by Mia Taylor
“And what would you have me do about that? He is an immortal male, Isadora. It is high time he learned the consequences of his actions. How long do you think it will take before he grows tired of living like a pauper? The novelty will wear off.”
Jacques noted there was little conviction in his tone.
The queen snorted.
“I will have you do nothing. You have done enough,” she retorted, spinning on her heel. “Come along, Jac.”
“Isadora! Where are you going?” Emile yelled after her. “What are you thinking to do?”
The queen paused in the doorway and peered at him with contempt.
“I am getting our son back, you stubborn mule!”
“I forbid it!” Emile screamed. “I will not have Vivier come back here and pick up where he left off!”
Isadora glowered.
“You gave Vivier an ultimatum,” she reminded him, her composure suddenly collected. “Have you forgotten?”
Their eyes clashed and Jacques felt his bowels turn to water as the power struggle permeated the room in a wave of electricity.
Emile’s mouth gaped open as he realized what his wife was saying.
“Th-that was… that was before…”
“Before what? He hasn’t done anything against you. You gave him a choice, a choice he has two weeks to honor.”
Emile tried to grin confidently.
“Isadora, if he couldn’t find a wife five months ago, I highly doubt he will find one by New Year’s Eve.”
“Never say never, liebling,” she cooed. “Vivier is my blood, after all.”
She spun away, leaving Jacques to stare after her.
“What are you waiting for?” the queen howled back at him. “Come along, Jac. We’re going to California.”
She paused and grunted.
“What is it, ma’am?”
“It’s always sunny there, isn’t it?” she sighed. “Leave it to Vivier to make a bad situation even worse.”
Chapter Thirteen
Painful Truths
“How could you possibly have so much stuff?” Marc complained, wiping his brow. “It did not seem so bad in your old place. Were you hiding things from me when I agreed to help you move?”
It had turned unseasonably warm, even for southern California, but it was only exacerbated by the fact that it was moving day. Beads of sweat lined Marc’s brow and Quinn found herself looking at him lovingly as they took a break.
She laughed. “You have stuff here too,” she reminded him. “In fact, I think your stuff is heavier.”
“Liebling, I have four boxes!” he protested and Quinn felt a familiar warmth creep through her as he stared affectionately at her. The nicknames in his thick, sexy accent always sent a surge of pleasure through her. For a moment, she considered jumping on him and drawing him back into the house to forsake the task at hand. Quickly, she dismissed the overwhelming desire, her sensible side kicking in.
“Come on, we’re almost done,” she encouraged him. “Then we can order a pizza and sit down finally. Let’s just hustle through the last of this.”
Pizza and we can break in every room of this place. Our place.
He nodded in agreement, pulling another box from the back of the rented truck and dropping it on the front lawn and Quinn watched him admiringly as he worked without complaint. Even though he jested about the move, she knew he was happy to be doing it with her.
I can’t believe we’re here,” she thought, biting on her lower lip as if she might scream aloud with joy. We’re really doing this. Why does it feel like a dream still?
The past few weeks with Marc had been nothing short of magical.
We’re dirt poor with crappy jobs and no family or future, yet this feels like a fairy tale romance to me. How can that be?
Yet it didn’t matter how it was—it just was and Quinn wasn’t about to let go of her happiness or have it overshadowed with doubt. Not that it could have been if she had allowed it into her mind.
Quinn knew she was in love with Marc.
It’s true—you know when you know. I’ve never been in love before and yet there’s no question that I’m head over heels for this man.
It had seemed natural that they were moving in together, the transition seeming to happen without either of them asking. One minute they were having their first date in the splinters of the shattered dining table, the next, they were planning their life together in a new place.
Quinn had considered staying in the apartment she had once shared with Spencer, but she wanted to make new memories with Marc and the ghost of her sick roommate seemed to hang over her, even though she missed him terribly.
We deserve a fresh start, away from here.
“We’ll get our own place,” she decided aloud. “As much as I love this unit, I want us to have our own place right from the get-go. Marc and Quinn’s place, you know? Here, my stuff already has a place. In a new apartment, we can pick and choose where everything goes together.”
She remembered how he had looked at her as if he wanted to say something, but seemed to change his mind before a word was spoken.
This is overwhelming for him too, I’m sure. People don’t fall in love this fast. Is it too fast? Or maybe he’s already been in love before and he’s okay with this.
It didn’t feel like it was too fast for Quinn, despite the short time frame. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d known him forever and that they would never be apart even though she’d seen enough failed relationships to wonder how she could be so impulsive. But Quinn did not feel one dark cloud hovering over their ever-growing relationship and that was all she needed to grow her confidence in Marc.
He had been attentive, loving, and perfect from the first minute they’d spent together, never giving her cause for alarm or insecurity.
It’s like everything has just fallen into the perfect place where it is supposed to be.
“What is in here? Bricks?” Marc called out jokingly, shattering her short daydream, and she grinned wryly.
“You need new material,” she warned him. “That joke got old hours ago.”
