Chapter Twenty-Three
*
"Today's the last day - here we go!" I sang out as I woke up. Since Sanford wasn't here, I knew that Whiskers would be hanging out near me, trusting that I'd be willing to provide him with his normal breakfast in Sanford's absence.
Yesterday afternoon, Sanford had come upstairs halfway through my post-lunch work session, grabbing a suitcase out of his closet. "I've got a sudden matter that came up in the city," he explained to me as he dumped clothes into the suitcase. "I should just be gone for a couple of days. You've got keys to the place, and Winston will still be around to help out with anything you need."
"He can't help out with everything I need," I replied, leaning in and blinking soulfully up at the man. "Not unless he's got a much younger body under that tuxedo than he lets on!"
Sanford grimaced at the image that I had summoned up in his head. "Everything related to work. I'll be back pretty soon, promise."
So that evening, yesterday night, I went back to my cottage and made my own dinner, eating for one instead of for two. It felt rather strange, even though Sanford and I had only really been together for a couple of weeks. Already, going up to my bed, I missed the comforting warmth of him beside me, the relaxing, steady sound of his deep breathing.
Still, even without Sanford next to me, I felt a rush of excitement course through me as I sat up this morning. I'd finally tackled the last of the little antiques that cluttered up the upstairs bedrooms and the room that Sanford had turned into a study of sorts. Today, I could go over and do one last walkthrough of the house, making sure that I'd accounted for everything on my several-pages-long bill!
I'd need to wait for Sanford to come back, of course, before I could hand the bill over. I knew that he'd want to go through every line item on the bill with me, making sure that I wasn't daring to overcharge him anywhere, and he wouldn't be content to leave the bill to Winston to settle in his stead.
A little part of me wondered what might happen next. Would he want to have a serious talk about our relationship? I still could continue working for him if he wanted to sell off any of these pieces - and I suspected that he would be easily persuaded to do so, at least for a lot of the smaller little curios. That would equal more commission for me, plus more time to hang around with him. Maybe, instead, he'd be interested in Della's vacation idea, whisking me off to somewhere sun-drenched and exotic.
I climbed out of bed, got dressed, and gave Whiskers his usual bowl of cat food. In an effort to try and cut down on the amount of food that he ingested, I'd started dumping the can of cat food out into a bowl, and then putting a spoonful back into the can before placing the bowl down on the floor. So far, Whiskers hadn't noticed the slight decrease in serving portion, but hopefully it would help him shed a couple of pounds.
Making sure that my bill and laptop were tucked into my shoulder bag, I snagged the key to Sanford's house from the hook next to my front door and headed over to the mansion. I made my way up to the front door, but I heard someone moving on the other side as I started to slide the key into the lock.
Winston? I pulled my key out of the lock, just in time as the door opened up from the other side.
But the person on the other side of the door, when it opened, was definitely not the elderly butler.
"Who are you?" asked the woman standing inside the Winterhearst mansion as she glared out at me, a slight Southern accent coloring her words.
I stared back at her, wondering the very same question. "Uh, I'm Elaine Dean, furniture and antiques appraiser," I said, reverting to my default greeting. "Who are-"
"Ah, the appraiser! Sandy did mention that he was hiring one of those," the woman interrupted me, her frown lessening. "And you must be the one who's put these sticky notes everywhere. I suppose he's just granted you the run of the house, has he?"
I blinked, still feeling like I was off balance as I tried to figure out who this woman was. She certainly didn't look like hired help. She'd called him Sandy??
I guessed that she stood close to six feet tall, possibly only an inch or two shorter than Sanford himself. A solid inch of that height was her hair, platinum blonde and rolling down in gorgeous, movie-star level waves. She looked like a movie star, I had to admit, or like she'd had several stylists working on her for hours to get her into perfect runway condition. She wore a tight little off-the-shoulder dress that I'd never be able to pull off in a million years, in part because it clung to her body like gauze and revealed the absence of a single pound of body fat. Sequins glittered around the hem, matched by the light glinting off of the diamond studs in the woman's ears, a gold necklace that wrapped around her graceful, swan-like neck, and a gigantic rock that dazzled from her ring finger.
