Secrets of You

by Mary Campisi

  Secrets of You

  Book #2 of The Betrayed Trilogy

  Mary Campisi

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  An excerpt from Pulling Home

  About the Author

  Other Books by Mary Campisi:

  Dedication

  To Jim:

  You choose the music,

  I’ll grab my gear,

  and let’s ride off into our own little world…

  Chapter 1

  Twelve days before the wedding

  She loved to watch him sleep. There was something about his quiet breath filling the air, circling her, pulling her in and making her safe. She hadn’t felt safe since she was twelve years old, but with Ash, everything was different. She was different. The past fell away and she could almost pretend it had never happened.

  Ash Revelin had sauntered into her life eighty-nine days ago, carrying a backpack and a camera, his gaze intent, leveled on her. She’d never known a photojournalist but if she had to imagine what kind of person would climb a mountain for the perfect shot, she’d picture Ash. When he spoke of his work, his voice filled with the same passion it did when they made love—fierce, bold, consuming.

  They belonged together and the fact that she’d owned shoes longer than she’d known him made no difference. In twelve days, she was going to marry him. If only Quinn would relax and stop playing the suspicious brother. He wasn’t even her brother, but he was the closest she’d had to family in too many years. Why did he have to be so cynical? Ash was nothing like the other men she’d known who told lies and far too many tales in the name of supposed love and forever-afters.

  This man was going to be her husband, and Quinn had better get used to the idea.

  ***

  Ten days before the wedding

  “So what was so urgent it couldn’t wait a few more days?” Like until after the wedding, when he could introduce Arianna as his wife and there wasn’t a damn thing his brother could do about it.

  Pete shrugged and fiddled with the paperweight resting in the middle of his desk. There was a four-leaf clover trapped in the center of the paperweight, a true reminder that luck didn’t always play a part in a person’s life, especially if that life were part of a trap.

  “Pete?” It wasn’t like his brother to struggle for words. Peter Jonathan Lancaster always had something to say, especially if it pertained to his younger brother, the sibling he felt bound to advise, chastise, and protect, though not necessarily in that order, and certainly not in equal amounts. Something was up; Ash could always tell.

  “Can’t I ask you to stop by without an underlying reason?”

  Ash eyed him as one does a photographer who claims that disposable cameras capture the best shots. “You can, but the last time you summoned me, you cut off my line of credit. And the time before that was when you threatened to evict me from my apartment if I didn’t visit my nephews.”

  “You have to admit, two months is a long time for a six- and eight-year-old to wait for a trip to the zoo.” Pete set the paperweight on the desk and sat back in his chair. “You promised them, Ash.”

  “I was getting around to it.” So he hadn’t really thought the kids would hold him to it. Nobody else expected him to do what he said he would. Why would two kids who wore Spider-Man pajamas be any different? Except they were. Seems kids had a special code of honor, like telling the truth. These past months with Arianna made him realize he didn’t like pretending, didn’t like being the one nobody ever counted on. He could change. He would change.

  And in exactly ten days, the big change would start. Once he slipped the ring on Arianna’s finger, he’d confess everything. What woman would mind learning her husband had the same last name as the real estate developers who specialized in high-end condos and retail space—which translated into unlimited funds?

  “I didn’t call you here because you didn’t take Zack and Ethan to the zoo.”

  Ash worked up a grin. “Good. Glad to hear it.” He crossed one booted foot over the other and waited. There was a lecture buried in his brother’s brain and with patience and minimal prompting, it would erupt as it had since their parents’ death twenty-three years ago when nineteen-year-old Pete assumed the rearing of Ash, who had been nine.

  Pete rubbed the back of his neck, a sign Ash recognized as a precursor...What would it be this time? Demands that Ash show up at the office more than five times a month? Requests, spoken with gentler words, but still with the force behind them to indicate the choice was not a choice at all, but a demand that Ash make something of his life that required more than a bottle opener and a bulging bank account? Or was he merely going to tell him once again how grateful he should be to have choices and how sad that he chose to squander those choices in self-absorption?

  Ash laced his hands behind his neck and sighed. “Go ahead, get it over with.” He’d promised Arianna he’d have dinner with Quinn Burnes, her “guard dog,” and assure the guy his intentions toward her were honorable. Would he be marrying her if they weren’t? Just because Burnes had a twisted personal life and couldn’t commit to a woman didn’t mean all men were that way. Okay, the guy meant well, but he had no business nosing in where he didn’t belong and tonight, Ash would tell him so.

  “You can’t marry her.”

  “What?”

  Pete leaned forward and zeroed in on him and for just a second, Ash wondered what a face-off between his brother and Quinn Burnes would look like. Even a betting man would call it dead even. Both men were cool, calculating, and possessed a determination that would not be undermined or beaten. “You can’t marry Arianna Sorensen.”

