by P. M. Briede
His grip on the steering wheel made me afraid he was actually going to bend it. Not only were his knuckles white, but his entire hands were. Every muscle in his body was flexed, making the angles sharp and the lines hard. What I’d grown to love as a welcoming face was now square and grim. And he still hadn’t answered me as I catalogued the change in his demeanor and appearance. “Charlotte, please don’t make me tell you,” Olivier begged me. “The truth is reprehensible. Can it be enough that I’m aware of it?”
Again he wasn’t going to lie to me. He was begging me to trust him. Yet the way he looked spoke of the burden he was bearing alone. As someone who loved him, as his friend, I just couldn’t let him. “If it didn’t break you, it won’t break me. We’ll manage it better together, just as we’ve done everything else.” I gently put my hand on his, hoping its presence would ease the tension he was inflicting on the steering wheel. The moment my fingers grazed the back of his hand, Olivier released the wheel and gripped my hand, dropping them both to his lap.
He spared a glance at me, sighed, and told me what he’d learned. When he was done, I wish I’d trusted him and believed when he said I wouldn’t want to know. The previous identity of the woman we currently referred to as Abigail Wyatt was still a mystery. There’d been no real memories of her previous life in her mind. Olivier had just known she wasn’t really the Wyatt’s daughter because there were no memories of the Wyatt’s prior to the last few years. So as far as reestablishing her to her former life or reuniting her with her actual family, we wouldn’t be able to do that without information from Celinda. It was doubtful we were ever going to get it.
However, Olivier had learned the Wyatt’s did have three daughters, the youngest named Abigail. She was a surgeon and four years ago had left to work with Doctors Without Borders in Darfur. Two years ago, Celinda had been hired as the press secretary of the governor’s office. About the same time the real Abigail was slated to return home. Unfortunately, the truck taking her and the rest of her medical team to the airport in Sudan was ambushed by the Liberation Movement Army. Everyone was slaughtered. A child was paid by members of the army to drive the dismembered bodies the rest of the way to the airport, delivering them to the Americans waiting to fly them home.
The child and the bodies were instantly loaded onto the plane and flown back to the states. During the flight the child recounted the brutality he witnessed which Olivier refused to share with me no matter my insistence. When they landed a letter was sent to the Wyatt’s asking them to contact the program. Olivier had confirmed someone contacted Doctors Without Borders. That someone had claimed what they’d identified as the remains of Abigail’s body. But he’d also determined it hadn’t been Alexander or Regina. His hunch was Celinda used the incident to her advantage, claimed the body and did something with the remains. Then she found a girl who shared many physical attributes as their daughter, and returned her to them with no one the wiser.
It was the first time I was grateful for my diminished appetite. Had I been eating regularly I would have lost the contents of my stomach over the few details he did give me and the ones my mind created. As it was Olivier had to pull over when the dry heaving started. “Do you know how she’s doing it? Wouldn’t someone realize she’s not their actual daughter?” I asked between lurches. I was on my hands and knees in the grass with Olivier kneeling beside me.
His hands scrubbed at his face. “My guess is Celinda did to them what she did to Breaux. I was able to find some pictures of the actual Abigail Wyatt. The resemblance is pretty exact which made it easier because she didn’t have to replace a face in their mind. No triggers were needed. She just stuffed “Abigail’s” head with enough facts to fool them. As long as the Wyatt’s say she’s their daughter no one else is going to question it too much. Plus the girl had been gone for two years before the imposter showed up. People change over time. Our quintet, well, we’re the only ones who find her reprehensible. Most find her as charming as the Wyatt’s.”
The heaving stopped but the coughing continued. “I don’t get it. Wouldn’t Alexander and Regina just know? We’re talking about their child; wouldn’t a parent know?” I spat out.
“Breaux didn’t when it was you,” Olivier softly countered. “Celinda knows what she’s about. Can you really judge them that harshly?” I couldn’t. I’d seen firsthand what Celinda Banks was capable of.
