Claiming Her_A Romance Collection

by R. R. Banks

  But things started looking up when Vincent and his dad reached out to my father to heat up their business negotiations. It felt like a sign. This was the beginning. My intuition was only confirmed by the news of their deliciously nasty divorce. The article described a broken relationship in Vincent's past that he couldn't let go of, and that had turned into a passionate, unrequited love he knew he could no longer deny. He had tried so hard to do the right thing for his lovechild, but his deep love for this woman from his past was keeping him from being happy with his wife or in his marriage. He could only be talking about me.

  I know it was a message for me. He wanted me to read that and know he never forgot about me, and that he loves me as much as I always tried to convince him he did. Within two weeks of the news breaking, my father received a phone call from Vincent. Under the guise of wanting to discuss further business, he invited my parents and I to come visit him out on Catalina Island. My parents immediately had the same thought I did. He knows just as well as we do that he is the perfect husband for me. Marrying me will mean combining the power of his business with that of my father. Connections to his own father's companies will mean an empire that no one else can touch. It means wealth and influence beyond our wildest dreams, and I would have Vincent. Finally.

  Why else would he have us come all the way out here to see him? Why, if it was purely for the sake of business, did he specifically ask my father to bring me along? He finally saw how stupid he's acted the last few years, and is ready to beg my forgiveness and ask me to take him back. Having my parents there means he doesn't want to mess around with any juvenile dating. He's ready to be serious immediately, maybe even plan our wedding to coincide with the day his divorce from Olivia is final. I can't imagine an anniversary I'd rather have.

  Depending on how fast he's able to move the divorce through the courts, that is. I might not make it so easy on him. This man has ignored and embarrassed me, and pushed me away for more than two years. Vincent has made me work harder to get his attention than I ever had to with any other man, and I don't think I can let him forget that. Maybe I’ll drag out the suspense a bit. I can make him work for it, and prove to me that he understands just how much he fucked up, throwing away a girl like me, and how lucky he is that I would even consider taking him back. I think I'll make him wait a while before I even give him a taste of what he's been missing, so he never again forgets I'm the one in control.

  We walk up to the front desk and I see the same woman from my vacation standing there. She gives me a terse smile. She definitely remembers me, too.

  "Can I help you?" she asks.

  I glower at her.

  "We have reservations," my father says.

  "I have reservations about many things," Laurel says.

  She looks back down at what she was working on. My parents exchange glances. Did she seriously just do that?

  "We have reservations for a room here," my father elaborates.

  Laurel looks up at him and smiles.

  "Oh," she says. "That's different. Why didn't you just say so? Your name, please?"

  "She knows our name," I say, then turn to her again. "Just look up what room we're in."

  Giving me an overexaggerated look of regret, Laurel holds up her hands.

  "I’m so sorry," she simpers. "You see, I meet a lot of people. Lots of faces. Lots of people coming through here all the time. I guess you just didn't stick with me for some reason."

  The anger is bubbling up inside me, and I take a step closer to the counter. Leaning on it as much as I can, I slam my hand down in front of her.

  "I don't know who the fuck you think you are," I sneer through my teeth, "but you are fucking pissing me off, and it's not cute. You know who I am. I know you do. What matters, though, isn't you. You're here because you get paid to be here and to do what people tell you to do. I'm here because I got a special invitation from…" Out of the corner of my eye, I see Vincent come around the side of the desk. "Vincent!"

  "Hello, Charlene," he says. "Mr. and Mrs. Devereaux.”

  "Please, Vincent. It's Randall and Elizabeth."

  "Deveraux," Laurel says with a nod. "I just could not get that name out of them," she tells him.

  "That's alright, Laurel. I'm going to take them over here for some refreshments. You just look around and see what we have available for them, would you?"

  I'm confused, and my good mood is quickly fading. He invited us here. Why is he acting like he doesn't have arrangements in place for us? And why didn't he make sure to tell the help we were coming?

  We follow Vincent across the lobby to the restaurant. Leading us toward the back, he gestures toward the table in the Alcove I remember as his own personal table. It's the same table where he was sitting the first night I offered myself to him, and he turned me down.

  He gestures at the table.

  "Please," he says. "Have a seat."

  My parents squeeze into one side of the table, and I sit at the other. I scoot over to the side to create as much room as possible. Patting the seat beside me, I give Vincent my best longing stare. Who do I think I'm kidding? I don't want to wait until I get out of this restaurant, much less any longer. I'll figure out another way to make him pay penance.

  "Sit with me?" I ask.

  "Hmm? Oh, no, thank you," he says. "I'd rather stand for now. They'll be here soon."

  I narrow my eyes at him.

  "They?"

  “Yes." He looks towards the entrance to the restaurant and I see his face light up. "And look, here they are. Perfect timing."

  My position at the table means I have to lean to the side, and twist to look over my shoulder to see who's coming. When I see the short pink sundress and bouncing brunette ponytail, I want to claw her to pieces. What in the fuck is she doing here?

  Vincent reaches out for Olivia and takes her hands. Rising up on her toes, she gives him a kiss, then leans down and scoops Aaron up onto her hip.

