Vows of Revenge

by Dani Collins

  She flinched, then smiled crookedly. “He does.”

  Roman narrowed his eyes, trying to understand.

  Brenda lowered her gaze to stir her soup. “I’ve always kept Charles’s confidences, but I can see you need to hear some of them. He told me once, not long after he hired you, that he saw something of himself in you. That always made me sad because I knew what he’d been through as a child. His mother had a boyfriend who was very cruel to him. Very, very cruel.” Her voice hollowed. “I know he didn’t even tell me all of it, but what he did tell me...” She shook her head. “I don’t know how people can be like that to another human being.”

  Roman’s view of his first employer, a man who’d been athletic and smart and gruffly wise—seemingly impervious—shifted. He grew angry on his friend’s behalf. He wanted to go back in time and defend this person he’d suddenly discovered he not only respected and admired, but cared about very much.

  “It wasn’t easy in our early days. He simply didn’t want to talk. I completely understand that coping strategy. I don’t want to talk about how difficult it is to put the man I love in a home and watch his health decline. To see him every day but never see recognition in his eyes.” She welled up and dabbed a napkin to her trembling lips, recovering her composure after a moment. “Some things are just too painful to speak about.”

  “Brenda, what can I do?” he said, reaching out impulsively. It wasn’t like him at all, but he’d gotten into the habit of touching Melodie when she was upset, trying to comfort, and his affection for Brenda ran as deep.

  “You’ve done all that can be done. Research,” she said with a fatalistic lift of her shoulder. “Hopefully in the future it won’t come to this for other spouses and families. But what I’m trying to say is that I understand how futile it feels to speak about things that can’t be changed.”

  He nodded. That was it exactly. Why bother telling Melodie that he’d once nearly been raped, that he had a cigar burn scar under his elbow or how alone he’d felt after his mother had died? What point would it serve?

  “But talking helps,” Brenda said quietly, adding with an apologetic smile, “Talking is important, Roman. Especially to a woman. Charles showed me in a million ways that he loved me, but until he said the words, I wasn’t sure. And once he’d said it, once we’d devoted ourselves to each other, I knew that nothing could separate us. His illness makes it impossible for him to show me he still loves me, but I know he does. It would break his heart if I stopped believing it... But I wouldn’t know how much he loved me if he hadn’t told me before his illness started affecting him.”

  Roman winced from that peek into the intimacy of his friends’ marriage. And he cringed from the idea of laying his heart on the line so blatantly. What if Melodie didn’t want his love? Yes, he knew she wanted the whole package, but what if she’d left because she’d rather someone else offered it?

  They finished eating in silence, but afterward he took out his phone and showed Brenda his gallery of Melodie photos, from springtime in Paris to her languid smiles on his yacht to the dreamy beauty of two days before she’d left him, when he’d caught her on the beach, taking a break from using her own camera to lift her face to the sun.

  “Is there a reason you’re sitting in an old lady’s kitchen rather than chasing this woman down?” Brenda asked. “A picture is worth a thousand words, and there are a million ‘I love yous’ in each of those photos.”

  His heart lurched. He stood, smirking to hide how desperately he hoped she was right. Touching her shoulder, he wavered, then gave in to impulse and bent to kiss her cheek. Then, because he was starting to understand how this worked, he said, “Your generosity has always meant the world to me, Brenda. You’re like a second mother to me. I wish I’d let you treat me like your son.”

  It was a terrible risk that paid off immediately.

  “Oh, my boy.” She patted his hand and turned her face to kiss his knuckles. “There’s still time to let me. Invite me to your wedding.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MELODIE WONDERED IF there was anything quite so beautiful as an Indian wedding. She’d covered a few nuptials by now, including an Arab one that had been so over-the-top with luxury she’d been fairly sure she’d been transported to another planet. This one in London, where both families lived, had a celebratory quality that was as solid and fascinating as the abundant gold weighing down the bride. The colors, dear Lord, the colors. And when it came to capturing the joy of family and children—something that was becoming her forte—there was nothing so perfect as the natural warmth of two Indian families coming together through a love match.

  Maybe it was the cultural shift that made her appreciate this wedding more than the Spanish heiress’s last week. That one had made it too easy for to see herself in the gown and Roman in the morning coat. It had left her crying hard through the night. She couldn’t think of it now. She’d start crying again.

  Roman was gone. Life had to go on.

  She forced her mind back to arranging the groom’s family, with his parents and abundance of siblings, their spouses and children, along with his new bride. One of the four-year-olds in the party had pretty much given up on this exercise, so Melodie had to snap fast.

  “No, please, keep looking at the camera,” she called when half of the arrangement turned their heads to take note of something across the room. Beautiful, happy people abounded at weddings, but when the groups got this big, it was like herding cats to get them all to do one thing.

  They weren’t cooperating. The distraction of the growing reception was too much. The groom actually stepped away to meet someone working through the crowd. The rest of the group broke up. Melodie silently whimpered, then felt a tingle that she usually only felt when—

  She gasped and spun around at the exact moment she heard, “I need to speak to your photographer.”

