by Lydia Rowan
The command hung between them, the air suddenly heavy with tension that hadn’t been there before, and his body tensed incrementally as if waiting for her disagreement.
Instead, she nodded and said sweetly, “Pardon me,” certain that the cut of her eyes communicated her true feelings in a way that her words did not.
He tilted maybe two inches to the left, the tension fading as instantly as it had appeared, and after an exasperated sigh, Charlotte squeezed past him, the limited space making it impossible to avoid pressing her body against his, impossible to avoid the scent that rolled off him, a clean, almost floral scent that was still more masculine than any she’d smelled before. As pissed as she was, it’d be a lie to say she didn’t want to get even closer, deeply inhale that scent, press against him, more fully explore what lay under his suit. And bastard that he was, he could see it. That slight smile that curved his bottom lip; the little spark of heat that thawed some of the cold in his gaze told her as much.
“You left this in my car. Thought you might want it,” he said after she’d passed, holding her cell phone up, the device resembling a child’s toy in his enormous hand.
She returned to retrieve it, and the little sizzle of energy that passed from his hand to hers when she touched him froze the air in her lungs. It didn’t seem possible, but his eyes darkened further, and a bit more of the ice in his gaze cracked. Moving at a speed she didn’t often employ, she scurried down the hall, anxious to be away from that dizzying hot-and-cold gaze.
“Have a nice day,” she called over her shoulder, hating that breathy little hitch in her voice, the one that gave away the train of her thoughts as much as her reaction to their physical contact had.
“You too, Charlotte,” he said, his deep voice as close to playful as she’d ever heard it, the low chuckle that floated at her after his words making her purse her lips in annoyance.
The irritation faded as she left the house and was overtaken by her anxiousness to see her parents. The sleek, low-slung, white two-door car parked next to Elah’s was the owner of the key in her hand, she supposed. It looked fast, had definitely cost more than her entire college education, and Lottie conjured an image of the woman who would drive a car like this. Beautiful, rich, classy, refined, a woman like Elah’s receptionist, Amanda. Despite some residual issues about her size, Lottie didn’t think she suffered from a particular lack of self-esteem, but this car, and the woman who should drive it, was next level. Next, next level. Lottie was more of a Volvo kind of girl.
But, unless Elah had a car dealership stuck out back, she’d just have to make the best of it. And as she sat on the butter-soft tan leather, that addictive new-car smell engulfing her, she found herself quite happy to make the best of it. Or she would as soon as she figured out how to work the damn thing. The console was like a spaceship’s, and she chuckled at the push-button ignition, which she thought was just the niftiest thing. She buckled her seat belt—safety first!—and pushed the button, the engine springing to life and then settling to a low purr, the power of it just waiting to be unleashed. She obliged, wrapping her hands around the soft leather of the steering wheel, and then she pulled off.
The machine delivered on the speed and control that it promised, and she found herself lulled and soothed by the precision drive. The peace couldn’t last though, and as she parked in front of her childhood home, the unease of her situation came back full force. Her parents were home, and Greg was over as well, at least based on the cars in the driveway. She got out and walked toward the front door, the lawn and porch that she’d crossed a thousand times, a million, taking on new meaning. While Elah’s house was bigger, grander, and would definitely be considered nicer than the family homestead, it didn’t hold a candle to this place. The house was situated in one of the city’s nicer neighborhoods, but it wasn’t ostentatious or even particularly flashy. But it meant so much to her, had played a central role in her life, in her memories, good and bad, and though she hadn’t lived in it for over a decade, she still held it dear.
Entering the house, she heard her parents and Greg talking and headed toward their voices, figuring they were in her father’s office or in the den. When she reached his office, she saw her father and Greg huddled close, her mother hanging back as was her habit. But her shoulders were tight, her face marred with rage.
“Lottie!” her mother, Ellen, exclaimed, rushing to her and embracing her in a great hug, the rage leaving her face, relief and concern replacing it. In that moment, it seemed of little consequence that Lottie’s mother was a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter than her daughter. The ferocious hug and the strength with which it was transferred was a testament to her mother’s affection, and it softened Lottie’s heart immeasurably. Her mother had always been the picture of poise and calm that Lottie had modeled herself after, and this display of emotion was uncharacteristic. Still, Lottie held on tight, happy to be in the embrace of a person she knew loved her. Her relief almost had her crying, but she held her tears at bay, knew that they would only cause her parents, especially her father, more pain. After a moment, Ellen pulled back, assessing Lottie with that gaze that caught everything.
“I was worried sick! Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t want you to worry. I just misplaced it,” she said, patting her mother on the arm.
“Has that person”—Ellen spat the word with scorn—“done anything to you? Is this madness over?”
“Not yet, but we’re working on it.”
Ellen actually trembled with rage as she stared at Lottie’s father.
“James, I cannot believe you allowed this to happen! How could you put my daughter in this situation?”
Her father stayed silent, the partial mutism that had sprung up yesterday still firmly in place, and he didn’t look at Lottie or her mother.
“Mrs. Trufant, I’m helping the councilman and we’re doing the best we can,” Greg said.
