A loud engine roared from behind her. “Get in.” Henry’s large frame filled the open car window.
Head down, Victoria ignored him, her feet moving as fast as they could against the strength of the prevailing winds that pelted her.
“It’s freezing out here. Get in the fucking car before you make yourself sick.” The car idled down the street.
“I’ll take my chances,” she puffed. “Besides, you’ve been drinking. You shouldn’t be behind the wheel.” Finally, she rounded the bend, thankful to see her home only five houses down the residential street. Although Riccardo’s was only a few blocks away from her home, it seemed as if it had taken an eternity to reach her street.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, Ms. Hathaway, it was your glass that was being topped off, not mine,” Henry shouted out the open window.
That son of a bitch. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen him drink much at all.
“Please,” Henry pleaded. “Get in the car. I’m sorry about what happened. If you’ll let me explain—”
“Apology not accepted. I couldn’t care less about anything that you have to say.” Unlocking the gate of the white picket fence, Victoria stomped across the walkway and up the front steps of her house.
Henry pulled the Lamborghini into her driveway. He jumped from the vehicle, the engine still running as he quickly caught up to her.
“Go home,” she spat, brushing her shoulder against him as he tried to block her front door.
Henry stepped to the side, dwarfing her as he remained at her side. “Not until I’ve had a chance to explain.”
Victoria turned the key in the lock. “Try not to freeze to death,” she said and slammed the door.
Fingers shaking, she bolted the lock. The bright full moon illuminated the room. Rushing to the windows, Victoria closed the blinds and then roughly drew the curtains.
The doorbell rang.
She didn’t open the door.
The doorbell rang a second time.
Still, she didn’t open the door.
“Come on, Victoria,” Henry’s voice bellowed behind the closed door. “It was a misunderstanding. Let me explain.” Henry pounded the door knocker against the red painted wood.
“Go away!” Victoria yelled as she stopped back to the door to flip the outside light switch off. Take that. Her lips curved into a half-smile, satisfaction seeping into her at the thought of Henrique Santana freezing his balls off on her front step.
An arsenal of curses came from the other side of the door.
Arms crossed over her chest, Victoria walked to the couch and sat down. If he was stupid enough to stay out there, then let him.
Several agonizingly long minutes passed before Victoria heard the slam of a car door followed by the loud roar of an engine. Sucking in a deep breath, Victoria counted to ten and then tiptoed to the window. Carefully, she lifted a corner of the blind and peeked into the darkness. He was gone. Breathing out a sigh of relief, she lowered the blind. Good riddance, you lying, house-stealing, good-for-nothing philanderer.
Chapter 7
Victoria
Sunlight snuck through the crevices of the closed blinds. Tossing the blanket over her head, Victoria groaned and rolled onto her side. Shut. Up. Even nestled underneath a cotton blanket and comforter, she couldn’t block out the high-pitched wails from the seagulls flying above the roof. Their persistent shrills reverberated through the warm layers that covered her. Her temples throbbed a steady beat. If she didn’t know better, she’d think someone was plunging a dagger into her skull. Why had she drunk so much wine? With Henrique Santana of all people.
Angered by the memory, Victoria wildly kicked at the sheets, feeling nauseous as she attempted to lift her head. She rolled her head across the pillow, sharp pangs drilling through her eye sockets as she tried to open their swollen lids. Instantly, she squeezed her eyes shut to thwart the intolerable pain. It took every ounce of Victoria’s strength to crack open one eyelid. She grimaced as she squinted toward the end table. Her vision blurred and her eyes stung as the muted rays of light blinded her. Bright red numbers blared from the digital clock and swirled in an agonizing haze.
No!
Victoria’s stomach convulsed as she jolted into a seated position. Bracing her head between her palms, she fought back the dry heaves. Groaning, she touched the long, blonde, matted strands of hair that stuck to her sweat-soaked face and neck. Using the end table for support, she propped herself up and took a deep breath, praying for the room to stop spinning. Stumbling over the pair of slippers beside the bed, she scuffed to the closet.