  Roman. So tall, so commanding. So inappropriately dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, a brown leather jacket thrown on over it.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, voice squeaking with astonishment. Her body actually hurt from the sting of excitement that shot through her veins.

  “I want to talk to you.”

  “How did you even find me?” She’d been called in last minute on this one, flying to London first thing this morning.

  “Your office. They owed me for referring you in the first place. I didn’t realize you’d be working.” He gave the anxious bride a friendly nod. “I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me. Weddings are evening events, so the odds were good, I suppose. But I won’t get you fired.” He turned to the groom, handed over his card and said something about a free security system for a home or office if he was allowed to borrow Melodie for a few minutes.

  * * *

  “Can we go somewhere?” he said to Melodie, taking her arm and looking over the heads in the crowd, starting to usher her from the ballroom toward the interior of the hotel.

  “Where? No,” she added quickly when he signaled to a server in a uniform. “No hotel room. You know what will happen and I will get fired.”

  He acknowledged that with a cant of his head and a quirk of his lips. “Promising,” he remarked under his breath, changing direction toward a door to the balcony.

  “Also, I’m not pregnant, if that’s why you’re here,” she blurted, unable to think of another reason.

  He opened his mouth, paused, then said, “We’ll come back to that one.”

  Would they? Her heart was already going a mile a minute, and now it threatened to leave her body altogether.

  He drew her away from the wedding guests milling on the balcony and moved toward the outdoor café that was shut down for the evening, sectioned off at the far side. He scissored his legs over the low glass rail that separated the area while she moved into the shadows and opened the gate, letting hers
elf in. They circled around a trellis and moved to where they could see the Thames cutting through the sparkle of city lights.

  And there her world stopped, because it was all she could do to hold back a choke of tears, she was so happy to see him and so devastated at the same time. Did he have any idea how difficult it would be to say goodbye again?

  It was up to her to talk, though, she supposed, and searched for her voice, wanting to know why he really was here.

  He surprised her by saying abruptly, “It wasn’t just the way your father and brother treated me.” The words dropped into the empty air off the top of the hotel. His hands gripped the rail and he didn’t look at her. “It was the same message again and again my whole life. My needs weren’t important. My feelings didn’t matter. No one cared, so what was the point in showing or asking or wanting? It was far easier to become self-sufficient and not talk to anyone.”

  It was such an odd yet intimate statement, she could only stare up at him, shocked and rather suspecting he’d been rehearsing the words, waiting to get them off his chest.

  Her hand went to his and he quickly turned his palm up to grasp her fingers, making her blood sing. The pressure was so tight it was just this side of painful, warning her that for all the detachment he was affecting, this was very hard for him. But still he was trying. Reaching out. Asking to be understood.

  “I learned to shut myself off, too,” she offered. “When I was surrounded by people who watched to see what was important to me so they could use it against me. I would never try to hurt you like that, Roman. I hope you believe that.”

  “I do. That’s why...” In the dark, she saw him struggle to retain his stoic expression.

  When he didn’t continue and the only sound became the music that grew louder as doors were opened off the ballroom, she covered his grip in a signal to ease up his hold. “Roman, why are you here?” she asked, pushing the words past the catch in her throat.

  “I never saw any point in marriage,” he said, continuing to squish her fingers while she went lax in his grip, not wanting to hear the tiny sparks of her dream snuffed out for good.

  “Then I realized that if you were my wife, and you knew I expected you to come back after each job, maybe you would.”

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered, feeling as if this tight grip of theirs was the only thing keeping her from plummeting off the building.

  “I want to love you, Melodie, but I don’t know if I know how. I quit feeling anything years ago to save myself pain. I fought what I feel for you as hard as I could, but I can’t not feel something for you. And I don’t know whether it’s enough. Is it love? I don’t know. I just know it’s...good. When I think of you, when I touch you, the way I feel is so damned good. Sweet and hopeful and warm—all the things you are. I lose all that when you’re not with me. It’s just hollow emptiness and I can’t stand it. It hurts. Every day. I want the good feeling back. I want you back.”

  Her head spun. Her heart soared on a roller coaster, climbing and dipping and spiraling so she didn’t know which way was up.

  “All the way here a voice in my head kept telling me you wouldn’t forgive me for letting you go in the first place. I was afraid I’d broken you again, that you’d stopped believing in men and love and the sort of life you deserve. But...” He reached his free hand into his shirt pocket and came up with something small.

  A shiny black pearl nestled against a shiny white one in a platinum setting surrounded by glittering diamonds. She was sure she was going to faint at that point. Or she was dreaming and would wake up. Could this possibly be real?

  “How’s that for optimism?” he said. “The minute I saw it, I thought of you.” He started to kneel.

  “Oh, Roman, no!”

  He froze. “You don’t—?”

  She felt his recoil at the perceived rejection and threw herself against his stiff body. “No, I mean, yes! I want to marry you. I love you. You don’t have to go down on one knee!”

