The unfamiliar room.
The man.
The bracelet.
My eyelids fought to blink, to move.
Was I still wearing the bracelet? I thought I was, but everything was detached. Even my Alexandria’s voice.
“Momma, can you hear me?”
I can hear you? Where are you? The responses formed in my mind, but I couldn’t make my lips or tongue articulate the sounds. Dead weight. Falling. I was sinking and I couldn’t make it stop.
Was this what quicksand was like? An unstoppable force dragging me down, each moment deeper than the last until an all-encompassing presence surrounded me. Comforting, yet suffocating.
Alexandria called out again.
This time there were more than words. A touch. A warm touch that momentarily stilled the ice-cold free fall.
Though I couldn’t speak, the touch of her hand on my cold skin was an answer to my unspoken question. She was here. My Alexandria was here.
I’m not alone.
If only I could talk to her, touch her, and let her know I was okay.
I would be now. She was here.
When did that happen? When did the mother become the child?
Though it was rarely I who’d comforted Alexandria in the night or saved her from bad dreams, now she was the one to rescue me. Not from bad dreams—my dreams were my solace. Alexandria would rescue us both from our reality.
“Momma…”
I love you.
I couldn’t speak. My body no longer responded.
The effort was too much, too monumental.
I surrendered to the dreams. It wasn’t really surrendering, not to the quicksand, not to the sensation that dulled my senses. I was relinquishing the fight and giving myself time to re-emerge, time to work my way out of the muck and find my way back to a life I wanted to live.
I’d fought too hard to fully surrender. It was what was expected of me, but I was ready to be done with what was expected. I wanted more.
Allowing my body and mind to give way to memories, I passed the baton to Alexandria. She would fight for our future while I concentrated on having one.
“Adelaide.”
Alexandria was beyond my reach, but Oren wasn’t.
I lifted my tired eyes to the most stunning blue—soft yet intensely light—and at the same time, filled with their own darkness. I could gaze into their depths for days, but alas, we didn’t have days. My cheeks rose in a grin seconds before I lifted my lips to his.
“Where were you?”
The fresh air swirling around us was clear, yet I hadn’t been here. I’d been lost in an unfamiliar place. How could I make him understand? “What do you mean?”
“I was talking to you, but you seemed far away.”
My head moved dismissively from side to side. I could never get used to the way Oren Demetri saw me, saw into me. It was strange and foreign, exposing me like no other person had ever done. Neither Russell nor Alton had ever tried to see me, to know me. I doubted that even my mother had truly seen me. Only Oren Demetri.
Though Oren and I’d been seeing one another for years, our time spent collectively hardly amounted to a month.
An hour of stolen time. A day or maybe two. It was the most we could arrange. Though we both wanted more, we willingly settled for what we could get.
“I could tell you a lie, but I don’t think you’d believe me.”
Oren reached for my hand and pulled me closer. The world around us was oblivious to our plight. What did they see? Two middle-aged lovers? An old married couple? Or perhaps the truth: two people in love, trapped in bodies and lives that laughed at our plight. We weren’t young and the world wasn’t ours for the taking. We’d both been wronged, hurt, and disappointed. We’d seen the possibilities and we’d settled for so much less. Yet in spirit while together, we were young lovers. The experience was foreign while continually new and exhilarating.
“Why would you lie to me?” Oren asked.
I pondered my response. “Because it’s what I do.”
We began to walk, hand in hand, along the water’s edge. The state park was virtually empty of visitors this early in the year. Too cool… except for the wildlife. We both smiled, momentarily distracted by the serene sight of deer grazing in the distance. Oren tugged my hand, pulling us to a downed tree, close to the intracoastal waterway. Judging by its smooth texture, I imagined the tree had been horizontal for nearly as long as it was vertical.
“I don’t believe you.”
The breath caught in my chest. It was a reflex reaction to being questioned, something I avoided at all costs with my husband. But one look at the hand holding mine and I remembered this wasn’t my husband, though I wished he could be. Exhaling, I shrugged. “It is. It’s what I was raised to do. A proper Southern lady never complains or speaks of her problems, not in public, not to anyone outside her immediate circle.”
Small lines formed near the corners of Oren’s eyes as his cheeks pushed higher and higher. “Well, tell me. How much closer do we need to be, than what we were an hour ago in the cabin, for me to be considered inside your immediate circle? Because it seemed that we were very close.” He shrugged. “If you know of a way to be closer, I’m open to learning.”
Warmth filled my cheeks, not from the spring breeze, but from his words and tone. The way his deep timbre settled over me calmed the quaking his earlier statement had induced. “No, I’m most certain I don’t know of any way to be closer.” Feeling uncharacteristically playful, I added, “And I’m most certain it is you who has taught me.”
He lifted my knuckles to his lips. “No, Adelaide, I’m constantly the student when it comes to you.”
“Then we’ve learned together.”
“Then what was the faraway look?” Oren asked again, not letting the subject drop.
“Too many things.” I took a deep breath. “I almost don’t want to ask, but how is Angelina?”