Just standing next to her, on the doorstep, made me especially self-conscious. I'd chosen to wear a particularly stained tee shirt this morning, since Sanford wouldn't be around to see it, and my jeans had a big white splotch on the butt from where I'd once accidentally sat down on a bench that still had wet paint drying on it. Next to this blonde creature, I felt like a caterpillar looking up at a fully transformed and gorgeous butterfly.
"Um, what?" I asked, dimly aware that she'd asked me a question. "Sorry, but who are you?"
"Oh, of course! How silly of me, forgetting to introduce myself!" The blonde woman threw her head back and let out a laugh that seemed more for show than out of any real amusement. "I'm Valencia, of course." She held her hand out to me.
That didn't help. "Valencia?" I repeated, not yet moving to take the offered hand. Valencia, or whoever she was, held her hand out to me with the palm facing down, tilting her fingers forward as if she expected me to bend down and kiss them. That massive diamond ring glittered up at me, and I sensed that she'd held out her hand this way to make sure that I didn't miss the size of the gem.
"Well, yes - hasn't Sandy talked about me?" When my expression didn't change, she let out another one of those fake laughs. "Oh, he's so quiet and repressive. I'm Valencia O'Hara." She paused for an instant, as if to lend more impact to her next words. "His fiancee."
I felt as though she'd just socked me in the gut. "His what?"
"Why, his fiancee, of course!" she repeated. "I've been wrapping up most of the matters in the city, but he had to go up today to sign the last paperwork on closing up the old place. Now that we're moving in here, there's no reason to pay two sets of cleaning staff, is there?"
"Sanford is engaged?" I repeated, wondering if this was how it felt to have a stroke. My head hurt like crazy. "That can't be right - he never said anything-"
"Oh, he doesn't like talking about himself, thinks that he can play Mister Dark and Mysterious with everyone he meets," Valencia said, giving another little disparaging wave of her hand. From deep inside of me, I felt a petty and personal dislike of the woman growing bigger with each second spent in her presence. "I'll get him under control, though, don't you worry."
I didn't say anything, and an awkward silence fell over us for a moment. Valencia cleared her throat, frowning out at me, and I realized that I still stood on the front stoop of the Winterhearst mansion, right in her path.
"Do you need something else?" the woman asked after a moment, as I tried to get any sort of thought into my head, fighting the rising sense of overwhelming panic.
"Yes - no, I just have a little more review to do," I stammered out. "Really? You're really his fiancee? I swear that he never said he had a fiancee, that he was even seeing anyone!"
Again with the laugh. Sanford might be engaged to this woman, but I itched to hit her in the face after just a minute of speaking with her. "Afraid so, honey," Valencia said, in what sounded like far too patronizing of a tone. "But I'm sure you'll find someone out there for you, someone a bit more your... level."
"Anyway, head on in and take care of whatever else you need to do to finish up this whole appraisal business," Valencia went on, somehow not noticing how her words were making my fingers twitch as I fought to keep from
tightening my hands into fists. "But before you go, do you know any good florists in this town? Good at the real bouquets, mind you, not just putting a half dozen wildflowers in a vase and calling it a 'custom arrangement'."
"No," I answered shortly, wondering if she even noticed the frost that rimmed my words.
"Oh, that's unfortunate. My normal florist told me that he doesn't do trips to set up for a wedding, and so I'll need to find someone in the area who can put this all together." Valencia sighed and smiled at me in what I suspected she thought of as a 'girly bonding' way. "Planning a wedding is so hard, you know?"
"I wouldn't," I said shortly, wondering what the real punishment was for assault, especially if it was only my first offense.
"Well, of course you wouldn't, but it's awful. Absolutely horrid. Anyway, I really should be going! So long!"
And with that, she skipped down past me, climbing into a flashy, shiny Mercedes that I somehow hadn't noticed in the driveway and pulling away with a squeal of tires.
