Virtuous Deception 2

by Leiann B. Wrytes

  Chapter 6

  Sophie thought about the events of Monday night as she sat on a stool, sipping on a glass of freshly-squeezed lemonade. Things had gone from sugar to shit in the blink of an eye. It did not go at all as she had intended. It should have been a nice, respectable evening for their family, but it quickly turned into a scene from a Love & Hip Hop reunion show, complete with the hostile surprise guest.

  Given all the sticking-and-moving her husband had done, a child was merely a mathematical inevitability. Though Sophie was not expecting Charlie, that child came as no surprise. In fact, twenty-eight thousand dollars less in her bank account warned her of the probability. It was money well spent, in her opinion. Michelle’s behavior, on the other hand, was not something Sophie had been prepared to manage. She was not acting like herself at all. Sophie cringed knowing that her decisions—some directly, others indirectly—were the root cause.

  She fought back the tears, seeking release as she gazed out of the large bay windows behind the kitchen sink. Michelle had left her phone calls unanswered. A new day loomed around the corner, marking the passing of day three since the incident, and Sophie wanted some assurances that Michelle was okay. She could only imagine how painful it must have been to be confronted with her father’s philandering in such a public manner.

  Brianna’s frequent calls, though welcomed and needed, did not replace the ones from Michelle she sorely missed. Her soul ached for the undertones of her voice. Taking hold of her drink, she placed her feet on the tiled floor, got down from the bar stool, and proceeded down the hall into the den. The spaces of the newly bare walls haunted her as she passed through. Gone were the frames that once held the memories of her lengthy marriage to Lewis. They were packed in a box, awaiting the furnace. A similar fate was intended for the man himself. Arrangements had been made, and it was only a matter of time before she could be completely free of Lewis once and for all.

  Thinking about him made her flesh crawl. Even in death, Lewis prevented her from doing as she pleased. Stepping onto the dark hardwood floor of the den, Sophie smiled as its icy surface tickled the soles of her feet. She took her time walking to her coveted lazy-Suzan in the corner of the room, angled near the window, allowing the cool to travel up to her mind, forcing her to relax. She slouched into the seat, gently placed her drink on the small table beside her, and reclined in her chair. She focused on the chirping of the grasshoppers, rioting just beyond the window sill. The quiet sounds of a peaceful country night provided the deep spiritual massage Sophie so desperately needed.

  She sat, basking in the silence, until her landline began to sing, interrupting her quiet. Thinking that perhaps it was Michelle calling, she excitedly grabbed the cordless off the small stand within arm’s reach, nearly knocking her drink to the ground.

  “Hello?”

  “Sophie Lucille Freemont.”

  Slightly distracted by the ruckus she’d created, Sophie did not hear the caller immediately. “I’m sorry. Hello? Who is this?”

  “Luce, it’s me.” The pleasant tenor, sprinkled with a few years of sleepless nights, serenaded Sophie through the receiver. She no longer needed to ask to whom the voice belonged. The lump in her throat and the clattering of her knees cemented her knowing. “I have missed you.”

  “Peter Ray Baxter!” Sophie’s voice filled with glee. “I can hardly believe it’s you. How did you find me? How did you get this number?”

  Dr. Baxter cleared his throat, hesitant to share the details with her. “It was no simple task, but simply hearing your voice made it all worth it. It still warms my heart after all these years.”

  Momentarily removing the cordless phone from her ear and placing it close to her chest, she took a deep breath. Her nerves were on high alert. The mere sound of his voice sent her heart into a frenzy. Clearly, the love she once reserved for him still abided within her; it was still there to give.

  “Peter, this is such a surprise. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say that I may come over, Ms. Freemont.”

  “Please. I mean, of course. I would love to have you come visit. Just . . .”

  “Right now.”

  Sophie laughed uncomfortably. “Now?”

  “Yes, now! I need to see you, Luce.”

  Postponing their meeting seemed to be the most viable option for Sophie. Her mind wandered in search of an answer to delay their reunion, longing to say anything but the resounding yes pounding against her lips in rhythm with the quick tempo of her heart.

