by Jade Kerrion
“I’m a teacher. I’m tied to the school calendar. I can’t vanish for a vacation in the middle of the school year. Is there anything you can do for me, please? I have to get to Key West. I’m meeting someone out there. It’s really important for me…for us.”
The agent shook her head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s just nothing I can do with the flights here. We’ve canceled more than a hundred flights across the country. Every plane that was trying to get to New York couldn’t. Every plane that was trying to get out couldn’t. The backlog in the system is going to take days to untangle. Do you want that ticket on the 29th?”
The weight in Marie’s chest made it hard to speak. “Yeah, I’ll take it.” Two days were better than nothing. Maybe it was the universe’s way of telling her she had to learn to settle for the remnants instead of hoping for everything. She handed over her boarding pass and received another in return with a departure date of December 29th.
Marie called Phil to let him know, but once again, the call went straight to voicemail. She sent a text instead with her change of plans. Waiting in the airport for a week wasn’t an option, so she walked out of the terminal and hailed a cab.
“You all right, miss?” the cabbie threw a concerned glance over his shoulder as he headed down the slush-covered streets of New York City toward her Brooklyn apartment.
Marie shook her head, unable to speak through the lump in her throat. She should have been in Key West, walking along the beach, her arm looped through Phil’s. She had spent hours, days, weeks, thinking of it, dreaming of it, counting on it.
And now, nothing.
New York City was at its dreariest—the skies gray and the sidewalks piled with muddy snow. Just as well she didn’t feel like being outside. All she wanted to do was to drag the covers over her head and wait until the 29th. Hugging herself for warmth, she let herself into her apartment, kicked off her boots, and then scurried through the small space, turning up the heaters and setting on a kettle for her tea.
Damn it. I was supposed to be with Phil. I wanted to be with Phil.
It was supposed to be the fresh start they needed.
Giving in to a moment of weakness, Marie dashed the tears from her eyes. She dug the Christmas present she had prepared for Phil out of her bag. It was her engagement ring, the one she had worn, safe and snug beneath her wedding band for so many years. She had wanted to return it to Phil for him to offer it back to her whenever he was ready to do so.
Now I’ll only have two days to see if he’s ready, to see if I’m ready. How can I possibly make so large a decision in so little time?
Something fisted in her chest, and she straightened.
Because he’s Phil. Because I already know who I want. Because I know that together, we’ll be ready. And if two days is all I have, then it’s all I need. Because I know whom I love.
The doorbell buzzed. Marie stifled a sigh. It was probably old Mrs. Jones from next door, coming over to check if a burglar had broken in, turned on the heater, and set the water to boil. She flung the door open and stared up in surprise at the tall man unwinding a scarf from around his face. Her jaw dropped. “Phil?”
“Damn, it’s cold.” His lips were suddenly on her, and damn, they were cold, but she didn’t care. She threw her arms around his wet trench coat and clung to him as if to a vanishing dream. She could not have felt warmer, safer, or happier if she had been in Key West. His presence filled her senses, but how could he be here?
Marie drew back and stared up at him. She wrinkled her nose. “What are you—?”
“Can I come in?” he asked plaintively. “I can’t feel my toes.”
He was wearing boots but clearly, living in Florida for a year and a half had thinned his blood. He shrugged off his backpack and his wet coat, and headed straight to the heater. He held his gloved hands in its radiant heat. “Jeez, it’s miserable out there.”
“What are you doing? How did you get here?”
“Caught the last flight out to Philly, and then took the train in. Managed to hop on the last one. They were canceling the others.”
“But what are you doing here?”
“You wanted a sign? Here it is.” He dug a piece of paper from his wallet and handed it to her. “When you won that lottery, it wasn’t a sign from the universe. It was a sign from you, saying you believed in our love, in the life we had built together, even though it seemed like it was ending. I bought a ticket too, that same day, for that same lottery, only you won, and I didn’t.”
She stared at the lottery ticket in her hand. The first three numbers were the same as her winning ticket—the date of their first kiss—but the last three were different. Phil’s last three numbers were the date of their divorce.
Phil’s voice rumbled in front of her, anchoring her. “I lost because I saw only the end of my marriage, but that’s not what you saw. On the day of our divorce, you bought a lottery ticket with the dates of our first kiss and our marriage date. When the winning numbers were announced, even though you claimed your ticket through your lawyer’s firm, I knew it was you. Only you would have picked those numbers. That’s why I told you—you deserve all of the money. It was your faith and your love that chose the numbers for that ticket.”
“I didn’t…see it that way,” she breathed. Although, now, she did. “But why are you here?”
“We said we’d spend Christmas together, didn’t we? I’ll be damned if I let a flurry—” He glanced out the window at the near white-out conditions. “—get in the way. I also wanted to give this to you.” He reached into his bag for a leather-bound journal, the pages slightly tattered from repeated handling. “I want you to read this.”
She turned the journal over in her hand. “What is this?”
“It’s the stuff in my head, the words I can’t say out loud.” His smile wobbled. “You need to read it before you make any decisions about us.”
