by Cheryl Holt
"Andrew!" she called again, but he didn't hear her.
She wasn't in the mood to chase him down the busy street, but she was eager to end the mistake she'd made. The distasteful matter couldn't be accomplished swiftly enough to suit her.
He wasn't aware that she'd traveled to New York. Over the past few days, he'd phoned several times, but whenever she saw his number pop up on the screen, she'd ignored it.
Everyone kept phoning—everyone except Matt, but he was the last person on earth to whom she'd speak. They all felt urgently compelled to talk to her, when she had no desire to talk to any of them.
Ken. Dustin. Lucas. Amy. Her mother. Even Lucas's wife, Faith, whom she'd as yet had no chance to befriend. She hadn't returned any calls. Their sudden interest in her welfare was so aggravating that she was about to throw the stupid phone into the garbage.
She couldn't decide what she believed anymore. Throughout her life, she'd been so pathetically lonely that she'd regularly surrounded herself with people who had bad motives, people who only pursued an acquaintance because of her name, because of her money.
Hadn't her father had to bail her out twice? Those were the guys she knew about. How many others had there been? How many unpleasant situations had he handled without her being apprised?
She thought she'd matured, that she'd become wiser and more astute in her choices, but apparently not.
Ken claimed he was her father. Jacquelyn and Matt insisted he wasn't. In fact, after her quarrel with Matt at the jail, she'd trudged to the mansion and had been handed an envelope delivered by an attorney at Merriweather Industries. It was a parting gift from Jacquelyn, one final stab at Brittney before Jacquelyn had flown to Santa Fe.
The package had contained old legal paperwork, filed in court on behalf of her mother. She'd once sought a restraining order to keep Ken away from her. He'd been accused of stalking Jacquelyn.
Brittney had no idea which version was accurate or real. She probably should have stayed in Colorado, should have proceeded with a DNA test. Yet if it came back negative, if Ken wasn't her father, what was she to think?
She couldn't bear to be slapped in the face with such blatant evidence of her naïveté, of her idiocy. It had seemed easier to chuck it all and run away.
Ken had tempted her, offering her precisely what she'd always dreamed of having. She'd been desperate to love Matt, to love Ken and Jeremy, to build a life with them. Her yearning had been so potent that she was practically ill with regret.
She felt disconnected and adrift, and she had to regroup, had to push herself in a better direction, but toward whom? For what reason?
In her current state, the answers were beyond her.
The first item on her agenda was to break off her engagement, so she started after Andrew. She didn't want to wait for him to return.
On the flight out, she'd envisioned a quiet meeting in his plush office, a swift and blunt recitation of her position, then an even faster departure out to the elevator. But a rapid encounter on the street might be more advantageous.
They could pop into a bar or deli, could grab a drink or a coffee and hash it out. When she was finished, she could get up and leave. She wouldn't have to flee down the halls of his company, wouldn't have to have his secretaries staring, wondering who she was and why she'd barged in.
She could just…go.
To where? was the impossible question.
She wound through the crowds, trying to keep him in view, trying to catch up. Jostled along, she seemed to be invisible, lighter than air, as if she was a balloon in the sky and blowing wherever the wind carried her.
She rounded the corner, and he was up ahead, having shed his disguise. He was next to a limo, the driver standing with the door opened for him. She was about to call to him again, when a woman climbed out of the back seat. She was tall and beautiful, foreign and exotic, with flawless olive skin and lush dark hair.
"Where have you been?" she asked him as she held out her arms in welcome. "I didn't think you'd ever arrive."
He stepped into her embrace and captured her lips in a torrid kiss. Hands, tongues, bodies were fully utilized, but New Yorkers had seen it all, so no one paid any attention to them. Except Brittney. She was the only one with an iron in this fire, and it was a sign of her deteriorated condition that her sole emotion was a mild curiosity over why she—Brittney—had never guessed that Andrew had another woman in his life.
Would she ever learn?
She was such an awful judge of character, and she should have been hurt and outraged, should have felt betrayed and deceived, but recently, she'd suffered so many ups and downs that she was frozen inside. The energy necessary for fury or sorrow had vanished.
"I'm so glad you waited," Andrew said as he pulled away. "If we'd missed our chance at goodbye, I'd have been devastated."
"It's not goodbye!" the woman dramatically gushed. "It will never be goodbye."
"My dearest…my darling…"
He kissed her again, even more passionately, and at hearing the word darling come out of his mouth, Brittney wrinkled her nose with disgust. He'd often used the endearment when speaking to her, and she'd always hated it.
It made him sound too old for her, too set in his ways and from an era that she was too young to appreciate.
As the second embrace concluded, she approached and said, "Hi, Andrew."
He glanced over, and when he saw her, he jumped away from the woman as if she was on fire.
"Brittney!" He appeared anxious and trapped. "What are you doing here? I didn't realize you were in New York. I was just on my way to the airport to fly to Colorado. I've been worried sick about you."
"I can tell." Brittney peered at the woman and asked, "What's your name?"
"Gianella." Her voice was sultry and accented.
"This isn't what it looks like," Andrew insisted.
