by Stacy Gail
Eliane offered a mortified cringe. “Please forgive me for my awkward subterfuge, Ivar. And Scout, again I beg for your forgiveness for the, er, creative license Marcel took when he completely rewrote what I wanted him to say in order to get Ivar headed in my direction.”
“Creative license, huh? Yeah, I suppose that’s one way of putting it.” Scout’s mouth tightened, positive that if she ever saw that whiny little bug again she’d clock him for all the crap he’d pulled. “Eliane, what you didn’t know was that Marcel Dubois had an ax to grind when it came to me. When you paid Marcel to tell Ivar the truth—that Frank had mentioned you and Ivar while making out his will, determining that he couldn’t leave either of you a thing thanks to Albertine’s greedy ways—Marcel saw an opportunity to screw with me. So he took it, ensuring that Ivar couldn’t approach me openly.”
“Frank was my godfather, and he knew your history, and mine,” Eliane told Ivar on a frustrated sigh. “It was supposed to be so simple. Dubois was supposed to explain that Frank had shared your story while he was putting together his will—the story of how Frank knew you had been stolen from me, and how I was desperate to get you back. Instead, Dubois followed his own agenda, neglected to tell you the truth, and twisted everything around just so Scout would look bad.”
“In fairness, I also think Dubois’s French is so bad he confused the word ‘godfather’ with ‘father’, got everything jumbled up, and jumped to his own unsavory conclusions,” Scout offered, wrinkling her nose. “The one thing I’m still not clear on is why you didn’t just go to Ivar yourself, Eliane. With your husband dead and your mother safely socked away in a nursing home, weren’t you finally free to do whatever you wanted?”
“After being told of Ivar’s supposed suicide attempts, by that time I was too afraid I’d make my son hurt himself if I approached him directly. Instead, I opted to give Ivar the truth through Frank Bournival’s assistant. If I could inspire my son to ask questions, I had the hope that he would come to me for answers. And he did, after a fashion,” she added brightly, shooting a warm glance Scout’s way. “You landed on my doorstep a few days ago with one of Frank’s journals that held Ivar’s story, and voila… here we are.”
“Here we are,” he repeated softly, and the tone dragged Scout’s attention back to him, only to find him looking at her in a way that made her stomach flutter. “You made a miracle happen today.”
“Yeah, that’s me, miraculously scouting out trouble wherever I go. Though,” she added as she got to her feet, crossing the office to attend the coffee machine she’d readied before they’d arrived, “if that were really the case, I would’ve scouted out the need to get to Frank’s files way sooner than I did. I could have put this whole mess to rest a long time ago.” Maybe then she could have ended the quiet nightmare Ivar and Eliane had been living behind their horrible, blank smiles.
Then again, she thought as she got out two mugs bearing the House Of Payne logo from the cabinet, she might not have gotten in neck-deep with Ivar. If she’d had this mess to tackle right off the bat, she doubted she would have had the opportunity to let him close enough to hurt her.
Or, for that matter, bring her the most intense joy she’d ever known.
“Maybe it was meant to unfold this way.” As if he’d read her mind, Ivar spoke her inner thoughts from directly behind her, and his close proximity made her jump. “I believe in fate, and that everything happens for a reason.”
“Not me. I’m all about making my own fate.” And right now she was a huge advocate of getting out of their way to let the dust settle for the Fournier family. No doubt Ivar needed some space to decide what he wanted to—
His arms slid around her from behind, and his mouth moved next to her ear. “I will never be able to thank you enough for this.”
Oh shit, just what she didn’t need—his gratitude. If she wasn’t sure she could trust anything he said, she sure as hell didn’t want that muddying the waters even more. “Don’t worry about it, okay? No biggie. Why don’t you sit back down and have some coffee while you get to know your mother?”
He looked over her shoulder at the two mugs she’d gotten out. “No tea for you?”
Her heart twisted, stupidly touched that he remembered she wasn’t a coffee drinker. “I’m going to get some work done downstairs while you two do your talking on neutral territory. Just do me a favor and shut my office door when you leave, okay? There are some employees around here that think they can just walk into my private sanctuary like they own the place.”
The arms around her tightened. “You are not leaving.”
Funny, how that sounded like a command rather than a question. “You two need to get used to each other without a buffer. Which works for me, since I’ve got massive amounts of work waiting for me downstairs. You should see what some moron has done to the sales list on the computer. Apparently a two-hour ink session is now only two bucks, can you believe it?”
“Scout.” Taking the mugs out of her hands and setting them down, he turned her to face him. The moment she had his intense gaze blasting her full force, she knew what a butterfly felt like when it was pinned in place. “Listen to what I am saying. You. Are not. Leaving.”
That was when she got it. He was telling her that she wasn’t going to leave him. But she could hardly leave him when she’d never really been allowed to be with the real him in the first place. She wasn’t sure how she could make him understand that, when he didn’t have that perspective. How could he? He had been with the real Scout the whole time they’d been together. He had the comfort of knowing that she’d chosen to be with him.
But would Ivar have chosen to be with her if he hadn’t wanted to get something from her?
No. Of course not.
