Shattered

by Olga Bicos

  “I just bet he does.”

  She followed Holly’s gaze, found the target. “Has someone been a naughty boy?”

  “Oh, you betcha.”

  Holly tilted her head toward Daniel, passing along the message that she was on her way over. Tonight he wore chunky-rimmed glasses and a dark gray suit jazzed up by the striped pattern of his shirt and tie. The combination reminded her of an eye exam: Tell me when the objects line up…. As she walked toward him, he smiled like a man who didn’t mind a little trouble.

  Coming to a full stop before him, she said, “Daniel, a word.” That flying buttress again.

  She didn’t actually rail into him once she had him alone. She thought she was quite professional, until the very end when she looked him dead in the eye and warned, “Don’t you mess with my stuff again, bucko.”

  “Come on. It’s beautiful.”

  “Not the point. And no. It’s nowhere near my standards.”

  He peered over her shoulder at the model, as if confused by her anger. He’d hired the best, no doubt.

  “Those were preliminary designs,” she said, preempting his defense. “A lot has changed—”

  “And this is just a preliminary party, babe. Relax, we are way off from opening night. And by then, who the hell is going to remember tonight? You think I invited reporters from some architectural magazine? These are my people,” he said. “They’re here for the champagne and the fashion and to try and guess who’s screwing who.”

  He came to stand behind her, gazing over her shoulder at the milling flock. “Look at them. They’re feasting on gossip.”

  She caught a gaze here and there, watched as indeed whispers were exchanged.

  He leaned in close, saying, “Want to give them something to talk about?”

  She pushed him away. “Not funny.”

  But his lips crimped at the corners just the same. He took her hand and kissed the palm.

  “Stick around. It only gets better. Smile,” he said, turning her around, still keeping a grip on her hand. “We have an audience.”

  Toward the back. It wasn’t difficult to find him. He tended to stand out in a crowd. Ryan was watching them from his post near the door. He was dressed in black, and his mood didn’t appear any brighter. Not from that expression on his face as he stared at her and Daniel holding hands.

  Their gazes met, held a minute. She felt pinned to the spot, targeted by that look…until Ryan turned and left.

  “Suddenly, I see a new purpose to this party,” she told Daniel, her heart racing. “What’s the matter, Daniel, still worried he’s the better man?”

  “Don’t be dense,” he said, squeezing her fingers too tight. At the same time, he signaled to someone standing just a few feet away, his facile expression changing, the chameleon. “Gigi, so wonderful to see you here, darling. Come meet the woman of the moment, the artist in charge.” He gave Holly a wink as he steered her front and center. “Voilá. My muse.”

  And he wasn’t near done. The torture continued as she was introduced to group after group, Daniel keeping a tight enough grip on her arm that he’d leave a bruise—one to match the blow she’d delivered to his ego. They gathered around Holly, making her the center of attention—which was a hard place to be when you were used to talking only to the walls. But courtesy of Daniel, she’d become the epicenter, the bull’s-eye at the heart of it all.

  In retrospect, she thought it must have been a charming opportunity, one difficult to resist for a reporter.

  Wear her down…attack.

  “Miss Fairfield? Any thoughts on your incredible resemblance to Nina Travers?”

  The question came from Gigi, a woman with sharp eyes behind her Dolce and Gabanna glasses. The name clicked into place.

  Gigi La Plume. The reporter.

  Baa, baa, black sheep….

  “Certainly, Nina Travers and her tragic loss provides one of the more colorful episodes in the history of Cutty House,” the newspaper woman continued, taking Holly’s look of shock as the green light. “But here you are, a perfect replica. Just like the model you commissioned. It’s almost macabre, don’t you think? The resemblance?”

  She could see Gigi taking notes. Holly tried to imagine what would appear in print tomorrow. Double’s Trouble, or some such nonsense. Holly stood speechless, stunned by the woman’s characterization of Nina’s death as a “colorful episode.” Which was precisely why she’d said it. To shock.

