Enchanted Heart

by Felicia Mason

  “So maybe she’s not guilty.”

  She gave him a pointed look.

  “That could be the case,” he insisted.

  “I’ve seen her. I’ve talked to her. Trust me, that’s not the case. She’s working a con and Lance has managed to let his dick rule his head. As usual.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t talk that way.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “Because it’s true or because it reminds you too much of yourself ?”

  Jimmy let that go.

  “I made her an offer,” she said.

  He winced. “I wish you’d let me handle these things.”

  “You think I’m not capable of handling someone like her?”

  “It’s not a question of capability.” He downed the rest of the drink and set the glass on a ledge next to a hibiscus. “Things aren’t like they used to be. People are . . .”

  “People are the same as they’ve always been. And people like that la Fontaine woman have never changed. What they know and understand is the color of money.”

  “How much did you offer?”

  She told him.

  Jimmy shrugged. “Probably not enough.”

  “I know that,” Virginia snapped. “I left it open, for her to name a sum. I figure she’ll want one hundred.”

  “That’s a lot of money, Ginny. You’re okay with that?”

  She smiled. “I never said she’d get it all at one time. Or even in cash.”

  Jimmy thought about all the money that had been shelled out through the years. Payoffs. Paternity settlements. Hush money. Bribes. The sum of it all, staggering at the least, could have done more good had it been applied to some sort of tangible asset or even a scholarship or something. With the knowledge that the distance of years and perspective provided, he thought of Sonja Pride’s mother. She’d cut the best deal of all. In her sexual harassment suit against Cole’s father, she’d demanded and received in settlement not only cash payable over several years, but shares of Heart Federated. A smart woman.

  He wondered if Vivienne la Fontaine, known via Virginia as That la Fontaine Woman, was as smart. When it came to Lance and Cole, Virginia had a blind spot. She’d lived in denial about Lance for so long that maybe she actually believed the fiction they’d created about him all those years ago. A necessary fiction at the time.

  Jimmy thought about Lance’s mother. He hadn’t talked to Bev in a long, long time. Perhaps now was a good time to reestablish ties with her. He knew where she was, of course. It was his business to know such things. He’d look up the number and ring her when he got home. But first, he wanted to see this Vivienne la Fontaine who had Virginia apoplectic and Lance ensnared.

  Cole and Sonja stood at Norfolk International Airport. Cole would fly first to New York, then nonstop to Rio de Janeiro. The bags were checked and all that remained now was saying good-bye.

  “Well, this is it.”

  Sonja nodded. “They’ve called first-class passengers.”

  “I can board anytime.”

  She knew that. What she didn’t know was how to say good-bye to her husband. This was the forever good-bye and now that she faced the actual moment, Sonja was having a change of heart about their separation.

  The symbolism didn’t escape her: Cole was literally flying off into the sunset, while she remained grounded. He was chasing his dream while she, stuck in quagmire on the ground, was losing hers.

  The old adage chased through her head: What you have become is the price you paid to get what you used to want.

  How pathetic was that?

  “You’ll send me papers?”

  She nodded. What she really wanted to say was, “Let’s work this out.”

  “The house . . .”

  “I don’t want your house, Cole. You had it long before we got together.”

  “That’s not what I was going to say.”

  She cast large brown eyes up at him. “What were you going to say?” The softly worded question was barely audible.

  For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just looked at her mouth. Her eyes. Then he cleared his throat. “I was going to say that the house at the beach is yours if you want it.”

  Despite all their problems, she loved him enough to somehow, someway make this moment a beginning instead of an ending. With an inward sigh of resignation, she realized she couldn’t make him love her. She’d gotten little work done in these last few days. Her mind had been on Cole, nothing but Cole and what she really wanted.

  “May I kiss you good-bye?”

  That he had to ask broke her heart. She nodded.

  Cole stared into her eyes. His expression intent, serious even. He lifted a hand and cupped her face. “You’re beautiful, Sonja. Even more beautiful than the day we met. I wish . . .” He shook his head.