Being sick was not an option. There was too much to do in preparation for the holiday rush to leave the decorations to Jennifer alone. Not when Black Friday was three days away. Together, they’d scheduled their holiday business plan a year ago, circling today’s date in bold black ink on the calendar.
Each year, she tried to convince Jennifer to wait until the day after Thanksgiving, but she’d not hear of it. Regardless of the massive amount of bakery orders she needed to fill, there was no way Jennifer would let them put off the decorating for another day, as tomorrow they’d be busy preparing the orders. Renowned for her award-winning apple pie recipe, which won the top prize five years in a row at the annual harvest festival, Jennifer had a slew of requests for her pies, which needed to be completed by mid-afternoon. She was happy to assist Jennifer, but right now, the thought of food sickened her. Holding her hand to her stomach, Victoria leaned against the closet door and rested her head into the crook of her arm as nausea overcame her. Holding a hand over her mouth, she propelled herself away from the closet and prayed she’d make it to the bathroom in time. She crumbled to her knees and slammed the toilet lid open to expel the contents of her stomach.
Exhausted and sore, every muscle ached from the torture. Victoria clung to the side of the toilet bowl, the icy porcelain cooling her overheated skin. This was payback for throwing caution to the wind. If she had only declined Henrique Santana’s dinner invitation, she’d not be slumped pathetically on the floor. I’m going to die, Victoria thought as she crawled shakily up from the hard tiles.
Victoria snatched a beige turtleneck sweater from its hanger and ripped a pair of worn jeans from her bureau drawer, and shuffled back into the bathroom. Flinging the clothing into a heap onto the sink, she maneuvered herself into the shower. Hot water rushed down her spine. Frantically, Victoria scrubbed her skin with her loofah sponge. It was probably not a good idea to leave her hair wet, but she was already running late. Drying her hair would just have to be another option that was not on her agenda. She winced as she pulled the damp tresses from her forehead and guided the strands into a ponytail. It hurt like hell to draw the comb through the thick, slick mass. Makeup was out of the question; her face hurt too much to touch. A thin layer of pink lipstick would have to suffice.
She picked up her cell phone and pressed speed dial. Eight times the phone rang before Jennifer picked up. “It’s me.”
“You sound like shit,” Jenn said, breathing heavily.
“I feel as if I’ve been run over by a truck,” Victoria said, her voice hoarse. “I’m running a little late, but I’ll be in soon.”
“Stay home,” Jennifer told her. “I can handle things.”
“No way. I can’t stay home and leave all the holiday preparations for you to do alone. Besides, I can tell you’re busy.”
Jennifer released a low groan. “For your information, my fingers were coated with pie dough when the phone rang. I had to wipe them off and then sprint across the shop to answer the phone.”
“There is too much to do,” Victoria protested.
Jennifer sighed. “Stop being such a control freak. The shop won’t fall apart if you stay home one day out of the year.”
“I’m not controlling, and I’ll see you in a few minutes.” Victoria ended the call without saying goodbye. Her mind was made up—she was going to work.
VICTORIA TRAIPSED TO the custom
er service desk, still wearing her dark prescription sunglasses. She pushed the button on the computer monitor and plopped onto the rolling chair.
“Damn! Not only do you sound like shit, but you also look like shit,” Jennifer informed her.
“Please. Too loud. It hurts.” Victoria rested her chin between her open palms.
“Honey, you’re sick. Why didn’t you just stay home?” Jennifer’s voice softened, concern showing in her expression. “I really am capable of running the shop without you.” Jennifer poised her hip on the edge of the desk. “I promise all hell will not break loose if you stay home one day out of an entire year.”
Victoria rubbed her temples, her eyes still closed. “It’s not about you. Did you forget we have to decorate? It’s too much for you to do alone.”
“Yeah, right. Sure,” Jennifer scoffed.
Cracking an eye open, Victoria utilized her most pathetic voice, “I need coffee. Will you get me some? Please, Jenn.”
“From the looks of it, you need to go home,” Jennifer said and stood up from the desk.
