He stared at the front door. “Alli-naut?”
Had his imagination gone crazy? No, it couldn’t be. He hadn’t had enough alcohol to be drunk.
“Roan!” the voice shouted again. She sounded even more irritable. He recognized that tone; Allison was on the verge of a meltdown.
He strode to the front door and flung it open. He stared at the woman and child standing outside.
Allison’s mouth, opened in anticipation of another scream, relaxed into a smile. “Roan!” She extended her arms to him.
Instinctively, he stepped forward to receive her but stopped short. Vera would not want him to hold Allison.
Vera closed the distance and transferred Allison into his arms.
The child flung her arms around his neck, smacked a kiss to his cheek, and then kicked hard to be let down. He obeyed, and she toddled into his condominium as if she owned it. He followed her with his gaze, because it purchased him a precious few moments to regain control over his emotions.
“When did you get into New York?” he asked, relieved by the neutral and courteous tone he managed to pull off.
“Late morning. I’d planned to make a daytrip of it.”
“What time is your flight back?”
Vera shrugged. “I’ve already missed it. May I come in?”
Rowan hesitated.
The flash of hurt in Vera’s eyes assured him that his brief lapse in manners had not gone unnoticed.
He swallowed a sigh and stepped aside. “Of course.” He watched her enter like a stranger into the home she should have entered as a bride. He braced for her accusations, for her anger and hate, but some part of him, some stupid part of him, hoped that she had come to forgive him.
She slid the backpack off her shoulders and turned to face him. “We need to talk. Is there some place Allison can play safely?”
Why did she even have to ask? They had designed Allison’s bedroom together. They had selected the furniture and ordered the toys and books. Rowan brushed past her and opened the door. The child scampered into her bedroom, a wide grin on her face.
For several silent moments, Vera and Rowan watched Allison claim her space like a birthright. Teddy bears and dolls were dragged into the castle to garrison its walls. Books were pulled from the shelves and placed on the carpet to form a drawbridge from the door to the castle.
“I think she’ll be all right for a while,” Vera said with a smile.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Rowan asked, hating the canned social response but not knowing what else to say.
Vera looked at the empty bottle in his hand. “Sure. I’ll have a beer or whatever else you’re having.”
He returned from the kitchen with two beers and found Vera in the living room, seated on the edge of a chair. Her shoulders were stiff, taut with tension. He sat across from her and handed her a bottle.
Vera took a sip, wetting her lips. “I hope Allison didn’t disturb your neighbors when she started shouting. I rang the doorbell and called your phone, but didn’t get an answer.”
Rowan patted the empty pocket of his jeans before recalling that his phone was in his bedroom. “I was outside on the balcony. Headphones. Sorry.”
“I got worried. Allison picked up on my stress, and amplified it, as usual.”
He couldn’t handle the chitchat. The normality of it mocked him with a violent headache. “Why are you here?”
“I came to talk to Maggie Ferrara.”
“Maggie? Why?”
“Because the only explanation I got out of you was two sentences in an e-mail saying you thought she was twenty, and it was an honest mistake.”
“And you didn’t believe me.”
Vera hesitated.
Rowan’s grip tightened around the bottle. He looked away. How could a simple pause in the conversation hurt as much as if she had called him a child molester?
“I needed to talk to Maggie,” she said.
“And what did Maggie tell you?”
“That she’d lied. That you and she were collateral damage in a divorce gone bad.”
“She told you that?”
“Yes. She told me everything. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as frank as Maggie Ferrara. She also mentioned that the age of consent in Italy is fourteen.”
Rowan blinked. “It is?”
“Don’t go running off to Italy now,” Vera warned him, obviously trying for humor to lighten the moment. “She also wanted me to tell you she was sorry. She never meant for something that happened seven years ago to get in the way of your happiness.”
Rowan shook his head. “Maybe I should have had Maggie talk to Darren instead.”
Vera gaped at him. “You spoke to Darren? When?”
“Friday, when I finally got the message after seven days that you weren’t going to accept my calls. I thought that if I could talk to Darren, I could explain what really happened, but he refused to see me at his office. I had to waylay him when he left.”
“Did he listen to you?”
“No. He’s no better at listening than you are.”
“What did he do?”
“He threatened to file a restraining order against me and sue for full custody of Allison if I wasn’t out of town the next day.”
Vera’s lips trembled. “So that’s why you came over, on the day that should have been our wedding day, to return my house key and say goodbye.”
Rowan nodded. “I couldn’t fight for us, not without risking Allison, not without hurting you.” He inhaled deeply and met Vera’s eyes. “I want you to know I’m sorry for screwing up seven years ago, and now again.”
“No,” Vera breathed. She lunged forward to close the gap between them. Her arms wrapped around him. “I’m the one who needs to apologize. I panicked, and I lost sight of how much you love me, how much you love Allison. I love you; I never stopped, even when I wasn’t thinking straight.”
Rowan closed his eyes, his breath shuddering out of him. The lavender fragrance of Vera’s hair filled his lungs. She was back in his arms. Darren’s threats still loomed over them, but at that moment, it was enough to hold Vera once more, to know she understood and had forgiven him.
