Enchanted Heart

by Felicia Mason

  She rubbed her temple. “Maybe I am under different circumstances. Tonight’s not that night.”

  Regarding her for a moment, he carefully weighed his words. The Cole he knew and the Cole Sonja knew were shades of a different man. Jack knew the Cole who longed for something more, the man who stood on the inside wondering what it might be like to be outside.

  Sonja had married the powerful and confident executive who never made a wrong decision or missed a step. Jack wasn’t at all surprised that her plan to bring him down ended up with her falling in love with him. For the right kind of woman, a strong woman, Cole would—and did—fall hard. But that didn’t mean the other part of him had stopped longing for adventure.

  What Jack knew, and what Cole would discover in Brazil was that adventure isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. But that lesson Cole would have to learn for himself.

  “Cole never got to choose his path, Sonja. He went to Bahia because there he’ll find history and culture and a sense of place.” He shrugged. “He’ll also make a ton of money, but that’s just a fringe benefit. The main thing is he’s there, on his own terms. The only expectations or limitations are the one’s he sets for himself.”

  Sonja looked genuinely perplexed. “I’m still not following you. The man you’re describing isn’t my Cole.”

  Jack noticed the circles under her eyes, the strain at her mouth. And he thought about what had almost happened between them. Both Sonja and Cole were vulnerable right now, and neither wore it well.

  He expelled a long breath. “I’ve been to the places he’ll go to. I’ve walked the path he’s taking right now. In Brazil, Cole will choose, Sonja. It’s up to you to decide just how many options he has.”

  She looked at him but didn’t say anything. After a moment Jack sighed then he let himself out of the house. Sonja remained on the sofa, her knees at her chin and her arms locked around her legs.

  It would take her a long time to figure out just what he’d meant and a longer time to decide her course of action.

  Lance caught up with Vivienne a moment before she wrenched open the door to Guilty Pleasures. He backed her against the facade.

  “Let me go!”

  He ignored her. “What did you say back there?”

  Vivienne wrestled with him, then broke free and ran into the store, Lance hot on her heels.

  “Call the police.”

  Dakota and the salesclerk both looked up from what they were doing. The clerk headed toward the register, where the closest telephone was and reached for it.

  “I wouldn’t pick up that phone if I were you.” Lance’s words, though calm, seemed deadly in the stillness of the store.

  Dakota stepped into the fray. “Cassandra, put the phone down. Nothing’s wrong here. Hi, Lance.” Her easy tone, as if nothing at all were amiss, convinced the clerk to step away, though she continued to look a bit uncertain.

  “There are some phone orders that need to be filled,” Dakota told the clerk. “Why don’t you go take care of those?”

  The girl jerked as if she’d been pinched. “Oh, yes.” Her eyes never left her boss and the tall gorgeous man who stood just behind her. “You’re Mr. Heart. It’s so nice . . .”

  “Cassandra.”

  She looked at Dakota and then at Viv. “I’m leaving. Are you sure everything’s all right?” The question was directed at Viv.

  Vivienne managed a small, tight smile. “Everything’s just fine, Cassie. I didn’t mean to alarm you. I was just messing with Lance.”

  “If you say so.”

  With a final glance between Lance and Viv and a glare in Dakota’s direction, she moved toward the back room. “You holler if you need some help, all right, Viv?”

  Vivienne nodded. “I will. But nothing’s wrong.”

  With the floor cleared, Dakota turned toward the couple. “Vivienne, you need to stop being so melodramatic. This isn’t a soap opera. And, may I remind you both, that this is a place of business, not the stage for your personal drama. Thank God we didn’t have any customers in here.”

  Lance rubbed his arm, but didn’t comment. Muttered words from him and from Viv could have been “Sorry.”

  Dakota didn’t wait around to hear their explanations. She went to the office and returned with Viv’s handbag and keys.

  “No matter what you say, the two of you need to do some talking. Without the police,” she added. “And this is not the place for that conversation.” She handed the purse to Vivienne and the keys to Lance. “Why don’t you go find someplace private to hash this out?”

