“Potverdomme! You don’t know who you really are, do you, Bri? You must have geheugenverlies… um… in English, that’s… um… um… amnesia! Yes, that’s the word!”
“No, that’s not it—”
“You don’t realize it, but you’re my wife, Brianna Stokman, Lady van Laere. No, wait, now you’re Brianna Stokman, Baroness van Laere. That… that will upset my stepmother.”
“Christiaan… please…”
“I know. I know, Bri.” He cupped her chin in his hand. “This is all so difficult for you to understand. But eight years ago, you were taken from me, and now I’ve found you.”
“No, that’s—”
“Yes, that’s what happened.” He brushed his palm across her cheek and buried his fingers in her hair. “Obviously… miraculously… you didn’t die, Bri. We all thought you had. ” He couldn’t stop touching her and saying her name. Bri was here. Bri was alive!
“Please, you don’t understand. I—”
“Somehow… some way, you escaped and ended up here.” Tracing his thumb across her lips, he could barely contain his emotions. His heart hammered against his ribs. “Obviously, the trauma of it all caused you to lose your memory. Somewhere along the way, you became Vicky Golden. But you are—and always will be—my precious Bri.” Replacing his thumb with his lips, Christiaan crushed her to him.
Or tried to.
“Christiaan!” She drew back. “Stop!”
He did, suddenly realizing that she was probably as overwhelmed and confused by the situation as he was.
“I’m sorry, Bri, but I can’t help myself.” Propping himself on an elbow, he let out a short snort. “All this time, you had no idea who you were.”
Her eyes darkened, and her face stilled.
“Right, Bri?”
He recognized the expression. She usually wore it when she had something to say she knew would upset him.
“Right… Bri?”
She slowly shook her head then looked away. That gesture generally meant he wouldn’t just be upset… he’d be furious. Her refusal to answer and agitated body language confirmed his suspicion.
“Oh, Bri…” He swallowed hard as reality slammed into him like a wrecking ball. “You know who you are, don’t you?”
She refused to answer. Finally, she nodded.
“You let me think you were dead.” Christiaan grabbed her, and they locked eyes like sabers.
Slowly her lips moved. “Yes.”
“Why? Potverdomme, why would you do that to me?” He couldn’t think. He could barely breathe. What could she possibly say that could make any sense of this?
“I… I…” She cleared her throat. “I thought you had me killed.”
What?! Christiaan gasped. Had he heard her wrong? He must have. He struggled to take long, deep breaths. “You thought what?”
“That you had me killed. That you paid someone to blow me up.”
“It was an accident!” Christiaan’s temples pounded. His stomach clenched. Bri believed him capable of murder? Capable of murdering her? Tight-jawed and trembling, he suddenly realized he was staring between her legs.
Warm nutmeg. Bri’s natural hair color. Not Vicky’s deep auburn. His cheeks burned remembering what he’d done with that warm nutmeg spot most of the night. Tearing his gaze away, Christiaan refocused on the face of the woman who’d just torn his heart out.
“Alsjeblieft, Christiaan, het spijt me zo.” She leaned toward him, continuing in still-surprisingly correct and fluent Dutch. “In die tijd wist ik niet—”
“Stop it. Stop it!” He didn’t want to hear an apology, in his native language or English. “And put something on… please.” Coming to terms with his wife’s unexpected resurrection was one thing, talking to her about it while naked was another.
Bri scrambled to find and pull on her pants and shirt, then handed him his. Christiaan stood and methodically took his time redressing, needing every second to sort out the roller coaster of emotions fighting for center stage.
Joy that she was alive.
Shock that she was here.
Anguish that she’d abandoned him.
Disbelief that she thought he’d had her murdered.
“How could you… why would you even… when did you…” Carving his hands through his hair, he struggled with what question to ask first.
