Beautiful Surrender (The Surrender Series Book Three)

by West, Priscilla

  He laughed, the throaty sound flowing over me. “That’s the first time I’ve heard that one.”

  I looked up at him. “What other ones have you heard?”

  “Vin Diesel. My Cousin Vinny. Vitty Cent. Vincent van Gogh . . .” He started grinning.

  I giggled. “Those are pretty good but I think your drawing skills need a little work for that last one to work.”

  “You got me.” He smiled. “I made that one up a while ago and tried to get people to use it but it never caught on.”

  I giggled again.

  “But none of those names were as clever as yours.” He bent and sealed his lips over my mouth. Our tongues slowly, tenderly probed one another until the need to breathe interrupted them. “You can call me whatever you like.”

  “I’ll probably stick with ‘Vincent’. I think it suits you best.”

  “Vincent it is then, Kitten. Listen, my sister Giselle is having a birthday party for her son next Saturday. Do you want to come with me?”

  Vincent at a birthday party for his nephew? I had to see this. It would also give me the chance to meet his sister, Giselle. I recalled the picture he had of her in his island cabin, the two of them smiling on a beach together. I hadn’t met any of Vincent’s family before and I was more than curious to see how he would act around his sister.

  “Sure. Am I going to see you before that this week?”

  His face softened. “Not this week, sorry. Flying out tomorrow morning until Friday. I will call you every night, though. My schedule can slow down, Kristen, and it will. It’s just going to take some time.”

  “Okay. I’ll look forward to those calls, then.”

  “Me too.”

  Chapter Three

  Sure enough, he called me every evening that week. The work week was otherwise pretty boring—fleshing out Vincent’s BRIC strategy and continuing research on Selena Devries—but I began to look forward to talking to him every night so much that the days flew by. I appreciated that Vincent was making an effort after the events the previous weekend. Seeing the way he had been so violent with Marty had shaken my confidence in him, but his tender side was still there. It would be interesting to see how this would continue at his nephew’s party.

  Saturday morning finally came. Vincent picked me up from my apartment in a silver Aston Martin at nine in the morning. Traffic getting out of the city was a drag, as usual, but we spent the time chatting idly. It was an important step for us to build our relationship back up after it had been badly shaken with our fight. The whole day was important for that reason.

  We arrived a little after ten-thirty and pulled up in front of a tidy suburban ranch-style home. The lawn was freshly mowed, and there were balloons on the mailbox announcing a birthday party. We parked on the street. Vincent had brought a birthday present wrapped in balloon wrapping paper, and I handed it to him as we got out of the car. We walked down the street and up the driveway to the house.

  “So your nephew’s name is Brady?” I asked Vincent, reading the sign on the mailbox.

  Vincent smiled and grabbed my hand. The present was in the other. “Yup. He’s turning three today.”

  “Did you pick out his present, or did your secretary Lucy?”

  He scoffed. “I would never delegate such an august task. I picked this sucker out online months ago.”

  His mock offense at my question surprised me. “What is it?”

  “This awesome train,” he said enthusiastically. “The TrackMaster 500X. It makes twelve different sounds and has an automatic headlight for tunnels.”

  “Tunnels?”

  “Blanket forts, tunnels, wherever it’s dark. Point is, the kid’s going to be an engineer like his uncle. He loves trains.”

  I nodded. Vincent was very enthused about this party, especially blanket forts. To be fair, I remembered loving making blanket forts as a kid. My inner child was in line with his inner child on that point.

  “Who wrapped the present?” I asked, eyeing the perfect bows.

  He laughed. “You caught me. That task I did delegate. It looks good though, right?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I think she deserves a bonus.”

  “I’ll take it under consideration.”

  We made it to the porch, where we were already able to hear the high-pitched screams of a child running around and playing. The door was unlocked and Vincent stepped inside the house unfazed by the noise. I followed after.