  "Hello, everybody," she says. "Hello, Charlene."

  I say nothing.

  "Mr. and Mrs. Devereaux," he says, then gives a grin, "I mean, Randall and Elizabeth, I'd like to introduce you to my wife Olivia, though I think you are probably already familiar with each other."

  "Yes," my mother says, her face sour. "Hello, Olivia."

  "It's so good to see you, Elizabeth,” Olivia says. "That is a lovely hat."

  Never in her life has she referred to my mother by her first name.

  "And this," Vincent continues, placing his hand on the little dark-haired boy's back, "is our son, Aaron."

  "Why, Olivia," my father says, "we didn't even realize you were expecting. We were so surprised to hear you'd had a son."

  "Oh, yes," Olivia says with a nod. "We decided it would be best to keep it to ourselves, considering the somewhat unique nature of our earlier relationship. It's also just more appropriate to keep such things private anyway. Don't you agree, Charlene?"

  I've never felt embarrassment or anger like this before.

  "I thought you got divorced," I snap.

  Olivia looks scandalized.

  "Divorced?" she asks. "Why would you possibly think that?" She nods and smiles condescendingly at me. "Oh, you must be talking about that horrible tabloid article that came out about us. I have no idea why people are so stuck on those things. I mean, sometimes they get it right, obviously. But sometimes, they are so far off the mark."

  "She's right," Vincent says. "You really shouldn't believe everything you read."

  "The good thing about it, though, is we think we got to the bottom of it. Not that I want to gossip or anything, but the person behind the whole mess," she glances behind her shoulder and then leans toward us, lowering her voice, "works here."

  "Why do you think that?" I ask.

  "We have our ways," Vincent says. "It's really disappointing because it was one of the employees I personally hired. A really sweet man, or so I thought. We're going to be meeting with him this evening, as a matter of fact. He says
he has some information he wants to tell us. We think he was involved in the story about our marriage leaking, too, so it'll be interesting to hear what he has to say for himself. I hope he can come up with at least a reasonable explanation. In today's culture of reliance on technology, law enforcement doesn't take too kindly to voyeurism."

  Olivia

  I see all the color drain from Charlene's face. That's understandable, considering she knows we're talking about Frank. The poor man went to Laurel a few weeks ago after seeing the planted tabloid story, and confessed everything about Charlene and the pictures. He was devastated, and apologized profusely, saying he hasn't been able to stop thinking about it since it happened. Vincent told him if he was willing to tell him everything, and possibly testify, he would consider the last almost three years of self-torment about it punishment enough.

  Getting Frank is never what mattered most to us, anyway. We both know Charlene is masterfully manipulative and can trick almost anyone into doing what she wants. What we cared about was finally finding out what definitively happened.

  "Oh," I say, trying to sound as excited and enthusiastic as possible. "I wanted to thank you, Charlene."

  "For what?"

  "For the fabulous interior design tip." She looks confused and I nod toward the lobby. "Come with me, I'll show you."

  Charlene reluctantly gets up from her seat and follows me out of the restaurant. I glance back over my shoulder, and see Vincent leading her parents along with us. Walking up to the wall where I first saw the pictures of Vincent and me, I hold up my hand to focus her attention. Her eyes widen, and her mouth falls open as Charlene stares at the series of family pictures posted along the wall. In the center is a large, framed recreated wedding portrait mounted with a copy of a letter describing our love story and marriage, and our plan to have a long family vacation in lieu of a second honeymoon when the resort expansion is complete.

  Her expression makes it clear she knows the message I'm sending.

  "We're just so happy together that we wanted a reminder of it right here in the place we first fell in love." I shoot a glittering smile at her, making sure she sees it doesn't extend to my knowing eyes. "Don't you think it's just so sweet I came here to help you mend your broken heart and ended up finding the love of my life?"

  Recalling the words she said to me in the bathroom the day I went to work in Vincent's office seems to be enough to make her crack. Whipping around, Charlene glares into Vincent's face.

  "What is this, Vincent? I thought you asked us here," she hesitates, her eyes sliding ever to me, "to talk business."

  "You're right," Vincent says. "I was going to wait until after we enjoyed some refreshments together, but we might as well talk about it now. Randall, I want to thank you on behalf of my father, as well as myself, for your willingness to consider cooperating with us on some of our future plans and projects. Your business expertise and operations are extremely well-known, and I'm sure we could have had a spectacularly beneficial relationship, if you had seen fit. However, we've decided to move forward with a different partner."

  "Who?" Randall Devereux demanded, all pretense of gentility gone.

  "As a matter of fact," Vincent said, "it's Olivia's company. She and her grandmother are now the controlling interest of her father's former business, and are making incredible strides. Her vision is truly awe-inspiring. I feel her creativity and dedication, along with support and influence from her father's wisdom, will make the perfect solution to my needs, and for my father's needs. We are truly appreciative of your efforts, though."

  "What do you think you're pulling, Preston? We had verbal agreements. There were plans in place. There are many moving parts to things like this, and I've already set them in motion."

