by Lizzie Shane
“What are you going to do?” she asked softly—surprised by how badly she wanted her brother to fight for this woman she’d never even spoken to. The nanny had yet to show her face at the main house, staying tucked away at the cottage with the girls except for a brief appearance at the rehearsal.
A good aunt probably would have gone down to say hello to the little cherubs, but Candy always felt excruciatingly awkward around children, always afraid she was going to emotionally scar them for the rest of their lives with a careless word.
“I don’t know what I can do,” Aiden mumbled dejectedly. “She’s refusing to be with me because she thinks I have the potential to be the shining light to guide this country out of the political darkness or some such bullshit. And she’s stubborn, Candy. So stubborn.” That last was said with an air of admiration. “And strong. She won’t give in to me if she thinks I’m wrong.”
“She sounds like someone I would like.”
A shadowed smile. “I think you would.”
“So?”
“She isn’t wrong,” he admitted. “It will be harder with her beside me. It might even be impossible in the current political climate. Especially if our parents cut me off from their contacts in retaliation.”
Candy made a low, disgusted noise. Unfortunately she could believe it of her mother. It sounded like her kind of threat.
Aiden sighed. “I feel like all my life people have been telling me I have this light inside me and it’s my duty to shine for the world. All I want is to be with Samira, to live a quiet life with my girls, but is that selfish? To run away from what I could accomplish? The good I could do? The people whose lives I could change for the better? I like helping people. I like knowing that my life makes a difference. But can it be my calling if it means I have to give her up?”
“You’re a prince, you know that?”
Aiden winced. “That’s what they say.” He looked at Candy over his glass. “Do you think I should run?”
She knew he meant for office, but she answered literally. “Yes. Run far, far away. That’s what I did.”
But was she any happier? She’d run to California… and now she didn’t seem to know how to stop running. Away from Ren. Away from the pressure of the life he wanted.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Eight-and-a-half months ago…
He didn’t know what woke him. Maybe it was the absence of her breathing. The absence of her warmth. But he was awake and alone in the bed, the sheets still warm from the imprint of her body.
No light shone under the door to the master bath, but when he turned to look beyond the sliding glass doors he saw a figure outlined in moonlight huddled on the lip of the pool, Wicket curled up at her side. Candy wore the shirt he’d had on last night, so he pulled on a pair of pajama pants and padded to slide the door open, the shushing sound loud in the stillness of the night.
She didn’t look up as he approached, though Wicket lifted her head and whined to be petted.
“Hey.” He sank down on the icy tile beside her with Wicket between them. It was California, but at three in the morning in the mountains it still got cold at night. Candy didn’t seem to notice, not even shivering as she stared into the dark water, one hand absently scratching the puppy behind the ears. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
“Nightmare?” he prodded gently.
She’d had them before. Some nights she couldn’t stand to have the covers over her—nothing that might cover her face—and he’d gotten in the habit of leaving the hall light on when he came to bed, though Candy had been the last one to the bedroom tonight. Had she shut off the light intentionally?
Her only response was a single-shoulder shrug.
Helpless frustration rose up. Did he touch her? Would she flinch if he stroked her back? Should he fill the air with meaningless words or let her surround herself with silence? He didn’t know what to do for her. He didn’t know what she needed. She would never tell him.
His own uselessness burned beneath his skin.
Something had happened to her. Something that still woke her up at night. Something he couldn’t undo. But he could be here for her now, in this moment, if she would just let him.
“Let me help,” he murmured, brushing a lock of hair behind her shoulder. “Do you want to tell me about the dream?”
“Just let it go, Ren,” she answered in a matching whisper, her distant gaze still locked on the water. “Leave me alone.”
“Don’t you think I would have done that by now if I could?”
The edge in his voice caught her attention, finally pulling her gaze away from the water. She looked at him, her eyes as deep and liquid as the pool, and he leaned in to kiss her, half-suspecting it would be the wrong thing, that she would shove him away, but she leaned over Wicket and pressed against him, taking a kiss that had started as comfort and turning it into something voracious and mindless. She climbed into his lap, Wicket scrambling back into the house.
He may not be able to get her to talk to him, but this he could do. He’d drive away all her demons if he could.
*
Present day…
Where was he?
Candy tumbled out of the limo she’d shared with Charlotte for the ride back to the Montgomery mansion after the party migrated from the country club, both of them giggling and tipsy. Her gaze fell instantly on the rental car Ren had taken when he vanished that morning and her knees nearly buckled with relief—or maybe that was the alcohol. It was hard to tell.
Everything felt soft and lovely. The world gone fuzzy and squishy and pleasant—even if the landscape did have a disorienting tendency to fall behind when she moved too quickly.
Charlotte staggered out behind her, giggling as she stumbled into Candy and slung her arm around her shoulders. “I’m getting married tomorrow!” she crowed, swaying hard enough that both of them nearly went down.
“You are,” Candy confirmed, proud of herself for the certainty in her voice. See? She wasn’t drunk. She even knew what day it was.