  We were greeted in the foyer by a blond, slim woman standing around five six. She had her hair tied back in a simple bun and wore a well-fitting dark blue blouse with black pants. By my first impression, she looked slightly younger than Vincent. I eyed the plate of snacks she was carrying: apple slices with peanut butter. My stomach growled.

  “Hello, stranger,” she said, smiling at her brother. Her voice was warm and confident. I could see the resemblance between her and Vincent both in appearance and in the confident way she carried herself.

  After beaming at her brother for a moment, she turned to me. “And you must be Kristen.”

  She extended her hand and I took it. Her handshake was firm. “You’re Giselle.”

  She smiled warmly. “As well as ‘Mommy’ and ‘Mrs. Harper.’ I’m glad you two could make it.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Vincent said.

  The child causing all of the noise behind Giselle spotted us. His dark brown eyes opened wide and he tottered over wearing his cone-shaped birthday hat, followed by a man with black hair and a bright smile. “Uncle Vincent!”

  Vincent squatted down on his heels and gave Brady a big hug as the man following him took his place beside Giselle. Seeing Vincent in his blue jeans and white polo shirt in this family setting revealed a new side of him. “Hey buddy, how’s it going?”

  “It’s my birthday!” Brady apparently hadn’t quite learned volume control yet.

  Vincent didn’t even flinch at his nephew’s high-pitched screaming. “I know. I got you a present!”

  The boy screamed in delight. The little guy was super cute and very excited, if a little loud.

  Vincent stood back up and shook hands with what I assumed was Giselle’s husband, eyeing him firmly. “Good morning, Rob.”

  Rob returned the gesture. “Vincent.”

  Vincent put his arm around me. “Rob, this is my girlfriend Kristen. Kristen, this is Giselle’s husband Rob.”

  “Good to meet you,” Rob said. He had kind, gray eyes, and looked to be a similar age to Giselle. His build was smaller than Vincent’s, but I thought he and Giselle made a cute couple.

  Rob reached down and patted Brady on the back. “Brady, this is Kristen. Say hello.”

  Brady ran up and wrapped his arms around my leg, gripping the fabric of my jeans. “Hi Kristen.”

  Brady was too cute. I squatted down as Vincent had. “How old are you?” I asked him. I wanted to show Vincent that I was comfortable with children too.

  Brady looked at Giselle and then back at me.

  “Tell him how old you are, Brady,” Giselle said.

  He looked at me a little longer and appeared to decide I was okay, to my relief. “I’m three,” he squealed.

  “Good job!” Giselle said.

  Emboldened, he grabbed my hand. His cute little fingers wrapped around one of mine. “Let’s go play trains!” he said enthusiastically.

  I smiled and followed him. Vincent stayed behind to talk to his sister and brother-in-law.

  As Brady led me to his play area, I looked around at the house and all the little touches Giselle had put on her home. Lamps, candles, vases, mirrors: everything was in good taste and combined attractively. It was hard to imagine a life where managing the household was a significant part of what you thought about. Riley and I looked after ourselves, but we were pretty low-maintenance and kept decorating simple.

  When we got to his play area, the floor was littered with an array of trains, train track decorations, and even a stuffed conductor. A train track in a
big figure eight was spread amidst the chaos. Vincent was right: Brady loved trains. As clean as the rest of the house was, Giselle had clearly decided that Brady’s play area was a place where messiness could reign.

  I got down on my knees to be down on Brady’s eye level. He eyed me earnestly. “Which one?” he asked.

  Scanning the floor, I took a red train in my hand and put it on the track. Brady hit the switch on the control center at the track’s control house and the train zoomed around. He laughed approvingly.

  “Which one for you?” I asked him.

  In response, he got up and ran over to a shelf where a child-sized blue conductor cap was hanging on a hook. He picked it up and threw it sloppily on his head before tottering back over. He plopped down next to me and picked a black train to put on the track.

  Brady wanted to play with me, but once he started he was in his own little world, watching the trains. After a minute of watching him I heard a familiar voice behind me.

