Been Loving You Too Long (DuChamps Dynasty)

by Donavan, Seraphina

  It was late October, but still unseasonably warm, and with the sun just beginning to set, it was a good night to be outdoors. Just as she set their plates on the table, the lights came on in the pool and music began to pour from the discreetly placed speakers.

  Not just any music, she thought, recognizing the soulful, bluesy baritone of Otis Redding. When Vincent appeared, she faced him with her hands on her hips. “If I didn’t know better, and if you hadn’t already done it so successfully, I’d say you were trying to seduce me.”

  He smiled as he moved toward her. “It dawned on me that we’ve never danced together.”

  “We haven’t?” Ophelia sifted through her memories, thinking that surely at one of Thomas’ parties or at some point during their nearly thirty year acquaintance that they would have. But she couldn’t pull it to mind. Their wedding had been such a small, informal affair that there hadn’t been any dancing afterward. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “We should remedy that.” He tugged her into his arms.

  “I thought we were going to eat,” she reminded him, even as she swayed with him to the music.

  He moved so easily, so effortlessly with the song. “You have a one track mind.”

  “I have an empty stomach,” she said tartly, but made no move to pull away from him.

  Vincent chuckled, then lifted her hand to spin her before pulling her back against him. “If I’d danced with you before, I don’t think I would’ve been able to resist you for as long as I did. I like the way you move. The way we fit together.”

  “Food. Then dancing,” she said, and moved toward the table.

  They ate in companionable silence, the sun blazing pink in the evening sky. It bathed everything in a lush, romantic glow that couldn’t have been more perfect if they’d planned it.

  After they finished eating, Vincent pulled her into his arms, and once again, they were swaying to music that was older than both of them.

  It definitely seemed to fit the mood. It shouldn’t have been possible to want him again so soon, but she did. And he wanted her as well. While they moved together, the proof was undeniable. “So when does the honeymoon end?”

  “Do you want it to?”

  “Not really,” she admitted. “I’ve never felt this kind of need for anyone in my life. It scares me to death, but at the same time, it makes me feel alive in a way that I don’t think I ever have.”

  One song faded into the next and Sam Cooke was crooning about love. The dance changed slightly, too. He held her closer, their bodies moving more sensually together.

  Looking up at him, their eyes locked on one another, Ophelia felt that she couldn’t breathe. She hadn’t expected romance from him. But there was no other word to describe dancing with him at sunset in a lush garden with the pool sparkling behind them and the evening air perfumed by the climbing roses that covered the garden wall. “You’re a dangerous man, Vincent.”

  “I thought you were the dangerous one,” he teased. “What was it you said after you threw your shoes at me?”

  “That’s it,” she said, stepping back as he laughed. “When you’re throwing my words back at me that’s officially the death knell of the honeymoon.” Seeing him smile and laugh, hearing the teasing note in his voice reminded her of the boy she’d first fallen head over heels for. The overly serious and haunted man he’d become seemed a distant memory.

  “Fine, I’ll behave, but I’m not through romancing you yet.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  He chuckled. “Earlier we were discussing the merits of skinny dipping, and the fact that you’re well behaved self had never indulged. It’s a day for firsts.”

  Ophelia looked up at the tall trees surrounding the garden, and then at the pool. No one would be able to see anything. Plus, the pool was heated. “I think you’re going to be a very bad influence on me.”

  “Being bad is always better together.” He tugged at the ties of her robe. The garment parted and the evening light painted her skin in lush shades of rose and gold. Pushing the robe from her shoulders, he kept his eyes fastened on her as he shucked his jeans. Naked, he walked her backwards to the edge of the pool.

  Ophelia turned and dove into the heated waters.

  He watched her for a moment, savoring the sight of her supple flesh cutting through the water, before diving in after her. He didn’t want to analyze or think anymore. He just wanted to hold onto the feeling he had at that moment.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It had taken two weeks for all the information to be analyzed, but Vincent was finally closeted in his office listening to the forensic account detail a series of anomalies he’d discovered.

