting married.”
“Why not? You thought you could decide we weren’t. I should have just as much right to decide we are.”
Her mouth flapped open and closed. “But… but… ”
“Rachel, eat your ice cream,” he advised. “It’s melting, and you don’t like it when it melts.”
She took a large, defiant bite. “I’m difficult,” she snapped, the words muffled by a mouthful of chocolate-vanilla royale. “I’m bossy. I will order you around. I will make your life miserable. I will do stupid things like drive cars that don’t accelerate and work too hard because I don’t like to ask for help.”
“I know that.”
“My parents hate each other. My mom made my dad’s life a living hell.” Unexpected tears filled her eyes. “I don’t want to do that to you. I love you too much for that.”
“Is that what this is all about?” Ted set his bowl on the ground and turned his chair to face her. “You want to break up because you’re afraid someday you’ll treat me like your mom treats your dad?”
Rachel nodded, unable to speak.
“Rach.” Ted squeezed her hand. “You’re not your mom. And I’m not your dad. I’m not saying we don’t have our flaws, because we do. But they’re our flaws. I’m not going to let you treat me like a dishrag, and you’re not going to become a bitch. You’re a kind, loving person. I wouldn’t be so completely head over heels in love with you if you weren’t.”
“I might be someday,” Rachel managed to squeak out between her tears.
He gazed into her eyes intently, all pretense of joking aside. “I almost lost you in this accident, Rachel. Do you have any idea what that feels like? It’s like losing a piece of your soul. We are meant to be together, and I’m not letting you throw that away because you’re scared of what the future might hold.”
Her nose and throat were burning with tears. Rachel swallowed hard. “I’m so scared. I love you too much to hurt you.”
He gripped her hand. “We’re going to have to work at this. We’ve got our weaknesses. You get bossy and I get lazy. We’re human. But we love each other. We’re the lucky ones, Rachel. We found our other halves—and it’s not perfect or easy or simple. That doesn’t make it any less worth fighting for. So I’m trying something new. I’m going to try being bossy for a change.”
“You? Bossy?”
“We got a second chance,” he said simply. “And I am not letting you go. Never again. So if I have to be bossy to keep you, I’ll be bossy. Understand? Now sit back, shut up, and eat your ice cream. Tomorrow, you’re picking out a wedding dress.”
§
Portia watched with a sick feeling as the girl fluttered her lashes and smiled at Herr Reichman. She was doing it again. Charming him. Wrapping him around her finger like she’d done with every other man at the opening.
It had started with Derek Hoving, the gallery owner. He was a notorious snob, a man born into money who had no patience with anyone not born into similar circumstances, and Portia had thought he would make mincemeat out of her grandson’s clearly inappropriate date for the evening.
But no. The girl had launched into a conversation with Derek about the philosophy of the Renaissance artists in contrast with the Impressionists. Portia had to marvel at the girl’s skill. She could have known absolutely nothing about the subject, but she didn’t have to because she managed to convey the opinion that she agreed with everything Derek said.
Which was exactly what he wanted to hear.
After that she turned to Placid Berkley, a huge contributor to the Miami art scene and a flaming liberal in every sense of the word. Portia hated him. Kaia smiled her perfect little smile, made some charming remark about how she loved his obnoxious bright blue suit, and asked him about his favorite galleries, managing to steer the conversation away from politics while still drawing him out about his artistic preferences.
She was clearly a master.
Portia could not help but be impressed. She could also not help but be furious. Because no matter how skillful the girl might be at the art of conversation, at some point someone would discover her past. Derek Hoving would not appreciate Garrett bringing an uneducated homeless person to his gallery. Placid Berkely might love her even more if he discovered the truth, but Placid Berkely did not run Jameson Enterprises.
Unfortunately, neither did Garrett.
But he would. He wasn’t like his mother. Garrett had a strength of purpose, a fierce determination, and willpower. Portia liked to believe he inherited that from her. Victoria certainly didn’t have it. Garrett understood business and the value of a dollar. He knew how to drive a deal to close, when to show weakness, and when to strike. He was the perfect choice to inherit her legacy. His only weakness had been music, and Portia had ensured that the music wouldn’t destroy him. Not like his mother. Not like…
She tightened her lips. Delibera
tely, she forced her mind away from a trail of memories that would only bring pain. It didn’t matter. Garrett was on the path she’d set out for him. Reluctantly, yes, but he was on the path.
And Kaia could be the end of it. Portia glared at the girl’s long, honey-colored hair and the elegant lines of her body, sheathed in a dress that must have cost a small fortune. Kaia had been distracting him from his job ever since he’d brought her to the Manor. The girl was pure, unadulterated pleasure. Portia couldn’t allow Garrett to fall for it.
Kaia had to go.
“Kaia, dear, would you mind going for a little walk with me? I need to get a breath of air.”
Kaia cocked her head, looking quizzical. “Of course, Portia. You’ll have to excuse me, Herr Reichman.” She patted him on the shoulder as she rose, and he rose as well, bobbing her a little bow and smiling an absurdly wide smile.
The girl was like a sorceress, Portia raged silently. She extended her arm and Kaia walked ahead of her. The gallery had been designed with a mix of indoor and outdoor spaces, and they walked through an automatic door to a small atrium, where water tinkled over a concrete fountain surrounded by brass sculptures of shorebirds.
Kaia leaned forward and dipped her fingers in the water. She dabbed her cheeks. “Goodness, I hadn’t realized how warm it was in there.”
Portia’s mouth twisted with disgust. “I don’t believe that water is meant to be applied to the body.”
“Surely it can’t hurt me,” Kaia said. She walked a few paces away to study the birds alighting on top of the stone fixture surrounding the fountain. “I like the sculpture, but it’s not as lovely as the real thing, don’t you think?”
“Hmph.” Portia looked around to make sure they were alone, and said carefully, “I’ve been meaning to speak with you for some time. I hope you don’t think I’m out of turn, but it’s really for your own good.”
Kaia turned around. “Oh? Well, if it’s for my own good, then please, go ahead.”
Portia tightened her jaw. “I understand you’ve been spending quite a bit of time with Garrett.”