by Paula Roe
Her voice wavered for one second before she swallowed and drew her shoulders back. She snorted then, and shook her head. “You know, everyone wanted me to be one of those ‘proud survivor’ people.” When she glanced up through her lashes, Luke thought he detected a shimmer of tears. “You know, the ones who’re an advertisement for human endurance? Everyone gushed about this wonderful testament to the Australian spirit, how amazing and lucky I was, how fragile the human race is. And I was barely holding myself together. Things don’t stick well when all you have is tape and glue that keeps coming apart.”
He had nothing to say to that. Nothing at all.
Her breath came out on a watery, amused smile. “Funny…all these years and I never could get used to a different birthday. So I never celebrate it.”
They remained still for a moment, Luke waiting for more, Beth fiddling with the ties of her blouse with singular intent.
“When is it?” Luke said quietly.
“What?”
“When is your birthday? Your real birthday?”
“August the fifteenth. And I’m twenty-eight, not thirty,” she added, as if it was an important detail he needed to know. “And now,” she said, then drew in a sharp breath, “I need to go to work.”
He dragged a hand over his rough chin. Dammit. There was so much more he needed to tell her. “Beth, I—”
“No, Luke. We both need to focus on moving forward with our lives. Nothing’s changed.”
But something had. Last night she had clung to him like one of her scented lotions. Minutes ago she’d confessed the darkest secret of her soul. And now she was as cold as a serial liar’s conscience.
The stakes have changed, he wanted to say. Since they’d made incredible love and he realized his life wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. And that scared the hell out of him.
Everything was so damn complicated. He should tell her what he knew, then do what she asked and walk away. It would leave her free to find someone who would be there for her, be a dependable partner in every sense of the word.
Yeah, but what if you want ties? Complications?
Torn, he watched her descend the stairs, taking heat and light and longing with her.
“Beth. Don’t leave.”
She paused on the last step, her back still to him. Then, with a breath, she turned. “What can you say that I don’t already know? Your career comes first, and me being here totally jeopardizes that. Not to mention, we risk being discovered every day we’re together. And I will not got through that again.” She gave a soft, humorless snort. “You, me, our combined stories… We’re a reporter’s wet dream waiting to happen.”
“Wait.” Damn, he hated that she was right. Hated she had come out and said the words that had chewed him up inside all morning. And hated the fact that he was helpless in the face of that cool logic.
He took the moment to imprint the memory of her in his brain—the curve of her cheek, the curls pushed behind perfectly shaped ears. The remembrance of her kisses and the sweet, welcoming smell of her skin. The strength, the way she refused to fall apart as she confessed her past. That same strength that was shoving him away now.
As every logical bone in his body told him to let her go, he battled with that logic. Something else, something deeper and more urgent demanded he take his shot, lay it all on the line. Damn, he itched to grab her, kiss her senseless and force her to believe in that, in their chemistry and how much he wanted her.
But he knew he had to come clean before he even thought about trying to change her mind.
With an inward breath, he measured her. He could live with what Dylan had told him, but at what price? It would eat at him, chip away at his conscience every day until his self-respect became nothing but false words. Worse, it would undermine the trust Beth had placed in him.
But once the truth was out, there’d be no going back.
Girding himself with resolve, he walked slowly down the stairs, not missing the way she straightened her shoulders and tiredly drew herself up, as if reconnoitering for a final bomb to drop even though her strength was at the lowest ebb.
Jesus, he hated doing this to her. “There’s more. Dylan found out more.”
She blinked. “About Ben?”
“No… Look, there’s no way to sugarcoat this. I’ll just come right out and say it.”
Beth gave a confused frown. “Okay.”
He swallowed and stuck his hands in his back pockets. “When your mother was fifteen, she had a baby—a girl—and gave her up for adoption.”
Thirteen
Beth’s hand flew to the banister and grabbed it for support, eyes wide. “What?”
“When that girl was eighteen she put her name on a couple of adoption-search websites,” Luke plowed on, “and applied for information on her birth mother via Community Services—”
“Wait! Stop, stop, stop—”
“So she could contact her birth mother. Beth, listen to me.” Luke took her hands as she began to shake her head. “That girl is now thirty-eight and lives in Perth. Your mother was taking you both to meet her.”
“Oh, no.”
“Yeah.” Even though he gripped her hands tight, he could feel Beth slipping away from him every second she remained silent. It shredded his nerves until everything felt raw and open. Say something, anything, he silently commanded.
Then she firmly wrested her hands from his, took a step back and the distance between them increased like a yawning chasm.
“I…I have to go to work.”
“Beth.”
She put out a hand, warding him off. “Luke, I can’t think right now, okay? I need some time to process this. Just…” She fingered her temple with a sigh. “Just give me some time.”
“Okay.” His hands went through his hair and he set his mouth in a grim line. “Okay. Take all the time you want.”
“And I think it’d be best if I stay elsewhere for a while,” she said stiffly.
For the hundredth time Luke wished he could take back last week. But even if he could, he knew he’d do the same things all over again.