“I wasn’t there the night before your wedding,” Charlotte complained with an exaggerated pout—and Candy glanced around to see who she was talking to before remembering that she was “married.” To Ren. Where was Ren?
She craned her neck, spotting the rental again. There were cars parked haphazardly around the driveway where the staff hadn’t been able to keep up with the influx as the revelers returned from the rehearsal dinner.
She could hear music from the back of the house and sounds of laughter from the terrace. Charlotte began to weave them in that direction, but Candy paused and detached herself from her sister, steadying her with both hands even though she was swaying almost as much.
“I’m gonna go find Ren,” she declared.
Charlotte pumped her fist—a gesture Candy was certain she’d never seen her sister attempt before. “Get some, girl,” she encouraged, turning toward the house again.
“Are you okay?” Candy called after her—she’d be a terrible sister if she let the bride do a facer onto the concrete steps the night before the wedding.
But Charlotte pivoted expertly on her high heels and waved her off. “I’m good. I’m just goin’ t’ bed.”
“Good.” Candy gave her a thumbs up, frowning at her own thumb when it looked blurry. She pivoted—much less expertly on her high heels—and picked a careful path across the driveway to the carriage house.
Time was passing strangely. The walk across the driveway seemed to take days, but then she was suddenly at the top of the stairs, fumbling with the doorknob to their suite with no memory of climbing the steps. But hey, she’d made it to the top okay, so no harm no foul.
The doorknob finally turned—right when Candy was starting to wonder if the damn thing was locked—and she swung into the room with the door when it opened, stumbling several feet and catching herself on the lovely softness of the bed.
Thou shalt not lean on doors whilst opening them was going to be her new
commandment.
She focused on the bed—no Ren. Straightening, she walked with careful precision over to the bathroom—no Ren. Closet—no Ren. She frowned, leaning against the doorjamb of the closet. “Ren?”
He didn’t answer. “Re-en?”
The car was back. He was here. She knew he was here. So where was he?
Music from the terrace trickled in her window.
He went to the party. Of course he went to the party. That’s what Ren would do.
She reversed course back across the room, but only made it a few steps before her heel wobbled. Deciding it was entirely too difficult to balance in these shoes, she bent to take them off, but overbalanced and tumbled to a heap on the floor.
Much better. Now she could reach the straps on her shoes without tipping upside down. Why hadn’t she thought of the floor in the first place?
Releasing her feet from their strappy prison, Candy sighed blissfully and wiggled her toes. This was why women wore heels. Because there was no heaven like the heaven of removing your shoes after a long night.
Except maybe sex. Ren was very good at sex. He really ought to be here.
Using the bedpost as a crutch, she levered herself back to her feet, spreading her toes out on the rug. People should always be barefoot. She started toward the door again, but her shawl caught on the bedpost, so she let it slip from her shoulders. She wasn’t cold anyway. Every inch of her body was pleasantly warm.
She really should drink more often.
Time slipped away from her again, playing games with her tonight. She didn’t remember the stairs or the path across the back lawn. One second she was in her suite, the next she felt the cool stone of the terrace beneath her bare feet.
The party was still going strong. Stronger. The laughter was more raucous than it had been back in the sedate surrounds of the country club. On the terrace, under the moonlight, with the music a little too loud, anything was possible.
Candy smiled at friends, enemies and strangers alike as she wandered through the clusters of laughing guests, many already leaning on each other for support. She stepped carefully over the legs of one DC power player who had decided to take a seat right there on the stone of the terrace as she picked her way toward the bar, searching faces for Ren.
Where was he?
Turning, she bumped into a female form, grasping her arms for balance before she realized it was the blushing bride herself. “Charlotte! I thought you were going to bed.”
“I am. Just one little night cap to see me off.” She waved a half-full cocktail glass. “Have you seen Alicia?”
“Have you seen Ren?” Candy said at the same time, then frowned. “Alicia?”
She was supposed to talk to Alicia about something.
“She came back in an earlier limo. I think she had her eye on someone,” Charlotte explained, nearly poking herself in the eye when she said the word.
“She did?”
Suddenly the world didn’t feel quite so glowy and warm.
She couldn’t find Ren. Charlotte couldn’t find Alicia. Alicia had her eye on someone. Alicia had said she wouldn’t have to blackmail Ren to get him into her bed…
Why did she say that? Did she know? Had they already slept together? Were they together now?
Perfect, delicate Alicia who wasn’t afraid of commitment.
Candy’s stomach went sour, churning in a way that indicated she might be puking in the bushes very shortly. Had Ren cheated on her? Okay, technically, it wasn’t cheating cheating, since they weren’t married, but she’d slept with him last night. Had that just been last night? It felt like years ago. But then they’d fought—had he run to Alicia? Had he been with her all day?
No. Alicia had been at the rehearsal. And the dinner. But she’d left early. Come back for someone she’d had her eye on. Ren?
They hadn’t established what they were. She’d always told him she didn’t own him. Friends with benefits. That was it. But not while he was pretending to be her husband. How would that look?
Oh God. He’d turned her into her mother.
“I have to find Ren.”
“I’ll help you!”