  “To tell you the truth,” Holly said, keeping her voice surprisingly bland. “It’s the first time I can honestly say I got a job because of my looks.”

  Everyone laughed, the tension lifting so that the crowd began to disperse, no longer interested in blood sports. But Gigi knew she’d scored a hit. Earlier, Holly had donned her camouflage, a nondescript suit she found buried at the back of her closet. She’d pinned her hair back. She thought she’d done a nice job of making herself invisible.

  “You’ll have to pardon Gigi,” Daniel told her. “She loves to stir things up, then watch to see what scurries off.”

  “It’s my job to be provocative,” the woman said without apology. “The paper expects me to earn my keep.”

  “Gigi covered the original story,” Daniel continued, “and managed somehow to turn our sad tale into the worst sort of melodrama.”

  Gigi smirked. “Daniel didn’t always agree with what I put in print. I tried to be sensitive to the family, of course, but the public has a right to know.”

  “Bullshit,” Daniel said, then blew her a kiss. “I only stayed friends with Gigi because she’s such a fiend with that column of hers. Keep your enemies close, I say. And she came tonight only because she smelled a follow-up. Nobody who is anybody dares take a step in this town unless Gigi gives the say-so. We are all such sheep.”

  The woman preened under the compliment. “A sheep and a liar. But I love it, of course.”

  “Another drink, darling?” he asked.

  “If you don’t mind,” she said.

  Holly watched Daniel deftly turn the tide in his favor, while she felt as if she were falling deeper under water, chest tight, trying to catch her breath.

  Until she couldn’t. “Excuse me.”

  She squeezed past, searching for that air…and something else. She couldn’t help it. Her eyes scanned the room, looking for black hair and broad shoulders.

  As if that would help. As if seeing him again would solve anything.

  Her gaze slipped over the crowd just the same. He saw me and left…the thing with him and Daniel has gone too far.

  But no. She found him, like a divining rod to water. He was standing across the room, pretending to listen to a portly man with a red face, a twentysomething blonde hanging on his arm looking bored and a little drunk.

  Holly held her breath, wondering how to get the courage to just tell Ryan what she wanted. Take me home, please.

  She could almost see the moment he realized how badly she wanted that escape. His shoulders relaxed just a bit; the fierce look in his eyes lost its edge. She saw him excuse himself from the conversation, watched the blonde’s disappointment as Ryan walked away.

  Holly waited for him, rooted to the spot. He took his time, answering a query here and there. She imagined the questions: How’s Gil? The vineyard? We don’t see you enough. His eyes stayed on hers as he made his way through the crowd.

  “Don’t tell me you’re afraid,” he said, stopping before her. “Not after your little Rambo act at the vineyard.”

  “I am as cowardly as they come.”

  “But then, I’m not the dangerous one.”

  “Really? I beg to differ. Last night I couldn’t sleep thinking about you. Not a wink. That’s not anything new, by the way. Did you know there are a hundred and fifty-three reasons why I shouldn’t be attracted to you?”

  “That many?” he said, giving it a smile.

  “I took out one of my drafting pads and made a list. It was like counting sheep.”

  “What would
be a for instance?”

  “I absolutely prefer blondes. I don’t even like men with dark hair. And you’re too pushy, of course. Nothing worse than a bossy man.”

  “I think this is one of those times I stay wisely silent.”

  She thought it was a little strange, talking like this with the crowd zinging around them, human pinballs bumping past. But then this thing between them—time and place had little to do with its progress.

  “Here’s another one,” she told him. “Just because a man is a good kisser, doesn’t mean he does anything else well in life.”

  “You know what I think? I think those sound like the stupid excuses people come up with in the middle of the night to put on lists. Like the bogeyman under the bed. They don’t matter. They don’t even exist.”

  “Well, how about this, then,” she said, about to do the most foolish thing a woman could do with a man—confess. “At the vineyard, I said I couldn’t leave because of my job at Cutty House. Only, it’s so much more complicated. Harris, my brother, he told me my problem was I never get to pick. But now I think I have. And I’m not sure I care what brought us together in the first place. Even if it’s something twisted, like being the mirror image of Nina. I only want to know how it ends, if that fairy tale you told me can possibly come true.”

