Liars Like Us

by Mary Campisi

  When Rogan moved toward him, Tate stepped back, out of punching distance. “It’s temporary.” He could tell him about the pear-shaped diamond ring waiting at the jeweler’s or the meeting he’d scheduled with the builder next week. But Charlotte deserved to know before her overprotective brother, and besides, Tate enjoyed a certain amount of satisfaction watching the guy get all riled up.

  “Temporary?”

  Oh, yeah, the guy was riled up. Tate studied his beer bottle, nodded. “Right.”

  “Do you mean the housing situation or my sister?”

  “Definitely the housing situation.” He slid a look at Rogan. “Definitely not your sister.”

  “So, you really do love her.”

  It was more question than statement, and that annoyed him. “Of course, I love her. Why would you even ask that question?”

  Rogan shrugged. “She’s my baby sister, and I don’t want to see her get hurt.” He paused, dropped the zinger on him. “Again.”

  “Neither do I,” Tate spat out. This was the part of close families he didn’t like; there was always a pain-in-the-butt relative tossing out sarcastic comments.

  “Good.” Rogan finished his beer, set it on the end table. “So, do you have any details yet?”

  “Details?” The guy sure asked a lot of questions, most of them none of his business.

  “You know…the ring, the dress, the happily-ever-after stuff.” Before Tate could respond, he added, “Charlotte’s surprising us all with her patience, but remember, she’s still Charlotte.” Rogan’s lips twitched. “I hope you like fireworks because when she explodes, it’s definitely the fourth of July.”

  Tate laughed. “Actually, I’ve witnessed that once or twice.”

  “Yeah, well, good luck. I love my little sister, but I could do without the theatrics.” He rubbed his jaw, studied Tate. “She does seem calmer lately, and she’s not talking about job-hopping, or maxing out her credit card. I think you might actually be good for her.” He shook his head, muttered, “Who would have ever thought…”

  “Thanks. She’s good for me, too.” Tate lowered his voice, leaned closer, and said, “And about the details? They’re in the works. Give it a few days and you’ll hear all about it.”

  Charlotte tied the ribbon on the last gift and placed it under the tree. Christmas Eve had always been a big deal in the Donovan household. It was about tradition, family, and food, all rolled up into the memories they created, year after year. The memories had changed with the passing of her father and the infrequent visits of her brother Luke, but this year, the memory-making would sparkle with hope and new additions to the Donovan clan.

  This year, Elizabeth would join the family, and by next Christmas, there’d be a stocking for baby Donovan hanging on the banister. And if Charlotte’s wish came true, she and Tate would be married. There’d still been no talk of long-term, but surely he wouldn’t spend so much time with her or her family if he had no intention of marriage.

  Would he?

  This uncertainty was what she didn’t like. How could a person plan anything, if she didn’t know where she stood with the most important person in her world? She let out a long sigh, made her way to the kitchen to help her mother with the appetizers. Maybe that was the point in this grown-up relationship business. If you loved someone, you didn’t try to force actions or feelings; you accepted them and learned to be okay with them. Another sigh. She guessed she had a lot of accepting to do.

  “There you are, dear.” Rose placed a meat and cheese tray on the counter, smiled at her. “I expect Rogan and Elizabeth will be here soon. Not sure about Oliver. I guess it depends on when his lady friend and her daughter are ready.”

  She meant Jennifer Merrick, and her daughter, Hope. “I can’t wait to see them together. It’s about time Oliver admits he’s got a thing for Jennifer.”

  “I should say.” Her mother laughed. “The whole town’s talking about how much time the two of them have been spending together, and how he accompanied her to her home in the Catskills. Plus, I heard from a very reliable source that they went to dinner, alone, at The Oak Table last week.”

  “Mom, people can eat dinner together without being together.” Charlotte nibbled on a cracker, snatched a piece of cheese from the tray, and broke it in half. “But you can tell he’s crazy about her by the way his voice goes all soft and gooey when he mentions her name. And I think he might have blushed a time or two, but it’s hard to tell with him.”

