Tanner was... well, he was a rare breed. That seemed like a good way to describe it. I couldn't even count how many spoiled and rude rich men I'd met, but the number who were as genuinely open, honest, and humble as Tanner... well, I couldn't really think of anyone else who came close to him.
Sometimes, I'd catch myself gazing off into nothingness, just thinking about him and listening to the thumping of my heart. Other times, I'd suddenly hear his voice inside my head, speaking as clearly as if he'd been standing next to me and talking into my ear. I knew what wryly sarcastic comment he'd make, laughed as if he was really there to crack the joke.
He was... well, I didn't really want to put any labels on us. We were dating, in a way, but sometimes I caught him looking at me in a way that suggested that there was more than simple interest and lust. He looked at me...
Well, he looked at me like one other man had done in the past. No one since my previous husband.
I really didn't want to think too much about that, not right now. Don't read too much into things, Helen, I warned myself. You haven't told him anything about how you really feel, and he hasn't said anything to you. Wait for him before getting yourself into any deep water, so you don't drown yourself.
I pulled my thick gardening gloves back on, dropped back down to rest my knees on the foam pads strapped around my legs. I crawled back forward, back to my garden. I'd managed to save almost all the rosebushes, and I'd been working hard over the last few months to add in other flowers to compliment them.
The garden had initially started as a way for me to fill my time during the long, empty days, a way to keep my mind distracted with busy work instead of worrying about the future or despairing over the past. But quickly, my initial passion for gardening had come flowing back into me, and I'd begun planning new steps and expansions.
Once, according to Marcone, this garden was the center of many a fundraiser and party. Even more than the mansion itself, the gardens drew in the city's rich and famous, and they donated great amounts of money to charity for the privilege of hobnobbing and socializing with others amid the blooms of flowers, the graceful sprays extending off from the trees and bushes.
Tanner had been the one to ignite the spark of this idea, of using my notoriety to raise money for a charitable cause, but it had kindled into a roaring bonfire inside my head. And why couldn't I do it? I knew that Richard Stone had launched the first Poverty Ball after years of doing nothing, seeking to find a way to give back to this region. I felt like I ought to do the same. After all, Marcone and his family made so much money here, and we'd purchased this great big mansion. Shouldn't I do something with it, instead of keeping it locked up and not inviting over almost anyone else?
I liked the idea – but first, I had to get the garden ready. I'd made ferocious progress on fighting back the weeds, but I still had plenty more to fix.
I hadn't showed it to Tanner, yet, as I primarily worked on it during the hours when he wasn't around. I planned on revealing it to him at some point, once I was ready – but for now, it could remain my own little secret, my little individual project that was mine alone, to either succeed or totally screw up.
"Not that I'm screwing it up," I said aloud, wrapping my fingers around one last, stubborn weed and hauling it out of the soil. I tossed it back over my shoulder without even looking, knowing that it would sail across the garden and deposit itself in the compost heap.
"Ow!"
I jumped at the unexpected voice, and nearly shoved my head straight into the thorns of the rosebush. "Champagne!" I said in surprise, pulling back before my hair got too snared on the thorns and clambering back up to my feet. "What are you doing here?"
Champagne looked surprisingly out of place in the garden. She had the breezy clothes and the wide, floppy hat for a summer brunch that almost made her seem to fit in – but the spikes of her high-heeled shoes sank deeply into the soft dirt of the garden, threatening to send her spilling down to the ground and getting dirt all over her dangerously immaculate outfit. She wrenched one heel up, but the action just made the other sink in further.
"I came because I've made a discovery!" Champagne said, reaching up and rubbing at a dark spot on her upper arm. "Your butler told me that you were out here in the garden. But if you're going to throw plants at me, I'm not going to share!"
I realized, wincing, that I'd managed to accidentally connect with her when I threw the weed back over my shoulder. "Sorry," I apologized. "I wasn't expecting anyone else to be out here. I meant to toss it at the compost heap."
Champagne just sniffed, not looking fully mollified. "Why are you back here, anyway? The butler told me you were in the garden, but I didn't think you would actually be..."
"Gardening?" I finished for her. "It's my hobby. I think it's really relaxing. And once upon a time, the gardens here were talked about by everyone, a great sight to behold."
"Really?" Champagne took off her hat, holding it rather defensively against her expansive chest as she looked around. "Aren't you worried about bees and stinging insects and stuff?"
"They're here, but they generally don't bother me if I leave them alone," I answered, trying not to smile at the thought of Champagne freaking out about bees. I'd seen her scream like a banshee and flap wildly around her in the past, when a bug flew too close to her. She was not an outdoor person, to say the least.
"Well, whatever." Champagne dismissed the bees for the moment, although she kept on glancing around uneasily, as if one might come attacking at any minute. "But look, I've got something really shocking to tell you!"
"What?" I frowned at her. "This isn't gossip about some royal or rich person, is it?"
"The opposite!" She beamed at that, bouncing up and down on her toes in a way that threatened to dump her right down in the dirt.
"Here, let's go over to the patio." I hurried forward to grasp her arm, walk her off the treacherously soft ground of the garden and over to the shaded and paved patio, where we could sit down at a little outdoor table and chairs set. "Now, what do you mean?"