Slowly, deliberately, she took a step back. “I’m just going downstairs, Ivar. That’s your father’s name, by the way, and not some scarlet-letter type of thing your grandmother branded you with to make you feel excluded and unwanted. She just spun it that way for giggles.”
His jaw knotted as he glanced at her feet—feet that took her away from him. “Another lie. Everything in my life seems to be a lie.”
“They can be destructive, can’t they?” When she heard how passive-aggressive she sounded, she rolled her eyes and backed up another step. “Ugh, don’t listen to me. Just take your mom’s mug over to her, okay? You can start learning about her by figuring out the simple things, like how she likes her coffee.”
“Listen to me, ma trésor—”
She winced. She couldn’t help it.
He must have seen it, because a harsh sound grated from his throat. “Do not deny what you are. You are my treasure, and I refuse to let you forget that. Look at me.”
“Please, just—”
“Look at me.” For good measure he caught her chin and waited until her eyes locked onto his. “You are my treasure.”
Her heart, that carefully cocooned thing, began to stir to painful life as she gazed into his stormy eyes. She wanted to believe him. God, she wanted to. As much as she’d tried to fight it, he’d been her treasure from the moment he’d walked into her life.
But she knew she hadn’t started out that way for him.
She’s just been someone he had to use.
“Take care of your mom.” She tried to smile, and wished she could pull off one of his blank masterpieces instead of what felt like a ghastly facsimile of her own. “That’s what’s important now. Everything else can wait.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Scout had never been happier to see Friday in her life.
It was always rough, going back to the daily grind after a long vacation, but getting through this first week back at House Of Payne had been brutal. Angel’s work schedule had to be maneuvered around Twist’s, so that the possibility of them meeting unexpectedly was cut to a minimum. Angel’s “concierge tattooing” story had inspired the ever-creative Payne to offer just such a service at a shockingly exorbitant price, and they’d been loc
ked in developmental meetings at all hours of the day and night. Something had gone horribly wrong with the program that ran the registers throughout House Of Payne, so that not only were people getting charged a pittance for long ink sessions, but they were also being charged hundreds of dollars for a T-shirt, magnet or coffee mug in the onsite store. And for the cherry on top, now was the season for all the conventions and trade shows in the world of ink, which she not only arranged but had to do all the publicity for.
If this amount of work was what waited for her at the end of a vacation, she was never going on another one again.
Dumping her work case, purse and mail on the dining room table, she turned on lights as she made her way to the kitchen. It was almost one in the morning; the House stayed open later on Fridays and the weekends, and if she didn’t eat something at work, she usually came home ravenous. Today had been so busy she had forgotten to eat, but as she peered into the fridge, nothing appealed to her.
Geez.
What a cliché she was. Not eating. Barely sleeping. Working her sorry carcass into an early grave. Any minute now she’d start listening to brokenhearted country-western ballads and crying in her beer like the lovesick idiot she was.
She hadn’t seen Ivar in days. No doubt she would have wasted away like some sad Victorian old maid if he hadn’t sent her flowers every day. Better yet, with each delivery came a note that counted the days that they’d been apart. Every day brought an arrangement more beautiful than the last, from the traditional red roses, to a bright and happy collection of daisies and sunflowers, to a spectacular arrangement of yellow daffodils, tiger lilies and orange tulips.
With each new delivery, that numbing cocoon around her heart melted a little more.
She couldn’t tell yet if this was good or bad.
He also texted her several times just to keep her updated. Thankfully things were going well with establishing a relationship with Eliane, and it was a weight off her shoulders to know she’d done the right thing in bringing them together.
She respected their decision not to bring criminal charges against the baroness, Albertine, due to the woman’s fragile health. Instead, Eliane cut off the financial assistance she’d been giving her mother since Rupert Rundstrom had died. This left the baroness with no source of income except for the chateau in Montreal, and if she bothered either of them again in any way, Ivar would happily go to the police and unleash a criminal investigation the likes of which would destroy any social standing she still clung to.
With her health virtually immobilizing Albertine, there was nothing the baroness could do but take it. In Scout’s opinion, the narcissistic old witch should be grateful she’d gotten off so easily.
With a sigh, she plucked up a stick of string cheese and unwrapped it, deciding to call it dinner. She was glad Ivar and his mother were happy with the outcome, she thought, collapsing on a couch in the living area and kicking off her shoes to rub her tired feet. She’d been so wrapped up in her own gloom it was hard to remember what happiness felt like. Ivar’s fault, of course, but also her own. If she could just get past the thought that he’d originally pursued her not because he’d been interested in her, but because he’d been interested in getting something from her, she’d be okay.
But she couldn’t forget that. It made her doubt everything. Him. Her attractiveness as a woman. Whether or not she genuinely appealed to someone as worldly and sophisticated at Ivar. Whether he really wanted her for the long haul, or if the bottom would drop out of her world when he realized he could do so much better than a stray from a place called Slag Valley.
Sass had been right, after all. When it came to Ivar—a man whom she’d always known was light years out of her league—she was hopelessly insecure. And that was beyond pathetic.
A text chime brought her head up, belatedly making her realize she was sitting there like a lump, contemplating cheese. Definitely beyond pathetic, she sighed, hurrying over to her bag to fish out her phone.