  “Give me my keys.”

  Lance ignored Vivienne.

  “I have work to do,” she said. “As Dakota noted, this is a place of business. My place of business.”

  Dakota pushed Viv toward the door. “Uh-huh. Well, it’s time you took a day off.” Lance followed. “I’ll handle whatever needs to be done. And I’ll close. You have more important business to see to.”

  Lance looked at Dakota but questioned Viv. “She knows?”

  Dakota nodded. “Yeah, I know because she’s been sick as a dog for the last . . .”

  “Dakota, please.”

  The statuesque beauty clamped her lips, but nodded. “All right. But look, I think the two of you will make a great baby.”

  “That, apparently, has already happened.”

  Dakota patted Lance’s back. “Yeah, well, now comes the hard part.”

  Hard part, indeed.

  Lance didn’t know whether to hug Viv or strangle her. They got to her car, parked behind the building. Viv held out her hands for the keys, but Lance ignored her.

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “I want to go back to work. You can go to hell.”

  “Get in the car.” He held the passenger door open for her. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, on a half-sigh, Viv got into the vehicle.

  Lance stuck the key in the ignition. “I’ll rephrase. We’re going to talk, Viv. We can do it here in this parking lot, or we can go someplace else.”

  Viv sat there, her arms folded.

  Lance heaved a sigh. “All right then.” He fired up the engine and tore out of the lot.

  “Where are you going?”

  He glanced at her. “I don’t know. I just need to drive. And to think.”

  “Well, that’ll be a first.”

  He didn’t rise to her bait.

  When he took the exit that would take them to Carolina, Vivienne squealed. “Where are you going? This is the road to Nags Head.”

  “Be quiet, Viv.” With two hands on the steering wheel and his foot clamped down on the accelerator, Lance let the open road work its magic on his fractured nerves.

  He was conscious of Viv at his side, ignoring him. But his concentration was on the white lines of the road and the soothing hum of the engine as it ate up the miles, miles stretching in front of him like his uncertain future and his complicated present.

  Less than an hour later, they were in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Lance drove onto a beachfront lot and cut the engine. Silent, they stared at the water.

  After a time, he said, “Are you really pregnant?”

  “Yes.”

  He turned in his seat so he faced her, his gaze on her flat stomach. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “There’s nothing for you to say. It’s my body, Lance.”

  “But our child.”

  Vivienne closed her eyes. “There is no us, Lance. I keep trying to tell you that.”

  “There is an us. I care for you, Vivienne.”

  “Pardon me if I’m not believing you.”

  “Why don’t you believe me?”

  She looked out the window at the sand, the dunes, the saw grass, the water, but her true gaze was turned inward, toward the place where her fears lodged.

  “I don’t want a baby, Lance. I don’t want to be pregnant. I don’t want to raise a child alone. I don’t even want to give birth to a child.”

  “Why?”<
br />
  This was the part she couldn’t articulate. The part about having someone depending on you. The part about being fat and bloated with splotchy skin and swollen ankles. And mostly the part about being in a hospital, giving birth to a deformed baby, a child who would grow up ugly and ostracized.

  The pain of it cut through her like the edges of a serrated knife, each puncture a wound that would never heal. Viv hugged herself and leaned forward, rocking.

  “Vivienne? Viv, honey, are you all right?”

  She felt his hands at her forehead, along her back, but all Viv could do was moan. If she had this baby, and something went wrong, the child would be like Vicki. And she couldn’t bear the thought of that ever happening.

  Vivienne’s wail of pain scared Lance.

  “Shit, Viv. Is it the baby? Talk to me.”

  He looked around, nothing but sand and beachfront houses were to be seen. “Dammit, I don’t know where there’s a hospital. Vivienne? Talk to me, honey. Tell me where you hurt.”

  She turned her face to the window, but not before Lance saw the tears streaming down. He didn’t know what to do.