  His breath rushed out and his arms tightened on her. “Sweetheart. This is one of the few romantic gestures I could possibly figure out on my own. Let me do it.” He gently set her back a step, a half grin catching at the corner of his mouth as he went down on one knee. “Saved me some suspense, at least. Will you marry me, Melodie Parnell?”

  He offered the ring and she found her throat too locked to speak again. All she could do was nod and hold out her shaking hand. He threaded the ring onto her finger and she fell on him, letting him catch her on his hard thigh and squeeze her to his brawny chest with viselike arms so tight she could barely breathe except to gasp, “Yes.”

  “And you love me? Because if you’re not sure—”

  “I do,” she said, sniffing back emotional tears that refused to stay behind her eyes. “Believe me, I’ve tried not to, but I love you so much I feel as if I’m dying without you. I was angry you let me go,” she admitted. “But since you came after me, I’ll forgive you.”

  “So softhearted,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her temple. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that day that your leaving was the worst possible thing you could ever do to me. I didn’t know how to stop you. I couldn’t find the words and, damn it, Melodie. I had destroyed your livelihood twice. I know how much you love photography. How could I refuse to let you try to make a career of it?”

  “I do love photography. Just not as much as I love you,” she pouted, clinging to his neck as he lifted her and moved them both into a chair, her on his lap, legs dangling over the arm. She couldn’t get close enough. Each cell in her body plumped a little more with each breath, like a succulent absorbing the water it needed to survive.

  He breathed a laugh against her hairline. “You have no idea how much I like hearing you say that.”

  “That I love you? I do!” She hugged him again. “But I don’t want to quit working,” she rushed to say. “Not altogether. Just, you know, I won’t let it come between us again.”

  “That’s okay. I would never ask you to give up something you enjoy so much. But, yes, if you could ease up, maybe take fewer clients so we can have more time together, I’d like that a lot. Charge more,” he advised loftily. “A lot more. Slow down those offers and make it worth our while for you to leave our bed.”

  She snorted, wanting to be in bed with him right now. He wanted that, too. She could feel him hard against her hip and wriggled to let him know they were on the same page. That part hadn’t changed one teensy bit, and she missed him so much.

  He stilled her with firm hands. “Darling, you know where that’s going to lead. I’ll be arrested along with getting you fired.”

  “Might be worth it,” she teased, nipping at his jaw.

  “Might be,” he agreed, running possessive hands over her. “But maybe it’s a good thing that I don’t have the option of letting my body do the talking right now. It’s not easy for me to open up. For you, for us, I want to try, though. No one has ever affected me the way you do, Melodie. From the first moment... Hell, I am the last person to believe in love at first sight or soul mates, but no one means as much to me as you do.”

  She swallowed and ducked her forehead under his jaw, too moved to speak.

  “I want to change, to be whatever it is you need in a man, but it will be hard. Bear with me. That’s all I’m asking,” he said, cradling the back of her head in his big hand. “And maybe, after we’ve given ourselves some time, if you want...” He swallowed, then cleared his throat. “We could talk about a baby. If you want.”

  She tightened her arms around his neck and shuddered as a sob of joy took her.

  “Don’t cry. I said only if you want,” he rushed to repeat.

  “I’m happy!” she choked. “You’re giving me everything I ever wanted. I can’t help crying.”

  “Oh,” he said ruefully, cuddling her closer. “Okay.” He too
k a deep, emotive breath that shook her on his chest. “I want to make you happy.”

  “You do,” she assured him. “Just by being with me. I love you.”

  “Is that how it works? Because it’s the same for me,” he said, tilting his head and tipping hers so they could look into each other’s eyes. “I was missing you as though a piece of me was gone. Then, the minute I saw you today, everything was right. I need you in my life to make it worth living. That must be love, right?”

  “I’m sure of it,” she agreed, pressing her smile to his.

  EPILOGUE

  MELODIE STEPPED OUT to the glitter of evening sunlight bouncing off the sea. As she reached the top of the stairs, the silk of her gown poured like milk off the first step.

  She paused to gather it, sending a smile to her groom where he waited at the bottom.

  Roman wore a black tuxedo with a cream-colored waistcoat and a silk tie in the same color. It was the perfect level of formality for their small wedding and, as usual, it didn’t matter what he wore. He projected masculine beauty no matter what.

  He leaped up the steps to take her bouquet and offer his free hand, ensuring she was steady as she made her way down. No father of the bride to give her away. She hadn’t even considered it, thankful that her “memoir” and her brother’s financial and legal troubles had kept both her father and Anton out of their lives for good.

  No, Roman was walking with her to their understated altar. He hadn’t wanted to wait for her to come to him on the beach. The whole point of marriage is to do things together, isn’t it? he’d said as they were making the plans.

  So she’d been allowed to kick him out of their bedroom while she put on her gown, but that was it. They’d even slept together last night, making love and murmuring their “I love yous” afterward just as they did every night. He said it again now, as they started to walk.

  Her heart swelled, moved every time he spoke those particular words, but feeling them especially today.