  Payments had been made for goods that simply didn’t exist. Large payments had been made to bogus vendor accounts. There was nothing that directly pointed to the fact that the money had gone into Claude’s pockets, not yet at any rate.

  “So, how long will it take you to track down where this money actually went to?” he asked.

  The accountant, a short, dark haired man with a sallow complexion and no discernible facial expressions, replied in a dead pan voice, “That depends on whether or not you want things to be admissible in court. You have a suspect. I have his personnel file. I can access any bank accounts he has and see if the money is going to him, but it won’t hold up legally.”

  Vincent, after much consideration, had decided against legal action. Whatever happened, would have to be handled within the family. “I can’t afford to pursue this legally. The company is solid financially, but with all the recent upheaval, it wouldn’t take much to put us into a very vulnerable position.”

  “Then, I should have the information you need by the end of the week—unless this person is smarter than I’m giving him credit for.”

  Vincent shook his head. “No, he isn’t.”

  “The end of the week should do it then. As of right now, nothing has been very well camouflaged. There was just so much to go through that it took a while to gather all the evidence.”

  “Check out any one we’ve worked with to supply linens...and the linen supplies at the hotels themselves. Claude was pushing a new supplier and there must be a reason why,” Vincent instructed, thinking of how determined Claude had been to push a deal with the Tates’. “I have a very bad feeling about that.”

  “Will do.”

  Vincent watched the accountant walk out and then began reviewing his own accounts. If Claude had been creating fake vendors and paying them, then there could very well be a short fall of cash. His inheritance from Thomas was untouchable for at least a year.

  What if there was more? What if there wasn’t enough money left in the budget to finish renovations on the hotel? Cursing, he began looking for ways to cut corners on a personal level. He could sell the apartment. Justin would have to move back into the main house, assuming that after he had his meeting with Stanley that he was even staying in New Orleans.

  By the time he was through, Vincent’s vision was blurring and his head ached. But he had a plan, just in case. He would put the apartment on the market and if it sold that would cover a lot of what was missing from the business accounts. He had some other personal assets that he could liquidate without it being too much of a red flag.

  It wasn’t simply the money, though ready cash was usually kept to a minimum. If he started pouring money into the business willy-nilly, it would create ripples, rumors that could send the hotels spiraling down. Half of being successful was looking successful and massive cash transfusions into a company hardly coincided with that image.

  Moving from the apartment back into the Garden District house would be reason enough to warrant that kind of housecleaning if anyone should become suspicious. With the hotel renovations at least two months from completion, they would be able to have their grand opening and work out any of the kinks in the month before Mardi Gras.

  It was a matter of keeping any of the other share holders from getting suspicious and keeping a
nyone outside his trusted circle from looking too closely at the financials. It was also a matter of reining Claude in. The man was an idiot and an ass, and he’d created a situation that was going to be hellish to climb out of. He also had a tendency to run his mouth.

  Tackling the renovation budget, he came out with a figure that was close to being on target, but it would take only one small setback to send them spiraling into the red. Feeling the pressure, he shoved his fingers through his hair and cursed Claude again

  ~~****~~

  Ophelia sipped her iced tea and listened to Brenna with half an ear.

  She was ranting about a club manager, so it didn’t take much effort to keep up. He had a small penis/brain/bad parents/no manners/short life span/one way ticket to hell. Brenna’s rants were always creative in the sheer volume of ill will she could wish on any one person.

  They’d met for lunch and then mani-pedi appointments. It had been a while since they’d seen one another. Ophelia knew that she’d been so caught up in Vincent that she’d been ignoring her friends.

  “But I’m tired of bitching about him, because it does no good, and you’re not really listening anyway,” Brenna finished.

  Ophelia smiled, a guilty flush stealing over her face. “I’m sorry. Just a little distracted today.