“Going home won’t change anything. I’ll still be sick. So I might as well stay right here. Besides, I can’t stomach the idea of moving from this chair.”
“Uh-huh,” Jennifer said and turned toward the café. “I’ll be right back, control freak.”
“I’m not—” Victoria started to protest.
Her back to Victoria, Jennifer walked toward the café, waving a hand in dismissal.
Moments later, Victoria heard the click of Jennifer’s heels advancing toward the desk. “I made you tea instead. I put one cream and two sugars, just the way you like.” Jennifer placed a steaming cup of tea on the desk. “The coffee is too acidic. I also brought you a scone.”
“Thanks, but I’ll skip the scone.” Eating was the last thing Victoria wanted to do.
Jennifer extended her hand, the scone sitting on the napkin in her palm. “It’s bland. It might settle your stomach.”
One sniff of the scone was all it took for Victoria’s stomach to turn. With one hand covering her mouth, she bolted for the bathroom. Several minutes later she emerged. “I need to go home.”
Jennifer smiled knowingly. “Finally, you’re talking sense. Get some rest, Vicki. I’ll call you tonight.”
“HI. HOW ARE YOU FEELING?” Jennifer questioned through the phone line.
“Ten times better.” Victoria picked up the remote from the coffee table and muted the television. “Busy today?”
“In the afternoon we were a bit busy but manageable. Don’t worry, I found time to decorate. It wasn’t as much fun decorating without you, but I think you’ll be happy with my artistic creations.”
“I’m sure it looks lovely,” Victoria said.
“Hey, I was planning to tell you about it over the telephone, but something was delivered to you today. Do you mind if I stop by and bring it to you?”
What package could possibly have arrived? The bulk order she’d placed last week in preparation for Black Friday had arrived yesterday. Victoria shifted on the couch, dropping her legs from the coffee table. “Don’t even tell me it’s more documents from Santana Construction’s lawyers.”
“Nope,” Jennifer answered playfully.
“You sound like you’re up to something. What are you not telling me?” Victoria stated suspiciously.
“I’ll be there in a few minutes. Trust me, you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”
True to her word, Jennifer arrived fifteen minutes later with a mischievous smile on her face.
“Where did those come from?” Victoria asked, admiring the vase filled with a gigantic bouquet of long-stemmed pink and white roses that Jennifer held.
“I have no idea. They’re yours.” She thrust the roses in Victoria’s direction.
So many questions rushed through Victoria’s mind. “They’re mine? From who?”
“I’m putting my money on that nitwit ex of yours. Maybe, he’s finally come to his senses and realized that you deserve to be treated as the gem you are.”
Victoria placed the bouquet on the coffee table. David was cheap. Frugal, he liked to say. This bouquet contained at least two dozen roses. An arrangement this size would cost a fortune.
“Open the card.” Eagerly, Jennifer pulled the card from its confines among the petals and handed it to Victoria.
Dearest Victoria,
It’s been said that pink roses signify grace and elegance while white roses signify purity. These qualities were quite evident in your demeanor last evening. I am honored to have had the pleasure of your company. It is with a reverence that I humble myself to you. Please accept my sincerest apologies regarding the interruption of our most engaging dinner.
Fondly,
Henry
Victoria lowered the card, absorbing the words.
“So? Who’s your admirer?” Jennifer questioned.
“No one important.” Victoria crumbled the card and tossed it beside the flowers as she headed for the kitchen.
“Ah...this no one seems to be pretty smitten, by the looks of it.”
“Give me a minute to make us some tea. It’s a long story; we’ll both need it,” Victoria called from the other room. Busying herself in the kitchen, she placed the teakettle on the stove and pulled two china cups from the cabinet. Victoria didn’t buy sweets because nothing was as good as the café’s bakery. Just as she was about to slice a block of cheese, Jennifer stormed into the room holding the mangled card in her hand.
“What the hell?” Jennifer shouted and waved the card under Victoria’s nose. “What is the meaning of this? Tell me this Henry is not the one and only Henrique Santana that we met in our shop.”