Especially last night.
Even as the memory made his blood heat, her shuttered expression froze it. Hell, didn’t she see he’d rather take a bullet than intentionally hurt her?
“I can help you. I’ll get someone to find out—”
“No.” She shook her head, let out a harsh laugh. “No, you’ve done enough. This is something I have to deal with by myself.”
Then she turned, went down the rest of the stairs and strode down the hallway. Grabbing up her handbag, then her keys from the hall stand she marched to the front door, her steps full of purpose, her shoulders ramrod straight.
Luke glared at her back, as if by sheer will alone he could change her mind. It would do no good. She was stubborn and proud and hurting, hiding behind a familiar barrier that had protected her for so long. Seeing that haunted disbelief, how her body had stiffened in shock, made him want to take everything back.
His jaw ached from clenching it so tightly, but he made himself watch her determined progress to the door.
Come on, Beth. Just turn around. You can do it. Just turn.
But there was nothing but the ringing echo of her heels on the wooden floor.
It might have been his heart she was wrenching open as she grabbed the doorknob and yanked. He forced himself to keep watching, until she closed the door softly without a backward glance. Slowly, the sound of her footsteps disappeared and he was left with nothing but unsaid words.
The quiet snick of the closing door was louder than if Beth had slammed out in a fury. If he’d said anything more, given any indication he wanted her to stay, she would have gladly turned and run back into his arms.
But he hadn’t.
She took a ragged breath and sagged against her car door. It really was over. She had made it over.
Completely and irrevocably, she’d have to live with her choice.
Alone.
She held up a hand and was surprised to find it shaking. Angrily, she combed her fingers through her hair and tried to force the panic attack back where it belonged. But the trembling in her fingers spread to her whole body. A deep, shaky breath tightened her chest. Then another.
The shock wave hit so suddenly she groaned aloud, a vision swimming in her head as she desperately tried to wish it away.
The cold, drizzly rain outside a cracked window. The putrid smell of leaking fuel, smoke and scorched metal. A woolen blanket that had made her sneeze…and questions, always questions asking if she was okay, how did she feel, what could she remember, on and on and on.
She slapped her hands over her ears and collapsed into her car. Raw emotion coursed through her body now, shaking, stabbing. Her breath caught, sharp and painful.
Then she realized she was crying.
It was too late to stop. She let the tears trail down her cheeks unchecked, uncaring. And with them went her carefully constructed composure, the wall of protection, the hard shell of control. She cried for a lost childhood and a mother she had loved, cried for the sacrifices Angela had made in the face of her depression. Cried for the wasted years alone and the past that had shaped her future.
Finally, she swept her cheeks with a shaky hand, rubbed at her eyes then fumbled in the glove box for a tissue. When she raised her eyes to the mirror, she saw blotchy patches on her cheeks, red-rimmed eyes staring back at her.
You have a sister.
Oh, God. Shock mingling with a tiny blossoming hope jarred everything inside, her breath whooshing out as she bit back tears.
Who knew what other surprises lay in store? Who else was on the Stanton family tree?
She’d deliberately chopped down that tree ten years ago without a backward glance. But now Luke’s shocking revelation only filled her with burning curiosity, not fear. It had the potential to change her life if she chose to follow it through.
But was she going to risk those ten years to find out?
The question remained in her head, waiting impatiently for her answer, as she started the car and set off to work.
Luke remained glaring at the front door, as if by simply staring it’d make Beth reappear. But as the clock counted off the seconds one loud tick at a time, he realized waiting was useless.
He’d well and truly screwed everything up.
Sinking down onto the bottom step, he dragged his hands over his face, then through his hair. Her faint scent still lingered, a bittersweet echo that punched him squarely below the belt. Great. Bloody great. Just another way you’ve managed to screw up.
But before he could completely throw himself into the pity party, there was a knock on the door. He charged down the hall and yanked it open with a swoop of anticipation.
Then his face fell into a scowl.
“Expecting someone else?” Marco said with a grin.
“Yeah.” Luke glanced out the door then quickly closed it behind him. “Did anyone follow you?”
“Oh, will you stop worrying about those damn reporters?” Marco grimaced. “Typical. I’ve had to defend my reputation for months and all you can think about is your job.”
Despite his turbulent thoughts, Luke managed a small smirk. “Oh, c’mon, mate. Everyone’s forgotten about you and that cheerleader.”
“You’d think so, right?” Marco cocked a dark eyebrow. “But some people can’t resist rehashing that whole ‘how could he not know she was cheating on him’ business. Everyone thinks I’m an idiot.”
“Is that all you’re worried about?”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
Luke threw back his head and laughed at the chagrin on his cousin’s face. Then he did something that surprised both of them. He grabbed Marco and wrapped him in a big bear hug.
After a few stunned seconds, Marco returned it. After a few more, he peeled himself away with a snort of nervous laughter.
“This woman of yours has a lot to answer for. Public displays of affection from Luke De Rossi?”
