“Why don’t you go and find her?” Edouard suggested gently, his eyes full of sympathy.
Javier snorted. “It’s too late.”
“My dear friend, it’s never too late. You don’t have to impose unhappiness upon yourself only because you had no control over the beginning of your affair.”
“She told me she loved me at the very end. She couldn’t have meant it.” Javier spoke his thoughts out loud, staring at the gardens where people were mingling with hors d’oeuvres after the auction.
“Why not? Are you unworthy of her love? You never say much about your past.” Edouard gave him a questioning look, and Javier stiffened. “I gather from malicious gossip and common sense that you didn’t get what you deserved growing up.”
“I don’t want to discuss this.”
“You don’t. Nobody does. But let me tell you this, the beginning doesn’t dictate the end. You can have the end of your choosing.”
Javier scanned the elegantly dressed guests, who chatted away about the paintings and objets d’art as uniformed waiters served them fine champagne and exquisite appetizers. “She was never supposed to come,” he said to Edouard.
“She told me she couldn’t,” Edouard admitted, scratching his beard with a mischievous smile.
“Why did you tell me she would be here?”
“Because you needed to come to feel how empty your life is without her.” Edouard sobered. “I lost my wife and then my daughter, and I found out the hard way. I don’t want you to lose her just because of your pride.”
Edouard returned to his other guests.
“Sneaky old man,” Javier mumbled.
The words echoed in his head. The beginning doesn’t dictate the end. You can have the end of your choosing.
If he could choose, what choice would he make?
Maybe a part of him was jealous because Vivian’s devotion toward Molly was something he’d wanted from his mother—or at least her attention to the abuse he’d suffered. As a child, he had yearned for an advocate, for someone who cared deeply enough to fight for him, to take him from his misery and show him what happiness was. Then he’d grown and become self-sufficient, and such cravings had disappeared.
Self-reliance was a much safer bet.
Vivian had brought old ghosts to life in a way he hadn’t expected. And after discovering what she had done for Molly…he hadn’t wanted to believe at first. The idea of someone putting everything on the line for a friend didn’t make any sense.
Anger and frustration had overtaken him when little by little he’d started to realize that yes, Vivian wasn’t perfect. She had lied to him and deceived him at first. She was stubborn, and once she got something in that little head of hers, she saw it through, regardless of the cost. Yes, Vivian Foster was nowhere near perfect…but he loved her anyway.
The realization hit him like a punch to his stomach.
I love her.
He pulled his mobile from his pocket and stabbed at the numbers. “I need the jet now. We’re going to London.”
…
Bail denied to entrepreneur Easton Finn. Vivian read the headline on the news Web site before turning off her sleek computer and sliding down from the tall stool. Jennifer, the chatty blond employee, had already logged off and seemed to be looking for her car keys in her bag.
Vivian had gone to the police a couple of times and had told the lawyers she would testify if needed. Helping any way she could gave her a sense of purpose, though she doubted her testimony would be instrumental. They had far better evidence—the confessions of the men who had stalked Molly, identified by security tapes, along with Easton’s fingerprints. Easton had killed Molly himself, out of what they assumed was fear that she would come clean to everyone, as she had threatened to do. He hadn’t wanted the whole world to know what a bastard he was.
And now they did.
Vivian smiled.
She looked around with satisfaction. The spacious and airy art gallery she managed was new, and it had already become a hit. The weekly exhibit featured a Paris theme. The oil paintings on the walls captured off-the-beaten-track gems from the City of Light.
She’d thought that starting a new job would help her begin a new chapter of her life. Truth was, she still felt like the high-wire artist who had fallen from the ropes with no safety net underneath: broken and embarrassed, filled with pain that went far beyond the physical.
After a lot of soul-searching, she’d made her peace with what had happened to Molly and had even visited her grave. She understood now that her friend had loved her, and if Molly had left the fine print out of her story to Vivian, it hadn’t been for lack of trust. She’d done it for her own reasons.
People weren’t always what they seemed. Even Laura, Molly’s mom, had gained much respect from Vivian after returning to London and fighting to reopen her daughter’s case. Everyone deserved a second chance.
Everyone but me.
She didn’t want to be bitter. But how could she believe she would ever love someone again when every corner of her heart was fully occupied by the man who had coldly turned his back on her and shut her out of his life?
“You can go. I’ll close it,” she said to Jennifer, who was about to lock up.
“Thanks. ’Night, Vivian.”
“Good night.”
Vivian picked up her purse and leaned down to punch the password to set the security alarm on the pad located under the countertop when she heard the door swing open.
“How can I help—” she started, standing up to face the potential customer.
Her mouth went dry in an instant. She blinked a couple of times when her eyes blurred at the sight of tall, broad-shouldered man in a light gray suit and dark shirt.
“Javier…” Her voice trembled.
He looked as imposing and attractive as she remembered him. Her heartbeat escalated, threatening to find a way out of her dark-red silk blouse.