  “This is really sudden. I . . .”

  “Luce, don’t push me away again.”

  “I am not pushing you away.” Her defenses rose, and the phrase came out much harsher than she had intended. Peter’s presence would be a welcomed change, but she was not certain of what their rusted union meant for her current situation. How would he fit into everything?

  “Don’t try and lie to me. That was something you never did very well. I need you to give me your address. Whatever that is . . . your hesitance . . . we can discuss it in person. Don’t I deserve that much?”

  “Peter, that was over twenty years ago.” The statement rolled clumsily off her tongue like bits of rock down a jagged hill. “I have moved on.”

  “No, you haven’t. You just moved. There is a difference, and I think you know that.”

  Sighing heavily, Sophie resigned to give in to his request. The hurt in his voice anchored her decision, making it impossible to dismiss him. In the wake of her seemingly endless list of questionable choices, Sophie did not want to add to it, but perhaps this would work out for both of them.

  “Fifty-six seventy-seven Wimbledon Lane.”

  “I am on my way.”

  Sophie held the phone in her hand until it beeped excessively, alerting her that the line was clear. Peter Baxter was on his way to her home. She wondered how time had changed things, if he would accept the explanation she had to give him, and if she would have the answers to his questions.

  Ding Dong.

  Puzzled, Sophie got up to answer the door. She had figured she would have at least thirty minutes to prepare for his arrival, but barely five minutes had passed. Oh, well. She was ready to see him.

  “Who is it?” Sophie questioned as she neared the door, but there was no response. She thought it strange but opened the door anyway—an act that she instantly regretted.

  “Charlie.”

  “Ms. Lewis. Or should I say Sophie Freemont?”

  Turning her body to the side, Sophie motioned for Charlie to enter with her arm. “I don’t have a lot of time. What can I do for you?”

  Charlie shuffled down the hall and into the den where their last meeting had taken place. Bracing herself with one hand on the back of the couch, she made the slow drop to the cushion.

  “I want what is owed to my son.”

  “Don’t get comfortable. As I stated before, I don’t have time for you.”

  “Ah, see, what you said was that you don’t have a lot of time.” Charlie fluffed the throw pillow, tucking it under her arm as a rest. “I don’t need a lot of time.”

  The Louis Vuitton knock-off bag gracing her arm, large plastic hoop earrings, and the facial MAC overkill helped Sophie to deduce Charlie’s angle within seconds. It was one of the few skills she’d acquired during her time with Lewis. The wardrobe was a drastic change from the designer threads she had worn in the days prior.

  “Charlene, I am trying to be civil and adult about this, but you are making that exceedingly difficult.”

  Charlie laughed, her round belly jiggling a bit from the movement. “Civil? Is that what you call siccing the Bella Twins on me?”

  “Why are you here? This is twice now that you have come to my home uninvited.”

  “I thought you were trying to back out of our deal. Made my own play.”

  “Planning is not your strong point. Leave that to me. I did not know that you, Charlie, were the Charlene that our mutual friend and I had discussed.”

 
; “Well, now you know.”

  Sophie smirked at the remark. “How do you know Michael?”

  “Who?”

  “Mike. How do you know Mike?”

  “Why?”

  Sophie wanted to piece this puzzle together. She could not figure out how Charlie had come to be at her house that day. The only person she had told about the reading, aside from the girls, was Michael, but she hadn’t realized that Charlie and Charlene were the same person.

  “Curious.”

  “He saw Lewis roughing me up once, and . . .” Charlie rubbed her neck, remembering how Lewis had nearly strangled her to death. “He consoled me after.”

  Sophie reflected on her own bout with Lewis. “He was a volatile bastard.”

  “How do you know him?” Charlie smirked, raising her brow. “Is it a biblical connection?”

  Sophie knew Michael from her days at the Freemont Estate. He had been conceived during one of her campaign ploys for her father. Mr. Sterling’s contribution was the largest it had ever been that year, none of which was any of Charlie’s business.

  “It isn’t important.”

  Seeing that she was not going to get an answer, Charlie returned to her original question. “Why did you let your pit bulls attack me?”