Bri sat cross-legged on the pallet of pullovers. Arms wrapped around herself, she exhaled gently. “It all happened so fast. At the time, we weren’t doing so well, remember? Our once idyllic marriage was falling apart. I drowned my sorrows in food and Scotch, and you drowned yours in work. Neither of us was happy.”
Christiaan nodded. He’d taken to scheduling eighteen-hour days to avoid their daily fights.
“The pressure to fit into your high-and-mighty crowd as well as produce the requisite van Laere heir was overwhelming. Trying to control my eating and my drinking was near impossible. And your stepmother…” Her brows flickered a little.
“Never passed up a chance to verbally knock you around.” He sat down on the nearest rock, his pulse racing as fast as if he’d just finished a marathon. “I knew that was happening but never did anything about it.”
Bri bobbed her head. “She was never happy about me as the next Baroness. She totally fed into my insecurities, always alluding to the fact that Astrid would make the more suitable daughter-in-law.”
He grit his teeth. “I already explained my feelings about Astrid to you… yesterday as well as eight years ago.”
“I know. I know. But back then, I was an overweight, alcoholic, insecure woman raging with trying-to-get-pregnant hormones and dealing with a husband that was never home and his family that was never kind.”
Guilt squeezed out some of the raw emotions warring within him. He’d defied his family to marry her, then left her to the wolves while he focused on saving the company his father had run into the ground. Not his finest hour.
Bri continued. “That night, at your birthday dinner, Astrid had your undivided attention, and—”
“Potverdomme!” Christiaan jerked forward. “I told you before, she’d just lost her father, I was—” Bri’s raised hand cut him short.
“Please, let me finish.” With a deep breath, she struggled to compose herself before continuing. “That night, shortly after dinner, I overheard the Baroness tell someone that you and Astrid were sleeping together and that you were planning to get rid of me one way or another.” Bri pursed her lips.
“And you assumed that meant…” A few seconds passed as Christiaan made the mental jump. “Ahh… my mother.”
Bri nodded. “I tried not to believe what your stepmother said, but I couldn’t. After three Scotches, I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. Then I saw you and Astrid kissing on the balcony… and then we fought… man, we fought… and… and…” Bri choked back a sob.
“And you yelled, ‘Your life would be so much better if I were dead, wouldn’t it?’.” Profound pain from that night washed over him like a bucket of ice water. Over the years, he’d replayed that scene over and over, each time wishing he could change his answer.
A single tear slipped down her cheek. “And you said… ‘Yes’.”
Silence enveloped the cave. Christiaan studied her face. The sting was still as fresh as it had been than night.
When he chose to punish his wife for his failings as a husband.
“It… it…” He struggled to compose himself. “It was just something stupid said in a fit of anger. You actually can’t believe that I…”
She shook her head.
Obviously she did.
“I didn’t want to believe any of it,” Bri answered. “What you said… what your stepmother said… what Astrid said—”
“What? When did you talk with Astrid? What did she say?”
“Remember that next morning? When you flew out early on yet another business trip? This one to Spain?”
“Yes.” Christiaan sat back and leaned against the cave wall. “An
d you were going to some expensive spa in Switzerland and weren’t to be bothered.”
“Actually, I changed my mind and arranged to go to an exclusive alcoholic treatment center here in the States under an assumed name to protect the family from scandal. Baz helped me get a fake passport, and I wired cash for the airfare and treatment center.”
“What. Did. Astrid. Say!”
Bri took a deep breath. “At the airport, right before I left, I called your hotel room. I wanted to tell you I was sorry about everything that had happened. Astrid answered and explained that you’d just jumped into the shower. She made it quite clear that you weren’t planning on bathing alone.”
Christiaan knew exactly what Bri was talking about. After Astrid had flung herself on him on the balcony at the party the night before, she’d surprised him by showing up at his Madrid hotel. Like so many times before, he made it clear that he loved Brianna and had no intentions of ever being with Astrid, no matter what she or his stepmother had in mind. And, as usual, Astrid paid absolutely no attention to his warning, showing up later, after he’d lost Bri.