  “I’d be distracted to if I were in the thrall of a hot, sexy billionaire. Seriously, if there’s another one of those just lying about the place, send him my way, would you?”

  “I’m not in his thrall,” Ophelia protested. “So, the sex is completely amazing. Unlike anything I’ve ever experienced in my life. I’m still guarding my heart—as much as I can, anyway.”

  Brenna patted her arm again, falling back on the grandmotherly gestures she reserved for when Ophelia was being an idiot. “You keep on telling yourself that darling. Look at it this way; he’s open to the possibility that this doesn’t have an expiration date, right? So, you’re in a better place now than when it started.”

  That was certainly true. Vincent still kept secrets. He was still plagued with nightmares that he would never discuss. But he shared other things with her. He talked with her about the business, about his fears for Kaitlyn and Justin. He’d also started to talk with her about Thomas, each of them slowly beginning to process that loss. “You’re right. I’m hopeless. I’m so far over my head here that I can’t even tell which way is up—I didn’t mean to fall in love with him.”

  “Honey, you were already in love with him. You have been since you were a kid.”

  It was true. Denying it wouldn’t change the ultimate outcome. Whatever happened, she was completely at Vincent’s mercy. While she didn’t mind it in the bedroom, when it came to her heart, that was another matter altogether. “I don’t know what to do, Brenna. I can’t afford to feel this way when there’s no guarantee.”

  “Sweetheart, there is never a guarantee. But if you don’t give it everything you’ve got and he still walks away, it won’t be him you’re blaming but yourself. Don’t hold back, Ophelia. If you love that man for all your worth and he walks away, it’s on him. But if you only give him what you think is safe—then you’re not really loving him.”

  Ophelia stared at Brenna for a long moment. “When did you become the love guru?”

  Brenna laughed. “Just because I’m single doesn’t mean I haven’t been around the block. I’ve given my heart a couple of times and I’ve had it stomped on and handed back to me. But I’m eternally optimistic. Besides, it’s a year’s worth of great sex...He’s kinky, isn’t he? Please say yes. Lie if you have to.”

  Ophelia blushed profusely. “You’re terrible!”

  “Oh, my god! He is kinky! Tell me everything. Please!”

  “I am not giving you the details of my sex life with my husband—some things are sacred.”

  Brenna guffawed. “Sacred, my fat ass. Spill the beans! If only one of us is getting laid, the other has to share! I’m living vicariously here!”

  “Let’s just say I’m exploring new things and leave it at that,” Ophelia replied smartly. It wasn’t embarrassment or even shyness. She just simply didn’t want to give away any of the details. They were her secret, something that existed only between the two of them.

  “He’s hung, though? Just say yes. Even if it isn’t true, don’t ruin the fantasy!”

  “I don’t know that I’m comfortable with you fantasizing about my husband,” she protested.

  “Oh, hell, I’m not fantasizing about Vincent! But that stuff runs in families and if he is, then his baby brother probably is—now that’s a hunk of man I’d like to sink my teeth into!” Brenna added. “He’s just so yummy. He’s got that artsy almost but not quite a hipster vibe, and I can’t believe I’m saying it, but I’m kind of into it! It must be hormonal! Maybe I’m ovulating, because I swear to God, if I could get hold of that man, I’d ride him like a prize bull.”

  Runs in families…Ophelia’s smile faded. It probably wouldn’t have even occurred to her without Brenna mentioning it. She’d taken her pills like clockwork. But her period was late. Only by a few days, but that was still enough to make her worry. There were other things to. She hadn’t been sick at all, but her breasts had been tender and she’d felt tired and run down at times.

  While the nail tech was spraying some sort of drying chemical on her toes, Ophelia whispered, “Brenna, I think I’ve got another problem.”

  “What?”

  “I think I might be pregnant. I’ve taken my pills, but I’m late—maybe I’m worrying over nothing. Things have been so stressful.”

