by Sey, Susan
Titled, too.
Broken.
Apt. This canvas was a masterpiece, no question, but it was also a confession. Penance. Diego had broken his pretty little wife, just like he broke all his toys. But he hadn’t walked away whistling this time. No, breaking Addy had broken something inside Diego, too. Something vital, something necessary. It must have, because exactly one week after the date scribbled under that title, Diego had flown halfway across the country, pumped himself full of heroin and drifted out of this life.
Jax’s throat closed. He stepped away from the table. Away from the sight of Addison’s shattered heart smeared across the canvas by his brother’s unflinching hand. He simply couldn’t bear to look.
Addy stood beside the table she’d shared so many times with these beloved people, and gazed at the ruin of her marriage spread across it. The urge to scream or laugh built in her throat with every beat of her heart but she pressed it ruthlessly down.
“You didn’t know?” she asked Bianca. “You really didn’t know about—” She tossed a hand toward the canvases all but smoking there, and everything they implied. Diego’s infidelity. His underground masterworks. Her smiling denial of it all. “—this?”
Bianca huffed lightly. “Do you really think I’d have let you sit on unshown works of this caliber if I’d known about them?”
She didn’t say anything, Addy noticed, about the infidelity. Addy closed her eyes on a punishing sweep of hurt. It wasn’t a new pain — she’d spent her childhood learning that her well-being mattered somewhat less than other people’s ambition. That was why she was so exquisitely sensitive to Matty’s situation. She knew better than anybody that familiarity with the knife didn’t dull the slice.
“Right,” she said around the bitterness in her throat. “What was I thinking?”
“Good question,” Georgie said slowly. “What were you thinking, Addy? Because if you knew this was going on—” She tapped the table full of canvases with one sharp nail. “—why the hell did you stay? Why didn’t you put your pointy high heel right in my brother’s cheating crotch, then serve him up some hot, fresh divorce papers? Sue his ass off then spend the rest of your life living off the alimony? Because it would’ve been a very nice alimony.”
Addy stared at her, her brain blank with shock. Nobody circled the wagons like the Davises, but Georgie was coming down on her side on this?
“Seriously, Addy.” Jax took a jerky step toward the canvases, violence in those big hands of his. “You were twenty-two years old and smart as hell. You could have gone anywhere, done anything. You should have left.”
“Easy for you to say.” She laughed but it was as bitter as black coffee. “You grew up in the same house you were born in, just like your dad, his dad, and his dad before him. But it took me fourteen years and seventeen change of address forms just to convince my capital-A-ambitious parents that boarding school wasn’t a dirty word.”
She widened her focus, took them all in. “You Davises.” She sighed with reluctant fondness. “With your history and your roots and your place in the world? You can’t have any idea what belonging here meant to a girl like me.”
Or what she’d do to stay.
“So tell us,” Jax said, and shoved those hard fists into his pockets. “Make us understand.”
She lifted helpless shoulders. “It’s just…I didn’t think places like Devil’s Kettle even existed before Diego. And families like his? Like you? Forget about it. Only in the movies, you know?” She shook her head. “Then Diego did that sweep-you-off-your-feet thing he did so well—”
“His signature move,” Georgie said.
“Tell me about it.” She rubbed her hands up and down her chilly arms. “By the time I could tell up from down I was already married into roots sunk so deep that I couldn’t tell the family from the town. Which was a huge mistake, obviously. Diego was over me in, like, five minutes.”
“Which was four minutes longer than he’d given anybody else.” Georgie rubbed a hand up and down Addy’s arm too and she leaned gratefully into the warmth. “Ever. So don’t be too hard on yourself.”
“Trust me, I’m not.” She smiled and forced herself to step away from Georgie’s touch. From her sympathy. “By the time I understood exactly how big a mistake I’d made, it was already too late. I was in too deep, ready to do whatever it took, pay whatever it cost, to stay.”
“You were that in love with him?” Georgie asked. She eyed the canvases spread across the table. “Even after this?”
“Oh, I wasn’t in love with him. Not by then. I was in love with the rest of you.”