He drew a quick breath of utter astonishment. “You actually believed I was with Astrid? And that I was willing to kill for her?”
“I didn’t want to,” Bri answered, hands knotted in her lap. “I didn’t want to believe any of it. Then, later, I saw news coverage of the two of you coming out of the police station and a reporter asking if Lady Astrid was going to be the next Baroness and…” Bri’s voice trailed off.
“And you thought she was,” Christiaan finished. “And that I had done what everyone had accused my father of doing to my mother.” Everyone, including Astrid, had thought she would be the next Baroness. The pressure he’d felt to remarry had nearly severed the already-tenuous ties with his family. After a while, Astrid reluctantly moved on and shortly thereafter married some crazy prince from a defunct European throne.
“When you spoke to the reporters about me, you sounded so cold, like you’d just simply lost a business deal, not your wife. Then someone asked you if you thought you could get away with murder because you were so rich and so well connected. You made this face, this emotionless… distant… stoic face, grabbed Astrid’s arm, and got into a limo.” Bri smirked. “Happily ever after.”
Christiaan stood and began pacing to control his seesawing emotions. “The only way I could keep it together was to act emotionless… distant… stoic. Potverdomme! I’d just lost the love of my life to a horrible accident! People were tossing accusations left and right. I had to turn my feelings off. It hurt too much to feel!”
“I guess Astrid helped you out with that.” Bri leaned forward, pursed her lips, and crossed her arms defiantly.
He stopped moving right in front of her. “She just showed up at the station. I jumped into her waiting limo because all I wanted to do was get out of there. My wife was gone. Life as I knew it was over.”
“I thought you’d done it. That you finally succumbed to your family’s pressure.” Her shoulders stiffened. “You really did look better off without me, just like you said that night. So…” She took a deep breath. “… to protect myself, Brianna stayed dead and buried.”
“To protect yourself…” He sighed heavily, his voice filled with anguish. His wife thought her only option was to hide from him. From him! “Then it must have been quite a surprise when I showed up here.”
“Yes, but you didn’t seem to recognize me, so I thought I was safe. But, then, during the singles climb, you were behind me on the summit descent—”
“You thought I’d pushed you?” Shock almost choked him. Oh, this just gets better and better. “Of course you did. If I was capable of murdering my wife, I was certainly capable of murdering some bitch standing between me and my geothermal project. Sorry to disappoint you, but Baz was behind you, not me. You fell all on your own, Mighty Miss Golden. All on your own.”
Christiaan stepped back to give them both some literal and figurative breathing room. He rubbed a hand across his mouth, then down his neck. Absorbing everything she said overwhelmed him. Sorting it all out was next to impossible. He reached for the ring hanging from his neck. Mourning Bri had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. He stared at the band, then at her.
“But this ring—your ring—was found in the wreckage.”
“I was so angry at your betrayal that I took it off and threw it in the cup holder. I didn’t realize I didn’t have it until I was already on the plane to the States.”
An innocent-enough explanation. Christiaan fingered the wedding band. The only thing that remained of his precious Bri.
Until now.
His brow furrowed. “But there was a body. I had your remains—what meager amount there was—cremated. If it wasn’t you, then who was in your car?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I honestly don’t know.”
Slipping his pinky finger through the ring, he replayed the drama created when he’d told his father Bri wouldn’t be laid to rest in the van Laere vault. Once again, the Baron had been unhappy with his son’s breech of protocol. Instead, Christiaan had helped Baz’s father—the estate gardener—plant tulip beds near that main house, mixing Bri’s ashes into the soil. Christiaan smiled. Two tulip beds. One for Bri, and one for their unborn son.
“The baby!” He flinched as if slapped. “Our baby! Where’s our son?”
A heavy gasp escaped as she placed a hand on her belly. “I… I… lost him. I miscarried, shortly after arriving at the treatment center. The doctors said it was probably chromosomal abnormalities. I’m sure my drinking and the stress of thinking you had me mur— taken care of didn’t help.” Tears blinded her eyes as she turned away. “Christiaan, I’m sorry. I’m so… so… sorry.”
