by Mia Sheridan
". . . seems this shocking video was shot by a call girl who taped Judge Cooper Stratton in a hotel room at The Palace Hotel during a black tie charity dinner held two nights ago. The hidden camera caught an allegedly intoxicated Judge Stratton bragging about accepting bribes, manipulating case outcomes, and other highly corrupt activities. An investigation has just begun and details are still emerging in this case, but Judge Stratton also boasted of his alliance with former San Francisco Mayor Frank Dallaire several times in the video, claims that Mr. Dallaire is vehemently denying at this time. Some might recall Cooper Stratton’s former engagement to Mayor Dallaire's daughter, Kira Dallaire, an engagement that ended in a scandal of its own." Shock ratcheted through my system and I braced my hands on the counter in front of me to hold myself up. The newscaster continued, "This story highlights the public's deep concern about corruption in politics. As voters and citizens, we'd all like to believe those in positions of power don't trade influence, but this case seems to be bringing those suspicions to the forefront of today's political discussion. Let's show that video one more time."
The video started from the viewpoint of someone sitting on top of Cooper Stratton as he lay on a bed, outfitted in a tuxedo. He was laughing as he discussed precisely what the newscaster had said. My whole body tensed, fierce anger and stark disbelief clenching my gut as I listened to him discuss the way in which he'd casually ruined lives, first as a prosecutor and now as a judge. No wonder Frank Dallaire had been so willing to protect him when Kira had caught him with hookers. He'd been doing dirty work for him for years. And she hadn't had any clue. I swallowed, focusing back in on the video. The girl wearing the camera giggled and spurred him on, stroking his ego by telling him how much his power turned her on. When she leaned forward slightly to undo his bow tie, I caught a glimpse of the ends of her hair swinging forward. It was pink. I shook my head back and forth. It couldn't be. I squinted my eyes as the person wearing the video camera excused herself to use the restroom and then the grainy picture cut to her walking briskly through what looked like a black tie gala. There was laughter, chatter and dishes clattering in the background, and as I moved even closer to the television, I saw a guest in the background wearing a tux, and it was only in profile, but it looked suspiciously like Harley. And . . . holy fuck, I recognized someone else at that gala. She was just in profile as well, but I knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was my stepmother, Jessica Hawthorn. What the hell was going on?
"Charlotte!" I yelled, remembering suddenly she was at the hospital. "Holy fuck." José didn't answer his phone and so I rushed down to the vineyard where I quickly informed him I'd be back as soon as possible.
"Got it under control, boss," he called in return. I was already halfway out the door. I ran to the house and threw a few things in a bag and got in my truck, driving out through the gate. Jesus Christ. How had this happened? My mind was racing a million miles a minute. Kira. Kira was behind this. I wanted to shake her and then crush her to me and never let go. The little witch had cooked this up. I knew she had. Sweet little beautiful witch. She could have placed herself in danger. Was that why she’d been with Cooper here in Napa? I'd treated her so cruelly that day. She'd done this to help me, to help us, just as Harley and Priscilla had—I knew it in my gut and I trusted.
But I still needed answers. Questions pounded in my brain, one after the other. And I knew where I needed to go to get them.
As I drove, visions of Kira ran through my mind: turning to me in our bed, the morning light hitting her face as her sleepy, green eyes opened, her lips turning up in a soft smile as she reached for me. I saw her holding Sugie in her arms. "She needs love more than anything," she'd told Vanessa. "The only thing that will hurt her is holding it back." I squeezed my eyes shut momentarily, and an intense ache filled my chest. I saw her jumping down from that tree, standing on the tractor in a ballerina pose, sliding down the bannister, a look of unabashed joy on her face. And yes, she’d most definitely won that day. I saw her walking toward me in the maze reaching out her hand. That night, under the moonlight, she had saved me. And when it came time, I hadn't been strong enough to save her back. I let out a deep exhale, the visions flowing through my mind, through my heart. I pictured her kneeling in front of me on the floor of the wine cellar, a look of tenderness and love on her face. "If you let it, pain makes more space for love within you. And the love we carry inside makes us strong when nothing else can." Jesus. That's exactly what she'd done. She'd taken all those empty spaces inside her and filled them with love. And when the worst had happened, I had been too stupid, afraid, and filled with self-doubt to allow her to teach me how to do that, too.