  “Boarding all rows.” The announcement split the air between them.

  “You wish what?”

  His smile was small, a little sad. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter now. I need to be going.”

  He pressed a kiss to her lips. Sonja closed her eyes, savoring for the last time the sweetness of his touch, the way he could still make her yearn for him.

  Too soon he pulled away. “Good-bye, Sonja. Take care of yourself.”

  She nodded then watched his long stride take him away from her, from their marriage. When the airline personnel shut the door leading to the jetway, Sonja moved to the windows that looked out at the runway. She stood at the glass staring at the plane, wondering if Cole was looking out of his window at her. Probably not. Knowing Cole, he had his laptop open and was busy firing off one more e-mail before takeoff.

  She couldn’t make him love her, and she didn’t want a roommate, which is what they’d become.

  With little need to wait for her emotions to overrule her common sense and the tears to obstruct her vision, Sonja did the most reasonable thing she could think of when she got home. She started to pack. Clothes were easy. It was all the material possessions, the shared possessions that would do her in. So instead of starting with clothes, since, of course she’d need those, she began in the room that held the most sentimentality. The library/study.

  Sonja stood in the room she loved so much. Three large boxes pulled from storage were placed on the floor in front of the bookshelves. Going through titles, she reached for her books, which would be sent to the place she’d found in Hampton, a town house in a nice ZIP code. She’d thought about Lance’s high-rise in Newport News; she’d always enjoyed water views. But she’d decided to move closer to her office, so she wouldn’t have to fight the traffic each morning on Interstate 64.

  She pulled out a volume of poetry by Nikki Giovanni. They’d gone to see her at an appearance at the college. The author had signed the book To Sonja & Cole.

  On a sigh, she sat on the love seat, the book seized in her hands as if it were a lifeline that would save her from drowning in the swells that flooded her heart. She blinked rapidly, trying to stem the tears that any moment, wouldn’t just threaten to overflow, but would take over.

  The front doorbell rang.

  She jumped, clutching the book to her chest. The echo of chimes faded and she turned. “Cole?”

  Had he gotten off the plane? Come back to her?

  She shook her head, placing the poetry book to the side. Cole’s Bahia project meant far too much to him—more than she did—for him to abandon it at this point. And he wouldn’t ring the bell at his own house. He was probably flying over Delaware or Washington, DC, by now.

  The chimes rang out again and Sonja turned toward the library door. They rarely, if ever, got unannounced visitors. Kingsmill had that effect on people. Maybe it was Lance. If she sat here long enough, ignoring whomever it was, maybe they’d go away.

  The bells rang again and kept ringing. As if someone pressed the buzzer and wouldn’t let up.

  “All right. All right.”

  Wiping her eyes, Sonja got up and made her way to the front of the house. Glancing in the mirr
or behind the door, she ran her hands through her hair, shrugged at the redness already evident in her eyes and opened the door.

  Jack Spencer stood in front of her, indolently leaning against the portico column closest to the door. A pair of well-worn Levi’s and an olive drab T-shirt covered him but he still managed to look half-dressed. A lazy, knowing smile playing at his mouth.

  “Hello, Sonja.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “W-what are you doing here?”

  22

  Vicki was worried about her sister. Viv refused to talk about her pregnancy and for a brief period, Vicki feared that Viv had already terminated the baby. She hadn’t missed work though, and she hadn’t seemed any more talkative than she was the day she’d told Vicki the news.

  “Viv?”

  This morning she’d watched Viv push eggs around on her plate without eating even a forkful, then down the rest of the coffee in her cup. “I’ll be at the store late today. Most of this week, really. Getting ready for the pajama party.”

  Vicki grabbed her sister’s arm. “Don’t do it, Viv. Please don’t.”

  “Don’t do what?”

  At the honest question in her twin’s eyes, Vicki knew she’d been mistaken. Viv wouldn’t do that. Would she?

  “You’re not getting an abortion, are you?”

  Viv pulled her arm free. “I have other things on my mind right now.”

  The response, ambiguous at best, didn’t ease Vicki’s anxiety.