The early chapters were jagged scribbles, the words pressed so hard into the pages that they left indentations on others. Sentences trailed into incoherence. Blotches of ink smeared against the white backdrop, the visible reflections of a mind struggling to make sense of pain and loss.
Over time, steadiness emerged. The lapses into railing anger became increasingly infrequent, but did not vanish entirely. How could they? The past could never be undone. The trauma of watching his buddies die. The horror of watching Marie cringe on the floor, the bullet hole mere inches from where she had been standing. The absolute certainty that the best thing—the only thing—he could do to protect Marie was to leave.
The return to normality was slower than his fall from grace, but over time, the painfully honest journal recorded more moments of hard-won self-control and fewer instances of raging fury. A single thread drew the story forward—the love of a boy for a girl; a boy trying, often failing, yet never quitting in his attempt to be worthy of the girl he loved.
By the time Marie closed the journal, her eyes burned from hours of reading and her thoughts spun. She took a small box from her dresser, and with the journal in her hand, she walked out to the living room. The dim lights cast a shadow over the couch where Phil stretched out beneath a warm blanket. She sat across from him, drawing her legs up.
The slight motion and sound awakened him. Blinking against sleep, he sat up slowly. Their eyes met across the narrow space, a space that she realized now he was asking her to define. The silence stretched between them until it was almost palpable.
She broke the silence. “You came back.”
He winced. “I’m not all back. I don’t think I’ll ever be who I was before I left for the war.”
“But you’re trying.”
Phil nodded. “It won’t be easy. I can’t promise I won’t screw up, but I’ve learned different anger-management techniques, and I got rid of the guns.” He lowered his gaze, but not before she saw the flare of guilt and shame in his eyes. He was still beating himself up over it. “I can’t promise forever, but I can promise that ea
ch moment, I’ll do the best I can.”
Marie contemplated his words, turning his worn journal around in her hand. The brutally honest window into his heart had cast light on the darkest shadows in his mind. What had it cost him to open himself to her, to risk her rejection? “Living life one moment at a time may not seem like much, but the moments add up.”
She returned to him the journal and held out the small box.
“What is this?” He flipped up the cover and stared at the engagement ring he had given her years ago. “I…”
“Keep it. And when you’re ready—” She smiled faintly. “—give it back to me.”
His throat worked as he swallowed. “It may be a while.”
She cherished his honesty. “I know. But we’ll try. One moment at a time. It’s our promise to each other.”
Phil drew a deep breath and nodded. “Let’s start with this one.” He drew her into his arms, and together they watched the sun rise over a new day and a fresh start in New York City, the city of their love.
THE END
Prized
Prized
Rio Loren, scion of the jet-setting Loren family, is too elegant and civilized for revenge. All he wants from his erstwhile girlfriend, Cixi, is the blue diamond pendant she stole from him, even if he has to personally hunt her down and snatch it out of her thieving, faithless hands.
Cixi, the street-waif-turned-supermodel, is too busy fending off dozens of admirers to pander to the wounded egos of former boyfriends. Unless, of course, that boyfriend happens to own the diamond ring and earrings that complement her blue diamond pendant, the prize of her jewelry collection.
The precious gems, however, are the lowest stakes in a game of wits, which rapidly escalates into a battle to stay alive, for Cixi is more than a feel-good Cinderella story, and Rio is more than a spoiled billionaire’s son. When the facades crumble and layers peel back, when nothing is left between them except the raw, ugly truth of mutual betrayal, will they survive?
Chapter 1
“Welcome back to the Fire Opal, sir. It’s been a long time.”
Rio Loren managed a tight smile and a stiff nod for the attractive, auburn-haired hostess escorting him back into the hallowed environs of Manhattan’s most exclusive haven for the ultra-wealthy and ultra-profligate. He subtly wiped the palms of his damp hands against his black tuxedo pants as he followed her into the lobby encased in black Italian marble and glowing with recessed lighting. What am I doing here 73 floors high? He sucked in an unsteady breath. He didn’t give a damn that the view from the One57 skyscraper was supposed to be one of the most magnificent in New York City. He was at least 1,000 feet removed from ground level.
That was 999 feet too many.
The lobby opened into a large room made cozy with sitting areas separated enough from each other to create the illusion of privacy. The Fire Opal’s main lounge was sparsely populated with people like him—wealthy and with nothing better to do on a Friday evening.
He was not unaware of the heads that turned in his direction, or of the whispers directed at him. His self-imposed exile notwithstanding, no self-respecting Loren could fly under the radar indefinitely, most especially not at the watering holes of the rich and famous.
Watering holes he had never particularly enjoyed in the first place.
What am I doing here?
Rio cast a quick glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows. The Manhattan skyline flung light pollution into the night sky. The view, far above the chaos, scents, and sounds of street-level New York, was supposed to be beautiful, but his stomach churned immediately, and he had to look away.
He personally preferred sand, surf, and salt on the breeze. Rio stifled a sigh. He would have willingly traded his midnight blue Giorgio Armani tuxedo for beach shorts and flip flops Dom Pérignon champagne and beluga caviar for a bottle of ice-cold beer and boiled crabs, and his bird’s-eye view of Manhattan for a beach chair in Key West.