His eyes caught hers and held them captive. Even drawing a deep breath proved difficult. She needed all the oxygen in the room.
“What are you doing here?” she asked after a moment.
“I need to talk to you.”
She leaned on the glass top of her desk for support, trying to appear casual.
I can’t survive having the ground beneath me torn away once more.
“How did you find me?”
“Edouard told me where you worked.” His eyes darted to the paintings hanging on the brick wall. “Paris.”
Vivian came out from behind the desk, smoothing her black skirt with her hands in order to dry the cold sweat breaking out on her palms. Edouard. Of course. She had chatted on the phone with the Frenchman a couple of times, and he had insisted she help him with his silent auction, but she had pulled out in the end. The possibility of meeting Javier had frightened her too much.
The auction…wasn’t it today?
“Weren’t you supposed to be at Edouard’s auction?”
His eyes returned to her, skimming over her face. There was something about him, a lightness she wasn’t used to seeing in him.
“I was at Edouard’s auction,” Javier replied. His accent had thickened. “Now I’m here…with you.”
“Ah. Well, what do you want from me?”
With only two short steps, he was in front of her, and she could see the dark shadows under his eyes.
“I want you,” he said boldly, a smile on his full lips.
Although the surprise of his words made her heart thump erratically and a familiar heat pool low in her stomach, she remained still. Vivian cleared her throat, the memory of their last moments together flashing in her mind. The hurt had stayed with her. “After our last meeting, I thought you wanted nothing to do with me.”
“I had to say that, Vivian. At that moment, when you said you loved me, I felt a loss of control greater than when I thought I had lost the merger. I’m not used to feeling like this.”
“I thought it had to do with Molly.”
> “That would have been a great excuse, yes, but I think it had stopped being about Molly. In a way, of course, I wanted you to believe me. But to learn that you would put everything on the line for a friend also fascinated me, though I wouldn’t admit it at the time.”
“It did?”
“The woods were a big eye-opener for me. I couldn’t be around you without wanting you. It exhilarated me, but it also scared me,” Javier confessed, lifting his finger to outline her jaw.
Vivian quivered at the familiar touch.
“Remember when I injured my foot and you asked me to lean on you to get to the bed-and-breakfast? That was the first time I had ever let a woman take care of me. You took me to the cottage, nursed me, and even though we didn’t see things the same way, you let me make love to you. That night, deep down, I knew I wasn’t the same anymore.”
“What are you saying?” Vivian asked. Her emotions were a mess, as though a palette of bold, bright colors had been thrown on a white canvas all at once.
“I love you,” he declared. He pulled her against him and kissed her once, softly.
“You…you love me?”
“The merger didn’t make sense without you. This last month has been hell. All I could think of was you. I am so sorry for hurting you, mi querida, and I want to spend the rest of my days making you happy.”
“But in the woods…after we made love, the way—”
“I was disappointed in myself for lacking control and taking you like that,” Javier replied. “I saw you blushing and gathered you were also disappointed in me. Infierno, I tried everything to get over you, Vivian. I’ve tried being cold, rude, distant… I can’t run from what I carry with me.” He placed her hand over his chest.
Vivian felt the quickened beating of his heart and cupped his handsome face, murmuring against his lips, “I love you, too.”
“Prove it.” The challenge in his eyes sent a tremor up her spine. “Marry me. I won’t let you go.”
Marry him? Vivian’s heart jolted, a thrill of pure happiness running through her. Tears of joy rose in her eyes as a strong sense of belonging blanketed her.
“Say yes,” he whispered in her ear, and she didn’t notice he had walked her into the back room until Javier lifted her up onto a counter. Her body instantly molded to his.
“Yes,” she moaned.
He backed off for a second, a serious look on his face. “Yes to the lovemaking or to my marriage proposal?”
“Yes to everything.” She kissed him, wrapping her arms around him tightly and knowing she wouldn’t let him get away, either. Ever.
Acknowledgments
To Entangled, thank you for welcoming me into your awesome team. I’ll always be grateful to Alethea Spiridon Hopson for believing in my potential.
To my lovely, ruthless, surprisingly unassuming editor, Ruth Homrighaus. I’m fascinated by your talent and professionalism. If you ever need a kidney donor or a surrogate, give me a call.
Thanks to Yvette Savage for your endless support and enthusiasm.
Thank you Reader, for allowing me to share Vivian and Javier’s story with you.
About the Author
Carmen Falcone learned at an early age that fantasizing about fictional characters and places beat doing math homework any day. After she achieved a B.A. in tourism in her hometown in Brazil, she traveled the world and was soon invited to work in Texas, where she met her Swiss husband. She’d always dreamed of becoming a published writer, and after her daughter was born, she revisited that dream of writing–this time, unwilling to give it up. She lives in Austin and enjoys reading, traveling, and spending time with her family and three high-energy pugs. She also loves to procrastinate, so please drop her a line on Twitter or Facebook. Visit Carmen at her website: www.carmenfalcone.com.
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