I had fallen desperately in love with an enchanting little witch, a radiant girl with emerald eyes and a wild mane of hair as untamed as she. Kira, my fiery little wife with a spirit as bright as the sun, and a heart as tender as a newborn lamb. She owned my heart and my soul—I would be hers until I drew my final breath. And I was ready now. I was ready to surrender my all, every last bit, come what may. I just hoped I wasn't too late. Please don't let me be too late.
**********
The woman who answered the door was wearing a housekeeping uniform. She led me into the formal living room and told me she'd see if Jessica was available. I nodded grimly, choosing not to sit on the pristine white sofa.
A few minutes later, my stepmother came gliding into the room, as perfectly coiffed as I remembered her, every piece of dark blonde hair in place. "Grayson," she greeted, standing awkwardly by the door. After a short pause, she moved toward the bar on the far wall. "Would you like a cocktail? It's five o'clock somewhere, right? My, but corruption in politics is quite the talk of the town, isn't it?" There was the confirmation she'd been a part of whatever had happened with Cooper Stratton.
"You were there," I said, cutting right to the chase.
She poured herself a glass of wine, turned, and held it up to me in question. I shook my head. She swallowed one large sip before answering. "Yes, I was there. Who did you think paid the twenty-five-hundred-dollar-a-plate cost?"
I eyed her warily. "You paid for whom? Harley and Priscilla?"
She took another sip of wine. "And myself. I decided it was a good cause. So you really didn't know about it?"
"No."
She nodded her head. "Your wife came to me last week. Apparently this Cooper fellow was involved in something causing you strife. She said she knew his weakness and she planned to have pictures taken to blackmail him, and therefore her father."
I let out a loud whoosh of air. Kira. I was going to kiss her senseless and then I was going to strangle her. She'd been planning on blackmailing him by taking lewd photos. Of all the crazy, hair-brained schemes!
"From what I can see, they got more than they bargained for. Even Washington is all aflutter over this. Crooked government is the talk of every town in America today."
I let that sink in. "So the plan was only to take pictures?"
Jessica shrugged. "Unless they didn't mention it to me. She just asked if I'd fund it."
"And why did you?" I asked, thinking of all the times she'd said cruel things to me, all the times she'd watched as my father punished me simply for existing.
She turned away and looked out her window, sipping on the wine. "I've had time to consider things since Ford's been gone." She turned toward me, placing the wine glass on a side table. "I . . . could have done better when it came to you. I was bitter and hurt and . . ." She waved her hand around. "Well, I'm sure you're not interested in hearing about it, and frankly, I'm not that interested in talking about it. But when I was asked to help, I figured I owed you that much at least. Your wife, she obviously loves you very much, Grayson." She looked at me almost as if seeing me for the very first time.
I was stunned. As I gawked at her silently, she moved toward a small writing desk in the corner and took something out of the top drawer. "I was going to send this to you, but since you're here . . ." She held it out to me
and I took it from her, looking down to see she'd given me a check written out for two hundred fifty thousand dollars.
"What is this?" I demanded, holding it back out to her.
"It's part of your father's estate. Hopefully that covers at least some of the damage he did to the vineyard before he died." She knew. She knew what he'd done.
"What if I don't want his money?"
"Then you'd be a misguided fool just like he was. Take it and make a life for yourself, Grayson, wherever that may be. Take it and be happy."
"I—"
"Are the roses and hawthorn flowers still blooming?" she asked.
"I . . . what? Yes."
She nodded, something moving across her expression that looked like sadness, or perhaps regret. She moved toward the door. "Good, I'm glad to hear that," she said. "I assume you can show yourself out?"