“Don’t knock it, cousin.” Luke smiled, but soon that disappeared. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I have to go and do stuff.”
“That’s why I’m here.” Marco scratched his head, dipped his brow to focus on the floor. “Those things I said back at the house…? About blaming you for Gino’s heart attack? You know that was just anger talking, right? I know he’d been to see a specialist. He needed to slow down, quit smoking.” He rolled his eyes in self-deprecation. “Don’t we all. I told him every day and yet he was so damn stubborn. It wasn’t a good idea unless it was his idea, right?” They both nodded solemnly at the shared memory. “Look, the point is, I was shooting off at the mouth. You weren’t to blame, I know that.”
A heavy, telling silence fell until Marco frowned. “Aw, man, don’t tell me you actually believed me?”
“You weren’t there, Marco.”
“So? Have you told Rosa?”
Luke said nothing. Marco shook his head. “For a child genius, Luke, you can be pretty stupid. Tell my mother and clear your conscience. Or suffer the consequences.”
“What consequences?”
Marco grinned. “Me kicking your ass, cousin. Now get into gear and go talk to her.”
Rosa.
His family. For better or worse.
Gino had given him the things he’d desperately wanted that his dead parents could not—money, a stellar education and peer respect.
He’d told Beth the truth. Rosa deserved the same. No matter how painful it was for him.
Fourteen
It was Thursday and Beth sat behind her office desk, staring at yesterday’s newspaper spread out before her. She had deliberately given Laura errands to run that morning so she could be alone to read the article again.
Now that she was, she felt a tremble chase up her spine and settle in her neck.
De Rossi Reinstated: Inquiry Still on Table.
Jackson and Blair’s board had finally come out and publicly backed Luke. A spokesman, someone called Connor Blair, had declared that the company was “looking forward to rigorously defending Mr. De Rossi from these vicious rumors when he gives his statement to the Queensland Gaming Commission in two weeks’ time.”
She stared at her second cup of untouched coffee, at the edges of steam curling over the rim. What a difference three days made. A home gone, a heart broken. A mother who’d held on to a secret for years and a possible sister.
That is, if she ever got the courage to actually pick up the phone and call.
She glanced back down at the paper. Luke was moving forward, moving up. His Board of Directors had finally come to their senses and was focusing on clearing his name. She, on the other hand, had had that moving company’s quote on her desk for two days. Just the thought of going back there, to her home, to the place she loved above all else and packing up every memory while Luke watched, was still too heartbreaking to contemplate.
There was a soft knock on her door and she glanced up to see a pale Laura.
“What’s wrong?”
When Laura swung the door wider, Beth sucked in her shock.
He was leaner and minus the glasses, but everything else about Ben Foster was the same-familiar cargoes, worn Nirvana T-shirt, steel-capped boots. And with his expression a mix of shame and contrition, he looked all of fifteen.
“Hi, Beth,” he muttered with a halfhearted wave.
“Hi, yourself.” She rose and nodded for Laura to close the door behind her. “So. You’ve come back.”
“Yeah.”
Beth felt the weight of a hundred years press down on her shoulders. “Oh, Ben. What on earth were you thinking?”
He shrugged, still unable to meet her eyes. “It was a ton of money.”
“But it wasn’t yours.”
“I know.”
She shoved a hip against the desk and crossed her arms with a sigh. “Did you spend it all?”
“No.”
“So you’re going to give it back
?”
“Yeah.” His hands went into his pockets and he finally looked up.
His torn expression, the way he held his body as if waiting for her to yell at him, dissolved the dozen reprimands on the tip of her tongue.
She had nothing left. No outrage, no anger, nothing.
It had just been one of those days.
“What made you change your mind?” she finally asked.
He scratched his head. “Your guy.”
She frowned. “What guy?”
“The suit who turned up at the Crown Casino. Your guy.”
“I didn’t send a guy.”
“Well, he was under the impression he was working for you.”
Beth blinked. “What was his name?”
“Didn’t say. Tall dude, dark hair. Italian-looking. Expensive clothes.”
Beth’s heart did a flip. “And what did he say?”
Ben shrugged. “A few things. Doesn’t matter. But he convinced me to do the right thing and come back. I transferred the money back into your business account an hour ago.”
“What about what you spent?”
“It’s all there, Beth. Every last dollar.”
How? Beth frowned but let that go. “You know the bank’s probably notified the police. There’s bound to be an inquiry.”
“Yeah.”
Police. An inquiry. She sucked in a breath. Publicity? And yet Luke had plowed right on in, even with the probability of exposure.
To help her. Despite her walking away.
What did that mean?
An overwhelming urge to find out jerked her straight. “I have to go.”
“Okaaay?” Ben nodded, confused.
“Sorry.” She grabbed her purse from the desk, slammed the drawer firmly shut. Then she put a hand on Ben’s arm and looked him square in the eye. “Thank you for coming back, Ben. I appreciate you doing the right thing.”
She had no time to think about his sudden flush, the awkward shuffle as he studied his feet with misplaced intent.