Finally the coughing stopped but we didn’t immediately resume our trip. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and looked up into Olivier’s face. The set in his eyes spoke of the regret he felt at having burdened me with these facts but everything else about him had relaxed slightly. He no longer looked made of stone or as if he was the sole pillar holding up the last remnants of the Coliseum.
As the minutes passed in silence a lingering thought accosted my mind. “Did you happen to find anything out about the boy?”
“What?” Olivier had clearly not been expecting the question. I don’t know why but I couldn’t let go of the image of a child, driving a truck full of death, then captured and interrogated for hours. What happened to him? Was he offered asylum in the States? Was he shipped home only to be drafted into that dreadful army at best? What about his family? “I’m sorry, but I did not,” Olivier hesitantly answered. Nodding, I let him help me into the car. Once inside I closed my eyes to the onslaught of images but one repeatedly haunted me. It was of the boy I’d grown up with driving a truck filled with the dismembered remains of the adults we’d all become.
* * *
The key players arrived at the plantation the next day, along with several key members of the Secret Service for the Wyatt’s protection. I was and wasn’t surprised when I learned Abigail would not be joining her parents that evening. Alexander and Regina were staying in the guest-house on the back acres of the property but everyone was aware there wasn’t much love lost between their daughter and Tristan, Paige, Olivier, and I. Expecting the rest of us to stay in the main house, I was stunned when Wesley’s bag wasn’t brought inside. As soon as I was able, I questioned him about it.
“No offense meant,” Wesley covertly whispered. “I’ve accepted the roles we all have to play, as well as the consequences of the decision you made. But there is no way I can sleep under the same roof where you two are sharing a bed,” he nodded towards Olivier as he finished. “Surely you understand why?” Guilt suffused me. It was one thing for us all to accept the truth of my decision and how it impacted all our relationships with the others. It was quite another to live it out in front of everyone, effectively rubbing it in the noses of the injured parties. Wesley saw the shame on my face for the pain he felt so he shook his head and kissed my cheek. “I’ll be fine, Charlotte. This nightmare will all be over soon. Until then though, I’m sharing the guest-house with the Wyatt’s. Besides, it makes sense anyway as Abigail will be joining us tomorrow.”
I felt it was necessary to put him somewhat at ease. “Paige and I are sharing a room tonight since she shouldn’t see Tristan tomorrow before the wedding.” With a slight smile, Wesley glanced around the room before taking my hand to bring it to his lips. I fought every urge I had to reach out to him one last time and balled my hands into fists as he walked away from me.
A few hours later we gathered for the rehearsal. Paige, Spencer, and I were in the barn. Olivier was sitting in some of the chairs trying to wrangle and keep from thumping the twins while maintaining a conversation with my father. My stepmother was playing the role of wedding coordinator and was showing Tristan and Wesley where they would be coming from and where to stand before Paige and I joined them at the gazebo. Watching them, you’d have thought they were twenty-something not thirty-something as they jovially gave her a hard time. She was taking it in stride, though I knew she was a little past perturbed.
A sudden chill stole through me, causing me to shiver. I had a sickening feeling that tonight and tomorrow were going to be the absolute last time I was going to witness this kind of contentment and happines
s from all of us at the same time. I tried to shake off my doomsday reflections by focusing on the best possible outcome instead. This could be the first day of our future happiness, right? After all, there’d been many times in my life when I’d prepared for the worst but rarely had to deal with it. Most times I found I’d wasted precious time and energy fretting about something that never happened.
“Charlotte!” The sharp cadence of my name grabbed my attention. Blinking out of my thoughts, I found my stepmother standing in front of me with her hands on her hips. The attention of everyone else had been drawn to us as well. A blush stole across my cheeks as I sheepishly shrugged. “Glad to have you back. Now will you please walk up to the gazebo? I’m sure you can figure out where to stand based on where I placed Wesley.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. When she turned back her eyes were rolling. “Or rather where he should be placed if he’d stay still! How do you put up with them, my dears?” she asked Paige and me. “They’re worse than toddlers.”