Uncomprehending silence. From everybody. Which she should’ve expected. This part didn’t reflect well on her. She knew it. Had always known it. The trick was going to be making them understand.
“Diego’s Angel was a moment,” she said softly, “not a marriage. That canvas isn’t love; it’s falling. It’s the drop. It’s the realization that another person, a stranger, somebody you didn’t even know last week, last month, two hours ago, whatever, has somehow become your sun. That your galaxy spins for her, for him. And Diego caught it. He caught that specific moment, that—” She rubbed a fist over her heart. “—fall. And being Diego, he made other people feel it too.” She shook her head. “He didn’t love me for very long, but he loved me brilliantly while he did.”
“And publicly,” Jax said darkly. “Very, very publicly.”
“That was the thing about Diego.” Addy smiled wryly. “He didn’t understand his own heart until he saw it splattered across a canvas. Until he saw what other people saw in what he’d painted. It was the only way he knew to live, to be. It was the only way he could breathe.” Her smile faded. “Which was a wonderful gift to the world, but no way to do a marriage.”
“No.” Georgie frowned. “Probably not.”
“He probably didn’t even know he was in love until he saw Diego’s Angel,” Addy said. “Just like he didn’t know he wasn’t in love with me anymore until he saw these.” She waved a trembling hand at the dining room table. Nausea churned in her stomach and she forced herself to go on. To say the rest. “But he still cared enough about me to keep it — these — private. To let everybody believe that he’d simply peaked with Diego’s Angel and stopped painting. He was prepared to let that be his legacy.” She threaded her fingers together, and squeezed until they went numb. “He didn’t love me anymore, but he protected me. And God forgive me, I let him.” She bowed her head under a crashing wave of grief and guilt. “I convinced myself that maintaining appearances was for the best. People loved Diego’s Angel.”
“The painting?” Bianca asked suddenly, those black eyes shrewd and sharp. “Or you?”
“Either.” Addy lifted helpless shoulders. “Both. People love fairy tales, and Diego painted one. A great one. He convinced people that we were living it, for goodness’ sake. Convinced them that our living, breathing fairy tale was on display along with Diego’s Angel right here in Devil’s Kettle. So they came. They came by the busload — bought out the gallery, booked every hotel room. They ate in our restaurants, shopped in our bookstores and geared up at the bait and tackle. Diego’s Angel made him a legend, and she was good for everybody. But, yes, she was especially good for me. Because she let me matter to you.”
Bianca drew back sharply. “I beg your pardon?”
She forced herself to lift her eyes, to meet the outrage burning in Bianca’s gaze. “You were so broken after Diego died,” she said softly. “Losing him just sliced you open. And even as I hated that, hated the way you hurt, I envied him. Envied how deeply he’d been loved.” She gave a jagged, bitter laugh. “Which is horrible, I know. Believe me, I know. But my parents didn’t — don’t — love me like you love Diego. Like you love any of your kids. I don’t think they know how. I’d spent my whole life not mattering to anybody. Until you.” Her smile fell apart and she let it go. “Being Diego’s Angel made me matter to you. She allowed me to be a comfort and a solace to you.
She allowed you to believe that Diego had been…happy. That he’d been not only a great artist but a good man. A good husband, loving and beloved. She was the fairy tale to you, and to me? She was what I accepted in lieu of alimony, I guess. She was what I got instead of a divorce — the chance to be necessary to the people I loved.” She stopped, cleared her aching throat. “But I should’ve told you the truth as soon as Diego died. I know that now. I should’ve let you choose how you wanted the fairy tale to end, but I was selfish. Being yours — being a Davis — was the most important thing I’d ever been, and I didn’t know how to give it up.” She spread trembling hands. “I only hope you can try to understand. To someday forgive me.”
Georgie gazed at her in blank wonder. Matty remained slouched against the table’s edge. Jax stood silently beside him, frowning down at the paintings. Bianca clasped her hands in front of her waist and drew in a long breath.