  How the hell had he found out about Arianna? Ash kept his expression bland, even a bit confused. If he feigned ignorance, or even a casual nonchalance about the “supposed” upcoming nuptials, maybe Pete would back off long enough for Ash to get the ring on Arianna’s finger. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  So, he’d been spying. Nothing new there; his brother had been tracking Ash’s whereabouts since middle school. He had thought, however, that the tracking had stopped years ago. Apparently, a thirty-two-year-old with too little ambition and too much money was to be watched. He wanted to tell Pete that he’d found his purpose the second he walked into The Silver Strand and met the owner. Arianna was sophisticated and reserved, beautiful and well-educated, talented and shy. Honest. Trustworthy. The perfect partner who would make the perfect wife.

  He’d never particularly wanted a wife, maybe because he’d not thought it possible to settle down with one woman. But there’d been something about Arianna that made him open and let her see pieces of him he’d never shown anyone else: the love of photography, the fear of not being good enough, the desire to make his own way outside the shadow of his perfect brother. Ash had never believed in soulmates or ever-afters. Until Arianna. What did time have to do with anything? You could know a person your whole life and never really know her. Or you could know a person for eighty-nine days and know her.

  Pete picked up the paperweight again, studied it, then met Ash’s gaze head on. “Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be.”

  “More difficult for whom? You?” Pete detested choices that fell outside of what he’d determined were acceptable parameters. They made him uncomfortable and, therefore, he dealt with them swiftly and with great force in hopes they would not be repeated. Of
course, Ash ignored rules and did as he pleased and usually got caught outside of Pete’s acceptable parameters. But this was Arianna, his future wife. She would not be dealt with or discarded. She was not a “parameter.” Ash would fight for her because he believed in her, believed in them.

  “Consider your history.” Pete pulled out the persuasive ruse: soft voice, calculated movements, well-chosen words. “You don’t want to get married. One woman. Until death? You wouldn’t make it past the reception.”

  “I love her.”

  Pete’s hand jerked away from the paperweight. “What do you know about love?” The control he usually exercised burst apart in his next words. “Love is doing what you have to do even when it’s the last thing in the world you want to do. It’s standing by that person’s side when she’s sick, or in pain, or when you just don’t exactly remember why you married her. But you don’t quit and you don’t wander off for the next ‘feel-good’ adventure or woman because the life you have is too hard or not fun anymore. You stay, and you love that person, no matter what.”

  “Are you getting a divorce?” Damn, but what Pete had just described did not sound like love. It did sound like the groundwork for a long legal battle, complete with division of silverware and visitation rights.

  “Of course not.” He rubbed his neck and blew out a long breath. Of annoyance? Defeat? What was going on in Pete’s head?

  Ash leaned forward in his chair and offered what he hoped would spark an explanation. “That was a pretty miserable picture you just painted.” He said it in a somber voice to encourage his brother to open up. Not that Pete had ever confided in him, but still. There was always that first time.

  “You really think a relationship is just about sex?”

  “Of course not. But it is important.” Why were they having this conversation anyway?

  Pete’s mouth stretched into a thin line. “You’ve known that woman less than three months. That’s not enough time to form an opinion on a lifelong commitment.”

  “Pete, I love her.” And then, “You’ve been spying on me again.”

  “She thinks you’re some damn photographer. And that apartment?” He shook his head and frowned. “Why couldn’t you have picked one of ours? At least it wouldn’t require bi-weekly pest control.”

  Ash shrugged and picked at the frayed hem in his jeans. He guessed he could give up the slumming routine and maybe bring out the Mercedes. But not the cashmere sweaters or Rolex. Not until after the wedding, when he was certain his money wouldn’t matter. But there was a tiny piece of him that wanted to ease the Ferrari he kept in storage next to Quinn Burnes’s Porsche and say, Hey, hotshot. I can take care of Arianna now.

  “I like where I’m living. Besides, I’m having the condo redone. Should be ready next week.” Just in time to show Arianna her new home. Of course, if she wanted something larger or more traditional or even if she wanted a house in the suburbs, he’d do it. Anything, to be with her.

  “So who are you this week? Surely, not Bruce Wayne; that would be too much like real life.”

  He was not going to give it up. “She knows me.” Ash yanked the threads on his jeans until he ripped them off. He looked at his brother and for the first time in years, let him see what was in his heart. “She knows the real me. It’s different with Arianna.” His voice softened as he pictured them sipping coffee, naked in bed, and talking about combining her jewelry designs with his photography. They planned to travel so they could get a feel for the different landscapes, the people, the traditions. Arianna had been to Rome and Venice and Paris…even Prague. He’d been there, too, but not with her…they would go together…

  “She’s not who she says she is.”

  Ash laughed. Pete loved to pull the philosophical crap on him. “Nobody’s who they say they are.”

  Pete eyed him, obviously weighing his next move. Ash must have stumped him because Pete never hesitated. But then, older brothers carried an air of authority with them as though their birthright commanded it, which made it damn annoying for the other siblings. Worse, if there was only one other sibling.

  “What are you thinking? Just say it?” Did he think they were going to have a verbal showdown? Pete might be the older brother, but he did not run Ash’s life and from what he’d said a few minutes ago about marriage, Pete had his own problems. Lots of them.