"I've figured it out!" She clasped her hands, leaning forward to give me an illicit wink. "I've figured out who Tanner McCallister is!"
"Champagne, I thought I told you that I didn't want you digging into his background-"
"And I told you that I totally understood," she interrupted me, giving me a conspiratorial nose tap that didn't make me feel any better about her failure to understand my prior instructions. "And it's taken me this long to get back to you because of what I've found. But it's so shocking!"
I sat there for a second, Champagne knowing that the suspense was building. Inside my head, the two halves of my personality warred with each other. My better half pointed out, rightly enough, that Tanner hadn't brought up his past before now, and it was probably for a reason. He'd shared certain details, of course, but he hadn't told me everything, keeping mum especially about his finances. I suspected that he would tell me when he was ready, and my better half argued that I ought to respect that decision and wait for him.
But still, pointed out the other side of my personality, what if he was hiding something horrible? What if he was married, or a murderer, and just wanted to come after me so that I could become his newest victim?
I told myself that I was being ridiculous. Tanner didn't want to murder me, and he couldn't be married. We'd spent too much time together for him to just be ducking out on some wife or partner, and I hadn't once seen him with a wedding ring. I ought to tell Champagne no thanks, that I'd let the man tell me whatever secrets he wanted to share, instead of listening to the results of her prying into his past.
I ought to tell her that – but I couldn't quite bring myself to say the words. I hated to admit it, but a little part of me, the vicious little gossipy part that loved listening to Champagne's horror stories of other wealthy people's private lives, kept me from speaking and telling her to butt out.
And after a couple seconds of my hesitation, she couldn't wait any longer
to spill the beans.
"He's no one!" she burst out, clapping her hands on her knees and looking wide-eyed at me, expectantly awaiting a reaction.
There wasn't one coming. I blinked at her in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
"He's a nobody! That's why it was so hard to find out anything about him!" Champagne shook her head. "I deserve a medal, honestly, for all the work that I went to in order to track him down. I had to actually call people! Talk to all these nobodies on the phone! But I finally figured it out, and as soon as I knew, I came bolting over here to tell you, honey! You so need to know this."
"Nobody?" I repeated, still not understanding.
"Yah. He's just a... well, like, a nobody. He met Teddy Stone a couple of years ago, back when the middle, nerdiest Stone brother was failing to avoid falling in love. Although what that wife of his sees in him..." Champagne paused, momentarily distracted, shaking her head back and forth. "The guy's a total nerd. A dork."
"Focus, Champagne."
"Yah, right. Well, Teddy met Tanner a bunch and apparently decided that he was the one who helped keep his wife from finding out how much of a total dork he was, or something like that. So he offered to let Tanner stay at his older brother's house. I guess Richard decided to go along with it, or he's just a huge pushover to his poor dorky brother."
I blinked, trying to sort out this babble of information. "So what are you saying?"
"What I'm saying," Champagne repeated back, dropping both hands on the little table so she could lean forward dramatically over it towards me, "is that Tanner is totally not a rich guy like he's been saying! He was only at the Poverty Ball, like, because he's actually poor himself! Maybe he was there for handouts or something?"
I opened my mouth, but didn't have a response ready. Most of me wanted to scoff at Champagne, tell her that she was being crazy. Tanner had told me plenty of times that he came from money! Hadn't he?
"But what about his writing?" I asked finally, a little weakly.
Champagne shrugged one shoulder. "He's gotten a couple things published, I guess, but it's not like he's doing it because he's wealthy. He didn't even graduate from college! That's part of why it was so hard to find out things about him."
"I don't believe it," my mouth said after another second of silence, as my brain tried to readjust. I tried to fight down the shock and surprise coursing through me, trying to figure out where it all stemmed from.
It wasn't that he wasn't rich. Hell, I didn't care about that. One of the biggest benefits of being rich was that it helped separate people into two groups: those who still cared about getting ever more money, like it was a way to keep score in a game, and those who no longer worried or even thought about it at all, who decided that they'd already won the game. I placed myself firmly in that second group, and had figured until now that Tanner did the same, not talking about money because he didn't think about it.
I didn't care that he wasn't wealthy.
But he'd lied to me about it. For months, now, we'd been seeing each other. I'd told him just about everything, and he'd kept this secret from me.
"Now you're getting it," Champagne said, apparently taking my stunned horror for understanding. "Here, look, I found his online profiles. You can see that I'm right – he's not connected with, like, anyone!"
I pushed away the cell phone that she held out towards me. "I don't want to see it," I said, my voice thick and indistinct.
Champagne blinked, finally seeing how I truly felt. "Oh shit, Helen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spring this on you. I thought you'd be happy to find out that..."
That the man I'd been seeing had been lying to me, all this time? That I'd fallen in love with someone who might not even be real? That I thought I'd finally managed to find happiness once again, only for it to all be a lie?
My heart collapsed in on itself, turning to a sucking black hole inside my chest. "I think I need you to go, Champagne," I said softly, not looking up at her. I stared down into my lap, at my hands. Despite the gloves, there was dirt under my fingernails.