His mother, however, was on the Fire Opal’s board of directors and had asked him to support the charity date auction. She rarely asked for anything, and when she did, he tried to oblige. After all, he was now her only child.
“Rio!”
He turned at the familiar voice. With a smile, he extended his hand. “Lucien, it’s good to see you again.”
Lucien Winter, the thirty-five-year-old heir to the Winter financial empire, eschewed the proffered handshake for a hug. “It’s been a long time. You must really be enjoying your beach hideout. I had put money on you returning to New York months…in fact, years ago.”
“Did you run out of stock markets to gamble on?”
Lucien grinned. “I thought you were a good bet. I’ll confess, I’m surprised to see you here for an event like this.”
“You, too.” Rio laughed. “Have you been having trouble finding a date?”
“It’s tough finding a real one.” Lucien wore a smile, but there was little humor in his voice.
Rio understood the bitterness in Lucien’s voice. His personal wealth was several degrees of magnitude smaller than Lucien’s, but it triggered the same set of issues. He never quite knew if a woman wanted him for his money or just for him. He had once worked his way around the problem by not revealing the truth of his personal wealth to the woman he had loved, or so he had thought. As it turned out, she had been on to him, and he had ended up several million dollars poorer.
A muscle twitched in Rio’s cheek. He never intended to repeat that mistake.
He slid his hand into his pocket and flicked his attention over the gathering crowd. “Who’s on the market today?”
“Celebrities. A few models. Some actors and singers.”
“Are you bidding on anyone today?”
“Probably not.”
“Are you dating someone right now?” Rio asked.
“Not really.”
Rio heard weariness in Lucien’s voice. “I recall once meeting one of your girlfriends. Zara Itani.”
Lucien chuckled. “Yes, Zara. She had a talent for trouble—still does. If she can’t find it, she’ll make it.”
“At least life was bound to be interesting. Is she still around?”
“She’s in love with someone else now.” Lucien’s mouth twisted into a wry half-smile. “Someone better.”
“Anyone I know?”
“Probably not.” Lucien skillfully sidestepped the virtual spotlight. “And what about you?”
“I’m here as a favor to my mother. I promised to drop a check of unspecified size on a date.”
“Lucky girl.” Lucien turned to survey the increasingly crowded reception area. “Anyone catch your eye?”
Rio scanned the gathering. Celebrities rubbed shoulders with the nouveau riche and with dynastic heirs of lineages extending back to the founding fathers. The array of designer clothing on display probably exceeded the GDP of a small country. The ostentatious display of wealth made Rio’s head spin. For the Fire Opal, however, it was par for the course; it was the place to see and be seen. He grunted. “Technically, a check is a check, right? A date shouldn’t be required.”
“You’re already thinking of hopping on a plane back to Key West?” Lucien chuckled. “I never took you for a coward.”
“I’m a writer. We’re the solitary sort. Crowds make us break out in cold sweat.” His gaze flicked over a cluster of people, and locked on a shard of brilliant, sparkling blue. He stared at the pear-shaped diamond pendant for a long, silent moment before dragging his attention up to the stunningly beautiful face of the young Asian woman wearing the necklace. Was it…no, it couldn’t be… It was almost like seeing someone he vaguely recognized through a distorted mirror. He knew her, but not quite as he remembered. This woman’s nose was narrower, her chin more pointed. Her makeup accentuated the slash of her cheekbones and her unusually light-colored eyes.
Rio drew a sharp breath. “Who’s she?”
Lucien followed his gaze. “She’s one of Ford’s current cadre of supermodels; I th
ink her name is Mei Li.”
“How long has she—? I mean, when did she—”
“She became a big name about a year ago when Chanel picked her up, but I imagine she’s been modeling for a few years prior to that.” Lucien shrugged. “She’s all right, I suppose. A little too skinny for my taste.”
But she hadn’t always been skinny. Rio frowned. Or maybe I’m just losing my mind.
Perhaps the woman had sensed his attention, or perhaps her gaze roamed the room as his did. Their eyes locked.
She froze. Her lips parted involuntarily.
She recognized him.
It was her.
Cixi…
Damn it!
Rio strode across the room. He scarcely noticed the smiles and greetings turned his way. He could only see her as her eyes widened like a deer in headlights. “I want a word with you.” He closed his fingers around her wrist and tugged her away from her bevy of admirers.
“Rio…” she stammered.
Her familiar voice, as sensual as spun silk, wrenched his guts. “You got beautiful,” Rio said, deliberately cruel. “A nose job? Your chin, too? I almost didn’t recognize you.”
She flushed. “I…”
“In fact, I wouldn’t have noticed if not for the little trinket you stole from me.” He tapped the blue diamond pendant she wore around her neck. “I wondered if you’d fenced it, but it didn’t show up on the black market. I’m surprised you held on to it instead of selling it for a quick buck. I didn’t take you for the sentimental sort.”
She stared at him, tongue-tied, as if he were speaking a foreign language.
“Lucien tells me your name is Mei Li now.”
She nodded, her gaze downcast. “Yes.”
Words caught in his throat. What happened to the girl I loved? The girl I thought loved me?