His heart ached at the sight of her grief. She’d been alone when she lost the baby. All alone.
Of course, he’d been alone when he lost them both.
Warring feelings tumbled through him. He wanted to hug her. He wanted to strangle her. Christiaan stomped aimlessly around the cave. They’d kissed. They’d danced.
They’d made love.
He and Vicky. No, he and Bri.
A ripple of ironic mirth escaped him. What a strange ménage à trois. He’d given himself to a new woman last night while at the same time reaffirming his bond with another.
The emotional mixture threatened to crush him. He slumped onto the nearest boulder and cradled his head. Bri was alive but had hid from him. She believed him capable of infidelity and murder. She’d survived. She’d started a new life.
Without him.
“So, you got sober and started a new life.” He paused to regain control of his growing anger. “That’s when Vicky Golden was born?”
“Yes.”
“And the stuff you said earlier… waitressing in Maine… housecleaning in Nebraska… cashiering in Mississippi… that was all true?”
“Yes.”
“And along the way you dyed and cut your hair, lost your Texas twang and a bunch of weight, and did something with your… your…”
“Boobs?” She laughed. “Yes, and my nose. Thanks to a plastic surgeon hoping to avoid an auto-accident lawsuit.”
Christiaan lifted his head to study her, but said nothing. He pursed his lips, hoping to contain the bitter remarks struggling to leave his mouth.
“The hair?” She touched the top of her head. “Just seemed like the thing to do. New name. New hairdo. The twang? Lost it as I worked all over the country, trying to fit in. The weight? Lack of funds and physical labor makes for a great diet program.”
“Your name. How did you come up with that?”
“Well, the first name is from my childhood friend Vicky Boxler, and the last is from the phrase ‘Silence is Golden’.” She snickered. “I know. Not very creative.”
“A new name… a new life…” He snorted. “Well, isn’t that just peachy.”
“Christiaan, I—”
“Ran off to another country�
�� Believed your husband had you murdered…” His nostrils flared. Potverdomme controlling his opinion and his anger. “… And left him at the mercy of a headline-hungry media that thrives on international scandal.”
“I’m sorry. It was just a huge misunderstanding. If I knew then what—”
“Then, when I ‘run into’ my wife, she pretends not to know me.” He let loose a sardonic laugh. “All while I’m trying desperately to save my company that’s struggling because of what she did to me and my family and my company eight years ago when she ‘died’!”
“Christiaan, I’m sorry for that. I mean it!” Bri jumped to her feet and headed toward him. “But you have to understand, I was a different woman then.”
He stood and backed away from her, his shoulders brushing against the blocked entrance. “You basically left the world to believe that I’d had you murdered, that my freedom was more important to me than my marriage.” Another bitter chuckle left his lips. “But I didn’t do any of that. I may have failed my marriage by not giving it the priority it deserved, but what you did was much, much worse.”
“What I did?” Bri bridled.
“You failed our love.”
She bit her lower lip, teeth sinking into the wet pink flesh.
“You chose to believe others instead of your husband.”
Wetness filled the big, beautiful eyes clinging to his.
Behind him, the sound of something tapping against rock tore his focus away. Tapping turned into heavy knocking, and small stones from the blocked entrance began falling to the ground.
“Sweetie? You in there?” A muffled voice passed through.
“Rainbow?” Bri ran to the sound and answered. “Rainbow! You found us!”
Suddenly, a small patch of sunlight broke through. “Us?” snaked through the opening. “Who else is in there?”
“Myself and… and… Ms. Golden.” Christiaan answered. “Thank God you found us.”
“Baron von Rat Face? How weird to find you in there.” Rainbow laughed. “Now that’s an interesting turn of events. Okay, guys. Hang tight. We’ll have you out of there in a jiffy.”
'Til Death Us Do Part Page 17