The light in Oren’s eyes faded. “Not well. She’s holding on for Lennox’s wedding, but I’m afraid…”
I waited, silently offering him the strength to continue. In most instances it was reversed: Oren usually gave me the encouragement to go on, but this was different. This was his first love. I wasn’t jealous of Angelina Demetri. Perhaps I was, but only because I envied her name, not her. Oren loved her, and I knew he loved me.
Despite that they were no longer together, he never once said anything unkind about his ex-wife, even during our first meeting after his divorce. Theirs was a relationship I longed to have. I marveled at their love and maturity. They’d grown together and apart. They’d created a life they both adored. They created a baby boy who was now a man. I’d listened to Oren’s stories, ones he told with a sad smile. Through those I’d felt his joys and pains.
When they were younger, Angelina had been his dream, but with her came more than he ever imagined. I’m certain that through the years and stories, Oren has spared me the details. Nevertheless, I now understood why Alton called the Demetris criminals.
At the same time, never in Oren’s presence did I feel that he was anything less than a knight in shining armor. I’d pondered the injustice that someone who did what was expected of him and what he had to do could be considered a criminal, when someone else did what he did, not for love, honor, nor family, but rather for money and power, and that man was considered a business tycoon.
“Afraid?” I encouraged when Oren stopped speaking.
“That she won’t make it to the wedding. I’ve tried to talk to Lennox, but it’s like talking to a wall. He won’t speak to me about his mother.” Oren shrugged. “I understand. In his eyes I’m the villain. I’ll take the title, but I don’t want her to miss the wedding.”
My heart broke a little at the emotion in his deep voice. “Why are you the villain? You aren’t a villain.”
“Oh, Adelaide, have you not listened through the years? I am. I’m the worst.”
I palmed his cheek, enjoying the soft bea
rd growth. He’d forgotten to pack a razor, and though it embarrassed me to admit it, I loved the feel and not only on my hand. “No, you couldn’t be the worst. You’re a good man, Oren Demetri. Angelina knows that. I know that. One day Lennox will too.”
Tenderly he moved my hand to his lips. Soft kisses rained over my skin. “It’s the way of this generation. We’re to blame; Angelina and I knew that. We didn’t want him to be indebted as we had been. Somewhere in the process, he lost the respect for his family and elders.
“But he’s alive. He’s strong. He’s getting married and will have children one day. His life is free from the chains that still bind me but will soon be broken for Angelina. We don’t regret a thing.”
I marveled at his selflessness. “When is the wedding?”
“Summer.”
“They can’t move it up?”
He shook his head. “Adelaide, I don’t know. He won’t talk to me about it—something about Jocelyn’s parents. I know Angelina and Sylvia are helping. Everything I know is through Angelina. The last time we spoke she was too weak to talk for long.”
I kissed his cheek. “She knows you care.”
“If every cent I’d ever earned would save her…”
“You can’t save everyone.”
“I can save you… if you’ll let me.”
The weight of my life fell heavily upon my chest, knocking the air from my lungs. I inhaled, trying to fill them. As I did, the view of the waterway caught my attention. “I’ve lived in Savannah my entire life and never been to this park.”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“How very astute of you, Mr. Demetri.”
“It’s beautiful. I’ll buy a cabin here if I can see you more often.”
I giggled. “It’s a state park. I don’t think they sell cabins.”
“A big enough donation and one could be mine.”
My smile fell. “No.”
Oren pulled my chin toward him. “Why do you give him that power?”
“What power?”
“He wouldn’t know if I donated to a park.”
“You don’t know. He’s connected—his thumb is in every pie. You can’t understand.”
Oren smiled. “I understand. I understand more than you know. Money talks.”
I pulled away. “And most of it is mine. Yet I can’t do a thing.”
“You can,” he reminded me. “You can let me save you.”
“YOU KNOW? HOW do you know?” Patrick asked, staring at me over the tall glasses of beer.
My head throbbed—literally. My forehead. I suspected the vein on my brow was visibly pulsing, the telltale sign of my frustration. The damn thing throbbed in time with my aching temples and clenched jaw. “I didn’t know it had happened. I knew it was supposed to.”
“You knew she was supposed to marry that ass and you let her leave?”
I lowered my tone as I leaned across the small table. “I didn’t let her leave. She left to visit her mother who supposedly is ill. I told you before: she makes her own decisions. I was on my way. And I didn’t know about the arrangement until after she left. If she only would have waited.”
Patrick studied me for a minute before speaking. “Patience was never one of her virtues. She can be impulsive.”
“That’s not always bad.”
“I’ll take your word on that. The other day after you called me, I called my mother. She didn’t know anything about Alex and Spence. She didn’t even know Alex was in town. Then she called me this morning with news of the engagement. How could you have known before her?”
“I didn’t know anything had happened. I didn’t fucking know they were calling family members. I only found out the other night about the last will and testament.”
“What will?” Patrick asked.
Fuck!
I closed my eyes and forced myself to take a deep breath. “It’s an arranged thing. I don’t know if Charli even knew about it. If you don’t, she probably didn’t.”