  “That situation, as is your pregnancy, is your fault. You slid in where you did not belong.” Sophie had chosen to remain by the entrance, not fully entering the room, planting her feet near the door to emphasize the temporal nature of this visit.

  “Very funny, but it was your husband, Lewis, who should not have come . . . inside me, that is.” Rubbing her belly, she smiled. “This baby is my get-out-of-jail free card, my lottery ticket, insurance policy. Whatever you want to call him.”

  “Leave my house, Charlene, before I call the police.”

  “I need money, Freemont. Even if you don’t have it, I know Daddy does.”

  “So you can read? Where did you get that information, huh? Google? Did you Google me, Charlene? Aww . . .”

  The smile left Charlie’s face. Her body stiffened like a pair of jeans with too much starch, hard as cardboard.

  Sophie began her own recount, letting Charlie know she did not come unprepared. “Charlene Grae, daughter of Benjamin and Linda Grae, twelve sixty-seven Boggin Lane, Terre Haute, Indiana.”

  Charlie opened her mouth to speak, but Sophie raised her hand, silencing her for a moment longer. “They still live there with your youngest sister, Debra Nolani Grae, class of 2017.”

  “Fuck you, you uppity white bitch.”

  “That is completely unnecessary. It isn’t pleasant, is it? For someone to insert themselves into your life? To assume to know anything about your family? To threaten that family in any way.”

  “I wish you would.”

  “I promise that is the last thing in the world you want. I have the power to make wishes come true. That little tidbit is free, because I am positive it did not show up in the search results. Take it and go.”

  Charlie pulled herself up from the couch and walked toward Sophie. “This is not over.”

  Sophie shook her head dismissively. “I am not concerned with your shenanigans, your empty threats. This is my city. You are here because I am allowing you to stay, understand?”

  “What about our deal? I need that money.” Charlie’s voice squeaked with desperation. She had nothing with Lewis gone.

  “I paid what I agreed to. Don’t expect a penny more from me.”

  “But I don’t have anything else. That was not enough.” Charlie crossed the threshold of the front door, walking out into the mild sauna of the night. She turned around to face Sophie, who was now directly behind the door, preparing to close it. “If you don’t give me more, I will proceed with my claim for his share in the will.”

  “Charlene, I have been a lot of things, but stupid is not one of them. You will receive nothing more from the Lewis family, not even his damn name. If you think I am going to let you take anything away from my girls, think again. It will not happen.”

  “I’m getting what’s mine!” Charlie barked.

  Sophie laughed. “Take a look around you, Charlene. If you try this shit again, I’ll fill this big, beautiful yard with all of your dirty little secrets. Consider this warning an expression of Southern hospitality.” Slamming the door in her face, Sophie went to go freshen up for Peter’s arrival, leaving Charlie outside once again.

  Chapter 7

  The house was well over an hour away from his home in Allen, and he couldn’t get there fast enough. Time seemed to stand still as he sped down the highway. He imagined time had not done much to alter the beautiful blue-eyed young girl who stole his heart when he was seventeen.

  His vintage, metallic 1968 Camaro rode like a dream. He thought about their last night together. The knife he didn’t see coming had created a wound so deep it had yet to heal. The blame did not belong with his dear Sophie. No, the fault was his to shoulder.

  Peter, the product of a single-parent home, attended a very exclusive private school, where he had befriended his love. Attending the school via a scholarship, as opposed to his father’s checkbook, served to develop feelings of inadequacy. As a shy, awkward, scrawny kid with a part-time job that regularly prevented him from life outside of academia, Peter didn’t exactly garner any votes for class president. He often found himself at the painful end of too many jokes, causing him to be aloof and distance himself from his classmates.

  Sophie was different. Her warm and inviting spirit allowed him to be himself. He thrived in large part because of their friendship. Finding favor with her relieved the sting of the stigmatism resulting from his lifestyle. No one really bothered him after she accepted him. His love for her was genuine, steady, and unconditional.