“How dare you?” She fired the words like bullets, and Addy absorbed the deadly impact of each one.
Jax started. “Mom?”
Bianca knifed her hand through the air, sliced off the protest with cold precision. She leaned in, her face a stony mask of rage. “How dare you stand there and ask my forgiveness? You killed my boy.”
Addy flinched but refused to look away. She deserved this.
“Jesus, Mom.” Jax stepped up to Addy’s side, put a hand on her arm. It nearly sizzled, it was so warm against her frozen skin. “She did not. You’re being—”
“Oh I don’t deny that Diego was a terrible husband.” Bianca flicked it away, an inconsequential detail, and her eyes burned into Addy like a brand. “I doubt you were a perfect wife, for that matter. You married ridiculously young, and young people are prone to stupidity. But my son needed to paint — needed to show his painting — like he needed to breathe. You said so yourself. You knew.”
“I did.” Addy let the weight of that truth settle onto her. “I knew.”
“And you took that from him.” Bianca’s chin came up, and she stepped closer, close enough to strike Addy if she wanted to. Addy wondered if she would. She wouldn’t stop her. “You let him pay for a handful of indiscretions with his life. So how dare you stand there and ask for my forgiveness? You as good as killed my son.” She stepped back, her face cold, her lips white. “Get out of my house.”
Chapter 16
SHE DIDN’T ARGUE. She went upstairs to the suite of rooms she and Diego had shared during their short marriage — the rooms she’d never left — and pulled her suitcase from the closet. Expensive, durable, and black, it had been a gift from her parents for her college graduation. They’d expected her to occupy the same world they had, of course. That she’d divide her time between airports and hotels, board rooms and conference centers, criss-crossing the globe and living up to her education.
She hadn’t taken it out of the closet once in four years. Not since the day she’d set foot in Devil’s Kettle with a massive diamond on her ring finger and a lump of terror in her heart.
Georgie drifted through the door and sank to the bed. “Mom’s pissed,” she announced.
Addy laughed, but it came out more like a sob. She plunked the suitcase onto the bedspread beside Georgie. “What tipped you off?”
“She’s pissed,” Georgie said again, “but she never stays that way. You know Mom. She’s all shock and awe, but give it five minutes and she’ll blow herself out.”
Addy moved to the dresser. She grabbed a few tops, a few sweaters, and eyed the closet. Winter coat? Surely she could get by without it for a few—
She shook her head against the hope trying to take root. This wasn’t a weekend holiday, she reminded herself ruthlessly. This was exile. She went to the closet, took out her winter coat and tossed it onto the bed. She snatched up some wool socks from the dresser and shoved them into the suitcase with shaking hands and a throat that ached like fire. Tears, she understood belatedly. She was fighting a desperate battle against sobbing like a child. Cripes.
“Addy, for heaven’s sake, you’re taking this way too seriously.”
“She thinks I killed Diego.”
“Don’t be stupid.” Georgie scooted back to lean against the headboard and curled her legs comfortably underneath her. “First off, you didn’t kill anybody. Diego was an addict.” Addy flinched. Nobody had ever said it out loud before, or so baldly. “Drugs, sex, trouble. He had a problem with limits.” She shrugged. “So believe me, you didn’t kill anybody.” She traced the elaborate seam stitching on her skinny jeans with an idle finger. “Plus, you’re family.”
“I just got thrown out of the family.”
“No, you got thrown out of the house.”
“What’s the difference?”
Georgie made an impatient noise. “I can’t believe I’m supposed to be the dumb one in this partnership.”
“Pretty,” Addy said and went back to the dresser for her own jeans, none of them skinny, thanks be. She had kind of a pie habit. “You’re the pretty one.”
“Which makes you the smart one, so start acting like it, will you?”
“I’m trying.” She stuffed the jeans into her suitcase and turned toward the bathroom to gather up her toiletries.