  “Do you mean you’re not getting an abortion right now or you’re not thinking about being pregnant right now?”

  Lines of irritation formed at Viv’s mouth. “Vicki. Please. I have a lot on my mind right now.”

  “Just don’t do anything rash,” Vicki pleaded.

  With a nod that could have been acquiescence or indifference Viv picked up her bag and headed out to the store, leaving Vicki alone in the house contemplating the unfairness of life.

  She thought about e-mailing Clay, to tell him what had transpired and to get his opinion. But to Vicki’s knowledge, Viv hadn’t even told Lance yet. It wasn’t her place to blab her twin’s news.

  A baby made by Lance and Viv would be gorgeous. Vicki had never met Lance, but she’d seen his photo on the Hearts’s corporate Web site. It hadn’t been updated in a while, but he was listed as an officer in a family-operated foundation. Getting the best genes from both parents would make that child damn near perfect. The baby would end up tall, with a wide bright smile. He’d have both brains and beauty, the combination that Vicki, like Viv, should have had.

  Lance and Viv made a striking pair. But Viv’s relationship with Lance seemed anything but steady. As a matter of fact, she talked very little of him. If ever.

  Which told Vicki a lot.

  In her office, Vicki pressed her hand to her stomach. No child would ever grow there even though the doctors had assured her that nothing was wrong with her reproductive organs. She didn’t know how Viv got the idea that they couldn’t have children. Vicki was the one whose chances of that were slim to none. No man would be able to get past her looks, let alone actually make love to her.

  When her stomach rumbled, she realized that maybe it was hunger and not longing that she felt.

  As she headed to the kitchen to put something together for lunch, a telephone trilled. Vicki looked around. It wasn’t coming from the wall unit.

  Then she saw it. Viv’s cell phone.

  She really must have been distracted this morning to leave her cell—and not even miss it.

  Vicki glanced at the ringing phone, then picked it up and looked at the display. Lance Smith.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Vivienne. I’ve missed you.”

  Her eyes widened. No wonder Viv was putty. That voice would melt any woman. And she’d never even met the guy.

  “Uh.”

  “Shh,” he said. “Just listen. I know you’re probably busy. But I’d like to see you today. I can swing by after the store is closed and we’ll see just how that chaise feels.”

  Vicky sputtered. “Hello. Lance? This isn’t Vivienne.”

  “What?”

  “I . . . It’s . . . Viv left her cell phone at home today. I’m her sister.”

  Lance’s chuckle sounded through the line, and Vicki knew a moment of sheer, unadulterated jealousy that Viv had someone like Lance in her life.

  “Sorry about that, baby. You must be Vicki. The other tall, dark and sexy twin. Nice to meet you. You’re not interested in a threesome, are you?”

  Vicki stared at the phone, not at all sure what to say.

  “Hello?”

  “I—I’m here,” she said, the words more of a stammer than a coherent thought.

  Lance laughed. “Just pulling your leg, Vicki. I’ll catch Viv at the store. Hey, I hope to meet you soon. Your sister acts like she’s hiding a bunch of ghouls in her house. She gave me the cell number, but wouldn’t come up off the home number. I asked her once if she was married and had eight of BeBe’s kids she wasn’t telling me about.”

  Lance was laughing again, but Vicki wasn’t.

  Viv acts like she’s hiding a bunch of ghouls in her house. A bunch of ghouls.

  No. Not a bunch.

  Just one.

  “I’ll catch you later, Vicki. Nice talking to you.”

  Before she could say anything else, Lance was gone and Vicki stood there, the phone in one hand, her brace in the other.

  Hiding a bunch of ghouls.

  The hurt sliced through her, sharper than a knife. More painful than the taunts she’d endured as a teenager. More insidious now, because she knew the truth.

  Viv had always encouraged Vicki to go out. To live a normal life. Yet Viv didn’t expect her to do that. Not at all.

  Ghouls didn’t live normal lives.

  Viv’s twin, Vicki, sounded just like Viv on the phone. Lance was smiling as he dialed Guilty Pleasures and asked for Viv.