  “Well, they both deserve to be happy, and I think it’s wonderful.” She stuffed her hands into oven mitts and opened the oven door. “Pork tenderloin was always your father’s favorite.”

  The aroma reached Charlotte, made her think of past Christmas Eves. “I miss, Dad. I wish he were here.”

  Her mother closed the oven door, straightened, and removed the mitts. “I know, dear. There was only one Jonathan Donovan and life will never be the same without him, but he’s watching, no doubt about that.” She glanced at the ceiling, nodded. “I know he’s happy about you and your young man.” Her voice filled with emotion when she added, “He’s perfect for you, sweetheart.”

  “I think so, too.” Tate calmed her, made her see that life didn’t have to be viewed from a kaleidoscope of busyness and chatter. Or judgment. And she’d given him the one gift she’d never given any other man—her love.

  “Camille’s the one I’m worried about.” Her mother tsk-tsked as she trimmed the asparagus spears, set them aside. “Why that fool husband of hers would prance around town with a woman younger than his own daughter is beyond me. And to tell his children their mother was the one who wanted the divorce, and then advise them not to come home for the holidays due to Camille’s emotional imbalance?” She glanced up from the asparagus, frowned. “What kind of man would do that?”

  The kind who would lie to protect himself. “I give Camille a lot of credit for dumping him, but she should have done it ten years ago. Maybe twenty.” Didn’t she hear he’d started cheating before their first anniversary?

  “It’s easy to say what a person should do when you’re on the outside. But marriage is tricky, and ending one is the death of a dream. I’ve known quite a few people who stayed married because they couldn’t face the failure, or they feared they’d be alone.”

  Charlotte stared at her mother. “Are you saying some people would rather stay in a bad marriage than be alone?”

  “I’m saying it’s not as easy as packing a suitcase and changing an address.” Her voice drifted, turned soft and sad. “It can be heartbreaking, and I think Camille is realizing that. She needs family by her side, because it’s family who help a person get through the tough times.”

  “But it should be her children, too. Do you think Tate should talk to them?”

  Rose shook her head. “Camille spent her entire life shielding Victoria and Simon from even a sniff of unpleasantness. How can she expect them to understand or accept what’s happening? Tate might be able to help them, if he’s so inclined, but my guess is, it will take their father’s philandering ways and their mother’s resolve to slap them in the face before they understand life can’t be lived in a bubble.”

  “So, I guess it’s up to us to help Camille?”

  “I guess it is,” her mother said, her eyes wet.

  “Hey, this is no way to celebrate Christmas Eve.” Charlotte squeezed her mother’s hand. “We’re going to have a baby in the family, and Rogan’s finally happy.” She grinned. “Rogan being happy is miracle enough, but a baby? Who could ask for more?”

  “You’re happy, too. After all these years, you’ve found a man who lights up your world.” Her next words burst with joy. “And I don’t think it will be long before there’s another wedding and a baby.”

  Charlotte opened her mouth to comment about patience and living in the moment when the doorbell rang. It had to be Tate because Oliver and Camille never used the doorbell. “I told Tate he didn’t have to ring the darn thing…” She rushed to the d
oor, anxious to see him. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t spent the morning with him, but still…she missed him.

  And maybe that was another part of what love was all about.

  She opened the door and gasped. Tate stood on the other side, silver eyes twinkling, his smile wide. “Merry Christmas. Meet Winston.” He handed her the leash and the golden retriever attached to it followed.

  “He’s beautiful!” Charlotte hugged Tate, and then proceeded to hug the dog. “Hello, Handsome.” She ran her fingers through the animal’s fur, murmured, “You are so soft.” Another hug, a kiss on the dog’s forehead, and a barrage of questions. “Where did you get him? How old is he? Do you know what kind of food he eats?” Charlotte sat on the floor next to Winston, wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “This is the most perfect Christmas gift ever.”