"Really?" Brittney replied. "It looks like you're kissing Gianella and that you're thoroughly enjoying it."
"She's…an acquaintance." At the tepid description, Gianella frowned, and he flashed a warning glare. "Gianella, this is Brittney Merriweather, my fiancée."
"Hello, Brittney," Gianella breathily said. "Andrew has told me so much about you."
"I'll bet he has."
Andrew wasn't about to let the conversation continue.
"Gianella," he snapped, "why don't you get in the car?"
She might have argued, but he shoved her into the seat and slammed the door. Then he turned to Brittney, all smiles, any trace of guilt expertly wiped from his cool expression.
She wanted to fault him, wanted to accuse him and call him a liar and a cheat, but in her dealings with Matt Monroe, she'd proved herself to be just as unfaithful. No one could throw a stone in this glass house.
"She seems nice," Brittney facetiously said.
"Could we…ah…" he stammered, "could we go somewhere and talk?"
"We don't need a special place to talk. I can say what I came to say here on the sidewalk."
"I can see you're upset, and I don't blame you."
"I'm not upset."
She was too dispirited to be upset. Too much had transpired. Too many dreams had been dashed, and she was so far past Andrew and his mistress that he could have been a stranger. Whatever he'd done, or might do, it didn't matter in the slightest.
"I've known Gianella for years." Apparently, he felt compelled to explain. "But with the wedding so close, I've ended it with her, and we've been in the process of—"
"I'm breaking our engagement."
"What? No, no, no, no, no…" He waved his hands, palms out, as if he could swish away her comment. "She doesn't mean anything to me. Let's not make any hasty decisions."
"It's not hasty. I've been thinking about it for awhile."
"I realize I've been busy and distracted, but I've had a lot on my mind. I'll make it up to you; I swear."
"There's nothing to fix between us."
"I was about to suggest we fly to V
egas, that we elope." He linked their fingers and squeezed tight. "Wouldn't that be fun? Vegas? A funky wedding chapel and an Elvis-impersonator for a minister? You won't have to fuss with your mother anymore. Let's do it, huh? In a couple of hours, we can be married!"
"No, I'm sorry."
She drew her hands from his and eased away.
"I love you!" he proclaimed, but the declaration rang hollow.
"Yes, but the problem is that I don't love you."
"What are you saying?" he barked, his temper flaring. "Of course you love me."
"I don't, and I've had plenty of time to consider. I've tried to remember why I accepted your proposal, but I couldn't come up with a single reason."
"We can work this out." A sly, cajoling quality crept into his voice. "We can figure out what's wrong and move beyond it." He offered a wan smile. "I just really, really need to marry you."
"It's not happening."
"Listen to me, Brittney!"
His sharp tone alarmed her. She lurched away, putting space between them.
"Have a nice life," she told him.
"You can't back out! It's all arranged."
"Well, I've un-arranged it."
Gianella rolled down the window and said, "Andrew, we should be going or you'll miss your flight."
"Not now, Gianella!" he seethed.
Just then, several men in dark blue suits slid from the hoard of passersby. They surrounded him. One of them blocked the door to the car, while another flashed a badge in his face.
"Andrew Fitzroy-Jones?" the man with the badge asked.
Andrew's panic was obvious. "Yes, that's me."
"FBI. Could we speak to you?"
"I'm busy at the moment." Andrew's eyes darted around, searching for an escape route.
"It will only take a minute."
"What is this about?" Andrew huffed. "I'm leaving town. I'm on my way to the airport."
"That's what we'd like to discuss."
Brittney took a slow step back, then another and another. The crowd swallowed her up and she hurried away.
CHAPTER TWELVE
"What's your plan?"
"I don't have one."
Amy glanced over at Brittney. They were walking on the beach at the family's private compound on the island of St. Martins. It was the same spot where Amy had spent her abbreviated honeymoon.
After the debacle in Denver had abated, Brittney had disappeared again, and though she'd stayed in telephone contact with Dustin, it had taken an enormous amount of coaxing to get her to admit where she was.
She wanted to be left alone, but Amy simply couldn't oblige her.
The Merriweather siblings were a strange bunch, and Amy was still maneuvering through the weird maze of their hang-ups and problems. She didn't know everything that had recently happened to Brittney, but Amy suspected there had been a major heartbreak wedged in with all the chaos.
Brittney had been engaged to Andrew, and then—apparently—she wasn't. There had been a wild rumor that Matt Monroe's father-in-law was her biological father, but the accusation had been snuffed out before it could gain any traction. They hadn't heard another word about it.
Brittney, Lucas, and Dustin Merriweather were the saddest, loneliest people Amy had ever met. With their marriages to Faith and Amy, Lucas's and Dustin's lives had improved dramatically, but what about Brittney?
Amy couldn't bear to know that she was hurting, that she didn't feel there was anyone who cared about her. Brittney needed to learn—as Dustin and Lucas were learning—that she could reach out and find a helping hand, that she could fall and someone would be there to catch her.
While Lucas and Dustin had fretted over Brittney and argued over what they should do to assist her, Faith and Amy had decided that Amy should travel to the Caribbean and speak to Brittney. Amy's intent was to lure her home to Colorado where she had family who'd love her. If she'd let them.
