As for Libby, all I can think about is my lips touching the rotgut wine she drank that night at the dark college bar.
It’s just another shock on top of all of the others today.
Over the eyes of the casket, I take in her devastated face that’s bravely trying to hold back tears while she comforts an older man who’s crying into a handkerchief. A man who looks to be about my age has his arms wrapped around the infamous Sydney in his lap while a pretty blonde lays her head on his shoulder. His other arm is curled around a tearful older woman. Next to them is Sam, proudly wearing the velvet hat and holding his mother’s hand while his father’s—Libby’s uncle—head is bowed. I recognize them from the pictures Sam showed me on the flight back to the States.
And suddenly it makes sense. To Libby, to Sam, this woman wasn’t Dahlia Akin. She was just Nonna.
The grief that permeates the air as a result is as strong as the scent of the flowers around the casket. And just as beautiful.
* * *
Akin Hill, located on a bluff running alongside the Cooper River, is a working plantation used not only for timber milling but for exquisitely handcrafted furniture sought after all over the world. It’s here that Dahlia Akin, matriarch to the logging company that spans back generations, is now buried among relatives that fought in the Civil War. Or, as the preacher jokes, “The War of Northern Aggression,” earning an equal amount of laughter and groans alike.
It’s here in the graveyard that rests in the shade of the duck pond I walk up and lay the bouquet of sunflowers for a woman I never met but one I’ve heard about on many a dark night from Sam. She helped influence not only him, but the woman whose smile on a normal day is brighter than the flowers now resting at the base of her casket.
Libby, who’s sitting in the front row with whom I assume are her parents, turns surprised, angry wet eyes on me when I stand back to my full height. I guess her young cousin didn’t go running to her when she left me and Sam earlier.
After devouring my fair share of a low country boil, Sam slaps a slab of cake in front of me. I pry my eyes off Libby’s demure beauty as she wanders between the tables amid the trees, greeting the family and friends who are celebrating in the way Dahlia Akin expressed she wanted to: with love, laughter, and “a good ole Southern picnic.” Sam explained once we sat down at a table overflowing with seafood, boiled new potatoes, and corn, “Nonna didn’t stand on ceremony with anyone. It’s what made her so beloved. Most people spend their whole lives trying to be like her, and not because of this.” He waved his hand that was holding a pimento cheese and ham sandwich to encompass the grand property we were standing on where everyone mingled while waiting for dinner to be served.
I take an enormous bite of the cake. “Jesus Christ, this is good.”
Sam nods while shoving in his own forkful. “That’s why I ran when they said dessert was ready. Libby made it. It was Nonna’s specialty; no one can make it like either of them.”
If I had any doubt before I was going to try to fight for the only person capable of bringing a smile to my heart with nothing but a thought, this cake sealed the deal—at least for my stomach. Shoving in another bite, the cream and pecans melt together on my tongue. “What’s in this, exactly?”
“Butter.”
Arching a brow, I mutter, “And now I know why you’re not our cook when we’re deployed.”
“I’m not kidding, Cal. Nonna used to say her coconut pecan cake has a ‘Southern amount of butter.’”
“How much is that exactly?”
“Don’t ask. Just eat it and accept you’ll work it off later.”
Taking his advice, I shove in another bite and let out a small moan of pleasure. Then I ask a question I never would have under different circumstances. “What made you join us, Sam?”
I know we can’t be overheard; there’s too much laughter for that. Stories are being told on top of stories. A couple of people even pulled out a few instruments—shit, is that a banjo? —and a few people are dancing in the late-afternoon sun. I’m surrounded by people who have no idea of the darkness that lingers beyond their reach and the fact it’s my job to protect them from it.
But it’s the men who stand to brush their lips across Libby—trying to brand what I’ve instinctively claimed as mine—that causes my jaw to clench. I haven’t failed at a mission yet, and the one to win Elizabeth Akin’s heart may be the one I give everything in to. She’s never going to know what hit her when I go after her with my charm, my mind, and what’s left of my soul.