Paige and I laughed as our attention turned to the men in question. They’d moved off their marks. Having caught a glimpse of Celeste’s glare, they were both struggling to figure out where to stand again. “Don’t worry. I’ll reset them, Celeste.” I patted her shoulder as I walked by.
At my approach Wesley leaned into Tristan. He pretended to whisper but I was meant to overhear. “Uh, oh. The big gun has been called out now, so stop horsing around. You especially need to know what you’re doing since you are the one getting married tomorrow. I’m just decoration.”
Since their childlike spirit had possessed them, I decided to free mine. Sticking my tongue out at Wesley, I took their arms and vigorously replaced them on their marks. “That’s right, children. I’ll not hesitate in giving you a spanking if you continue to misbehave. Weddings are not about the men, they are about the women and you both have multiple ones to please tonight and tomorrow.”
Unable to resist walking through the door I had opened, Tristan turned to Wesley. “Then I’ll defer to you on whether or not I might enjoy that. I can’t imagine there weren’t times in your relationship with her where you didn’t earn it.” Wesley grinned broadly but held back the laugh. They were absolutely terrible and now I knew why.
“Have you two been drinking?” I probed in the sternest voice I could conjure. They were being pretty funny in their disruptions. Celeste’s aggravated voice called my name again. “Almost there!” I hollered back not taking my eyes off the troublesome men.
The two men giggled like schoolgirls. “Just a little bit,” Tristan admitted while holding up his hand to gesture at what he hoped would convince me was a miniscule amount with his fingers. Wesley patted his jacket thus telling me he held the flask. Yeah, if it was a little bit, then it had been a lot of little bits! I was familiar with the kind of tolerance they possessed.
When I reached inside Wesley’s jacket the pounding of his heart met my hand and our eyes locked. For the briefest of moments I was transported back to how that catalyst affected me and the automatic responses built within. His eyes flashed as he witnessed the hairs on my arms stand on end with the goose bumps scattered along my flesh. I clumsily pulled the flask from of his pocket. “Give me that!” I admonished. “I expect you both to be stone cold sober tomorrow. Understood?” Their mock serious nods were the best I was going to get from them tonight.
Sighing, I tossed the practically empty flask to Olivier and took my spot opposite Wesley. Once in position Celeste instructed Paige and Spencer it was their time to come up the aisle. When they joined the rest of us, the officiant took over and Tristan settled down now that his fiancée was within striking distance. Spencer was given his one line for tomorrow then instructed to join his brothers sitting in the chairs by Olivier.
As the outline of the ceremony was reviewed with Paige and Tristan I’d intended to observe them. Unfortunately I found my gaze wandering to Wesley with galling consistency. We’d never have this, a simple, quiet wedding. This option was no longer in our future, though I doubted if it had ever been. He’d wanted a big, extravagant wedding when we’d been planning. It hadn’t been what I’d wanted, what with my first wedding being obnoxiously large at my mother’s insistence.
His eyes bored into mine and something in my features must have been amusing to him because his lips quirked up at the corners in a sly smirk. With no one from the campaign present other than Tristan, Wesley took full advantage to openly rest his full attention on me. My parents and Paige’s sons weren’t going to say anything to Celinda about his behavior. The few times I tore my vision off Wesley and to Olivier, Olivier was grimly glaring at Wesley. Olivier, like myself, knew that just because we thought there weren’t eyes and ears for the exiles around, didn’t mean there weren’t. After all, none of us really knew anything about the officiant. But Wesley knew all of this as well. I’d place good money that the liquor clouding his head was also making him bolder. Bottom line, no matter what my decision, no matter what our roles, he was still a man violently in love with me.