He savored the bittersweet moment, knowing full well it would have to end. He could not ask her to choose between marriage to him and keeping her daughter.
Once, he had asked her if love was enough.
Rowan knew the answer now. It was not.
Chapter 18
Allison was quiet, too quiet.
Reluctantly, Vera pulled back from Rowan’s arms. “I have to check on her.” She went to Allison’s bedroom and found her fast asleep on her bed in the middle of her castle, her arm wrapped around a teddy bear.
Vera smiled. Allison was safe; she was home.
Vera stood over Allison’s bed, contemplating the daughter she loved more than life itself. Out in the living room was the man she had cast away for Allison’s sake, the man who had walked away for Allison’s sake.
She turned off the light in the toddler’s room and returned to the living room. Rowan stood by the balcony door, staring through the glass at the darkened patch of Manhattan that was Central Park. His face was in profile, his eyes shadowed. Occasionally, he sipped from the bottle of beer in his hand as he continued his expressionless survey of the park. He looked like a man without hope.
Vera slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out the engagement ring. She walked up quietly to stand by his side.
He glanced down at the glittering diamond resting in the palm of her hand. Something flickered through his eyes, the emotion too quick to discern, but then he looked away. “Keep it or sell it. It’s yours.”
“I thought you wanted a marriage, a family. Have you changed your mind?”
He shook his head. “Marriage will jeopardize your custody of Allison. I can’t ask for that.”
“But what do you want?”
“You.” The answer was immediate. “And Allison. Under whatever cond
itions we can make it work. The marriage…it’s just a legal thing. I don’t need it.”
He was lying. She could tell by his hesitation and by the slight tremble in his voice. Marriage mattered a great deal to him, but as always, love mattered more.
Rowan turned to her and took her hand in his. “I’ll talk to Darren again. I’m sure we can reach some kind of arrangement; perhaps I can come and see you only on the weekends when he has Allison. We could make it work. I’ll come to Fort Lauderdale, perhaps not as often, but we could start over.”
She shook her head. “We can’t.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, but not before she saw pain rip hard and fast through those amber depths.
Rowan dropped her hand and turned away, but she reached out and stopped him from leaving. Her voice was low and firm. “We can’t start over because we’ve come too far together. You’re willing to make the sacrifice for me and for Allison, but I won’t let you, because you’re not just sacrificing your happiness, you’re sacrificing ours too.”
“And what about Darren?”
“I called my lawyer after talking to Maggie.” Her face tightened. “He confirmed that the charges against you were dismissed for good reason; they wouldn’t have held up in court. It means Darren’s case for a restraining order and full custody won’t hold up either. He’ll probably try, but the threat of a counter lawsuit for slander and defamation will keep him quiet.”
“Vera, are you sure about this?”
“My lawyer won’t let Darren get away with threatening me. But more importantly, I’m sure about one thing: I’m not going to let Darren tear us apart. I’m not going to let him deprive Allison of a great father. My lawyer will handle Darren, and I’ll call all our wedding vendors to find us a new date.” She placed the ring in the palm of his hand. “Now, Rowan, ask me to marry you again, please.”
The smile flashing across his face transformed it. Deep, heart-felt happiness radiated from his smile as he picked up the ring. “I can’t ask you to marry me again, because I never asked you before. Remember? You proposed the first time.”
She laughed. “Same difference. Now, hurry, Rowan, and ask me to marry you so that I can drag you to bed before I change my mind and tackle you right here.”
His grin widened. “The sheepskin is really soft.”
“Too late.” With a laugh, Vera threw herself at Rowan and dragged him to the floor. They landed in a tangled heap on the rug. Her denim-clad legs slid against his.
“Marry me?” Rowan whispered, his mouth close to her ear.
“Yes.” She smiled her consent and held out her hand.
Rowan slid the ring onto her finger.
Vera stared at the glittering diamond. The overwhelming sense of completeness, of rightness, coaxed a happy sigh from her. She looked at her lover, the man she would marry. “Thank you for loving me enough to give us another chance.”
“You came back. It was all I needed,” he whispered, and claimed her mouth with a kiss that offered the promise of dazzling tomorrows.
Epilogue
A month later, bathed in the glow of the rising sun, Vera and Rowan exchanged their vows on a pristine stretch of Fort Lauderdale beach. Allison, the flower girl, lost interest in the wedding after five minutes and started building a sand castle around her mother’s bare feet.
The guest list, limited to family, was small, but the celebration around the buffet table turned into a rowdy family picnic that lasted well through the morning. A vast assortment of friends, including several models and other fashion-industry professionals, arrived at midday to add to the chaos and fun. At some point, Vera’s two cousins and one of Rowan’s celebrity friends dragged Rowan into a beach volleyball match.
Vera took a break from mingling and settled down on the sand, next to Allison, to watch Rowan play volleyball. The swell of happiness, surging from deep within, brought a smile to her lips. Rowan’s appearance was, at least to her, significantly improved by the platinum wedding ring on his left hand. The sun sparkled off the matching band nestled beneath her engagement ring.
Allison looked up and cooed. “Megg.” In her delight, she tossed a spray of sand into the air.
