Jet Set Confessions
Page 18
India’s stomach twisted as if she’d had six glasses of wine instead of half of one. “Will Travis be at the party?” she managed to ask in a steady voice.
“Of course, he will. He and Byron are joined at the hip.” There was one emotion Elaina wasn’t afraid to show and that was irritation, something which was thick in her voice as discussed her ex-husband and brother.
After what happened between her and Travis, every time India saw him with Elaina it felt like jagged claws sinking into her chest. The pain had dulled somewhat over the years, but Travis had never belonged to her. Elaina had been married to him. They’d shared so much. India could only imagine how hard it must be for Elaina to see him so often. “That doesn’t bother you?”
Elaina ran a finger over the rim of her wineglass. “Travis and I don’t love each other. He worked for the company and is my darling brother’s best friend.” The words sounded like a carefully crafted public relations statement.
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
Elaina pointedly looked India in the eye. Her push me on this and I’ll eviscerate you feelings were very clear in her direct gaze. “No. It doesn’t bother me,” she said carefully. “I don’t love Travis and shouldn’t have married him. Our divorce was the best thing that could have happened to either of us.” She capped off the very mature-sounding words with a serene smile.
The words were little comfort to India. She was happy her sister wasn’t heartbroken, but had they really not loved each other? She’d consoled her own bruised feelings and reasoned that Travis had married Elaina because in the end he realized he had loved her. That maybe he’d felt guilty after what happened the night of India’s birthday and had tried to make things right. For Elaina to say they never loved each other made the bitter disappointment she’d felt back then come back even more.
That doesn’t mean he would have married you. It doesn’t mean anything would have been different. She’d been too young, too idealistic and too romantic back then. Maybe the truth was Travis had just been looking for a Robidoux sister to marry so he could further his own goals. Just because he kissed her once on the edge of the tobacco field, whispered words that she’d longed to hear, didn’t mean a thing.
She managed a small smile. “I’m glad you two are still friends.”
Elaina’s shoulders relaxed along with the tightness around her smile. She clearly had not wanted to continue to explore any of her feeling for Travis. “I’d thought Daddy lost his mind plucking him from that trailer park and training him up, but he’s proven himself to be loyal. That’s all the family needs.”
India opened her mouth to ask what Elaina needed, but footsteps sounded in the hall right before a man walked into the room. India’s breath rushed from her lungs.
Time had only enhanced his good looks. Dark brown skin smoother than the finest mahogany. Midnight black bedroom eyes that used to pierce through her shyness to the bold girl she’d tried to hide from her daddy. He had a swimmer’s body. Tall, sleek, well-defined. He wore a maroon polo shirt and dark brown slacks that complemented his dark skin. His full lips were parted in a big smile. He hadn’t noticed them, as he looked back and smiled at her brother behind him. Yet flashes went through her mind of his lips brushing her neck and his eyes staring at her beneath lowered lashes in the moonlight.
Byron saw them and his grin brightened the room. “India. You’re home.”
Travis swung around. His dark gaze collided with hers.
“India?” His deep voice washed over her. She’d forgotten the sound of her name on his lips: low, smooth, intoxicating. As if he savored the syllables as they rolled off his tongue.
Her stomach tightened and she chugged the remaining wine in her glass. Heat prickled across her skin like a thousand needles. She should have gone to LA. She should have realized running from a problem didn’t make the problem go away. Her brain screamed run and her feet twitched with the urgency to obey as the one answer she’d come home to find out robbed her of the ability speak. She was still in love with her sister’s husband.
Forbidden Promises
by Synithia Williams
Look for it March 2020 from HQN Books!
Copyright © 2020 by Synithia R. Williams
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One
“What happened to the nanny, Father?”
For a moment, Blake Boudreaux thought his father wouldn’t answer. Instead Armand Boudreaux adopted the inscrutable, haughty look that matched his perfectly fitted suit, manicured hair and highly polished shoes. All of which said he wasn’t obligated to give excuses to anyone. Then one perfectly trimmed brow slowly lifted and he replied with dead calm, “My traitor of a wife cleaned out her bank account. A sizable amount, I might add. I had to recoup my investment somehow.”
“By firing the nanny of a sick child? Are you crazy?”
“You never had a nanny and you were just fine.”
Blake could say more than a few words on that subject, but this wasn’t the time or place... Not that his father would care anyway. Besides, being back inside the Boudreaux plantation house was making his skin crawl already. This place left him chilled to his core, even after all these years away. “I didn’t have epilepsy. This is a serious illness. Abigail needs to be supervised. Taken care of.”
“That mess is all in her head. Obviously so, or her mother wouldn’t have flaked off to Europe and left her behind.”
Wasn’t that sympathetic of him?
