by Mia Sheridan
“Good grief, no.”
“And to think, all this could have been yours if only—”
I elbowed him softly in his side and he let out an overacted “Oomph.”
A laugh died in my throat as the doors swung open to reveal the most opulent home I’d ever seen. Wow. I stepped inside, wandering aimlessly, my mouth hanging open like a fish gasping for water. Everywhere I turned there was something to stare at. The floor-to-ceiling windows with a spectacular view of New York City. A marble staircase that swept up and around to a second level, gargantuan-sized furniture in leather and suede, glass, and shiny materials I couldn’t identify. Standing amongst all that grandeur, I felt so small. For the first time in years, I once again felt like the girl sitting at a simple wooden desk in a plain black dress staring out the window at a world that would never be mine. A disconcerting melancholy came over me, and I wrapped my arms around myself, turning in a circle. My gaze caught on Brant who had his hip leaned on the edge of a sofa and was watching me closely. The look on his face was slightly nervous, as if he wasn’t sure I approved of the place I’d call home for the next couple of weeks, and it meant a lot to him that I did.
I smiled. “It’s gorgeous.” And it was. I was just having trouble merging this starkly luxurious showplace with the man next to me. This wasn’t him . . . no, wait. It was him. It was the Brant Talbot I’d very first met. Buttoned-up blowhard. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment that I’d even had the thought in this moment when Brant was showing me his home, when he was standing so still next to me, obviously hoping for my approval.
I walked to him and wrapped my arms around his waist. “I’m going to love it here.”
His eyes wandered over my features for a moment as if searching for something. Apparently happy with what he found, he smiled back. “Yes. I’m going to make sure of it.”
**********
After calling Harrison to let him know we’d arrived safely, I spent the rest of the day getting settled in the apartment.
I took a shower in the massive glass enclosure, mystified by all the knobs and levers, finally figuring out how to turn on the showerhead above me, though it pommeled me so hard it felt like I was being pelted by hail.
I changed into comfortable clothes, taking off the pair of gold studs I wore in my ears and placing them in my small linen jewelry bag. The key I’d once worn around my neck also stayed in the bag, along with the only other pair of earrings I owned. I’d bought the silver studs when I first married Ethan and had done the wild and crazy deed of having my ears pierced at a mall. God, that seemed like a million years ago. Just as I was closing the bag, I opened it back up and peered inside. The chain the key had been on was there, but upon closer inspection, the key itself was gone. What the heck? I’d remembered specifically putting it back in here after I’d used it and discovered the money in that storage locker.
When was the last time I’d seen it in the bag? I thought it was right before the party May had thrown at Graystone Hill. Since then . . . well, I guess I hadn’t noticed. Had someone taken it? Or had it fallen out during the last whirlwind week . . . through packing . . . traveling. Disconcerted, I started to zip the bag closed, noticing the zipper was coming loose at one end so that there was a pretty large gap. I poured the contents into my hand, noticing that one of the silver earrings was missing as well. That small missing stud made me feel a little less uneasy. Both the key and the earring must have fallen out of the gap between the broken zipper and the material. How else would that key have gone missing? No one knew what it belonged to except Brant and me. And the only thing in there now was a fancy car in my dead husband’s name.
Still, I mentioned it to Brant and he said he’d keep an eye out for it, reassuring me that it had to be because of the broken zipper.
We ordered takeout for dinner and feeling better, calmer, I tried a little bit of everything as Brant watched, laughing. I’d never had Chinese food before and everything was mouthwatering.
“I’m going to have fun feeding you here, I can tell,” he said, his eyes shining with both amusement and heat. I laughed too, digging back into the Szechaun beef.