Dammit! Why did Henrique Santana have to go and send me flowers? Victoria hadn’t wanted Jennifer to find out this way about their dinner. She’d planned to explain calmly and rationally over a cup of tea. “It was an error in judgment, Jenn.”
“An error in judgment? Really, Vicki?” Jennifer paced the floor and repeated, “An error in judgment?” She laughed bitterly. “That is the understatement of the year. What in the world were you thinking?”
“Jenn, please, lower your voice.”
Jennifer glowered at her. “Why? Do you still have a headache? No wonder you were sick this morning. Did you feel guilty about selling your soul to the enemy?”
The spoons clattered, Victoria’s hands shaking as she pulled them from the drawer. “I was walking home, and my hat blew off. He picked it up for me,” she blurted.
Jennifer’s aqua eyes widened. “Wait a minute. He what?”
“He picked up my hat for me.” Victoria kept her focus on the counter as she sawed at the block of Vermont cheddar cheese.
“What did you say?” Jennifer asked in disbelief.
“He saw me walking home and wanted to be sure I made it there safely. When my hat blew off, he picked it up for me. That’s all. It wasn’t a big deal.”
Jennifer gaped at her. “How did he know you were walking home? Did he follow you?”
Victoria cringed. This was not how she wanted this conversation with Jennifer to go. “Yeah, I suppose he did...but—”
“Listen to what you are saying! Do you hear yourself?” Jennifer put her arms on both of Victoria’s shoulders and forced her to look her squarely in the eye. “That’s not normal behavior, Vicki. Stalkers do that kind of thing.”
Victoria shrugged Jennifer off. “He’s not a stalker.”
“Next thing you know, we’ll be reading your obituary.”
“Come on, Jenn! Knock it off. You’re being overly dramatic. Henrique Santana isn’t trying to kill me.”
“He’s not?” Jennifer shook her head and looked toward the ceiling, clearly exasperated. “Have you lost your mind? How do you know he isn’t in the mafia or something? They kill people who get in their way all the time.” She pointed at Victoria. “Let me remind you, Vicki. You’re...we’re...in his way!”
“I knew he wasn’t going to hurt me.�
�� The kettle shook as Victoria poured the boiling liquid into each cup. “It was the perfect opportunity to try to talk him out of the construction project. That’s why I accepted his dinner invitation.”
Jennifer smacked her hands against her thighs. “Did it work?”
Victoria hesitated and then admitted, “No.”
“No shit, it didn’t work. Of course, it didn’t work.” Jennifer hurled herself onto the kitchen chair. “Dear God, Vicki. What the hell were you thinking?”
“I thought maybe I could convince him to see what a mistake a five-star resort would be. I wanted to try to talk him into looking to build elsewhere.”
“And did you?” Jennifer questioned.
Why couldn’t Jennifer understand how desperate she was? It went beyond her saving her land—Victoria was protecting their livelihoods. Couldn’t Jennifer see that she’d do anything to fix their problems? Even if it did involve accepting a dinner invitation from the enemy himself. “I’m not a complete fool, Jenn.”
Jennifer glowered and reached for a cracker. “Do not put words in my mouth.” A piece of cheese now atop the cracker, Jennifer took a bite. Her words were muffled as she chewed. “I didn’t say you were a fool. I’m simply trying to keep you from getting hurt.”
“I know you’re worried, but I’m a big girl. You don’t need to mother me. I can take care of myself. I admit I made a mistake. It wasn’t a big deal. I assure you, I was never in danger.” Victoria pulled a chair out from the table and sat down across from Jennifer. “I don’t think he’s in the mafia. Honestly, Jenn, you watch too many Lifetime movies. Henrique Santana is a lot of things, but a murderer isn’t one of them.”
“You have no proof that he’s not. It isn’t unreasonable to believe he may have thugs on his payroll,” Jennifer protested.
“You can’t jump to conclusions about someone without knowing their full intent.”
The Prodigal's Desire Page 5