  “I got him that cap,” Vincent said. He took a seat next to me and watched Brady maneuver his train in silence. A warm smile was on his face the entire time.

  Brady played with his train for a while longer before he noticed Vincent had taken a seat at the play area. When he saw Vincent at last, his brown eyes lit up anew.

  “Uncle Vincent! Which one?”

  Vincent picked out a yellow train to add to the track. Whether it was the train track itself or playing with Brady, he was enjoying this moment in a playful way that I hadn’t seen before.

  “Hey buddy,” Vincent said after a moment, “why don’t we build a tunnel for our trains?”

  “Yeah!” Brady yelled.

  I watched as Vincent got a chair from another room and returned with a blanket. He put the chair at one end of the figure eight, and Brady helped him with the blanket as well as he could. Soon they were racing the trains under their makeshift tunnel.

  Brady’s enthusiasm for the whole activity was infectious. I could tell Vincent was getting into it, and soon enough so was I, watching the trains fly by faster and faster. Vincent was in the middle of talking to Brady about changing the track to take better advantage of the chair when Giselle came into the room.

  “Looks like you guys are having a blast,” she said.

  Brady was very excited. “Trains!” he yelled.

  “I see that. Kristen, do you want to help me finish frosting the C-A-K-E? I think the boys are occupied for a while and Rob just went out to grab some last minute party supplies before Brady’s friends come over.”

  I looked up and sensed a hint of seriousness beneath her innocent veneer. “Of course,” I said. “You two will be okay without me, right?”

  Vincent looked up from instigating a train crash. “I think so.” Brady was too engrossed to notice us.

  “Okay,” I said. “Be back soon.” With that, I got up and followed Giselle into the kitchen.

  Giselle’s kitchen was a total disaster, which was to be expected when you were throwing a birthday party for a three-year old. Various kitchen implements were strewn across the granite countertop, and a metallic mixing bowl was sitting next to a fresh and delicious smelling round yellow cake. She walked over to the bowl and began stirring the contents inside.

  “Have you ever baked a cake before?” she asked over her shoulder.

  I wasn’t very good in the kitchen. It was one of my failings: I had always been too busy with school and then work to learn how to cook well. I was mostly good with a microwave and doing basic things on a stove top, like warming up soup. Baking a cake from scratch was beyond me.

  “Not on my own, no,” I said. “The most I’ve done is bake a cake out of a box with my mother, but that was years ago.”

  She flashed a quick smile over her shoulder as she whisked the frosting. “Neither had I, until I had to bake a cake for Brady’s first birthday. It was hilariously lop-sided, but thankfully one-year olds don’t notice that kind of thing.”

  “It looks like you’ve gotten pretty good,” I said.

  “I’m trying, anyway.” She waved me over. “Well, even if you haven’t done this before, I’m sure you can give it a go. Just try and coat this evenly with frosting. I’m going to work on the blue frosting for writing happy birthday.”

  I took the plastic frosting spreader from its place on the counter and went to work. It wasn’t very different from spreading peanut butter and jelly on a sandwich, which I was a pro at. I quickly got into a rhythm of taking a gob of frosting and smoothing it out on the cake.

  Giselle watched me work for a moment and then set to work on the colored frosting. “So you’ve been seeing Vincent for a little while now?” she asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “How did you two meet?”

  I laughed nervously. Apparently Vincent hadn’t told her much. I decided to be truthful since the cat was out of the bag anyway. “To be honest, it’s a bit scandalous.”

  She stopped whisking. “You weren’t married or something, were you?”

  “No!” I cried. “Why? Do you think Vincent would do something like that?”

  “I don’t, but people have a way of surprising you sometimes.”

  I knew all about that, but I had forgotten what Vincent told me about her history. I wondered if he had told her about the situation with Marty. That was a private thing: the only people who knew about it were Vincent and Riley. Well, and Kurt and Bernie. It still upset me that he had done that. That had surprised me. As sweet as he had been all week, I still wasn’t over it.