When we were done Olivier and Tristan volunteered to fetch dinner from the house while everyone else disbursed. This gave Wesley, Paige, and I a rare moment alone. It had been so long since it had been just the three of us and so much had happened. We just stared at each other at first, almost uncomfortable to find ourselves as a threesome again. Wesley’s hiccup finally broke the ice and Paige and I started laughing uncontrollably at him. With a wicked grin, he stumbled over to Paige and delivered a disgustingly sloppy kiss to her cheek. When his eyes darted to me, I put up my hands, warning him. “Don’t you dare! You know I absolutely hate that. Jeez, Wesley, how much did you drink today?” As drunk as he was, which was something I’d never before seen, he was fairly easy to fend off.
“Seems like a little too much, I suppose. At the time, it was a reasonable idea. Tristan was shaking from nerves and excitement. I was facing my own set of challenges what with yet again finding myself at a wedding, not marrying the woman of my dreams, but having to watch her in the arms of another man. Drink was the obvious solution to both our problems. Don’t worry; I’ll be better once I have some food in my stomach.” He tripped over his own feet and Paige and I both reached out a hand to steady him before forcing him to take a seat.
Not knowing what to say, Paige and I sat in the chairs beside him. I took his hand in mine and starting stroking his fingers the way I knew would soothe him. On the other hand, Paige gripped his chin and lit into him. “Listen here, Wesley, you can have this pity party tonight but I expect you to be ‘on’ tomorrow. It’s not that I’m unsympathetic to your feelings, but at the risk of sounding like a typical ‘bridezilla,’ tomorrow is my day. It’s about me. You got it?” With a salute and curt nod, Wesley’s inebriation ceased being the topic of our discussion.
Paige began prattling on about all of Tristan’s wonderful attributes. Wesley blushed when she reached over share. “Okay, so remember he’s my friend and guys don’t want to know that stuff about other guys!”
“Get over yourself!” Paige huffed as she smacked Wesley in the arm. She was in a mood tonight, but it was too early to tell how troublesome it would end up being. “I can’t help that you’re sitting here right now. You could have gone with Olivier and Tristan to help with the food. Besides, I’m talking to Charlotte, not you. There’s no such thing as over share between girls.” Paige winked at me. “Especially besties like us. Isn’t that right, Charlotte?” I was not given an opportunity to answer. “After all, Wesley, who do you think she,” her playfully malicious voice teased him as she tilted her head in my direction, “talks to about your prowess? I know which of the two she finds more sexually satisfying.”
Oh! My! God! Surely I hadn’t just heard Paige say that to Wesley, especially since she wasn’t aware that I’d settled on one of them. When her statement penetrated the liquored fog in his mind, embarrassment swept over his features as Wesley turned them on me. “God, please, tell me she’s joking!” I’d heard her whole sal
acious monologue in real time. He seemed to be on a five-minute delay or something. “Wait, what? Who?” he demanded as his head snapped back to focus in on Paige.
Her bewitching laugh trilled through the open space. Glad someone found it so amusing, but I surely didn’t. Wesley was so detached from logic that he had not noticed my own discomfort. She was blatantly dangling my trust in front of him like it was some kind of treat for the dog her mind had turned him into. I sprang from my seat and slammed my free hand on the table. “ENOUGH, Paige! That information was never to have seen the light of day.”
“It hasn’t, Charlotte,” she teased with a laugh, “the sun is down. Or hadn’t you noticed?” She still thought this was a game and I was acting indignant. Wesley put a restraining hand on mine.
“Damn it, how much have you had to drink today?” I accused. Paige was never good on alcohol and she did not share even a small fraction of the tolerance Wesley and Tristan owned. She wasn’t one to slur her words when inebriated. Her intoxication typically manifested in the loss of her filter.
“Ah, Tristan and I finished off a bottle of wine together sometime before the rehearsal,” she admitted.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Just one?”
“Maybe one each?” She smiled with fake innocence and shrugged her shoulders. “Who cares? Maybe you need to catch up to us.”
“Who needs to catch up to whom?” Tristan’s voice asked. He and Olivier had just rejoined our group. Tristan was smiling as a groom should. However, Olivier looked tense. He sensed my own unease and was eyeing my hand clasped in Wesley’s with great awkwardness.