If I have a heart, well, it may be up to her to find it. I think she might be the only one who can.
I tune back into what Sam’s saying. “I knew you were recruiting Iris,” he admits.
I’m shocked. “You’re kidding!” Iris Cunningham, Libby’s best friend, is our linguistics specialist and is often sent in on undercover assignments. On top of which, she has earned herself an irreplaceable spot on the team as our “little sister.”
All except for Sam, who’s fallen irrevocably in love with her starting with that long-ago dinner on her birthday their senior year in college. Fortunately, the feeling’s returned. Her heartbreak at not being able to be here for both her lover and her best friend is making her a crazy-ass bitch, I think. Not for the first time since I jumped on the flight yesterday am I glad we weren’t on the same assignment when we got the news. Her handler said she’s cursing everyone in the six languages she knows. “She’s devastated, Cal. There’s just no way to pull her out to be there without jeopardizing the mission.”
“Keep her in,” I ordered, cruelly. But I was the one who had to face a tearful Sam and break the news to him.
He understood; after all, they both knew what they were signing up for when they joined Alliance.
“Even though I wish she was here, I’m glad you are.”
I get a little choked up. “Thanks, Sam.” Before him, I can’t say I really had a friend. Acquaintances, sure. But Sam might be my first friend. Of course, I wasn’t leaving him to come back to this alone.
A small smile flirts with Sam’s lips. “You know, Iris is so much like you it’s scary. If it weren’t for the fact you have a dick, I’m not sure which of you I’d have fallen for.”
“You’re such a douche,” I laugh in his face. I take another bite of cake just as I hear behind me, “You’re only just recognizing this? Tsk, tsk. And here I thought Sam presented those traits much earlier than now. Maybe around birth?” The voice is smooth as honey.
I don’t have to guess the owner as only one woman’s voice has ever caused chills to race down my spine. “Libby.” I stand to face her.
No more than a foot separates us, but the distance on her face means it could be miles. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Now that I’m close enough to touch her, those words sound so lame in face of the devastation I can clearly read on her face. I reach out to touch her hand, and worry makes the delicious cake I ate curdle in my stomach when I feel how cold her skin is. “I’m here for anything you need. Anything.” And I find myself meaning it. If Libby only wants to use my shoulder to cry out the emotions running through her like a virus, then I’ll be there for every tear.
I don’t understand what it is that makes me want to fix the world so she’ll smile in it.
Stepping back so my hand drops, Libby’s dead voice says, “Don’t say something unless you mean it, Cal. I’m all too familiar with men saying pretty words and then not following up on them.”
Her words are like a well-aimed kick when sparring. I feel like dropping to my knees and begging for forgiveness for breaking our date years ago. “Libby…” I start, but she turns toward Sam.
“Your parents are wondering if you plan on mingling with any of the family. Your friend is certainly welcome to join you.” Without another word to either of us, Libby glides away. The black she’s wearing makes her look pale and aloof, untouchable. There’s no laughter in her face.
“I guess I wouldn’t either if I’d
just lost someone I love,” I mutter aloud.
“What?” Sam asks. His face, filled with humor before, is much more solemn.
“Laugh. Libby looks…haunted.”
Sam looks stunned for a moment before he shakes his head. “Cal, I don’t know how to tell you this.”
Frowning, I face him. “Tell me what?”
“That is Libby. Or I should say, Elizabeth. No one but her parents and Iris get away with calling her Libby anymore. Not even me. The girl you knew from college is long gone. Over the last few years, she’s closed up.” Sam sighs as I gape at the back of the cool, elegant woman greeting another table of people before moving on. “One time I was home in between missions. She wasn’t supposed to tell me, but Iris said Mom and Aunt Natalie speculated if it was because of her engagement gone bad.”
I almost fall back and land on my ass in the green grass. “She was engaged?”