“Gregory, this is a family matter. Perhaps you’d be more comfortable waiting outside.”
Lottie felt the sting, and given the shocked expression on his face, so did Greg. And Lottie understood. Her mother and father had welcomed him with open arms, and through the years, they had treated him as a member of the family. To be turned away at this moment of crisis had to hurt.
“Mama, it’s okay. I’m sure Daddy would like Greg here at a time like this. Can I have a few minutes with them to talk this out?”
Ellen looked between Lottie and the men once, twice, before she finally relented, though her brows remained drawn, the fine lines around her eyes and between her brows the only hint of her mother’s advancing age.
“Fine. Have you had breakfast?”
She shook her head.
“I’ll fix some salmon croquettes and rice, then.”
“You don’t need to do that,” Lottie said.
Salmon and rice was a rare treat, something the family only ate on Christmas morning. Her mother hated to pick out the bones, and no amount of pleading had ever moved her to make it any other time. Her stomach sank. If Ellen was making salmon, she was seriously angry or Lottie was in very deep trouble. The impending conversation with her father would clarify which, and Lottie felt her anxiety spike.
“Nonsense. I can make breakfast for my baby girl. Better than standing here contemplating homicide. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
She left on a huff, and Lottie’s heart went out to her. This had to be tough for her mom, and it struck Lottie that Elah, her husband, was getting just what he desired. Ellen and James had been inseparable since well before Lottie had been born, and other than a few tense dinners, she couldn’t recall a time when they weren’t the best of friends and a united front. But in less than twenty-four hours, Elah Avakian and his machinations had put a wedge where there hadn’t been one before.
Damn him.
“Daddy, how much did you tell her? Does she know what he is accusing you of?” Lottie asked as she went to stand next
to her father’s desk.
He still refused to look at her, and she felt her patience run thin.
“We can’t get through this if we don’t talk!”
“Lottie, he’s trying; it’s just, you know how Mrs. Trufant is. What could be gained from bringing Ellen in on this?” Greg asked.
Lottie looked at Greg, and as annoyed as she was by his interruption, she couldn’t argue the truth of his point. Her mother had more esteem for her father, his career, and his good deeds than anyone on the planet—including her father himself. And it wasn’t for show; even in private, her mother expressed the same adoration she showed in public, had told Lottie she could only hope her daughter’s future husband was as great a man, father, and life partner as her dad had been. Showing her Elah’s list of allegations would only be detrimental, sending her mother off in a frenzied attempt to clear her father’s name. Or worse, having Ellen confront Elah directly, which was a terrible idea.
“How did you explain the marriage?” Lottie asked.
She looked at her father pointedly, willing him to finally look at her.
The silence pressed in, and Lottie realized that she’d been less stressed at Elah’s house huddled on the side of his bed than she was right now, in her childhood home, in the presence of a man who’d always made her feel like the most important person in his world, one who’d promised to always keep her safe.
“I just told her I had a temporary situation that you were helping with, that it wouldn’t be too long,” her father eventually said.
She paced the room, considering the tone of his voice and the words.
“Daddy, you know I love you, but you’re not filling me with confidence here. Do you have a concrete plan to get us—me—out of this situation?”
“We’re working on it, Lottie,” Greg said before she’d even finished her breath, and her mother’s suggestion seemed prescient given the anger his interjection spawned.
“What is there to work on? I mean, Elah has some misguided notions about you. Talk to him, clear them up. End this!”
“You’re on a first-name basis now?” Greg said, his voice suggestive.
Lottie chose to ignore him and instead focused on her father. “Do you have any idea why this is happening?”
“What kind of question is that? It’s clear your father is being extorted by a criminal who is using you for his own personal gain.”
“I’m speaking to my father, Greg,” she said without even glancing at him.
She was on high alert now. This was a rough situation, but her father’s response was out of proportion. He shouldn’t be shut down like this unless…
“Is there any truth to what he says, Daddy?” she asked quietly, some small part of her halfway convinced that the volume of her words was connected with the truth of her father’s response.
Interminable seconds passed as she waited for him to speak. He’d confirm there wasn’t, that this was all some big mistake, and things would go back to normal. But then he glanced at Greg quickly before sweeping his gaze up to meet hers, and the strength was sapped from her in an instant. She collapsed into the nearest seat, one that had the misfortune of being next to Greg, and her breath left her in a whoosh.
“Tell me,” she said in a whisper.
“It’s not… The picture he paints isn’t entirely accurate.”
Her heart was breaking, but some part of her needed to hear what he had to say, still wanted to believe.
“Which parts are accurate, Daddy?”
Her father heaved a huge sigh as he collected himself, and when he began speaking, the politician who only vaguely resembled her beloved father was fully in place.
“When I was much, much younger, just starting out on the police commission, I made some friends, and it turned out they had some…unsavory associates. I wasn’t fully aware of how much so at the time, but when I found out, I cut all ties and returned the money they’d invested in my campaigns over the years. That’s all, Lottie. I swear.”