“Try harder.” Georgie caught her elbow and tugged. She was surprisingly strong for a woman who spent her entire life lying down, and Addy found her butt planted on the quilt next to Georgie’s knees. “Just think for a minute, will you? Even if Mom’s mad as hell right now — which she is — she’s not stupid. Those paintings she’s all heated up about belong to you. You think she’s going to let you walk out of our lives with them?” She snorted. “Fat chance. And then, of course, there’s the Jax situation.”
Addy’s heart crashed painfully into her sternum. She rubbed her palm over it. “There is no Jax situation. He thought I was going to die, and he overreacted.”
“You keep telling yourself that.” Georgie patted her knee genially. “Mom’s on another page.”
“Which page is that?”
“The one where you trade out this ugly thing—” She tapped the admittedly gaudy diamond on Addy’s ring finger. “—for something that suits you much better.” Her lips curved in a sly smile. “Something a firefighter can afford.”
“Fire chief,” she said automatically, her brain a blank, white sheet. “And, Georgie, that’s ridiculous. We’re not…Jax doesn’t—”
Georgie lifted innocent hands. “I’m just telling you what Mom’s going to think. What she thinks Jax is thinking.”
“Which makes no sense!”
“Since when has that been a requirement for what Mom thinks?” She shrugged. “She already lost one son. She’s hardly going to risk losing Jax by playing the old her-or-me card against his One True Love.”
“His One True—” Addy broke off. “Georgie, come on.” She wished her heart would just settle down into some kind of predictable rhythm. She was going to have a stroke soon. “It was one impulsive kiss. It’s over.”
Georgie sighed deeply. “I can’t believe I have to be the dumb one in this partnership. But, hey, listen. I’ve got your back. When Mom implies that he’s only marrying you for your money—”
“Oh, lord.”
“—tell her it’s a non-issue.” Her smile grew into something sleek and satisfied. “I’ve got the family fortune covered.”
“You do?” Addy’s brows shot up. “How?”
Georgie wiggled her own ring finger, which was markedly free of diamonds. “I’m in expectation of an interesting event.”
Addy gaped. “You’re pregnant?”
“Bite your tongue. I may not be a mathlete of your caliber but I do know how birth control works.” She smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m getting engaged.”
“You are?” Addy hesitated. “Does Peter know?”
“He will.” Georgie waved airily.
She frowned. “I know you want to do your bit for the family, Georgie, but I don’t think you need to sell your hand in marriage
to the highest bidder just yet.”
“I’m not selling anything, Addison. Goodness.” She rolled her eyes. “That said, marrying money is a time-honored tradition for girls like me.”
“What, impoverished?”
“And gorgeous.” Georgie shrugged lightly. “I guess I’m just a traditional kind of girl.”
Addy maintained a skeptical silence.
Georgie laughed. “Okay, so maybe I’m more a life-of-leisure kind of girl.”
Even Addy couldn’t argue with that one. “Are you sure Peter’s going to ask you?”
She inspected her manicure. “As sure as a woman can be about these things.”
“And you’re going to say yes?”
“I like my silver spoon, Addison. I have no intention of giving it up now.” She slanted Addy a look from beneath her lashes. “Plus I’m going to make a spectacular bride.”
“No argument,” Addy said automatically. “But…Georgie, are you sure?” She leaned forward, touched her knee. “I mean, Peter is...” She broke off while a picture of Peter Zinc floated into her mind. Tall, handsome, dangerously bright and unapologetically ambitious, Peter was nobody to screw with. “Do you love him?”
“Hmmm, let me think.” Georgie pursed up her perfect lips and squinted into the distance. “He’s gorgeous, rich, has an Ivy League education and wants to keep me in pampered splendor for the rest of my life. Do I love him?” She patted Addy’s hand. “I’d be stupid not to, wouldn’t I?”
“That’s not exactly a declaration of true love, Georgie.”
She smiled. “Define true love.”
Addy turned her hand up under Georgie’s, laced their fingers together and said, “Please tell me you’re not doing this just for the money.”
“I’m not doing this just for the money,” Georgie said obediently.
“Because I’m on top of the money situation.” She looked hard into her sister-in-law’s giant blue eyes, into all that studied innocence. “The family is going to be fine. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