“And yet you seem to still smile,” he teased.
“I have a sympathetic heart,” Quinn laughed, moving to grab the box from his hands.
For the first time, she would have a house to call her own. No more walk-ups or upstairs neighbors.
They could barely afford it but they had already worked out a budget and Quinn intended to honor it.
Soon I’ll get my nursing licence and make more money. I’m sure that Marc is better equipped to do something more his passion than working as a custodian. It will take time but we’ll get there. And this is the first step.
Elation flowed through her heart as she peered around the yard again like she was seeing it for the first time.
There is a white picket fence and a front porch, she thought, smiling dreamily as she ran the boxes into the front room. It didn’t matter that both were in desperate need of a paint job. All that mattered was that she had a real home with someone who loved her.
The living area was jammed full and would need to be sorted later, but Quinn only wanted to ensure they returned the truck on time.
It wasn’t in the budget to keep it past time.
She glanced at the cheap wristwatch on her arm and cringed slightly.
They only had an hour and one more load to go.
We’re not going to make it at this rate, she thought nervously.
“We need to step up the pace,” she told him, eyeing the front yard. It was in disarray with furniture and crates everywhere. “We have to get the truck back soon.”
Marc nodded.
“I know. I have a plan. You bring in what you can into the house and I will go back to the old apartment for the rest of your belongings.”
She stared at him dubiously.
“That’s a lot of stuff,” she protested. “I can come with you.”
“And leave all our things out in
the open? No. It is the best way to divide and conquer, as you say, ja?”
Quinn grinned. He had a point, after all. They couldn’t just leave their things piled on the grass and if they went over the time on the truck…
“Are you sure you can handle all that?” she asked reluctantly. He faux scowled, his brow creasing dangerously.
“Are you saying I do not have big muscles?” he demanded, flexing his toned arms. Quinn swatted at him.
“See if Louis is around. He will help you load.” Marc’s brow shot up.
“Louis? The old man superintendent? No, thank you. I do not want blood on my hands if he should perish. I can handle it just fine.”
Quinn guffawed as he placed a kiss on her mouth before turning for the van. She waved him off as he jumped back into the U-Haul and disappeared up Aldwych Road toward Fletcher Parkway.
He shouldn’t be driving, she thought guiltily. He doesn’t have a California driver’s licence.
She reasoned that they had bigger problems than Marc’s illegal road practices. No sooner did she think the words than an unmarked police cruiser slowly made its way down the quaint street toward her.
Quinn felt her heart catch in her throat.
Oh, come on. He really is keeping tabs on me, isn’t he?
She had neither seen nor spoken to her dad since the night he had so rudely and unexpectedly appeared at her apartment.
It had been a joint ignoring effort, neither party attempting to connect with the other, but Quinn was used to that, even if it still pained her sometimes.
I should have cut him off a long time ago, she thought as the squad car neared her new house. She ground her teeth together, trying to steel her temper.
I guess this is his way of telling me he knows where I live now, huh? she thought with some bitterness. Congratulations, Dad. You’re officially a prick.
It occurred to Quinn that she would never be free of Damon as long as she lived in El Cajon, but the understanding was bittersweet. Why did he put so much effort into making his presence known when he cared so little about her to begin with?
I wonder how Marc would feel about moving, she thought idly, slowly approaching the car. She was only half-joking but she knew as long as she remained in the city in which she was raised, her father would always find her.
“Hey, Quinn!”
Quinn’s body relaxed slightly when she realized it wasn’t her father at all but Alex Powell, a former classmate of hers.
Of course, she knew that like half the department, Powell was just her father’s lackey and she immediately tensed again. Her eyes shifted toward the passenger side. Her father wasn’t present.
I guess I should thank God for small favors, she thought, grinding her teeth. It was incredible how quickly her good mood could dissipate with the mere thought of Damon.
“Hey, Alex,” she replied dully. She had no illusions about why he was there. He hadn’t just chanced upon her house by accident, she was sure.
“New place?” asked Captain Obvious.
She nodded, biting on the insides of her cheeks to keep from snapping a response at him.
As if you didn’t know, she thought caustically.
“It’s cute.”
She stared at him unresponsively, hoping that her stare was making him as uncomfortable as he was making her.
To his credit, he managed to look slightly abashed under her deadpan gaze, but he still didn’t get to the point.
“As you can see, Alex, it’s moving day. Is there something I can help you with?”
He flushed slightly.
“Listen, Quinn, I know that you and your dad don’t have a very good relationship,” the detective said. “But there’s something you should know about that guy who was at your house when we were there.”
Quinn stared at him balefully, feeling her temperature shoot up drastically at the mention of her lover.
He’s still on this, is he? He really can’t let anything go, can he? Will Dad ever be happy with any decision I make?
She already knew the answer to that.
“If you’re talking about Marc, I don’t want to hear whatever crap you guys concocted about him,” she snapped, turning away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“His name isn’t Marc, Quinn,” Alex called after her. “He’s not the guy he is pretending to be.”