“Then why go through all this? If it’s as simple as you say, just come clean; the people will believe you.”
“That’s noble but not realistic,” Greg interjected. “I mean, you’re his daughter and you aren’t even giving him the benefit of the doubt; you are letting a stranger and criminal influence you; what do you think the public would do? What would your father’s enemies, the people who resent the good work he’s done in this city, do?”
There was truth in that statement, no matter how much she wanted to deny it, or how annoying it was that Greg was the one who’d said it. And, as much as it disappointed her to know that her father had made a mistake, it gave her some comfort that Elah wasn’t entirely off base. He was turning a molehill into a mountain, but he wasn’t completely detached from reality.
“But what about the other stuff in those documents?” she asked.
“Made up. Greg suggested that he might be using me as a cover for his own misdeeds, taking my past indiscretions for a foundation and using them to extricate himself.”
“Do you have some sort of history with him? Bad blood?”
“I’ve heard of him, sure. But until yesterday, I don’t think I’d ever seen the man in person,” her father said.
“So he picked your name out of a hat and chose you to destroy on a whim? That doesn’t make sense, Daddy.”
“None of this makes sense!” her dad said sharply, and Lottie flinched. Then more quietly, he said, “I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to do.”
A sharp throb began around her heart. Her father was never anything less than certain, and she didn’t know how to reconcile that with the broken, confused man in front of her.
“We need to confront this head-on. You can’t hide from it forever, and I can’t stay in this…marriage forever.”
“No one is asking for forever, Lottie. Just a little time,” Greg put in yet again.
She looked at her father, and his eyes implored her. She relented. She could do this for him. She stood and nodded at her father.
“Okay.”
Without acknowledging Greg, she walked toward the kitchen looking for her mother. She paused at the entry for a moment, letting the memories of breakfasts past wash over her, marveling again at how amazed she always was by her mother. The woman was in her sixties, but still retained the legendary beauty that her father had raved about. Lottie had always been jealous of her delicate looks, felt like an ox when next to her, but her mother had always showered her with love and praise, bragged about how sweet and pretty and smart she was. Most of that could be attributed to a mother’s love, but still, during those tough adolescent years, it’d been nice to have her around, and now that she was an adult, Lottie’s appreciation had only grown.
She moved and her mother glanced in her direction, appearing briefly startled before a smile spread across her face.
“Are they still in there conspiring?”
“Yes.”
“Good, we need a moment. Come wash your hands and sit at the table. We’ll eat while we talk.”
Lottie laughed at the command. The kitchen table had seen its number of serious talks, all preceded by a thorough handwashing, of course. She complied, then dried her hands and sat, and soon her mother joined her at the table. They dined in silence for a while, Lottie savoring the crispy, salty fish and fluffy rice, wishing she could sit here until this mess got sorted.
“Charlotte Trufant, have you lost your damn mind?” her mother said out of the blue.
Apparently the time for wishing was over.
Lottie looked over at her mother, and her heart broke a little at the anger and disappointment on her face. “I had to, Mama. You didn’t see him yesterday. He was terrified. I couldn’t let him down,” she said, hoping her mother would understand.
Ellen narrowed her eyes, clearly not convinced.
“Lot, your daddy is a grown man,” she said, waving a hand in the air for emphasis. “A senior citizen. A seasoned political operator who is mor
e than capable of handling himself. If there’s a situation he can’t get out of, there shouldn’t be anything his daughter can do to help, least of all marry a stranger!” She slammed a hand on the table, and Lottie jumped. “It’s just ridiculous. Ridiculous! I wish one of you would have called me so I could have talked some sense into you,” she said scornfully.
“Well, I wasn’t thinking straight at the time, Ma.”
“Obviously not. So what is that man holding over his head?”
Lottie coughed, almost choking on the forkful of rice she’d just put into her mouth.
“Give me some credit, honey. I may not know everything, and to be truthful, I’m fine with that, but I do know your father, and I know it’s got to be something serious if he’s bartered you away like a used car to save his own hide.” Her mother practically spat the words. “I can’t believe it! I should throw his butt out, would if not for all the tongues that would wag. In fact, I still might.”
“Ma—”
“Don’t you dare defend him! And I have half a mind to turn you over my knee for going along with it.” Ellen fumed. “Now, what is that man using against him?” she asked again a moment later.
Lottie weighed her words carefully. Her mother had never been this candid with her, but she needed to be delicate with what she shared.
“There are accusations of wrongdoing—”
“You know what? Don’t even say anything. It doesn’t matter. Nothing, and I mean nothing, could justify what he did.”
“Don’t be too mad at him. He did what he thought was best.”
“Hmm. Best for him, I bet.” Ellen scoffed. After a moment she said, “You don’t have to do this. You can stay right here. In fact, you should. Your father’s a big boy; he can take care of himself.”
“I made a promise, and I have to keep it.”
“Is that something I taught you? I know it couldn’t have been your father,” Ellen said, a bit of a smile breaking through.
Lottie chuckled. “I believe it is.”
“Well,” she said a moment later, “this man is treating you…respectfully, correct?”