It settled like confetti on Vera’s white cotton sundress. She turned to see Maggie Ferrara walking toward them. Maggie’s turquoise bikini showed off a beautifully tanned body, and the bright yellow wrap around her hips accentuated rather than concealed her curves.
“Hello, Allison.” Maggie lavished attention on the little girl for several minutes before turning to Vera. “And congratulations to you and Rowan.” Her smile was warm and sincere, and her accent—which Vera had not noticed before—was subtly European.
“I’m glad you could make it.”
“Thank you for the invitation. Rowan would never have thought of it.” Maggie followed Vera’s gaze to the volleyball court. She wore a smile, but her eyes were wistful. “I’d always known he meant more to me than I did to him.” She looked at Vera. “I’m so glad for him, so glad he’s found you.”
“Thank you, Maggie.”
Maggie hugged Vera and pushed to her feet. She dusted sand off her long legs. Like a butterfly, she flitted into a waiting circle of admirers. Maggie’s laughter, surrounded by competing male voices, drifted back to Vera.
A roar of applause drew Vera’s attention back to the volleyball court as Rowan secured the final point with a well-placed spike. Moments later, he jogged across the sand to her. She smiled as she took an appreciative sniff. “You’ve worked up quite a sweat.”
“I can rinse off in the water.”
“Not just yet.” Vera leaned in to kiss him as he drew her into an embrace that surrounded her with the certainty that she was powerful and unstoppable, adored and loved.
“I love you,” she breathed into the kiss. Her special moment in time was right here, right now. With Rowan beside her, it would be every moment in her life from now on.
THE END
Turn the page and continue Love Letters with this excerpt from BETRAYED!
Betrayed
I can turn every man’s head…except his.
I command attention on the haute couture catwalks of Milan, Paris, and New York, but whenever I’m face-to-face with Drew Jackson, I feel like a gawky thirteen-year-old again—in love with a superstar who will never see me as anything more than his younger brother’s ex-girlfriend.
I tell myself Drew’s no longer a superstar. A long-ago car accident shattered his knee and destroyed his football career. What is he compared to the celebrities who whirl me through one-night stands or Tyler, the brilliant and witty social media maverick who is determined to win my love?
Drew’s just…Drew. All logic and rationality aside, I want him.
When betrayal knocks me off my supermodel pedestal, it’s a long way to the bottom. Will my tenuous friendship with Drew survive my career, my fame, and the rocky transition to love?
CHAPTER ONE
Maggie fixed an expression of cool boredom on her face as the limousine glided to a stop in front of her condominium complex on the Upper East Side. Outside the vehicle, paparazzi jostled, knocking each other off the sidewalk and into the road. The light from camera flashes pierced the darkened glass windows and pulsed shafts of pain through her skull.
Maggie sucked in a deep breath. Her faint smile held, barely.
The strobe-light glare of the camera flash always gave Maggie a headache. For most people, it might have constituted a mild annoyance. For a model, it was a career hazard, although one she had successfully navigated since her days as a cherub-faced putto, modeling diaper rash cream and teething toys. Few baby models continued as child models, and even fewer went all the way to the top. Maggie, however, had hit the stratosphere—the haute couture catwalks of Milan, Paris, and New York. Along the way, her chubby, kissable cheeks had thinned into the slash of high cheekbones, and her clumsy toddler gait conceded to an arrogant strut.
She was a rising star, and therefore, an irresistible
lure to other celebrities craving the spotlight.
The man seated next to her in the limousine shifted slightly. “They’re like rabid dogs,” Leon Kinrath muttered, but he was smiling, already preening for the camera.
Actors. Maggie managed not to roll her eyes. Newly famous actors were the worst. Their desperation to prove they were part of the celebrity scene made their social interactions particularly high maintenance. She had spent all evening listening to Leon rave about the dozen or more casting calls he had received in the past year. None had led to a role yet, but if his confidence had been shaken, she could not tell from his brash tone.
Cameras flashed again. Maggie held her smile steady through the glare and looked at Leon. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, Leon.”
“Let me walk you in.”
She waved her wrist. “No need for the two of us to squeeze through that horde.”
“But I insist.” His smile emphasized his boyish good looks. “I could not let a beautiful woman face the rabid masses alone.”
Maggie paused for a moment to allow his smile and his words to sink in. Her smile deepened on a trained social impulse, but her mind snapped out a single word, Nope. Her pulse was not fluttering. Her heartbeat was not racing. Leon Kinrath wasn’t doing it for her.
The chauffeur stepped out of the driver seat and opened the car door. Leon exited to a flurry of questions and microphones shoved in his face. The glare of the camera flashes exploded like supernovas, plunging the area beyond the light circle into pitch black. Half-blinded, Maggie was forced to accept Leon’s hand for support. She stepped out of the limousine onto three-inch black stilettos. The flowing skirt of her black dress brushed against her thighs.
Leon’s arm slid across the low back of her dress to grasp her hip, drawing her closer than she wanted. She would have shaken him off, but it would only incite the paparazzi into a feeding frenzy. Far better to play along and take Leon to task in private rather than in front of tabloid reporters.
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