  “Ms. la Fontaine is not in at the moment. May I take a message?”

  Lance left a short one, saying he’d swing by later.

  By the time he pulled into his grandmother’s drive, his good mood had evaporated. His thoughts again turned to Gayla and the wedge Virginia had deliberately driven between them.

  Because he knew it would piss her off, he went to the front door. Penelope opened it.

  “Hey there, pretty lady.”

  “Lance.” Their affair was long over and Penelope harbored no illusions that he’d be back for more, but the fondness, evident in her welcoming smile, remained.

  “Is the Wicked Witch of the West home?”

  She tapped his arm and glanced over her shoulder. “Shame on you. And no. She left with Mr. Jimmy about an hour ago.”

  Lance snorted. “Perpetrating more evil on the world, I presume.”

  “You’re in a mood today.”

  He shook his head. “Didn’t mean to take it out on you, baby girl.”

  “If it’s important, you better catch her before Saturday. She’s leaving for a cruise.”

  “A cruise? Since when does she stick herself on a boat in the middle of the ocean?”

  Penelope leaned forward, looking both ways as if she expected Virginia to jump out of the bushes. “Since she met somebody. He’s a looker, too.”

  Lance’s eyes widened. “My grandmother has a boyfriend?”

  “I served them lunch. And you should have seen how flustered she was.” Penelope told him about the rushed order from Pierre’s Catering and how champagne had been the drink of the afternoon.

  Despite his pique, Lance was impressed. If she got herself some for a change, maybe she’d stop riding his ass.

  He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of Penelope’s mouth. “Boyfriend or no, I have a bone to pick with her. But don’t let her know. Just tell Evilena I stopped by.”

  Laughing, Penelope shut the door.

  At loose ends, unable for now to confront Virginia about her meddling, Lance set out for Viv’s. I
t crossed his mind that if he had a job like most men his age, he wouldn’t find himself at loose ends in the middle of a Wednesday afternoon.

  “That’s the third time you’ve folded that slip. You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

  Viv looked up, seeing Dakota for the first time.

  “Things on my mind.”

  “Uh-huh. Things have been on your mind for a while now. Come on.” Dakota looped her arm through Viv’s and pulled her away from the display.

  “Where . . .”

  “Leticia, mind the store. We’ll be back in a bit. I have my cell.”

  Dakota tugged on Viv’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  “We have work to do, Dakota.”

  “You haven’t done any work in the last two days. We can talk about this here,” she said with a nod toward the very interested clerk and the mid-afternoon customers. “Or we can go for a walk and get some ice cream.”

  Viv nodded. “Ice cream.”

  Ten minutes later, they sat outside at a tree-shaded table in front of the ice cream parlor a block from the store.

  “Have you told him?”

  Viv shook her head.

  “Are you going to?”

  “I don’t know. Part of me says he has no say in this. It’s my body.”

  “Oh, girl. But two of you made that baby.”

  “It’s not a baby. Not yet.”

  Dakota waved a hand, dismissing that. “I’m not gonna debate with you. Bottom line is you’re pregnant.” She cocked her head, regarding her friend. “You’ll be gorgeous as a pregnant woman. You could take one of those photos with a tight dress that highlights your stomach.”

  Viv’s mouth puckered. “I’m not taking any photos. I’m fat enough as it is.”

  Dakota dismissed that, too. “You’re hardly fat. My God, Viv. You still bring a room to a halt.”

  “Still. But for how long? I’m not getting any younger. And babies mess up your figure.”

  “So that’s it. You’re worried about how you’ll look.” Dakota licked her ice cream cone, a rainbow of swirled flavors. “Let me tell you something, those women who let themselves go after they have a kid and then blame it on the kid, they should be ashamed. My cousin blew up after her baby. The girl’s gotta be tipping the scales at two hundred eighty or so. She said, ‘Danny did that to me.’ Danny is eight years old. If she’d have wanted her figure back, she’d have gotten up off of those Oreos.”