I couldn't bring myself to care.
Champagne tried to protest, tried to engage me again, but I didn't say anything. After a minute, she stood up, and I waited for her to go flouncing off to her next social butterfly event.
Instead, however, she paused, long enough to rest one hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Helen," she said, softly and with more caring than I would have ever expected from her. "I just thought you'd want to know the truth."
I didn't answer. When I finally lifted my head, she'd gone, leaving me alone in the back yard of my house.
I went inside, back up to my bedroom. I crawled into the bed, pulled the covers over my head, closed my eyes and buried my face in my pillows.
Only then, finally, did the tears start to come.
Chapter Twenty-Two
TANNER
*
On the way to the restaurant, I kept bouncing up and down in my seat, so much that the entire truck rattled scarily as it shook back and forth on its worn-out shocks.
I couldn't wait to share my good news with Helen! Amazing news. Mind-blowingly awesome news, news that kept on making my smile widen more and more, until I worried that an errant bump might send the top of my head flying right off my body.
"My book!" I crowed aloud, coasting to a stop at a red light. The people in the cars beside me might glance over in bemusement – my windows were open, as my truck's mediocre-at-best air conditioning couldn't keep up with the summer heat. I didn't care what they thought, however, of the crazy man shouting happily to himself in his beat-up vehicle.
I'd finally heard back from my publishing agent – and the news was better than I could have imagined.
Well, not really better than I could have imagined – but most definitely better than I'd expected! He reported back to me that, not only had he found a publisher interested in my novel, but it was Random House Publishing, one of the biggest fiction publishers in the industry! This was like being chosen as a walk-on contestant for American Idol, like going straight from high school to the top of any pro sports leaderboard.
And the offer! I still wouldn't have enough money to buy a mansion like Helen's, but just the advance payment on this book would be enough to change my status from "horribly poor" to "decently living"! If there was any better time to finally come clean and tell Helen my secret, explain to her my true financial situation, I couldn't imagine it.
I pulled into the restaurant, not even worried about running a few minutes late. Helen might be a little miffed at me, but I'd sweep her off her feet and into my arms, kiss her until she laughed and asked what had gotten into me to make me so crazy – without pulling away, of course. She enjoyed my kisses too much for that.
I'd sit her down, explain everything to her, tell her the good news... I paused in my narrative as I stepped inside, looked around the restaurant with a frown.
It wasn't a big restaurant; I'd picked a smaller, cozier place, where we could get a little table in the corner and curl up tightly together as I told her the truth. It only took a single look around the interior to show me that Helen wasn't there.
"You haven't seen a tall woman, pale skin, dark hair, totally gorgeous, come in here, have you?" I asked the hostess, who gave me a clueless shrug. Helen, apparently, was also running late. Strange that she hadn't texted me to say anything.
Oh well. No need to fret. I grabbed a table and sat down, ordering a beer while I waited for her to arrive.
Twenty minutes later, the beer glass in front of me was empty except for a few suds, and my smile had faded from my face. Where was Helen? I'd sent three texts to her phone, followed by a phone call. Nothing went through, and I didn't hear any response. I felt worry growing in the pit of my stomach, gnawing away at me like a hungry animal.
My hunger, on the other hand, had vanished. Concern flooded in to replace it.
I stood up and threw down a few dollars on the table to cover my beer. Grabbing m
y keys, I drove straight to Helen's house, near-panicked concern fighting against my increasingly futile attempts to remain calm.
I pulled up to her front door in a spray of gravel, wrenched the keys out of the truck as I hurried up to the door, pounded heavily – and then stepped back in surprise as Helen almost immediately opened it from the other side.
She looked awful. I staggered back a step, her appearance hitting me like a physical blow.
Helen didn't normally wear much in the way of makeup, but there wasn't any hiding the tears streaking her cheeks, her reddened eyes and messy hair. She stood there in the doorway for a minute, not speaking, just staring flatly out at her.
She knew. The voice inside my head whispered it to me, and I instantly saw in her eyes that it was the truth.
"Helen," I began, but then ran out of words. How could I apologize to her?
"You lied," she whispered, the words almost too faint for me to catch them with my ears. I half read them off her lips. Her eyes barely blinked, just bored dully into my own. "You were the first man I've opened up to since my husband, and you lied to me."
"I didn't mean to..." It felt flat in my mouth, didn't mean anything. I took a step back, hating how agonized she looked.
"Champagne figured it out." A choked laugh ripped its way out of her throat. "You know why it took her so long? It's funny. She said that you're a nobody, and she kept on looking in places that had too many successful people. She didn't realize until just the other day that you weren't at the Poverty Ball as a guest; you were there as one of the help."
I winced. "I wanted to tell you."
It sounded worthless, too little, too late. We both knew it.
Still, I knew that I had to do something, had to say something. I could feel Helen slipping away from me, hanging by a thread and about to drop off entirely. My chest felt tight, tingling with horror as I realized that everything we'd shared together, the last few months, all her inspiration and strength that she'd lent to me, was about to be ripped away.
For Love of Passion (Stone Brothers Book 4) Page 15