"Have you seen a newspaper lately?" Amy asked.
"No. I'm trying to block out the real world."
"Andrew was arrested."
"I figured he probably had been. After I left Denver, I flew to New York to talk to him, and some FBI agents arrived as I was leaving. I thought that was a bad sign."
"There are all these stories circulating that billions of dollars have vanished from his firm. His clients want to bring back the guillotine."
Brittney shuddered with distaste.
"I dodged that bullet," she muttered.
"Did you have any idea?"
"No. One of the things I liked about him was that he seemed so stable and steady. I can't picture him being reckless. It's so out of character."
"I guess reckless doesn't begin to describe his conduct."
"Just before the FBI stopped him," Brittney said, "he claimed he was on his way to Colorado to get me. He was hoping we could elope to Vegas. Can you imagine if I'd agreed? What if he'd been a few hours quicker and I'd married him?"
"You're right," Amy mused, chuckling. "You did dodge a bullet."
Amy had always been a busybody, had always butted her nose in where it didn't belong, so she couldn't keep herself from meddling.
"Are you still engaged to him?"
"No. The reason I went to New York was to tell him it was over."
"How do you feel about that?" Amy scowled. She sounded like a therapist rather than the friend she was trying to be. "Are you inconsolable?"
"Hardly."
"Well…good."
"He was all wrong for me. When he proposed, I never should have accepted." She sighed. "I'm better off without him."
"I'm glad you're not pining away."
"Is that why you're here? Were you guys worried I was bereft over…Andrew." She laughed miserably. "If only."
"We were concerned."
"Who is we? Who sent you? Dustin or Lucas?"
"Those two men couldn't find their butts with both hands."
"True."
"So while they were dicking around and debating, Faith and I decided I should come and see if you were okay. We don't like you going off by yourself."
"I've always been on my own," Brittney said.
"I realize that, but you don't have to be anymore."
They continued strolling down the beach, with Amy taking surreptitious peeks at Brittney out of the corner of her eye.
Despite what Brittney contended, Amy didn't think she was better off after her split with Andrew. Maybe it was best that they'd parted, but she was so unhappy. If Amy had been required to explain Brittney's condition, she'd say Brittney was grieving.
She was much too thin, quiet and distracted, and she floated along so insubstantially that Amy was surprised to see any of her footprints in the sand. She was like a ghost, barely present, barely visible.
"What happened with you and Matt Monroe?" Amy inquired.
A fleeting smile crossed Brittney's lips.
"Why would you ask about him?"
"You seemed to hit it off. He…was so…ah…"
Amy cut off her remark. She didn't know what she thought. She'd only seen them at her wedding reception, but their blatant attraction had billowed around them like a cloud. They'd looked so hot for one another.
If Amy had been inclined to bet, she'd have wagered Dustin's fortune that Matt and Brittney would have ended up together. In fact, when Brittney had first left for New York, Amy was certain she'd gone to break up with Andrew because of Matt Monroe. How was it that Brittney had wound up sad and mourning and unattached to either man?
It didn't make any sense, and Amy couldn't pry out any details.
"Have you talked to him," Amy pressed, "since you got here?"
"Why would I have?"
"I'd hate to have him worrying about you too. You should call him."
"Trust me. He's not worried."
"So…it's like that, huh?"
"Yeah. It's just like that."
"I could have sworn he was the one," Amy mumbled to herself.
"The
one what?"
"The one for you. You Merriweathers were on a roll, what with marrying the most inappropriate person in the world. Lucas and Faith. Dustin and me. I figured you and Matt were next."
"You only saw him once. Why would you have heard wedding bells?"
"Hey, I could just tell."
Brittney stopped and gazed out at the water. For a lengthy interval, she was silent, then she turned to Amy and said, "Look, I know you mean well, but I'm not interested in discussing Andrew or Matt or anything else. I'm fine, and I wish you'd head to Colorado and leave me alone."
"Why don't you come with me? We have plenty of space at the house in Gold Creek. We've finished the remodel of another bedroom. It could be yours, and you could stay as long as you like. You could rest and regroup."
"From what?"
"You've had some hard blows lately. It wouldn't kill you to admit it and let us take care of you."
"I can take care of myself."
"But you don't have to!" Amy insisted. "We want to help."
"I have no desire to be in Colorado right now."
"Dustin told me about Ken Scott and his allegations. Is that why you won't come back?"
"No," she said, but Amy was skeptical.
How could she ignore such a claim? How could she not want to hash it out?
"Wouldn't you like to learn the truth? Lucas and Dustin have some terrific lawyers, and they could start an investigation. It can't be healthy to walk around with this huge weight on your shoulders."
That fleeting, ethereal smile flitted by again. "There's no weight on my shoulders. The last day I was in Denver, Matt confessed that it was all a lie. They were scamming me, trying to hit me up for money."
Amy was a great judge of character. When she met someone, she made instant decisions about them that were always correct. She'd liked Matt Monroe; she'd gotten nothing but good vibes from him.
"Matt was scamming you." She frowned. "Are you sure?"
"He was very clear."