Candy didn’t want help. She didn’t want Charlotte tagging along with her and stopping her from murdering the maid of honor when she found them together, but her sister was already linking their arms together and she didn’t have the coordination to resist. “Okay.”
It was sort of nice, honestly. Her sister having her back. Or her side. It was good.
“We never talk,” she announced abruptly, startled by the sound of her own voice as they stumbled off the edge of the terrace and made their way toward the gardens.
“You don’t want to talk to me,” Charlotte replied with a complete lack of bitterness or reproach, as if she were commenting on the weather. “You decided a long time ago that I wasn’t worth your time.”
Candy frowned. “That isn’t true.”
“Yes, it is,” Charlotte declared cheerfully. “You changed. And we can’t talk about why you changed because Candice is fragile and we always have to be sensitive to her trauma. God, I got so sick of being told to be sensitive to your trauma. I was so mad all the time. Mad at them for taking you and mad at you for changing. And then I felt horrible for being mad at you because you were the victim, but everything turned upside down after that. Chase Murphy—Alan Murphy’s only son—had asked me to prom at the American School, but I couldn’t go because we had to be conscious of the dangers and avoid high risk situations—which I know is stupid to say to you because you were kidnapped, but I just wanted to be a normal teenager. I hated the way you would look at me. Like I was in on it or something. Like I should always be apologizing to you because I wasn’t the one who was taken. Like I was somehow responsible for what had happened to you.”
Candy couldn’t process the words. They didn’t make any sense. She hadn’t made Charlotte feel that way. Charlotte was the one who had gone on with her life like nothing had changed. And Candy had been angry. So incredibly angry. But not for the reasons Charlotte thought. “It wasn’t what happened to me,” she explained. “It was Laura.”
“Who?”
Candy gaped at her.
No. Charlotte hadn’t asked that. She knew. She had to know. “Laura. The nanny’s daughter. The other girl who was taken.”
Charlotte blinked at her in confusion. “Weren’t a lot of girls taken? The new security people made it sound like kidnapping was quite common in Latin America.”
No. No no no. “Laura. Do you really not remember her? Not at all?”
“Why would I remember Aiden’s nanny’s daughter?” Then Charlotte frowned, as if dredging through her memories. “She was about your age, wasn’t she? Dark little thing?”
Candy’s world tilted—but she couldn’t tell whether it was the alcohol or the shock making things spin. She careened toward the nearest bush and emptied her stomach beneath it as Charlotte squealed in disgust.
How could Charlotte not remember? The events around Laura’s kidnapping had shaped her entire life and Charlotte didn’t even recall that the nanny’s daughter had been left behind?
So many secrets. So many lies.
She was vaguely aware of Charlotte calling that she was going to get help before rushing back to the party. Most of her focus was consumed by the feel of the blades of grass beneath her bare feet and the slow roll of sweat down her temples.
God, she felt like death. Why did people drink? The world seemed determined to keep up the flat spin now that it had started and Candy swayed, swallowing down another wave of nausea.
At least she hadn’t puked on her own feet. Little victories.
She carefully navigated her way back toward the terrace—time slipping sideways again. The passage of time was harder to hold onto when she couldn’t seem to rely on visual cues anymore, with the world still in a lazy swing around her.
It could have been two minutes or twenty, but then Aiden was there, pressing a drink into her
hand. “You look like you need this.”
Candy groaned and feebly tried to push the drink away. She didn’t think it was a good idea to put anything else into her volatile stomach, but Aiden forced her hands around the cup. “Drink.”
She sipped cautiously—water. Cool, heavenly water. She drained it, marveling in the relief.
“Easy now,” Aiden cautioned. “Even that might hit your stomach hard.”
Then he was gone. Like a mirage. And she was inside the house.
Time had passed again. How much she couldn’t say. But her head felt better. She felt better. She still felt like she was looking at the world through a fog, but at least it wasn’t spinning anymore.
She walked on mostly steady feet through the library, heading toward the carriage house. She’d long since stopped looking for Ren—she didn’t want him to see her like this—but she still automatically scanned each room, her heart seeking him out even when her head knew it was a bad idea.
She wouldn’t normally have peeked in her grandfather’s study. She’d always been moderately frightened of the room when she was a little girl—where he entertained future presidents and other political bigwigs.
But Ren had gone into that room with her father earlier this week. It was one of the few places in the house he knew. Perhaps he was hiding out there—
If she hadn’t been quite so foggy she would have recognized the sounds coming from inside the room before she nudged the door wider.
They hadn’t even closed the door all the way. That was the thought that tripped loudly through her brain when she realized what she was looking at.
Alicia was bent over her grandfather’s desk, gasping with an enthusiasm worthy of Fifty Shades. She faced the door, and so did the man pounding into her from behind—as if they wanted to get caught.
He grimaced and strained—pants undone, suit jacket tossed aside, shirt still partially buttoned—both of them so caught up in what they were doing that neither of them noticed Candy’s arrival.
Alicia. And Tug.
I think she had her eye on someone.
In an instant, Candy took in the scene with Charlotte’s voice replaying in her mind. Alicia had indeed had her eye on someone. The groom.