  Tate leaned toward her for a kiss. “Oliver helped me. I had no idea the man knew so much about dogs. He knows a lot about everything, but he’s so quiet, you’d never guess. Winston is three, and I got him from a family about twenty miles away who was getting transferred to London. The man bought a few records from Oliver two weeks ago, and when he spotted his dog, he asked if Oliver knew of anyone who might want a golden retriever.”

  “That is so sad.” She buried her face in the dog’s coat, hugged him. “Poor thing.”

  “I asked Rose if she minded another boarder for a while, and she was all for it.” He tucked a lock of hair behind Charlotte’s ear, stroked her cheek. “I couldn’t wait to bring him home.”

  Home. She liked the sound of that, especially when Tate said it. “Thank you. I can’t think of anything that could make me happier.”

  Another kiss, followed by a gentle “Maybe one thing.” He gripped Winston’s collar, untied the velvet pouch attached to it, and handed it to her. “Open it.”

  She sucked in tiny breaths as she untied the pouch and removed a pear-shaped diamond ring. It was beautiful…perfect. Like him. “Oh, Tate.”

  He slid the ring on her finger, kissed her palm. “I love you, Charlotte Adelaide Donovan. You live in my soul, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” His voice cracked, split open with emotion. “Marry me, make me the happiest man alive.”

  She touched his cheek, leaned forward, and placed a soft kiss on his lips. “I have loved you for so long.” Another kiss, this one mixed with tears. “And I will love you until I draw my last breath.”

  He pulled back, swiped her cheeks with his fingers. “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes.” She threw her arms around his neck, held him close. “Absolutely yes!”

  Chapter 18

  Three weeks later—Downtown Chicago

  * * *

  Tate’s wife of one day traced the ring on his left finger, said in a soft voice, “You have got to stop spoiling me.”

  She meant the red-sequined dress he’d given her an hour ago. It resembled the gown she’d found in Meredith’s closet, but this one was knee-length and not two sizes too small. It looked perfect on her and would look even more perfect later when he unzipped it and tossed it aside. “I like giving you things.” He slid her a smile. “Didn’t you like your present at the hotel this afternoon?”

  The blush on her cheeks said she knew he meant the pleasure he’d given her in bed—twice. Oh, she’d liked it all right; he could tell by the moans and sighs.

  Charlotte squirmed, cleared her throat, and said, “Stop.”

  “Okay, I’ll save the sex talk for later.” He eased an arm around her shoulder, pulled her against him, and whispered, “You know I only bought this dress so I could watch you take it off.”

  She laughed. “Well, I only accepted it so I could tease you when I took it off.”

  He nibbled her ear. “You are pure torture, Mrs. Alexander.”

  His new wife slid her hand along his thigh. “And you are pure pleasure, Mr. Alexander.”

  Tate clamped a hand on hers. “Keep that up, and you won’t get dinner.”

  She turned, held his gaze. “No?”

  “No. No dinner.” It was his turn to slide a hand along her thigh toward the slit in her dress.

  She batted his hand away, laughed. “I am not going to miss lobster ravioli, not even for…” she stumbled, finished with “I guess I could miss it, but I’d rather not.”

  It was his turn to laugh. Would his wife ever stop bringing him such joy? They’d exchanged vows yesterday at the courthouse with Rose, Camille, and Astrid as witnesses. Nobody else knew they were married, and they’d have to confess soon enough, but for the next three days, they were simply Mr. and Mrs. Tate Alexander, newlyweds.

  Charlotte had asked to visit Chicago and stay in the hotel where they’d first made love. While the memory of that night still lingered, so did the remorse he felt over not having the brains or the guts to call her and admit he needed to see her again. Some men were idiots until they almost lost the love of their life. Then they woke up and learned and didn’t make the same mistake twice. He was never going to take the love of his life for granted again.

  “What do you think your brother will say when he finds out we’re married?” The guy would have a few comments, no doubt peppered with jabs, but one of these days, he’d realize Tate was not going away, so he might as well get used to it.