Hello, my Scout. Long day?
Speak of the devil—a devil who had the most unbelievably great timing. It was uncanny how Ivar always seemed to know when she got home from work, as he’d texted her every night this past week. For a second she allowed herself to wonder if he’d somehow found out her schedule before she shook her head. She was a self-deluded moron to even dream about something like that. Of course Ivar had way better things to do than worry about her comings and goings.
Shoving the last of the cheese into her mouth, she let her thumbs do her talking. “A long week. You okay?”
It took a few moments for his text to show up. You always ask how I am, but never tell me how you are. Do you realize that?
“Of course I realize that, you dummy,” she told the screen. “It’s because I don’t want to talk about how monumentally fucked up I am. I don’t want to show you that when it comes to you, I’m a needy, clingy psycho wench. A psycho wench who wants you to be in her life for one simple reason—that you genuinely want to be there. Duh.”
But that was too complicated to put in a text, or say out loud, or even try to explain. So, she took the easy way out. “I’m fine.”
Again there was a long pause before his text showed up.
I have no psychic abilities, so I cannot read what is going on in your head. Nor can I read lips, so I have no clue what you just said. But it wasn’t “I’m fine.” Tell me how you are, or I am coming over there to see just how “fine” you really are.
“Can’t read lips?” Baffled, she stared at the text before realization hit her like a Mack truck. Her head snapped up to the windows before she went to them to look out on the night-washed city. Further down the coastline hulked the shadow of his apartment building, dotted here and there with lights. Staring hard at it for a few moments, she turned her attention back to her phone. “You’ve been watching me?”
This time she didn’t have to wait for his response.
Of course. Somebody has to look out for you.
She stared at the words, torn between outrage and a warm, fluttery feeling in her stomach that at least this was evidence that he cared enough to keep tabs on her. But boundaries were boundaries, and she had an obligation to remind him of that.
No matter how sweet his concern was.
“You can’t do that. It’s against the law, not to mention creepy.”
You have left me no other choice. How am I supposed to make sure you’re all right when you’re so determined to keep me at a distance?
“I’m giving you time with your family.” And giving herself time to figure out her own head. Though, of course, the problem wasn’t her head. That part of her anatomy understood that Ivar hadn’t targeted her to deliberately wound her. No. It was her heart that was giving her sleepless nights, that poor organ that already hurt so much.
That cocooned organ, moreover, that was determined to never be hurt again.
Not surprisingly, he condensed what he thought of her response into much more succinct terms.
Bullshit.
With a short sigh and a couple flicks of her thumb, she put the phone to her ear. “Okay, fine. I’m giving us both some time and space to let things settle down,” she told him the moment she heard the line engage. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Ivar’s voice came through loud and clear. “If you expect me to thank you for ejecting yourself from my life, you have no fucking clue.” Then there was a pause. “Why are you smiling?”
At that, her smile vanished. “Because I find it hilarious when your cultured mouth drops the F-bomb. Sue me.”
“What I want to do is shake you until your teeth fall out.”
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m here and you’re there.”
“That is why I want to shake you.” As irritated as he sounded, she still couldn’t help but find an absurd amount of pleasure in the accented velvet of his voice. “One of us is in the wrong place. Either I should be there with you, or you should be here with me. And in either s
cenario, we should be talking this out instead of just moving on with our lives and pretending nothing happened between us.”
“There’s no way I could pretend that.” Not when it felt like there was a gaping hole in her chest. “I just don’t know what else there is to say right now.”
“Right, because nothing good and lasting can be built on a lie, so why bother, is that it?”
She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the glass as he bitterly flung her words back at her. Apparently they’d stuck with him, considering he could call them up verbatim. “Give me a break, okay? That’s what I’m trying to figure out for myself.”
“Scout.” His tone changed, became a sweet lover’s caress. She bit her lip so she wouldn’t cry. “God, do not to look like that.”
She didn’t even bother getting after him for peeping on her. She didn’t have the energy. “Like what?”
“Like I have destroyed you. I do not want to leave with you feeling like this. I cannot stand the thought of that.”
Her eyes opened while her stomach executed a sickening drop. “Wait. Did…” She had to suck in air that didn’t want to go into her lungs, and she turned away from the windows so he wouldn’t see she was on the verge of passing out. “Did you say leave?”
“I will be heading back to Canada with my mother.”
Back to Canada.
Back to Canada.
Oh, God.
Why didn’t she see this coming? Of course he wasn’t staying in Chicago. Hell, he’d only been there for one purpose—to get info on Frank Bournival, nothing more. Now that he had all the answers he’d been looking for, there was no reason for him to stay.
No reason at all.
“There are some things she needs to get done, such as arrange for the sale of the chateau and cut the last of her legal ties with Albertine, and I want to make sure it gets done. But I hate leaving things the way they are between us.”
No, of course he wouldn’t want that. Wouldn’t it be nice for him to walk away from his time in Chicago with a clear conscience and feeling like he hadn’t done any damage with his lies? One lie, her brain brutally reminded her. She was the one who took that lie and wove it into an entire tapestry she could believe in.