  He gave her glass to a passing waiter, taking her hand. “We’ll just see who did the choosing here.”

  He knew where they were going. Another mansion in the life of Ryan Cutty. Somewhere private. Somewhere safe. They were both game—they’d practically said as much.

  The room where they ended up looked like a library. He pressed her up against the paneled walls. He cupped her face in his hands, taking in every inch.

  “I’ve been having a hard time sleeping, too,” he said, not bothering with long-winded explanations. “And when I close my eyes, this is what I see.”

  He kissed her. And why not? Hadn’t they kissed a hundred times in her dreams? Lust was in the air; pheromones were flying. She couldn’t touch him enough, couldn’t get close enough. She was lifting his shirt, needing skin. He was doing the same.

  But if Holly couldn’t take a minute to catch her breath, Ryan didn’t have that problem. He slipped back, easing her face up to his. The look he gave her was electric, as if this wonderful sign flashed above them: Meant to be!

  She couldn’t help it. “Okay, I’m going to sound like a commercial, but how can something that feels so good be wrong?”

  He smiled, taking her breath away. “And here I was thinking the same thing.”

  Amazing. And it would have been, if she hadn’t looked over his shoulder right then to see Daniel watching them from the door.

  She dropped her hands, stepping back like a teenager caught in the act. Ryan tensed, turning to follow her gaze.

  Daniel began to applaud as he stepped into the room. Seeing his expression, Holly wondered why he’d never been a suspect in Nina’s death. Where had he been that night? Did he have an alibi? That desire to hurt was so clearly stamped on his face. She’d swear she’d never seen Ryan look like that.

  “Well, bravo.” He kept clapping, slowly walking toward them. “You finally did it. You resurrected Nina.”

  Ryan stepped in front of Holly. Slowly, the two men circled each other. Daniel’s smile looked almost feral; Ryan infringing on his territory.

  But Daniel, the coward, turned his attentions on the weaker game. Coming around Ryan, he reached out for Holly—only to have Ryan grab his arm and shove him aside.

  Ryan stepped in front of Holly again. Daniel stared, clearly appalled as he saw Holly slip her hand into Ryan’s.

  “Oh, have you chosen the wrong man, little girl.” He took a step back, giving her a pensive look. “All right. Have it your way, then.”

  She wasn’t sure what he’d just threatened. The whole situation made the room spin. Especially when she watched Daniel leave, slamming the door behind him, and Ryan moved to follow.

  She grabbed his arm. “Don’t.”

  He shook his head. “Look, I don’t believe in fairy tales, but if this is going to happen, if we even have a chance, there’s a lot of business to take care of first. Understand?”

  And then he kissed her, quick and hard.

  She watched him take off after Daniel, suspecting she’d only make everything worse if she followed. She couldn’t appreciate the undertones, wasn’t even close to knowing the history between these two men. She was a simple girl who needed plans and instructions, a woman who’d always liked math and other things that added up.

  But everything here was like some Greek tragedy. The stakes seemed equally high.

  Good reasons to stay put, she told herself. Only, she found herself walking toward the door, with each step picking up her pace.

  She was on a mission, but not by way of the crowd watching for her to continue the evening’s entertainment. Instead, she ran down the hall toward the back of the house. The voice of reason warned that she was only throwing gas on the fire if she found Ryan and Daniel. But she hadn’t shown much sense since she’d landed here at Club Cutty. Why start now?

  She searched from room to room, wondering where Ryan and Daniel might have taken this thing between them. Not that she could stop them from a full-on brawl if it came to that. Still, she stepped into what looked like a parlor, her gaze taking in the room.

  Only, it wasn’t Ryan she found, but his father, a very drunk Samuel leaning against the hearth. Seeing her, he stumbled toward her. He looked like his son, except Samuel’s face showed too much of what the last years had been like. Still, the resemblance was there in how he watched her now, in the urgent look in his eyes.