  He worried about the backlash she suffered as a result of their relationship. Not everyone approved. Peter thought that perhaps if he could blend in more, fade into the high society crowd, that he could protect her from those unfavorable opinions. Conceivably, it was that thinking that led him to ask her father, the formidable Richard Freemont, for permission to marry his daughter. It seemed like the proper thing to do at the time, and he thought it would show the sincerity of his intent regarding Sophie, but the future mayor had scorned and rejected him. Peter’s lack of financial freedoms that the Freemonts enjoyed made him unworthy in her father’s eyes, but life had matured him. She was much too young, and he must have been out of his mind asking her father for permission. That was either really brave or really stupid. Something told him the latter was true.

  To this day, he couldn’t help but lean toward the theory that his gentlemanly gesture cost him Sophie. No words had been exchanged between them after that night, until now. However, his love for Sophie had not waned. If anything, it had grown stronger. With each failed relationship, he longed for her.

  The universe had answered his prayer the night he happened upon Brianna.

  Peter rolled into the circular driveway in front of Sophie’s home. His hands rattled the steering wheel. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs, settling his nerves. His heart was racing a mile a minute. He opened the glove box and grabbed his travel-size gel. After working up a good lather, using his hands, he restyled his hair in the rearview mirror. Satisfied, he got out of the car, closing the door to give himself a final inspection. He felt like that fifteen-year-old kid asking her to study for the first time, but he didn’t want to look like it. He curdled his nerves and walked to the door.

  There he stood, willing himself to ring the doorbell. What was the issue? A second chance with Sophie was exactly what he wanted. Now that the moment had finally arrived, the thought of being rejected terrified him. He didn’t know if he could survive it. He took a deep breath and pressed the small, pearl-shaped button. There was no backing down now.

  To Peter, an eternity passed by before Sophie appeared at the door. For one celestial moment, no one said a word, silenced by the enormity of it, a meeting twenty-four years in the making.
His heart pounded against the bones protecting it. As she stood there in the foyer, her beauty suppressed his need for air, rearranging his priorities, arousing more than his curiosity and producing an urge more compelling than the impending inquisition moseying about in his head.

  “Luce.” Peter, unprepared for the lechery overriding his thoughts, felt powerless as his movements sprang to life without him. With a hand cupping each side of her face, moisture lightly coating his lips, which spread as they connected with hers. Clumsily, he entered into her home, half falling, half floating, feeling more and more out of control as his mental ramblings were consumed with those of a salacious nature. It all was happening so quickly that Peter hardly had time to process it.

  Once inside, he peered into her beautiful blues, seeking permission through the lustful haze before erasing the space between their lips again. He tasted traces of the mint still coating the insides of her mouth. Their tongues danced to the beat of an old love song. Refusing to break their kiss, he swung the door closed with a swift kick, the loud thud intensifying the electricity flowing effortlessly through them.

  She rustled her hands through his thick, freshly styled mane with an angry lust, her hunger swelling into an uncontrollable typhoon. Leaving her lips to explore, he rested his nose in the nape of her neck, perforating his lungs with lavender, honey, and strawberry as he stole the oxygen surrounding him. His lips moved furiously along her collar bone, creating a trail of the sweetest kisses Sophie had ever felt. Wasting no time, his hands rid her body of the few articles of clothing she wore.

  “Peter . . .” Sophie whimpered, helpless as her body went limp under his touch.

  “Luce . . . don’t.” Placing his index finger gently across her lips, he withdrew from her, stepping back to admire her natural canvas.

  Like a mannequin in a storefront window unable to move, a nude Sophie draped lazily against her front door. The hard oak creaked, echoing the hunger Peter longed to sate, providing an audible record. Her chest heaved, her body swaying with desire.

  Peter teased as he brushed her lips with his, fueling the fire. The heat radiated from her body, spurring his advances as her murmurs filled his ears with her demands. Ignoring the groans of his throbbing manhood, Peter opted to take things slowly, gingerly massaging her supple breasts with one hand while exploring the wet terrain of her underworld with the other. Passion oozed from his lips to hers as he carefully laid her down on the bare floor, beneath the archway marking the hall’s entrance.