Chills of anger and denial flooded through her.
Don’t lose it. You expect nothing less from Dad. He’s always trying to sabotage your happiness.
“What the hell is it to you or to my dad?” she screamed as she spun around to face him. “Tell your boss to leave me alone just like he’s always done! I don’t bother him. Tell him to return the goddamn favor for once!”
“Quinn!” Alex yelled after her as she whirled toward the house. “Quinn, listen to me!”
“No!” She tried desperately to block out the words coming from Alex’s mouth, knowing that no matter how much she didn’t believe him, the sentences would echo through her and cause her doubt she didn’t want or need.
“Quinn, ask Marc if his real name is Vivier Diederich.”
She stormed into the house, locking the door and falling breathlessly against the wall.
Shaking, she leaned up against it, willing herself to be calm.
He can’t allow me to be happy, not ever. He will do whatever he can to ruin me, his own daughter. What the hell is wrong with him? What kind of man treats his own kid that way?
It was just another conversation she’d had with herself too many times.
Quinn peered out the window and saw that Alex had driven away but she couldn’t stop trembling. Not only did her father terrorize her, he brought in his minions too. There was really no escape.
What did he find out about Marc? Is he a criminal? A deadbeat dad? The leader of some cult in Utah?
If it had been any of those things, Quinn was sure that her father would have had no problem picking Marc up and throwing him in jail, making a grand show out of it while he did.
No. He dug up something else, something he didn’t want to tell me about.
Sick rolled around in her gut.
Vivier Diederich. Why does that name seem familiar?
The thoughts flowing through her mind were too much for her to contend with and Quinn’s legs could no longer support her.
She sank to the floor, trying to push away the bad thoughts attempting to override what her heart was telling her.
No, she decided, rising to her full height. No, Marc is not a criminal or some evil man. I don’t care what Dad thinks he found on him. I don’t accept it. I don’t even want to know what this is all about.
She heard another vehicle approaching and Quinn rose, trying to steady her shaking hands.
I am not asking him anything. I will not entertain this. Dad has gotten into my head too many times. I won’t let him ruin this for me.
She pulled open the front door and started in surprise. A tall, emaciated man stepped from a sleek, black limousine. Quinn blinked, stunned by the newcomer, her grey eyes darting about in complete confusion.
What the hell is this now? she wondered, wiping her sweating palms on her shorts.
“Are you Quinn Sommer?” the man asked as he stepped forward hesitantly in slow, deliberate steps. He seemed ancient, his thick accent reminiscent of Marc’s.
“Yes,” she replied but her voice was barely over a whisper. Her sixth sense told her that she already didn’t want to know what this stranger wanted, that her fleeting happiness was about to be shattered in the worst possible way.
“My name is Jacques Schmidt. I am looking for the man you call Marc Reich.”
Quinn stared at him uncomprehendingly. The words bounced around in her head over and over like a chamber echo.
The man I call Marc Reich. Oh my God…
“Why?” she demanded, regaining the little bit of sanity she had left. She feared she was about to be sick, her nerves on the verge of breaking. It was all too
much for one day, the day where she was supposed to be the most content, the day she was supposed to be beginning her new life with the man she loved.
You complete and utter idiot. You should have known…
“It is quite important I speak with him,” Jacques explained, looking pained by the question. “I am here on behalf of his mother.”
More consternation threatened to knock Quinn back down again.
“Is something wrong with his mother?” she whispered. “Is she sick or…?”
She trailed off, unsure of what else this well-dressed and aristocratic dinosaur could want from her.
“No, Miss Sommer. I fear it is a private family matter. I cannot discuss it with you but I would like to speak with your… friend.”
Quinn felt herself bristle.
“Then I am afraid I can’t tell you where he is,” she retorted. The skinny man turned opaque and he glanced back at the limo as if seeking guidance from the car.
Suddenly, a handsome brunette poked her head over the open car door, her neck dripping in diamonds and rubies as she stepped from the vehicle. Quinn was momentarily taken aback by both her beauty and her uncanny resemblance to Marc.
She gave Quinn a cold, calculated smile. In faltering English, she spoke.
“I like your… Jacques, what is that English word for Feier?” she asked, her emerald gaze locked on Quinn.
“Fire,” Jacques sighed.
“Yes,” the woman nodded. “Your fire. I can see why my son likes you. He has always enjoyed… feisty women.”
Quinn shifted her eyes down in embarrassment, realizing that she was standing before Marc’s mother.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she muttered. “It is nice to meet you. Marc speaks about you often.”
His mother laughed dryly.
“It is one thing to speak and quite another to inform his mother that he is alive,” she replied sighing. Quinn’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Oh,” she cried. “I didn’t know you were out of touch. No mother should have to worry about the whereabouts of her child. If I had known, ma’am, I would have told Marc to call you.”
Jacques and the woman exchanged a glance and a small smile played on her lips, her face softening slightly.