“I don’t know anything about a will. Whose will are we talking about, Aunt Adelaide’s? She’s not that ill, is she?”
“Everyone should have a will. But no, not her mother’s. Has Charli said anything to you about marrying Edward Spencer?” I hated voicing the question, using the words marrying and Edward Spencer in the same sentence.
“Yes, but not in a positive way. It was part of their conditions I told you about for her trust fund. She said it flippantly…” His tone mimicked Charli’s. “…hurry up, marry Bryce Spencer, and carry on the bloodline. Chop-chop… make some babies.”
My heart wrenched at the thought. That wasn’t happening. I didn’t give a damn who’d received engraved announcements, it wasn’t happening.
“Besides,” Patrick continued, “she can’t do this, not while she’s under the agreement.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think she wants to. I believe she’s being railroaded somehow. Do you think she’d do this to save the manor or Montague Corporation?”
It was what Oren remembered, what Charli’s mom had told him, something about duties for Montague. As Oren spoke, I recalled Charli using similar wording after a conversation with her mother—duties and obligation. When she had, she was as confused as Patrick appeared to be now.
The whole thing was so fucked up!
I refused to think too much about my father with Charli’s mother. I couldn’t come up with a better description than… fucked up.
But there was something else, something I never imagined. It was the tone of Oren’s voice…
I hadn’t heard that level of passion or compassion in my father’s voice—ever.
“I don’t think she gives a shit about either one,” Patrick said. “I know she doesn’t care about the manor. She hates that place.”
“Why? Be honest with me.”
“So you’ll do what? Storm the gate?”
“If I fucking have to. I went there—”
“And let me guess. They wouldn’t let you in?”
“I was informed that ‘Miss Collins wasn’t receiving visitors.’”
Patrick shook his head. “I’m going.”
“You are?”
“I’d been thinking about it since you called, but then my mother gave me the perfect excuse. There’s going to be a party, a week from tonight, to announce their engagement to the social elite of Savannah and beyond.”
“I’ve got a week to stop this.”
Patrick’s lips curled upward. “I seem to remember something about a week… in Del Mar, right?”
“That was different.”
My thoughts went back to my father. After what he’d shared, even Del Mar felt tainted. I couldn’t think about his claim of bringing Charli and I together. It didn’t matter anyway. Having us at the same resort didn’t guarantee what had happened. The connection between us was organic attraction, pure and simple, a primitive draw. We’d both felt it, an irresistible pull. Oren may have orchestrated our presence—sending me there on business and having some woman tell Charli where to stay—but approaching her chair was all me.
As I imagined Charli lying there in the Southern California sun, her e-reader and big hat, the skimpy bathing suit… I missed some of what Patrick was saying.
“…the corporation. Why would she give a shit? They’ve never cared about her dreams.”
“Tell me what I’m up against. How can I get in the manor?”
“You can’t. It’s simple. The place is fortified like Fort Knox. My uncle is… damn…” He grinned. “…there are so many ways to end that sentence, but I’ll go with meticulous.”
“About…?” I prompted.
“Everything. Almost compulsively. He’s been married to Alex’s mom as long as I can remember. Even that. He acts like he’s a Montague, like everything Montague is his. He holds on to everything with an iron grip. He’s a grade-A control freak.”
I exhaled. “Then he’s met his match.”
Patrick shook his head. “I
’d venture to guess he thinks he’s already won. After all, he has her back. According to my mother, she’s wearing Spencer’s ring, some family heirloom. The engagement party is being planned. For something of this magnitude, the manor will be filled to the gills with not only the cream of Savannah society, but I’d imagine the guest list will also include people from all over—anyone who wants an invitation to the wedding will be present. There will also be security, a shit ton of it.”
“It’s bullshit.”
“It is and all I can think about is how much Alex hates this shit. Dog-and-pony show. That’s what she used to call it. We used to make fun of the pretense. Now they’ve got her in a starring role.”
“And you’re going to attend this farce?”
“Cy and I both.”
“Good. She needs you. Do you think you can get her alone?”
“I’m going to do my best. Tell me something first. Why are you so worried? Is it the agreement? If she tells Uncle Alton, he could expose Infidelity.”
“I’m worried because I love her. It has nothing to do with the fucking agreement.”
“You’re not going to go back on it, are you?”
What a fucking dumb question. “I’m not asking for my money back, if that’s what you mean. She won’t say anything to him about it.” Besides she’s no longer involved and more than likely, he already knows about the company. I didn’t say that last part, but according to Deloris, Alton Fitzgerald’s secretary is an employee. And then there’s Chelsea. Theoretically, Alton shouldn’t know about that, but obviously Spencer does. Infidelity: the worst-kept secret.
“What will were you talking about?”
“If you don’t know, I’d suppose you aren’t meant to.”
Patrick’s eyes opened wide. “Are we trying to get her out together or not?”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“Lips are sealed.”
“Her grandfather’s will has a provision dictating her marriage to Spencer and following a specific timetable. We don’t know the particulars, but my assistant is working on it. The problem is that back when the old man died, nothing was electronic. It’s much harder to get actual paper documents.”
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