I just stood there on the front step of the house, trying to determine whether this was just some sort of horrible hallucination. It had to be, didn't it? The idea that Sanford had been engaged all this time, that he was just using me as the side woman, was absurd.
Right? Wasn't it?
I mean, he'd taken me out (to a restaurant he chose, where nobody else saw us together), he'd flirted with me in public at the wine bar (although he insisted that we were just friends to anyone who asked), and he clearly let Winston find out about our little relationship (although really, who would Winston tell? The butler was clearly loyal to his employer, to the death). He hadn't made a single mention of a fiancee to me.
So he couldn't be married. He didn't have anything to do with Valencia. She had to just be a friend of his, stringing me along.
Right? Right? Please, oh please, let that be right.
I still had to do my walkthrough of the house, making sure that I had everything on my itemized bill accounted for, but I didn't feel up to looking at anything inside the dark and unwelcoming house right now. I could probably go and try to hunt down Winston, but would I really be able to believe anything that the old butler told me?
Finally, I dropped the bill down on a table just inside the front door, next to the keys and umbrellas and other items that someone might need to grab while on their way out of the house. I looked around for a moment, but then turned and headed back home.
Chapter Twenty-Four
*
I didn't stay long at home. Home didn't have any answers for me, and only kept me thinking about it by making sure that I saw the looming Winterhearst mansion whenever I glanced out one of my windows. Did the building really have to loom over me so much?
So instead, I headed to the one place where I knew I'd find an open, welcoming ear, as well as a soft shoulder to support me if I burst into tears.
Vini wasn't technically open this early in the morning, but Della was inside restocking some of the cabinets with fresh bottles, and she opened the door immediately when she saw me pounding on the other side, a couple of tears rolling down my face as I unsuccessfully tried to hold them back with sniffles.
"Oh my god, what's going on?" she exclaimed as soon as she unlocked the door and pulled it open for me. "What's wrong? Come in, come in, Elaine, talk to me!"
"Wine," I blubbered out, probably looking like an awful mess.
Della was far better than any therapist. While a therapist might have tried to get me to open up and talk about my issues first, Della knew that a glass of wine couldn't possibly hurt, and would probably help. She had one sitting in front of me on the counter by the time that my butt (a respectably sized butt, not a tiny little yoga one like Valencia had, I thought miserably to myself) landed in the tall chair.
"Drink, then talk," she commanded, plopping the wine bottle down on the counter next to me. "Refill as necessary."
I nodded, drained half the glass of wine in a single gulp, and then groaned. "He's engaged," I said, a fresh wave of tears threatening to erupt from my eyes just from those two words.
Of course, Della didn't have any idea as to whom I was referring, but she still rushed around the counter to put her arms around me. She was wonderfully soft, and I again wondered why any man might choose a stick-thin woman over someone like her. "There, there, it's okay," she murmured as she patted my back. "Just get it out in your own time."
After a few seconds, I felt a little better, enough to let go of her and reach out for my wine glass. "Sanford," I said, as I lifted it up to my mouth again. "He's engaged, to this woman who's just awful. She only just showed up today, and I guess she's finally moving down from the city. He went up there last night, she said to finish making the plans to move."
"Well, I'm not surprised," Della replied. "A gorgeous man like that, with money and looks together? Any woman would rush to snap him up."
This, of course, set off a fresh wave of tears, and Della looked aghast at the reaction that her words provoked. "Oh, honey, no, you'll find another man! It's okay!" she tried to comfort me.
"That's what Valencia said!" I wailed, adding further to my best friend's confusion.
Finally, after taking a few more deep breaths, I managed to reveal the basic bones of this story to her. As Della's mouth gaped wider and wider, I explained how Sanford and I had been flirting back and forth from the beginning, how this flirting grew into something more, although we didn't really define it as a relationship. But I'd thought that we might have something between us, that there was a real connection.