"Yes," I said, confusion and surprise and hope and a hundred other emotions I couldn't identify in that moment moving through my chest. I folded the check and put it in my wallet, and then let myself out of my stepmother's home.
I was reeling. Only Kira could soften a heart like Jessica's. Only Kira. God, only her.
I had a wife to find and some groveling to do. I was going to grovel so hard they might need to find a new word for it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Kira
"That, right there, is the definition of pitiful," Kimberly said, peeking out the window next to me.
The rain drummed against the glass pane of Sharon's apartment where I'd been staying for the past couple weeks. The man sitting on the stoop below—the man who was currently my husband—was soaked to the bone, his dark hair plastered to his skull. And he was wearing dragon wings.
"Are you going to take pity on him, or what?" Kimberly asked, turning to me, her arms crossed. Knowing Sharon was at the drop-in center and I was alone, she had rushed over here after Grayson had shown up at her apartment begging her to tell him where I was. She'd caved, but I wasn't so sure I could. Grayson had spent twenty minutes pounding at the front door, calling for me. When it had begun to rain, I was sure he'd leave, but instead he'd sat down and taken up residence on the steps.
I shook my head. "I can't, Kimberly. I'll take one look at him and crumble, and the things he said to me . . . the things he may have done . . . I can't crumble." Grayson knew my Achilles heel and had targeted it in the most cutting way possible. Since you've been gone, I've come to the conclusion I like more of a variety of women than marriage vows dictate. I've sampled quite a few recently. You were okay, but since you, I've had better. I felt a sharp, painful pinch in the vicinity of my heart as his words came back to me. I moved away from the window so I wouldn't have to look at him out there. "Plus, the things I did. I plotted and schemed and—"
"Yes, you came up with the mother of Very Bad Ideas, and you're just lucky you didn't tell me about it in advance because I would have tied you up rather than let you go through with it. But also, Kira, you may very well have exposed two of the most corrupt political figures in recent history—ones who would have eventually ruined more lives. I'm proud of you."
I let out a long sigh. "Priscilla did all the hard work. But anyway, Grayson won't necessarily see it the way you do."
"Well, along with the rest of America, he already knows about what happened, and he figured out it was your plan. And he's still sitting out there like a pathetic wet . . . bird or something."
"Dragon," I corrected bleakly. "And he may just want to strangle me. What did he say to you exactly when he came to your apartment?"
"Things you need to hear," she said gently. Things that had obviously swayed her enough to give him the address where I was staying. I felt my resolve give way just a fraction.
We both froze when we heard scrabbling of some sort on the side of Sharon's duplex. I sucked in a breath, my eyes widening. Suddenly, the creaking groan of an old window sliding up filled the silence.
"Someone's breaking in," Kimberly whispered. "My phone's downstairs." We both ran out into the hallway and let out small screams when we glanced in the open doorway of the room at the end of the hall and saw someone pulling himself through the window. He was caught on the frame by . . . wings. I stopped mid-stride, letting out a loud whoosh of relieved air.
"Grayson," I breathed, moving to stand in the large doorway.
"What the—?" Kimberly asked loudly, from right behind me just as he hurled his body through the window, landing on the floor in a loud, wet thud. He groaned, rubbing his arm as he came up on his knees.
He caught sight of me standing motionless, gawking at him and he lurched to his feet. "Kira," he rasped, a puddle forming under his feet. The flare of yearning in his dark eyes made my stomach clench.
"What are you doing?" I asked, my eyes raking over him. His grayish blue T-shirt was plastered to his chest, showing each muscular dip and groove, and his jeans clung to his strong thighs. I swallowed. He looked so incredibly beautiful standing there, even drenched as he was, wet wings hanging limply behind him.
Grayson ran his hand through his hair, slicking it back away from his forehead. He caught something at his chest and I turned my head, realizing Kimberly had tossed him a towel. "I'll just . . . be downstairs," she said. I nodded, pressing my lips together and looking back to Grayson to find him running the towel over his head. He slipped the wings off, rubbed the towel on his shirt, and then ran it over his legs, finally bending to mop up the puddle beneath him. My eyes followed each movement.