“So the doctors are lying?”
“They’re making a mountain out of a molehill. Really, they should do what they do best. Give her a pill that will make it all go away. It doesn’t need to be more involved than that, I’m sure. As long as she takes the medicine, she’ll be fine. And more importantly, she will believe its fine. That’s about all its good for.”
Blake knew a lot of things about his father. He was cold and autocratic, and spent his life tearing holes in the people around him. Sometimes he was subtle about it...sometimes not. But this was the first time he’d known Armand to truly jeopardize someone’s life. Blake truly believed this was not something to play around with.
Abigail, Blake’s half sister, was seven years old and her symptoms had been severe enough for her “flaky mother” to take her to a specialist. Of course, the minute the diagnosis had been made, she’d packed her bags and headed out to less stressful pastures.
“The doctors aren’t crazy. This could be dangerous,” he insisted.
“It’s not as bad as they make it seem. Besides, you sound like someone who honestly cares,” his father pointed out with a smirk. “Considering this is the first time I’ve seen your face since you told me to shove my money and my parental rights seventeen years ago, I guess I should take you seriously.”
The dig wasn’t unjustified. This was the first time Blake had set foot in his father’s house since he was eighteen years old. If he had never again walked through the doors of the infamous Boudreaux plantation house, he would never have missed it. He could have continued to live in the most luxurious settings in Europe, rather than return to this arctic tundra of a house despite the sultry heat of the Louisiana summer outside.
He would never have met his father’s much younger second wife, Marisa, and his then five-year-old half sister if said wife hadn’t been on a trip in Germany at the same time Blake had been involved with the princess of a small, nearby principality.
Blake had never thought he would ever care about children in any capacity that had an impact on his life. His playboy reputation was widely known and accepted by all but those women who tried—and failed—to change him. Children were something that existed and were cute...as long as they belonged to someone else.
But one charming afternoon with the little girl with soft ringlets, wide brown eyes and a keen curiosity about everything around her had this playboy hooked. Luckily, Marisa had facilitated his attempts to stay in touch with his half sister until a few months ago. Blake would have had no idea about the present situation if his half sister’s former nanny hadn’t called out of the blue two days ago with the distressing news. Blake had rented a private jet and gone to New Orleans immediately.
Thank goodness he had an inheritance outside of his father’s reach. His mother’s exclusive gift had given him the chance to live a carefree life without a thought to money...or his father’s opinion. The fact that he successfully supplemented that income with an avid interest in producing and distributing art was a bonus known only to him.
“I do care about Abigail,” Blake finally said. Better to keep it simple than give his father any ammunition to use against him. “Someone should.”
“She’s weak. Life will toughen her up.”
His father turned his laser-focused gaze on Blake, studying him in a way that made Blake want to squirm. He resisted the urge, of course. He was long past the point where he would allow his father to direct his actions in any way. Showing any sign of weakness would be seen as a victory by the old man, and Blake wasn’t giving an inch.
“But since you’re here, I might consider giving you the job.”
That wasn’t what Blake expected at all. “Excuse me?”
“The job of looking after her. Though you’re hardly qualified for childcare, now, are you?”
At least I’m willing to try. Blake simply locked his jaw and waited. If his father was willing to about-face, there would be a price to pay. Might as well wait for the bill.
“I don’t know,” the older man said, fiddling with his diamond cuff links as he pretended to consider the situation. “I haven’t decided if I’ll let you see her at all.”
A sudden tiny gasp sounded from behind a chair tucked into the far corner of the room. Unfortunately it echoed off the vaulted ceiling, and was magnified for the listeners nearby. His father’s gaze swung immediately to the shadows.
“I told you to stay in your room,” he yelled, his booming voice forcing Blake to suppress a wince.
A little girl slid out from behind the piece of furniture. Despite a little extra height on her, Blake would have said she was unchanged in the last two years. She had the same brown ringlet curls, though they were currently a tangled mess. The same vulnerable gaze. She hesitated before obeying, her brown eyes, flecked with green, seeming to memorize every inch of Blake as if afraid she would never see him again. Blake could certainly relate. His father was just enough of a jerk to forbid him to ever see her if he realized how much it meant to Blake.
So he hid his own emotions, gave Abigail the barest of smiles and motioned for her to go upstairs...before she heard more from her father about what a problem she was. Blake had grown up with a lifetime of those abusive rants stuck in his brain. He didn’t want that for Abigail.
While her mother was here, Blake had thought she would be protected from the harsh reality of Armand Boudreaux’s judgments. Now there would be no one in a position to protect her. The housekeeper, Sherry, might be able to check in, but she still had a job to do. Would that be enough?