And now, standing on the balcony overlooking the New York skyline, I felt a warm shimmer of happiness move through me. Brant was in his office working and I’d cleaned up from dinner and wandered out here to take in the heart-stopping view. I couldn’t imagine New York ever feeling like home, not like Kentucky. And I didn’t think Brant would ever ask me to move here permanently. He knew how important the horses were to me, how much I loved Graystone Hill and the calm it brought me. Be mine. We’ll figure it out. I wanted to figure it out. He’d asked me to join him for the bar opening, so at least I would spend a little time here with him to get a feel of this life. And maybe, just maybe, eventually, I’d have—we’d have—New York and Graystone Hill—the best of both worlds?
His arms wrapped around me from behind, his warmth enveloping me as he nuzzled my ear. “Hey. What are you so deep in thought about out here all by yourself?”
I smiled as I wrapped my arms over his. “Just enjoying this amazing view.”
“Are you still thinking about what Aaron told you yesterday?”
I sighed. “I’ve tried to move it from my mind, at least for today.”
“What do you want to do with the money?”
“I don’t know . . . I would have liked to give it back to Aaron, but since he won’t take it, I feel like something . . . I don’t know, something meaningful should be done with it. Something that turns it from tainted to pure, you know? Does that make sense?”
“Absolutely.” He turned me in his arms. “I think you’ll know it when it comes along.” He paused. “Aaron said the money was stolen from clients, but there’s still about a million unaccounted for. You said that when you met Ethan, he was investing for your father and others in your community. When you left with him, it was all very sudden—like he could have been running away. Is it possible . . .?”
I drew in a breath, coldness filtering through my veins. I shook my head. “I can’t . . . no, I mean, they were angry and disappointed that I’d gotten pregnant and was leaving with Ethan, but they never mentioned him being dishonest. They would have—”
“Are you sure?”
I bit my lip, picturing the way my mother had wrung the dishtowel in her hands, the look of heartbreak on her face, my father’s stony silence. They’d turned away when I’d tried to hug them goodbye. It’d broken my heart. But they’d never told me the man I was leaving with was a thief and a liar. “No,” I murmured. “Surely they wouldn’t have let me ride away with Ethan if they’d known something like that about him.” Aaron had kept the information from me in an effort to spare me hurt. My parents had been so angry, though. They’d have thrown that in my face, wouldn’t they? Oh God, I was so confused.
Brant’s eyes were filled with sympathy. “I’m sure you’re right. And even if they didn’t tell you, they would have gone to the police. They would have sued him for that money.”
I shook my head, staring unseeing into the apartment beyond Brant. “The Amish don’t sue.”
He frowned. “What?”
“Resist not evil, but whoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.” I met Brant’s eyes. “We . . . they, believe that lawsuits are coercive and go against their beliefs about never using violence.”
Brant stared at me silently for a long moment. “So they just do . . . nothing?”
I sagged against the wall, allowing it to hold my weight because I didn’t feel capable at that moment. “They prefer to deal with issues themselves.”
“And how might they do that?”
I shook my head. “It just depends.”
“I . . . see.” There was something on his face that sent a cold bolt of fear through me. No. No, no.
“No, Brant. I know what you’re thinking and no. They don’t believe in violence. It’s the entire reason they don’t sue. They wouldn’t ever .
. . they couldn’t . . .” But what if they sent someone else, a voice whispered, sending sparks of horror through my system. No. Violence was violence. They wouldn’t condone it. Ever. My parents had broken my heart with their refusal to acknowledge me after I’d disappointed them so severely, but their hearts were good. They loved me.
They just loved their beliefs more.
Oh God, I felt sick, and full of self-contempt at even allowing these thoughts purchase in my mind.