"But the whole time, he was just a scumbag who was engaged, and that's why he wanted to keep things separate!" I said as I reached my conclusion. "He just wanted to get some on the side, and he didn't want Valencia to find out! But now she's back, and she's the absolute worst, and he's going to marry her and never look at me again!"
Now that the confusing holes in my story had been cleared up, Della's mood had shifted to spitting anger. "You point her out, and I'll make sure to roofie her wine if she comes in here," she promised me. "And his, too! What an asshole! How dare he cheat on someone as wonderful as you!"
Well, technically, he was cheating with me on Valencia, rather than the other way around. Still, this didn't seem like the right opportunity to point out this little detail. Instead, I focused on transferring more of the wine from the bottle in front of me to the interior of my stomach.
"I just can't believe that he was lying to me like that, all this time," I said, once I had an empty mouth again. "I mean, I really can't even believe it all the way, even after meeting Valencia. He told me all sorts of details, never said anything about meeting another woman or getting engaged."
"Yeah, well, men are scum," Della replied, glaring so furiously at an empty wine glass as she tucked it away behind the counter that I half expected it to shatter from her emotion alone. "Trust me on that. They'll say whatever they want if they think that it will get them laid."
I knew that I should be feeling angry. Wasn't that the first stage of grief? No, wait, there was one before it. I couldn't remember what it was, but I guessed that it was numbness, since that's what I felt right now. Pushing my glass and the mostly empty wine bottle aside, I laid my head down on the cold surface of the counter.
"Della, what do I do?" I asked softly.
"You move on, that's what you do! And maybe throw something through his windows, too. Steal the most valuable antiques out of his house and sell them off. Call it payment for your emotional pain."
"That's not what I mean," I said, still just looking down at the counter. "Della, I really cared about him. This wasn't just a fling, at least not in my head."
When I lifted my head up, Della was looking back at me with unexpected tenderness in her eyes. "Was it..." she started, but paused.
I knew what she was going to say. "Maybe," I said miserably, shrugging my shoulders. "I guess I'll never know now."
"Well, in that case, you need distance," she advised me.
"Right away. You definitely can't be living next to him any longer, not after dealing with this. Either he'll show up late at night at your house and convince you to take him back and give him one last round, which will destroy all the defenses you've built up, or his fiancee is going to somehow find out about the two of you and try to burn your house down, or maybe try and hurt Whiskers to get revenge."
I started to protest that no one would hurt Whiskers, but then I remembered my first impressions of Valencia. She didn't seem like the most well-adjusted individual, and she had sounded fiercely possessive of Sanford. Maybe hurting a poor, defenseless animal like Whiskers wasn't beyond the realm of possibility for her.
"So where can I go?" I asked, but even as I said these words, one answer did occur to me. It was an awful option, but it was a possibility.
"There's always your parents?" Della asked, voicing the thought in my head. "Aren't they just twenty minutes away or so? And didn't you say a couple weeks ago that they really wanted you to visit?"
I had said that to Della, I recalled. Hard to believe that the last call from them had only been a couple of weeks ago. With all the time spent with Sanford, it felt like longer, like he'd been a part of my life for much more than just a month.
Then again, maybe if we'd gone on much longer, I might have started to see some of the holes in his story, to see through his lies. "Yeah, I guess I could go and stay with my parents for a little while," I gave in. My mother would be overjoyed, at least. I wasn't so thrilled about the possibility of moving back home, but at least it would get me away from Sanford. "I could wait for the asshole to pay my bill, and then figure out what to do with the money."
"Like I was telling you the other day, you need to take a vacation!" Della insisted. "Trust me, this is even more of a reason to do it. You've got the money, you don't have any reason now to stick around, and getting away will help you clear your head, maybe even help you move on past this total jerkwad. You can come back in a couple of weeks, all tanned and bronzed from spending time in the sun, and you can tell me all about how you let a bunch of hunky Latin men do all sorts of wild and crazy, sultry things to your body!"
Sculpting Grace: A Light Romance Novel (Art of Grace Book 2) Page 33