Blake hadn’t even had that much. He remembered long, endless days when he barely saw anyone except the cook, who would fix him a plate. He’d been healthy, but lonely. Except having his father take an interest in him had usually meant an hour of yelling about how horrible Blake was.
Blake couldn’t allow that to happen to Abigail. Two years ago, he never gave his terrible childhood a second thought, but Abigail’s situation was bringing a lot of bad memories to the forefront of his brain.
Turning his gaze back to his father, he continued as if they hadn’t been interrupted. “You were saying I could help with Abigail’s care?” Caution was the name of the game here.
“Sure. You care so much about her—” Armand narrowed his gaze on Blake, a thin smile stretching his lips. “It might be worth something for you to see her.”
Oh boy. “Don’t you have enough money?”
The seconds-long hesitation sent a spear of worry through Blake. Money had never been an issue for his father. Not growing up. And, Blake assumed, not now. But that hesitation made him wonder.
Then his father said, “Not money, son. Freedom.”
A pretty significant bargaining chip for Blake. It always had been. This would not end well. “I’m not following.”
His father paced back and forth across the marble floor, the click of his dress shoes echoing off the vaulted ceiling. Blake’s stomach sank. This was his father’s move whenever he was plotting...planning. Definitely not good.
His father paused, tapping his index finger against his bottom lip. “I think there might be a solution to this situation that will benefit us both.”
Hell, no. “I know how this works. Your solutions only benefit you.”
“It depends on how you look at it.” His father’s smile was cold. “This could definitely benefit Abigail. Isn’t that what you say you want?”
“I never said any such thing.”
“Your actions speak loud enough for you.”
And he’d thought he’d shown remarkable restraint... Remaining silent would keep Blake from incriminating himself further. So he kept his trap shut and his gaze glued to the man before him. Armand fitted in so well with the sterile beauty of the Boudreaux plantation. It was his perfect backdrop.
“Yes, I believe this will definitely work. I’ve waited a long time for this.” Armand nodded as if confirming the thought to himself. His full head of silver hair glinted in the sun from the arched window behind him. “And you’re gonna give me exactly what I want.”
Blake turned away, panic running through him at the thought of going back to being that eighteen-year-old boy who had no defenses against his father. But just when he thought he would stride right over to the door and disappear through it, he caught a glimpse of tangled brown hair and pink leggings at the top of the stairs.
What choice do I have?
He could report Armand for neglect, but Blake doubted that would do more than dent his father’s reputation. Armand knew too many people in high places for any charges to go far. Abigail probably wouldn’t even be removed from the home.
He could take her with him now, but that would probably lead to him being accused of kidnapping...and she’d end up right back home.
He needed more time, more resources...but he could not let Abigail down, even if it meant turning his own life inside out to help her. Who would have guessed this playboy would grow a conscience?
He turned back to his father. “What do you want me to do?”
With a grin that said he knew he’d gotten his way, Armand slipped through the double doors at the far end of the room leading to his office, then returned with a file folder in his hand. Blake didn’t dare look up the stairs and give away Abigail’s continued presence. But he was conscious of her sitting just out of his father’s line of sight.
“There is a woman here in town, Madison Landry. She has something that belongs to me. Something
you will retrieve.”
“Can’t you get a lawyer to take care of that?”
“That route has proved...fruitless. Now it’s time for a different approach.”
The rare admission of failure was unheard of from his father, which piqued Blake’s interest. “So you want me to convince a former...what, lover?...to return something to you?” Obviously legal channels hadn’t worked, so his father didn’t have a legitimate leg to stand on.
His father smirked. “Hardly.” He pulled a photograph out of the file. “Have you ever heard of the Belarus diamond?”
“No.” Jewels had never been a major focus for Blake.
“It’s a rare, two-carat, fancy vivid blue diamond that was gifted to our family by a Russian prince before we settled in Louisiana after leaving France. When I was young and foolish, I had the diamond placed into a setting for an engagement ring. For a woman who did not deserve anything nearly so special.”
Well, this was news to Blake. He studied a photograph of a brilliant blue oval-shaped jewel. “You were engaged before my mother?”
“To the daughter of a now nearly extinct family from Louisiana society, Jacqueline Landry. The engagement lasted less than a year.”
“So she dumped you?”
If not, Armand would have taken steps to get back what was his before walking away.
Armand’s back went ramrod straight, as if he were affronted by the assumption. His sigh indicated he had no high horse to sit on. “She made the foolish choice to leave, and took the ring with her. That diamond belongs to our family. It is mine to do with as I wish.”
But not the ring? This wasn’t about a piece of jewelry Armand could hand down to his children. It was about something else... Money? Pride? Surely not after all of these years.
“Then you shouldn’t have given it away,” Blake reasoned.
“I sent several letters through the years demanding the ring back, all of which were returned unopened.”