Brant moved toward me, his arms suddenly around me, holding me up, supporting me. “Hey, Belle, sweetheart. It’s okay. I’m here. I told you you’d never have to deal with anything alone again and I meant it. You’re right about your family. There’s no way they were involved. Let’s not even entertain that idea. I’m here, okay?” He pulled me closer, rubbing slow circles on my back and after a time I felt better, calmer, cradled in his caring embrace. And it was different. Wonderfully different to not feel so alone, so bereft. All my life I’d felt a sense of separateness, first with my parents, my community, and then with Ethan. Without my family, no arms cradled me, no hands touched me to comfort, no gentle and loving words soothed. And I hadn’t even realized how much I longed for it. Not until now. Not until Brant. I was no longer alone and my soul sang with that thought.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Isabelle
I loved New York, I did. The sights and sounds, the hustle and bustle, the many different people with their vast array of styles. I loved the street performers and the food trucks, the plays and musicals, the sidewalk cafes and tourist attractions. It didn’t feel like home, but of course it wouldn’t. I’d never been out of the Midwest. It was going to take some time. But was it natural that I felt so lost . . . so out of sorts when I was supposed to be having fun and relaxing?
Loosen up. This is just a vacation. Live a little, Isabelle, I chastised myself. Aren’t you the girl who wanted adventure? Or maybe I’d just wanted stability. I couldn’t even remember anymore.
Brant worked during the day and then showed me the sights in the evenings. We spent several early nights and late mornings in his giant four-poster bed, discovering every secret place on each other’s bodies. I woke up happy, but during the day I missed him and didn’t know what to do with myself. I’d wander his apartment, my mood sinking, my heart constricting with longing for all the things this place could not provide.
“You look pale,” Brant said over dinner at the end of the week. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I feel fine,” I answered, spinning a forkful of linguine, but not bringing it to my mouth.
“Hey,” he said, reaching across the table and putting his hand over mine, “what is it?”
I put my fork down. “It’s just . . . I’m not sure what to do with myself during the day.”
“Not sure what to do?” He sat back. “Belle, the city is your playground. I have a driver that will take you wherever you want. See a show, try a new restaurant, go shopping.”
“Shopping?”
He picked up his plate, nodding to mine in question. I pushed my unfinished dinner toward him. At the sink, he turned back to me. “Remember, you do need a dress for my opening tomorrow night at least. Something formal.” He walked back to me, placing his hands on my shoulders and massaging. I breathed out, his touch calming me, as always. “I can’t wait to show you off.”
I smiled. I’d almost forgotten I needed to buy a dress, though Brant had told me a couple of times. “I’m going to look for a dress tomorrow.” I paused. “I did a search on the Internet . . . there’s a horse farm right outside the city that offers riding.”
Brant’s hands stilled and then came away from my shoulders. He took a seat in his chair again, scooting it closer. “Belle, we’re here to enjoy New York, not make it into Kentucky.” His eyes moved over my face, concern in his expression. “Sweetheart, I know you’re homesick, but you have to give it a chance if you’re truly going to love it here and look forward to coming back. It took me some time too, but I promise you, this will feel like a second home before you know it.”
I nodded and when he put his hand on my cheek, I leaned in to his touch. “I know.” He smiled, sitting back. I knocked on the table, seemingly made out of the same mysterious material as so many other pieces in this apartment. “What is this?”
Brant raised a brow. “Is that a trick question? It’s a table.”
“No, I mean, what material is it made from?”
He frowned, looking down at it. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”
“You bought a table and you don’t even know what it’s made from?”
He reclined in his chair, regarding me with amusement and concern, as if he thought I might be slightly crazy. “A designer picked it out. I just went with it.”
“Huh,” I said, running my hand over the table. It belonged to him, but he hadn’t chosen it. A designer had picked it out. It struck me that New York felt like being one step removed from . . . everything.
That night I dreamed of Elise. She was just beyond the fog, calling for me, and I reached for her, swatting desperately at the swirling white, but she only seemed to fade farther away, out of my reach. I woke up with tears on my cheeks and a choked sob on my lips, reaching for the tiny person who was no longer there. Too far away. You’re too far away. My heart felt crushed beneath the weight of the love that now had nowhere to go.
Brant gathered me to him, whispering words of comfort as my tears dried and the feeling of the dream faded. His heart beat against my own, his skin both smooth and rough. I pressed against him, needing him to fill the emptiness that seemed to be growing within me. “I want you,” I said, just as I had that night he first made love to me in the old distillery. He worshipped my body slowly, and I closed my eyes, pretending we were there, under a dusty paint tarp in an abandoned building rather than the luxurious king-sized bed made up with silken sheets.