  He barely kept to his feet. “Nina?” he said, a touch of awe in his voice.

  Holly stepped back, caught by surprise. The way he’d called out Nina’s name, he’d sounded as if he’d just left her, as if Nina was around the corner and he couldn’t imagine how the minx had doubled back and followed him here.

  “Nina. You came after all,” he said, falling into her.

  “I’m not Nina.” She managed to push him away, but he grabbed her again. “It’s me, Mr. Cutty. Holly Fairfield.”

  “I told you to stay away, you naughty girl.” He raised his finger to his lips. Shhh. Still keeping his grip. “They mustn’t ever know about you.”

  She found herself fighting him, but he had the strength of his drunkenness. He pinned her to the wall, his heavy body flush against hers.

  “Next time listen to me,” he whispered, his breath hot on her cheek. “Vanessa has a temper, you know she does. If she catches us here, like this—”

  When his mouth covered hers, she lost it. She slammed her foot into his shin, pushed him with both hands. Before he could grab her again, she slapped him.

  “Leave her alone, Samuel. She’s not who you think.”

  From the doorway, Vanessa Cutty spoke in the well-modulated voice of a woman speaking to a child. As if she’d said the same, many times.

  Samuel rubbed a hand against the bright spot on his face where Holly had slapped him, looking accusingly at her.

  “That’s right. The other one. The one who pretends to be Nina.”

  Holly backed up. She looked from Vanessa to her husband. For a moment, the room blurred; she thought she might pass out. But then the whole place came into startling focus. Vanessa’s eyes full of venom. Samuel’s drunken smile.

  Holly shook her head. She ran past Vanessa, not bothering to wait for an explanation, trying to forget that horrible kiss. Down the hall, she searched for the closest exit.

  The way he’d touched her, his voice so intimate. Samuel loved Nina?

  She pushed her way toward the front entrance, no longer worried about the crowd closing in. She heard someone call her name, saw Ryan heading toward her. In a silly scene from some romantic comedy, he chased after her, shouting for her to stop, caught in the bottleneck of bodies.

  Speeding down the steps outside, she was Cinderella. She
even thought she might leave behind the damn heels she was wearing before she twisted an ankle.

  At the gate, a man dressed in a uniform, cap and dark glasses, approached her.

  “Miss Fairfield?”

  “Yes,” she said, out of breath, feeling as if a mob with sickles and torches might be following close on her heels. She didn’t want to talk to Ryan, didn’t want to explain what had just happened.

  “Your brother arranged for a car to take you home.”

  She slipped into the Lincoln Town Car, catching her breath, happy to see the street disappear behind her. Thank God for Harris. She wanted to put as much distance as possible between her and what had happened, wanted to forget the smell of Samuel Cutty, the taste of him in her mouth.

  He thought I was Nina.

  “Please hurry.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. That scene with Ryan’s father. Vanessa breaking in. She’s not who you think…. Suddenly, that chance Ryan had gone to fight for? She couldn’t imagine it, couldn’t see a way through this tragic mess.

  Had they all fallen for Nina? And now, she—Nina resurrected—was she supposed to fill the void? She felt caught in this strange tangle she didn’t understand. She didn’t want to become someone else for Ryan or Daniel or some sorry old drunk.

  But the more she thought about it, the more she wondered if that wasn’t exactly what she’d done by staying despite every warning. Falling for the sparkle and pop of it all. And a beautiful man as the door prize, obsessive love for her already downloaded and functioning.

  The car swerved. She bumped against the armrest, then toppled across the seat with the next turn. Sitting up, she looked through the tinted glass. It was difficult to make out the darkened streets, but she thought they were headed in the wrong direction.

  “Excuse me.” For the first time she realized that the driver had raised the partition. She pounded her hand against the barrier. “Hello?”

  No response. Nothing.

  She couldn’t see much less talk to the driver, but she could feel the car picking up speed. She tried the door. Locked.

  And her last cogent thought before panic struck: She was headed for the coast in a speeding car. Just like Nina the night she’d died.