  “Rogan? He’ll get protective, tell you how you stole his chance to walk me down the aisle, and then I’ll ask him how this is any different from what he did with Elizabeth.” She shrugged, lifted her wine glass. “I kind of wished he could have been there, but I couldn’t risk him trying to talk me out of it. I hope he understands.”

  “Yeah. I hope so, too.” Tate had wanted to invite Rogan and Elizabeth, and Oliver, too, but Charlotte had rejected the idea. “But you’re okay with a small get-together to tell everyone we’re married?”

  She raised a brow. “How small is small?”

  “Small. Maybe fifty.”

  “Tate—”

  “Twenty-five?” His wife nodded and gifted him with a smile. It would take a while to understand her perspective, especially in relation to size and space. For instance, they’d started talking about the plans for the new house he wanted to build on the outskirts of town. He thought 4000 square feet, six bedrooms, a four-car garage, and a swimming pool were reasonable. It was a lot smaller than the house where he’d grown up, but Charlotte didn’t agree. She did, however, admit they could and should negotiate. Life with his new bride would be a series of negotiations, and he wondered what she’d say about the real honeymoon he’d planned for her in Hawaii next month? Somehow, he didn’t think she’d mind.

  Tate leaned back in the booth and sipped his scotch. Their lobster ravioli should be out soon, and while he knew it would be delicious, he was already thinking past the main menu. “Will you want dessert?” If she said no, they could be back in their room in less than two hours, and he could unzip the red-sequin dress…

  “Of course, I want dessert, silly.” She brushed a kiss along his jaw, whispered, “He’s tall, dark-haired, and has an exquisite body. I call him my husband.”

  Epilogue

  Rose sipped her tea, settled back in her recliner, and closed her eyes. Dean Martin’s “Everybody Loves Somebody” played in the background. Oh, what a lovely holiday it had been. The new year brought even more bright promises. How she wished Jonathan could be here to see his children settled, a new grandbaby on the way, another child married. Charlotte and Tate had looked so happy, so in love as they’d exchanged vows, and it hadn’t bothered either of them that there was not a fancy wedding or four hundred witnesses. All that mattered was their love for one another and their commitment to share their lives.

  She’d always known Tate Alexander was special and should not be judged by his father or his grandfather. Perhaps Charlotte had discovered that long before the Donovans had, and that’s why she’d given her heart to him. Rogan would no doubt have a comment or two, though she wondered if his dislike of Tate was waning, replaced with a grudging admiration for
the man’s determination and commitment to Charlotte. Rogan would certainly have his hands full in the coming months with a wife and a baby, and it would leave little time to keep track of his sister.

  Charlotte was growing up, settling down, and her new husband was a big part of that. A soft snore made Rose blink her eyes open and smile. Winston lay in his bed, stretched out, peaceful. She’d grown used to having him in the house, and while she hated to admit it and might never say it aloud, she was going to miss the animal when Tate and Charlotte moved into their new home. And oh, what a home it would be…

  Perhaps it would not be as majestic or outlandish as the Alexander residence, but it would be filled with class and style, and Tate had assured her there would be a mother-in-law suite for whenever she wanted. Interesting, that the offer had come from her son-in-law and not her daughter. It was one more sign of Tate’s generosity and another example of how very different he was from his father.

  Rose could almost convince herself that her past duplicity was well served. Yes, she’d orchestrated a few lies and a bit of deceit, but was it so wrong if the actions brought Rogan, Charlotte, and Luke into the world? Would Jonathan not have forgiven her if he knew the lies would bring him three children he loved? She’d never been strong enough to find out, had feared the truth would destroy them. Guilt had plagued her their entire marriage, plagued her still, but she could find small amounts of solace knowing they’d raised good and decent children who’d found love. At least, Rogan and Charlotte had; Luke was the only one left. Always the wanderer, the reckless one more interested in a dare than a compromise. So unlike Jonathan and Rogan, and that had created problems between the brothers.

  If only her son could find his way. She worried about him, worried for him. Would he ever find love or happiness? Luke called her once a month from wherever he was, doing whatever it was he did…none of which was ever clear.