Afterward, I lay in his arms, replete, our skin still dewy, our heartbeats slowing. I turned into his chest, breathing him in, clinging to him as though he were my shelter in a storm. “I love you,” I murmured, because I did, and I couldn’t hold the words back any longer. I loved him.
His heartbeat sped up beneath my palm, though everything else seemed to still. I held my breath for a beat . . . two and then released it on a loud exhale. His hand resumed the slow stroking movement up and down my arm from a moment before, and he leaned his head down and kissed my temple. A lump formed in my throat and my heart thudded dully in my chest. “Belle . . . I . . .”
I shook my head against his chest. “No, Brant, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot—”
“Christ. I don’t even think I’m capable of love.”
I tilted my head back, looking at him. The expression on his face was so . . . tormented. “Everyone’s capable of love.”
He sat up, turning and swinging his legs off the bed, hanging his head. I propped myself up on my hand, looking at his hunched-over form, the beautifully muscled expanse of his back. I’d done this to myself. Again. Another man who couldn’t love me. How many could I wrack up in one lifetime? Ethan had never promised me love, and neither had Brant. Oh, Isabelle, you fool. Brant turned toward me, the gray city lights seeping around the edges of the blinds highlighting his beauty. He was so handsome I almost didn’t want to look at him. Ever since that day I’d been injured in the yard, I’d felt him pull away, distance himself emotionally. It was slight, so slight, and yet I’d seen the wariness in his gaze sometimes when I caught him staring at me. Now, now it would be worse, wouldn’t it? It wasn’t that he couldn’t love me, it was that he didn’t want to. And that made it all the worse.
“I’m sorry, Belle.” He looked at me, beseeching. “I want us. I love what we have together, and you’ll always have me . . . I’ll take care of you. I’ll protect you with everything in me.”
I suddenly felt so weary, so tired, but angry too. I didn’t only want to be protected. I wanted to be loved. And Brant was not o
nly denying me his love, but denying himself love as well.
“Brant, you think you can’t love because you’re afraid of losing. You’re afraid to experience the deep pain you felt when you lost your mother.”
“Don’t, Belle.” His voice was low and held a warning I didn’t heed.
I moved forward, grasping his arms, the arms that had held me so lovingly only moments before. He would love me with his body but nothing more? No, I wanted his heart, his soul.
“You have to face it, Brant. There, here, somewhere. You can’t ignore it and expect it to go away.”
“It’s worked just fine for me all these years, Belle. Don’t tell me what I need to face and what I don’t.”
“You need to hear it. Oh Brant, I know it hurts.” I squeezed his arms more tightly, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I know. I know. I had to acknowledge my true feelings about Ethan before I could find peace. I don’t know what’s locked inside your heart, but you have to face it. It will be hard, but it will be worth it, I promise.”
He made a strange choking sound in his throat, and it bolstered my courage, made me believe I might be getting through to him.
“Let it out,” I beseeched. “I’ll help you. I can protect you too, maybe not with my strength, but with my love. You have to, Brant, because someday when you have children, you’ll have to face the fear of—"
“Children?”
I let go of his arms. “What? Don’t you want children someday?”
“Children,” he repeated again as if the word didn’t make sense to him.
Was it that he didn’t want children at all or that the thought of children with me was unpalatable? We hadn’t talked about that topic, of course. We were only dating. But I’d just assumed Brant would want children someday. And if it was with me, that I would be the one fearful of the idea. I froze, sitting back on my heels, pulling the sheet up over my naked breasts, feeling suddenly exposed, chilled.
Brant ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just . . . Christ, Belle. Haven’t we both lost enough? What if—God forbid—something happened to a child of ours? What kind of man would I be if I let you experience more heartbreak? If I didn’t protect you from that?” Let me experience more heartbreak?