  Pete gave him one of his “Why do I have to show you fire is hot for you to believe it” looks and said, “I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this.” He opened the desk drawer, pulled out a manila envelope, and slid it toward Ash. “Arianna Sorensen is not who she says she is.”

  “You did a background check on her?” Damn him.

  “I’m not going to let anybody take advantage of you.”

  Ash snatched the envelope and held it against his chest. “You had no right to do this.”

  Pete pushed back his chair and made his way toward Ash. “I’ve been responsible for you since the day Mom and Dad died. I was nineteen years old.”

  “If I was such a hardship, you should have shipped me off to Aunt Elizabeth. She would have welcomed a kid.”

  “Aunt Elizabeth?” Pete leaned against the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. He had eyes like their father—what Ash remembered of him anyway. They were amber with gold flecks that turned the color of bourbon when he was in a good mood and darkened to sludge when he was not. At the moment, the sludge prevailed.

  “She would have welcomed you and enjoyed dressing you up like her favorite toy poodle. As I recall, there was a cat who sat at the dinner table and she swore that animal spoke French. Hmm. Maybe I should have sent you there.”

  Okay, maybe selecting the crazy one in the family hadn’t been such a stellar idea. “You’ve got to let me live my life, Pete.” His brother pinched the bridge of his nose and didn’t speak. Not a good sign. The sermon was coming, stuffed with words like right, wrong, and responsibility. Ash began counting—the longer the dead space, the heftier the lecture. After a minute, he’d had enough. “Pete. Let me live my life.”

  “You think I don’t want to? You think I like having you followed all over the country? Checking out your supposed friends and girlfriends, most of whom ask for money and don’t even have the common decency to call it a loan?” He sighed. “I hate it. But it’s my job. The day that boat sank, we became orphans and it was my duty to protect you and give you what scraps of a childhood I could.”

  “I get it and I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Thank you. Really. But I’m thirty-two years old and it’s time to make my own choices, and I choose Arianna.” Who was certainly not a mistake.

  “Why don’t you check out the file and then see if you still want to marry her?”

  Ash stood and threw the manila envelope on Pete’s desk. “This conversation is over. Nothing in that damn envelope is going to keep me from marrying Arianna.”

  Pete nodded, his expression bland, his eyes darker than sludge. “Maybe so.” He pushed the envelope toward Ash. “Read it anyway. And if you don’t break off the wedding in the next two hours, I’ll spill the whole sordid story to the press. And then I’ll make sure she never sells another piece of jewelry in Philly. Or anywhere.”

  ***

  Two hours later

  Arianna unscrewed the cap on the whiskey bottle and poured two fingers in her glass. She sipped slowly, let the whiskey burn her throat, spiral to her belly in a ball of fire. Not that different from the way Ash’s note had scorched her heart ten minutes ago.

  She eyed the note in front of her, plain white stationery, delivered by the local courier. No return receipt requested. Four short sentences that crushed all hope of a future with Ash Revelin.

  Arianna—I know this won’t make any sense to you, but it’s over. I can’t marry you. Maybe one day you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me. I will never forget you.

  Always,

  Ash

  Always. Always what? Always thinking of you ? Always in my heart? Always the
fool? She finished her whiskey, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and poured another. She was the fool. Ash had seemed so different from her usual choice in men. He’d made her laugh—at him and herself. Of course, he was handsome—lean, muscled, dark eyes, dark hair, cleft in the chin. But it was more than that. He so obviously loved life, loved his life, who he was, what he wanted, and his lack of money didn’t stop him from dreaming and going after those dreams. How many people could say that in today’s society? Most were chasing wads of cash, not following their passion as Ash Revelin had been. Who would take a five-week, cross-country motorcycle trip with nothing but a camera and two saddlebags stuffed with jeans and T-shirts? She’d seen the photographs from that trip—the rugged landscape, the people, the small towns. And when he pointed out the weathered rancher standing next to a split-rail fence that had to be as old as he was, there was excitement in his voice and awe on his face.

  He’d promised Arianna they’d share that excitement together, build their dreams, follow their passions.

  And now he was gone.

  “Hey, drinking alone?” Quinn Burnes stood in the doorway of her studio, looking his usual intense self. They’d been friends since the day he walked into Arianna’s boutique and bought his sister an opal necklace and matching bracelet. I’m on her bad side again, he’d said. And I don’t mind being on anybody’s bad side but Annie’s. His sister’s anger hadn’t lasted long. A flash of smile, a heartfelt apology, and a plea from those silver eyes and any woman, sister or not, would forgive him.

  “Some occasions are meant to be dealt with in solitude.” Damn Ash Revelin for breaking her heart.

  “Such as?”

  When she didn’t answer, he grabbed a glass from the cabinet and poured two fingers of whiskey into it. Then he refilled hers. At this rate, everything would fade away for a little while…she’d forget the note…forget what it meant…forget everything.

  “Did your interview get bumped to the last page of the Arts & Life section? Or did Ferdinand cancel the photo shoot?”