  When she realized Lance was hell-bent on getting her to a doctor, Viv tried to tamp down some of the panic that clawed at her like phantom fingers in a horror movie. Lance had turned the car around and was spinning in sand when she reached for his arm.

  “I’m fine, Lance. Really. Just please. Take me home.”

  Instead of getting on the artery that would take them back to Virginia, Lance turned off on a side road. “Cole has a house down here somewhere. If I can remember where it is, we can go there and talk. It’s not used as a rental.”

  “Lance, I don’t want to talk. There’s nothing to talk about. What happened was an accident.”

  “That accident as you call it is going to be our child.”

  Viv closed her eyes. “Just take me home, Lance. Now. Please,” the plea so soft it was almost a pathetic mewl. That sound more than her pleas got to him.

  They talked even less on the drive back to Norfolk. Since Lance had left his car at the lingerie shop, they returned to Guilty Pleasures. Lance looked at the sign and the thought crossed his mind that they were in this predicament because they’d succumbed to a guilty pleasure, without paying any mind to the possible consequences.

  Lance got out of Viv’s car, walked around to her door and opened it for her. A moment later, she slipped behind the wheel.

  “Good night, Lance.”

  He halted her when she would have shut the door. “Vivienne, please. Please promise me you won’t do anything to . . . well, to it. Let’s talk first, okay? Promise me.”

  She sighed, then nodded.

  “Say it,” he urged. “Tell me you won’t get an abortion. Let’s talk about what our options are, all right?”

  “All right, Lance,” she conceded. But he didn’t think she meant it.

  “All right what?”

  “God! Lance, leave me the hell alone. I said I wouldn’t do anything hasty. Now get out of my way.” She yanked on the door, slammed it shut, not mindful of the hem of her jacket that was caught in the door. She peeled off down the street. And Lance hightailed it to his car. He’d be damned if he’d let his future hurtle out of his life.

  He’d never wanted a baby before. He’d never even thought about children except in an abstract, way-off-in-the-future sort of reality that had no bearing on his current or immediate plans.

  So Lance found himself somewhat bewildered to discover that he wanted this child with Vivienne. Maybe it had something to do with missing out on Tarique’s life. Maybe it had to do with his grandmother’s taunts about him not having or taking on any adult responsibility.

  Maybe it was just a part of getting older and wanting to leave a legacy. Wasn’t that what Cole always preached about—past, current, lost and future legacies? A child, maybe another son, to carry his name. Or a daughter he could love and protect. But before he could go out buying Barbie dolls or basketballs, they had to get through Viv’s apparent massive aversion to children.

  Everybody started out as a kid. What wasn’t there to like?

  VAVAVOOM: I guess I never thought I’d be so jealous of my sister.

  CLAYPLAY : All those TV shrinks say the root of all our problems is in childhood.

  Vicki paused. Ain’t that the truth, she thought. My problem is I was born.

  CLAYPLAY : Did you have any childhood trauma? Sister take all your boyfriends ? Mama make you a slave in her sex den? Or maybe your daddy kept taking and wearing all your clothes? Can you believe some of that stuff on Springer and Ricki? Where do they find those people? But don’t get me started on that. Look at the national stats. Thousands of kids out there need homes. It’s one of God’s cruel jokes that people who want kids can’t have them and people who don’t need, deserve or even know how to raise ’em pop ’em out like burnt toast.

  Vicki smiled at the image. Though she knew no child created by Lance Heart Smith and her sister would pop out looking like burnt toast. Like Halle Berry, maybe. But not burnt toast.

  CLAYPLAY : You know what you need?

  VAVAVOOM : A good therapist or a house call from Dr. Phil?

  CLAYPLAY : No. A hug. And I’d give you one if you’d just tell me where you live.

  “And we’re back to that again,” Vicki said wearily. She rubbed her temple and reached for the glass of wine on the bedside table.