Sam sneers, his lip curling. “Yes. For a few months. Her brother and I hated him from the minute we first met him. Turns out we had reason to.”
I’ve never met the dick and I want to kill him. “What happened to him?’
Sam uses his fork to point to the man who’s stopped Libby with his arm wrapped around another woman—one whose coloring is a lot like Sam’s. “He works for Akin Timbers. And the woman he cheated on her with is a cousin. It’s only at events like this she acknowledges either of them.” He lets out a rough sigh.
Libby brushes by them without a word, but I can’t help but notice the man’s eyes admiring her ass. “Let me kill him,” I hiss.
“If I thought it would bring our Libby back, I would. She’s so closed up, the only person she ever really talked to about it all was Nonna.” He shakes his head. “I thought I was closer to Libby than anyone—even Josh—but I haven’t been able to figure it out. She’s shut me out.”
But in my mind’s eye, I recall Libby’s mini-me stomping on my foot in the driveway. “Boys aren’t supposed to make you cry.” Then there was the look on her face when I put the flowers on the grave out of respect. And intuitively, I know something about her metamorphosis has something to do with me
What could I have done? We never even had a first date. Quickly, I replay all of our interactions until my body gets tight. “Maybe when you get back, I’ll need some new sunflowers.”
And in three years, I never once made contact, nothing, despite the tangible connection between us. Not even a hello. I wanted to—God, how I wanted to—but it wasn’t long after I left that I realized that Libby wasn’t meant for the life I was leading. And I couldn’t just go leaving her to constantly wonder and wait. So, I stayed away even though it just brought more darkness down around me. As for Libby? Well, she probably thought she was a game, and with her tender heart, she barely decided to try again when she was betrayed. It was likely made worse every time Sam came home from a “business” trip, since he’d likely mentioned my name. Groaning aloud, I realize it likely would have been like salt poured into an open wound when Libby saw Iris. There’s not a doubt in my mind Libby would have heard about the three of us working together at Alliance. Fuck.
“I think I know how to fix this.” I hope.
Sam gapes at me like I’ve grown two heads. I’m not perturbed as I’ve seen the look numerous times during mission planning. “You do realize I’ve tried everything to break through to her, right? And that I love her more than I love my own sisters?” Then as an aside he mutters, “Shit, I need to be careful about saying crap like that here. Sure as hell, it will get back to them.”
I’d laugh at his predicament if the one I was facing myself wasn’t so damn dire. “I need to find time to talk with Libby.”
Sam laughs. “Good luck with that. Every time your name’s come up, she’s…” Dawning realization crosses his face. “Son of a bitch, what did you do to hurt her?”
“Nothing. And that’s the problem. I made a promise and then stupidly broke it.”
“What kind of promise?” he asks suspiciously.
I let out a measured breath. “To talk to her. All she wanted me to do was talk to her.”
Sam’s about to say something when we hear a crying screech of “Aunt Libby!” Sydney goes running across the yard. Libby immediately drops to her knees, and Sydney crashes into her arms. The younger girl starts talking animatedly before pointing at her elbow, which clearly has a long scrape on it. Libby’s face softens. She leans forward and kisses Sydney’s wet cheek and then the hurt arm. Standing back up, she guides the little girl to the main house like a protective mother.
And in that moment, I realize how badly I fucked up because I just saw a vision of my future walk away from me.
I need to figure out a way to fix things between us and quickly.
11
Present Day
Elizabeth
“How did he get you to talk with him?” Dr. Powell asks.
I shoot him a look. “This is Calhoun Sullivan we’re talking about. The man doesn’t understand the meaning of the word defeat, Doctor. Cal does what he does best: he planned a strategic attack and executed it.”
We both laugh at my wry acceptance of my husband’s skills. Still chuckling, he asks, “What do you mean?”