  “I guess that’s true,” I said. “Anyway, we actually met through work. I work for a personal wealth management firm and head up his account.”

  She turned and looked at me. “Good for you! I hope you’re reining him in somewhat. Every time he travels I worry he’s going to have some horrible accident with all the risky sports he’s doing.”

  “Oh, you too?”

  She let out a short laugh and shook her head. “He seems to like you. I haven’t met a girlfriend of his before.”

  Here was another surprise. The fact that Vincent had never introduced a girlfriend to his sister, who he was obviously close to, made me feel special. My mind shot to Ariel Diamond. If his sister had never met her, maybe things weren’t as serious between them as I had thought, even if the tattoo was strange.

  “Not even Ariel?” I asked, before I knew the words were out of my mouth.

  Giselle stopped whisking the frosting for a moment, but continued. “No, not Ariel. That was a different period in Vincent’s life. And mine, really. We didn’t talk much while he was dating her.”

  “I see.”

  “He’s much more family oriented now than he was then.”

  “Oh?”

  “Ever since our parents died. He grew up after that.”

  I stopped in place. Vincent’s parents were dead? He had never talked about them, but then I rarely talked about my parents and they were still alive and kicking back in Texas. How had it never come up that his parents had already passed away? Did he just not care?

  I began spreading the frosting again. “I didn’t know your parents had passed,” I said quietly.

  It was her turn to put her whisk down. “Oh, sorry. I guess it’s been so long. They passed away nine years ago.”

  So Vincent must have been very young. Younger than I was as I stood in that kitchen. Even though I didn’t talk to my parents much and didn’t rely on them financially at all, I couldn’t imagine them being gone.

  “Wow, you two were young then.”

  “I like to think thirty is still young!” she said, laughing.

  My cheeks flushed. “That’s not what I meant!”

  “I know, I know. It was way too young to lose our parents. Vincent took it very hard. It actually turned out to be the beginning of his success.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “After they passed away, he finally got his act together. He developed the camera a few months after the funeral. It
was like he was possessed. We were both staying at our parents’ house for awhile after the accident and living on the small inheritance we got. He would be working twenty hours a day for weeks on end, out in the garage and on the computer and on the phone. It was a transformation. He went from being a slacker with potential to someone who was totally obsessed.”

  The tone in her voice had changed. Her words took on a strange sharpness, like she was trying to cut them into me and make sure they sunk in. She obviously admired Vincent very deeply. This wasn’t a connection that was for the sake of appearances: Vincent meant the world to her. Listening to her talk about him, I could see why.

  She continued. “Any time he wasn’t working he was saying he was going to take care of me and of us. To a twenty year old it’s pretty weird to have your surfer brother tell you that he’s going to take care of the family. It sounds like wishful thinking from a guy who’s just grieving for his parents, but Vincent really changed. He became this very intense person who found success everywhere he looked because he wouldn’t accept failure. He was selling that camera in three months and had it with retailers soon after, and he just built and built. Everyone underestimates him because of his appearance and his hobbies, but he just keeps plowing forward.”

  I had researched the story of Vincent’s company from a financial perspective, but I hadn’t given thought to what it meant on a personal level to grind out so much success. Giselle had seen it first hand. In a way, I was almost jealous.

  “It sounds like you admire him,” I said, simply because I hadn’t spoken in a while. We had both stopped with our frosting duties.

  She nodded. “Then he changed again when Brady was born. Before that, he was on a path where it was nothing but business and intensity, but you can’t be intense with a newborn. Vincent makes sure my son has the best of everything. Vincent set up Brady’s college fund the day after Brady was born, and has done so much research on camps and things to send him to.”

  She shrugged, laughing. “I’ll get these emails at two a.m. saying ‘it’s your kid but I just want to tell you I’m happy to pay to send him to this camp when he’s old enough’ or ‘do you think Brady would like this? I can get it delivered this weekend.’ Never mind my son, it’s a full-time job keeping up with Vincent!”