  Vicki’s own depression, a result of living sequestered away like the ghoul Lance suspected her of being, had taken a toll. If it hadn’t been for that blasted drug test when she’d gotten her job, she’d have been able to keep hidden from her employer the truth of her physical appearance and disability. Her skills and the blessing of the Internet had been her salvation on that score.

  But she was tired of it all. Tired of the half-truths and lies she told people on a regular basis that kept her hidden away. Tired of the fact that she’d never had the opportunity to be a whole woman with a man like Clay.

  CLAYPLAY: You still there?

  For a moment, her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She should tell him. But if she told him, he’d reject her.

  VAVAVOOM: I don’t think what happened when I was a kid has . . . Well, you may be right. Hey Clay . . .

  CLAYPLAY: ?

  Vicki sat there for a long time, the laptop open on the bed. She had been depressed ever since Viv blurted out the pregnancy news. Instead of unifying the sisters, the crisis just brought home to Vicki how very different they were. If Viv had the baby, Vicki would get to mother the child. Viv didn’t have the patience, time or desire to focus on anything except what she wanted. Viv might be beautiful, but she was also selfish and condescending. Though, when honest with herself, Vicki thought that the condescension may have been a reflection of her own mistrust.

  It was late, and as usual, Viv wasn’t home yet. It was a work night, too. Vicki wondered which one of the men she’d go to tonight. Viv always needed to feel affirmed when she was unsure about things and the way she did that was to have someone remind her of how beautiful she was. Viv said Lance had gotten her pregnant, but Vicki wondered if Vivienne even knew for sure.

  Lance and Viv were a perfectly matched set. And not just a result of the gene-and-DNA combination that had created them. On the rare occasion when Viv offered up any info about Lance, she complained about things that she apparently couldn’t see in herself. Lance and Viv were mirror images of the same person.

  Vicki, the broken mirror image, wanted so much more for herself.

  CLAYPLAY : VaVa????

  VAVAVOOM: I’m here. Just reflecting on how unfair life is.

  CLAYPLAY : Oh, it’s pity party time.

  VAVAVOOM: Join me?

  CLAYPLAY : I’ve been wanting to do that since you sent me your picture. You’re definitely a VaVaVoom!!

  “Dammit!” Vicki threw a pillow across the room.

  Her latest—and biggest—lie to date had created a complication.

  Se
nding Clay Viv’s photograph had been a mistake. A huge one. In their nightly e-mails he’d eased up a bit on the pressure to get together, but Vicki knew that was only because she’d threatened to stop writing him if he didn’t stop rushing and hassling her.

  CLAYPLAY: You’re not gonna clam up on me again ?

  Vicki took a deep breath. “It’s now or never,” she said. “Just get it over with. If he dumps you, well, he’s not the man you thought he was anyway.”

  The pep talk didn’t make what she was about to do any easier.

  VAVAVOOM: No. But . . . Well, Clay. There’s something I need to tell you.

  24

  The rest of the week was as jacked up as Wednesday had been. Twice Lance had been to the compound to see his grandmother, and each time he’d been told by Penelope that he’d just missed her.

  “I’m starting to believe that you’re putting me off,” he’d told the maid.

  “Now you’ve up and hurt my feelings. She’s out shopping. For her cruise. And I can tell you this, I’ve never seen her so excited. She’s like a little kid.”

  “Regular sex’ll do that,” Lance muttered.

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Nothing,” he said as he stalked away.

  He wouldn’t miss her today though. He was camped out in the driveway, waiting for his opportunity to extract first blood.

  For once the blame for this situation didn’t fall at his feet. He’d own up to the part about running off to get married in Mexico at seventeen, but his grandmother had created this situation.

  No way would Gayla and Tarique be where they were today if they’d all been together as a family.

  Family.

  Lance had never given much thought to that word. In Lance’s experience, family meant arguing over stock options, battles in boardrooms, Cole and his cousin Mallory at each other’s throats, Cole and Virginia going at it, his own mother retreating to Florida rather than being a party to the nonstop drama.