“Cal saw me go into the house with Sydney. He figured there would be few, if any, people inside. So—” I shake my head in bemusement at the memory. “—he followed me. What he didn’t count on was what he found.”
“Oh?”
I hesitate because it’s difficult to explain. “I have always been Elizabeth Dahlia Akin. Nonna said I kept my emotions locked inside except for those people I cared about. Libby is who I’m comfortable becoming when people are allowed to get close to me. At college, I was different because I didn’t have the chance to throw up those shields; Iris wouldn’t let me.” For just a moment, the reality of everything of those horrid months before the Sea Force comes rushing back: Cal, Iris, Sam. “So, Nonna knew I had the tendency to pull back emotionally to protect myself, but my family—” I shake my head. “—they’d just never witnessed it. Until my broken engagement. And those years when Sam and Iris kept bringing up Cal’s name. They had no idea I was hurting because day after day I was waiting for a silly little email.”
“It isn’t silly if it was a promise broken,” Dr. Powell points out logically.
“It seems silly now in light of everything else.” We’re both quiet for a moment. I close my eyes for just a second before continuing. “Anyway, Cal followed me and Sydney into the kitchen.”
“Then what happened?”
12
Elizabeth
Twelve Years Ago from Present Day
“Any better?” I’ve already cleaned and covered the scrape on Sydney’s arm with three Band-Aids since three is her favorite number. Pressing a kiss to the wound, I meet eyes the same exact shade as my own. They’re Nonna’s eyes passed down to another female in our family. Mine fill with tears over my heartbreak knowing Sydney will never hear the stories Nonna shared with me as I grew from a girl her age with skinned knees as I tumbled over the roots of the trees running around the farm, like she did, to the comfort she offered me as a woman when a hopeful heart began to wither as day after day passed with nothing from a man who offered me flowers that seemed to promise me everything.
“Yes, Aunt Libby. Thank you.” Sydney leans into me. “What about you?”
I hug her tightly. “Do you mean about Nonna?” At her nod, I go on. “It’s going to hurt for a long time.”
“Like it did about that man? Did he tell you I stomped on his foot?”
I pull back in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“I heard you talking to Nonna, Aunt Libby. When Sam introduced him, I stood up for you—the same way you’re always standing up for me.”
“Oh, Syd.” I pull my brother’s daughter against my heart again and let her love flow over me. “There was no need to do that.”
“He made you cry.” Her small little arms try to wrap around me. �
��I didn’t mean to, but I heard you tell Nonna.”
“I wish I’d known that, baby. I would have tried to explain.” But what would I have said? That I didn’t cry over Calhoun Sullivan? Because that would have been a lie. And I don’t lie. Not ever.
I was the foolish girl who pinned happiness on nothing but mismanaged dreams. And as months passed without a word, I made excuses: he was busy, he wasn’t settled. But when Iris came home talking about the business venture she was now involved in with Cal, I’d gone down to the river and sat as the water rippled past. I knew the last part of my girlish dreams were gone. There was something wrong with me.
Then I met Kyle. After the way that ended, I encased my heart in stone. Or so I thought. It was then I went to Nonna and cried.
Her words ring clearly through me. “Libby, there’s more to the woman you are inside than falling in love with a man. There’s a person deep in you that you haven’t found yet. Find her, and then you won’t be able to escape love—no matter how hard you try.”
Sniffling into a hankie she’d handed me, I whispered, “Why do you think that?”
“Because watching you pretend you’re okay is like watching myself all over again when I fell in love with your grandfather.” Nonna’s wrinkled hand cupped my cheek. “You already know who you are without him; now go find out who you are for yourself.”
So, I have. I’m just not sure I’m used to it yet.
Opening up my design studio a year ago in downtown Charleston was a huge step for me. The first person I brought through the storefront was Nonna. She was railing at me all the way into town because I wouldn’t take a dime from her. “Libby, I said find who you are, not to deny your heritage. Why on earth would you take a loan from a bank?”
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