When he came up to his full height again, we stared at each other across the room for several tense moments. Finally, he said softly, "As I was sitting out there in the rain, I thought to myself, what would Kira do right now? She would do something. She would come up with a plan. It wouldn't be like her just to sit here and wait for things to play out as they may. She would gather all her courage, and she would try, even if it seemed all hope was lost. And I thought about how much I want to be as brave as you."
Oh. I shifted on my feet, fighting not to crumble immediately. "And so you scaled the side of the building and broke into Sharon's house?"
He shrugged, giving me a lopsided smile. "Breaking and entering was the best thing I could come up with at the time." He cleared his throat. "It's actually plan B, though. See, initially my plan wasn't so good. I was going to lecture you on the dangers of what you'd done and make some suggestions about your . . . impulsive ideas. So," he reached in his pocket and pulled out a wet, folded up piece of paper, "I made a list of pros and cons." I let out a small half laugh/half snort, and he shot me a hopeful glance as he carefully unfolded the paper, taking care not to rip it. "I wrote about your spirit, your compassion, and your kindness. But I also wrote about all the ways you make me crazy and bring me to the very edge of sanity." He turned the note upside down and right side up again. "But then I couldn't remember what were pros and what were cons, because they all come together to make you and I wouldn't want to change a single thing."
"Oh," I breathed, hanging on by a thread to the no-crumble pledge. "Well," I said, crossing my arms over my chest, "well, it . . . it worked, I suppose, plan B, that is. So it wasn't the worst of plans as far as plans go." I shifted my eyes away from him, biting on my lip for a moment. "But what exactly is it you were trying to accomplish? Now that you're in front of me, what do you want, Grayson?" I cleared my throat, knowing the way my voice cracked on his name gave away my shaky emotions and the underlying hope I was trying so hard to deny.
"I want to tell you what I should have told you that day in my office if I'd been brave enough then, if I'd been strong enough then. I want to tell you that I trust you, and that I love you, and that I don't want to live my life without you. And I'm hoping you'll forgive me for pushing you away, for saying such cruel things to you, for lying, and I hope . . . I hope you can help me forgive myself. I'm sorry, I'm so very sorry." His voice was a raw ache and my heart leapt in my chest.
I tried to sort through all he'd just said, my mind gras
ping onto three in particular. "You . . . love me?" I asked, hope almost rendering me breathless.
I took a step toward him, but he held his hand up, halting me in my tracks. I blinked at him. And then tears sprung to my eyes when understanding dawned. He wanted to come to me. He did so, halting just a few steps from where I stood. A tremulous smile tilted up the corners of my lips.
"Yes," he said, "I love you so much I feel like an empty shell without you."
I bit my trembling lip. "And those things you said about being with other . . ." My voice trailed off, the brutal pain of that moment coming back to me and stealing the words.
"No," he rasped. "God, no. I said those things to hurt you like I thought you were hurting me." He closed his eyes, a look of shame passing over his handsome features. "I have been and always will be faithful to you—body, and also heart and soul. I made a vow and I intend to live by it."
I smiled on a small, gasping breath, attempting to hold back a sob, suddenly weak with relief. "I've been faithful to you, too. That day in Napa, I was only with Cooper because it was part of the plan, and he thought I still lived there. I had to find out what functions he'd be at. After that, I made excuses. I never went anywhere with him that night or any other."
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "I'm so sorry I ever doubted you."
I shook my head. "It looked bad, I know. I would have explained, but—"
"I was awful. Beyond awful."
I put my fingers to his lips, sniffling as I gazed at his face. "You were hurting."
He nodded, his expression pained and guilt-ridden.
"I thought for sure you'd serve me with divorce papers. You didn't take my father's deal?"
He shook his head. "No, I didn't. I'd rather starve."
I looked down. "Well, that's a convenient attitude because we still might. I don't know how long it will take to get the hold taken off my gram's money, or even if my father will still pursue that. He might—"