  “You haven’t actually taken them—well you took them, but you didn’t exactly keep them. You puked like a frat boy the night of the bachelorette party and again, the day of the wedding. What are you going to do?”

  “I think I need to make a trip to the pharmacy. He won’t take this well, Bren.” Ophelia sighed, feeling shaken and scared. Things were starting to go so well for them. She was terrified of what any unexpected surprises would do to them.

  “I’ll go with you. We can go back to the apartment and you can test there and we’ll see what we need to do,” Brenna offered.

  Shaking her head, Ophelia was relieved when the nail technician finished fastening the ankle straps of her sandals. She was feeling the overwhelming urge to just escape. “I have to get home. I’m tackling Thomas’ personal items today. I’ve been putting it off for long enough. Besides, I think they’re more accurate if you do them in the morning.”

  “If it is, it is, and things will work themselves out,” Brenna added, “Try to just enjoy it, would you? Don’t worry about tomorrow, or next week, or next month. It all comes soon enough. Take today and just live it.”

  Ophelia kissed her cheek and hugged her tightly, “Thank you for being my friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Rising from the table, being careful not to smudge her nails, she was passing through the doors and into the street when she bumped into someone. “Oh! Excuse—me!” she said, but the words came out awkwardly, as she realized the person she’d bumped into was none other than Melina Tate.

  The blonde looked, not stunning exactly as that would have been far too gauche for her, but lovely and elegant. Her hair was smoothed back into an elegant twist and she wore a linen sheath that was mystically free of wrinkles. Her nude pumps were classic, the tiny clutch purse in her hand an elegant and timeless choice. Everything about her was simply too perfect.

  Conscious of the fact that her own dress was just a tad too tight and that the shoes she wore were knockoffs, Ophelia inwardly cringed.

  “Well, Ophelia! I’ve been meaning to get in touch with you...Congratulations,” Melina greeted.

  It didn’t take a lot of skill to detect the icy sarcasm underlying the well wishes. Still, Ophelia pasted a smile on her face. “Thank you, Melina. You’re looking lovely, as always.”

  Melina smiled. “Oh, thank you. I just have to say how happy I am for you, dear! How nice it must be to still be
a part of the DuChamps family! Why, you’re family has been with them for decades!”

  There it was. The ubiquitous Southern euphemism for fuck you—how nice. There were other barbs in there as well. That business about still being part of the family and having been with them for decades was a not so subtle reminder of her place as a servant.

  Ophelia might not have been a member of the same social circles, but that didn’t mean she was oblivious to how they worked. “Well, Vincent and I have been close for so long. As horrible as it was to lose Thomas, I guess you could say it brought us closer together.” It wasn’t a lie, she told herself, just a carefully edited version of the truth.

  Melina smiled. “Of course, it did. Why, when Vincent and I went out to dinner, he was so upset about Thomas, he could barely speak—and of course when I ran into him the night before the wedding, we had a nice long chat about that. It’s so nice that you were there to swoop in during his time of need.”

  That stung on multiple levels. He hadn’t mentioned that he’d run into her. Of course, why would he? It wasn’t like theirs was a real marriage. The other blow was the veiled accusation that she’d somehow taken advantage of his grief.

  Perhaps it stung because in some way she felt she had. It might not have come about the way she’d envisioned, but she’d gotten the one thing she’d always dreamed of—to be his wife. “Yes, it’s been a hard time for him. For all of us. But at least we have each other,” she said, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “Don’t let me hold you up, Melina. I’d hate to make you late for your beauty treatments. Big date tonight? Being single is so hard! I swear I don’t miss it at all!”

  Melina smiled so widely it was a wonder her face didn’t crack. “Of course. Married life isn’t for everyone though. Some people like a challenge and a change of scenery every once in a while. Even the married ones. Men just can’t be trusted, Ophelia, I swear!”