  Vincent shrugs, unfazed by the older man's gruff approach.

  "I'm sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused you, Randall. But you of all people should know that I need to do what I know is best for my business, and my family. I can understand your frustration if you misinterpreted our friendly conversations as any form of negotiation. Without formal contracts, though, it will be extremely difficult for you to prove any sort of agreement happened with any of us. You certainly wouldn't be able to bring it to court." Vincent takes a step forward. His expression has changed, and I no longer see the playful expression caused by this scheme he devised. His voice lowers. "But if you do decide to take it to court, I will be more than happy to come. I'll bring along some reading material you might be familiar with. In fact, it has your name all over it. Yours and Beau Alcott's, of course."

  Randall is visibly shaking. He glares over at his wife.

  "Come on, Elizabeth. We don't have to listen to this."

  I step out of the way to give them plenty of access to the door. Charlene stares at me for a few seconds longer before starting to follow them.

  "Oh, Charlene," I call after her. She turns to look at me. "I wanted to tell you I'm so sorry you couldn't be my maid of honor for my wedding. I know you would have loved to return the favor. It was just so sudden, you understand. But you should definitely give me a call the next time you're engaged."

  Charlene storms away without another word. Coming to my side, Vincent takes Aaron off my hip, and sets him down beside me before wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me close. The tips of our noses nuzzle against each other, and he dips his head to give me a deep, fulfilling kiss.

  "I love you," he says. "I don't know if I've ever told you, or if you need to hear it, but you are it for me. You're the one I want now, always, and forever."

  Our mouths meet again, and the breeze coming in off the water through the open doors makes me feel like I'm flying.

  Epilogue

  Olivia

  One year later…

  "I think that brings a whole new meaning to the concept of resort casual."

  I follow Vincent's stare across the lobby and see my father. Wearing his bathing suit, a pair of flippers, and a snorkel already in position in his mouth, he tromps across the polished floor toward the door to the beach.

  "Daddy, what are you doing?" I call out to him, laughing.

  He pauses, takes the snorkel out of his mouth, and raises his goggles.

  "I'm going snorkeling," he says.

  "I can see that."

  "I'm ready, Beau!"

  My mother's voice makes me turn and I see her coming toward us. She looks almost as ridiculous as my father in her purple skirted bathing suit and flippers. At least she has her goggles and snorkel on her head rather than her face.

  "Why didn't the two of you get ready in your bungalow?" I ask.

  "Oh, stop," Vincent says. "They look fantastic. They're a walking advertisement for the snorkeling tours."

  "We did get ready at the bungalow," Dad says. "We made it all the way out onto the sand. Then your mother realized that she hadn't put on sunscreen."

  "Had you put on sunscreen, either?" Mama asks. "No. You hadn't."

  "We didn't want to go all the way back to the bungalow to put it on, so we came in and bought some in the little gift shop. Then we had to wait."

  "Wait?" I ask.

  "Your mother has been reading about skin cancer recently," Dad says as if that should explain everything. "And one of the articles she read said you shouldn't go out in the sun until at least half an hour after you put on the sunscreen or you might as well have just slathered on some pimento cheese."

  "Did it really say that?" Vincent asks.

  "Of course, it didn't," Mama says.

  No matter how much she had loosened up since Vincent and I got married, the Southern belle who put the ‘finish’ in finishing would never be completely gone. I like it that way.

  "It said that it takes that long for the sunscreen to actually work and if you go out in the sun before then, you are just as exposed and vulnerable as if you didn’t have any on," Daddy continues.

  "So, the pimento cheese would actually be more effective?" Vincent asks.


  He and Daddy exchange playful smiles. A blush comes to Mama's cheeks, but she can't help but smile. They adore him. Maybe too much. But not as much as I do.

  "So, we went into one of the lounges and put sunscreen on each other and waited the half hour," Mama says.

  I think this through for a few seconds, trying to visualize what she is saying happened.

  "The lounges?" I ask. "Like the bar?"

  "Of course, not."

  The gasp from her delicate sensitivities being offended is still alive and well.

  "The cigar lounge?" I ask, even more uncertain.

  "The restroom," my father announces.

  Vincent and I look at him for a silent beat.

  "The restroom?"

  "One of those nice big ones up at the front of the shop."

  The family-style restrooms are one of the new features Vincent added during the transformation to a family resort. They offer a place for parents to bring their young children directly from the beach or other recreational activities, and apparently double as the ideal location for older couples to slather each other with sunscreen.

  "You put sunscreen on each other and then just stood there for half an hour?"

  "Skin cancer doesn't discriminate, Olivia. You must be vigilant."

  "There you two are. I've been standing out there on the beach looking like a dang fool for forty-five minutes."

  I look in the direction of my grandmother's voice and see her coming toward us. The neon green wetsuit she has chosen for the occasion tells me she was a part of their snorkeling plans.

  "What is happening right now?" I murmur to Vincent.

  He chuckles and kisses my cheek, rubbing my back.

  "Annabelle forgot her sunscreen," my father says.