by Mary Campisi
He smiled and shrugged, his gaze sliding to hers. “I was a pretty big disappointment to Pete, which made it even worse. I played, partied, pretended I was Bruce Wayne without the Batman outfit. You lose your way when all you have to do is think it and it’s yours. Nobody needs you except as a ticket to the next party, you have no sense of purpose, you flit from one feel-good event to the next. After a while, it eats at your soul.”
She was sorry he’d lost his parents, but he’d had opportunity, most likely trust-fund loads of it, and if he chose not to take it, that was his problem. “You don’t really expect me to feel sorry for you because you’re rich.”
His lips twitched. “Would it work?”
“Of course not.”
Those lips turned up at the corners, spread into a smile. “I’d take anything from you right now; pity even, and I hate pity.” He laughed. “I’ve never given anybody my backstory, not my real one. You’re the first. Having too much money can screw up a person, make him think he’s bigger than he is, that the rules don’t apply. It can make him forget to be human. When I met you, I’d just returned from a bike trip out west. I’d started doing that a year before—packing up my Harley, living out of two saddlebags, taking pictures of the land and the people. You can learn a lot when you get away from the noise and stop thinking you’re so important. It was very freeing. Remember we talked about doing that?”
He stumbled over his words, cleared his throat, and continued, “Pete said I was wasting my life, and I owed it to our parents to do something constructive. He tolerated the partying and the pseudo identities, but hopping on a motorcycle, chasing landscapes and people’s stories with a camera? He said that was insane.”
Arianna recalled the plans they had to ride to South Dakota on his motorcycle after the wedding, how Ash teased her about having to downsize her hair products. Oh, how she’d looked forward to such a trip. She’d planned to sketch new jewelry designs while he captured their trip with his camera.
“Your brother sounds like a very logical man.” Past was past and if Ash continued mining for nuggets of emotion tied to what had been “us,” she’d combust. She had to stop it—now. “I’m guessing he was behind the note you sent?”
His face paled. “He was.”
Of course. This was a fairly simple puzzle: Big brother controlled the money and while little brother could be naughty, even break a few rules, he could not choose a bride without his brother’s approval and certainly not one his brother did not know existed. It all came down to money. It always did. People like Ash could say it didn’t matter. They could blather on about losing their way and having no purpose, but threaten the income stream or maybe temporarily yank it, and these people caved and straightened up like good little girls and boys, leaving behind those who had believed their nonsense. She sipped her scotch. “He gave you an ultimatum.” It wasn’t even a question because her gut knew the answer.
His mouth flattened and the words slipped out. “You could say that.”
“And you took it.”
The left side of his jaw twitched. Three times. “He made it hard to refuse.”
“Did he write the letter for you, too? Compose those sentences in case you didn’t quite know how to dump me?” She sucked in a breath. To hell with composure. “Could you not have had the decency to tell me to my face?”
“If I had to do it, I thought it would be better this way,” he said quietly.
“Better for whom? Oh, you, of course, because it certainly wasn’t better for me.” One note had destroyed her dreams, taken away her belief in love and ever-after.
He shook his head and looked away. “I’d do anything not to hurt you.”
“Really?” He’d decimated her, ripped her soul apart, left her alone, bleeding, in pain. “Except when dollars and cents are involved.”
“Dammit, Arianna, I’m not asking to hop back in your bed, but can you at least stop attacking me?”
Hopping back in her bed? She’d shoot him first. But her traitorous body tingled even as she fought visions of what they’d done in her bed. And out of it…
He reached across the scarred table and clasped her right hand. She flinched but didn’t pull away. His hand was warm, his palm callused. “I left Philly the day after I sent you the note. I couldn’t stay here knowing you were in the same city and I couldn’t see you. I traveled a bit, then headed west on the bike, went to all the places we talked about—the small towns, the historic sites, traveling miles of open road and thinking about nothing but the next picture”—he paused, his voice hoarse—“and you. I came back here a few times to see my nephews and Pete, but my brother knew things had changed. Two weeks ago, he asked me to make a trip home. That’s when he told me his wife found out about the threat he made and told him if he didn’t try to make things right, she’d divorce him.”
She looked up from the hand covering hers and saw the pain and regret in his eyes. “What are you saying?”
Ash’s next words turned her world sideways. “Pete regrets that he drove us apart. He wants us to have another chance.”
Chapter 4
“I hear he’s gorgeous.”
Quinn continued brushing his teeth and ignored his wife’s comment. Only one person would be blabbing about something that was not her business and throwing in ridiculous words like gorgeous. His sister. Annie loved romance, intrigue, underdogs, and collecting strays—especially human ones. That’s why she was a social worker for Catholic Charities, why she rescued Chester, a lab mix she found wandering the streets, and why she married Michael Sorbonne, the absent-minded, brilliant doctor-husband who forgot to get haircuts, pick up dry cleaning, and remember his wife’s birthday.
“Weren’t you going to tell me about Arianna’s fiancé?”
“He’s not her fiancé.” Quinn set his toothbrush in the holder, rinsed his mouth, and faced his wife. Eve Burnes still sucked the air from his lungs when he looked at her. He’d never wanted a wife, never wanted a child, or a home with a backyard and a swing set because that spoke of permanency and there was too much opportunity for hurt when a person thought long term. He had always been all about self-preservation, which meant no attachments. That’s what happens when your mother up and disappears, leaving you with a despondent father, an anxiety-ridden kid sister, and the truth, which wasn’t what everyone thought it was. His mother hadn’t been abducted at all. She’d made her weekly visit to the grocery store one afternoon and walked out of their lives until her return last year. A truth like that can mess with a person’s ability to trust anyone.
But Eve had shown him what love could be like. She’d given him another chance to believe—in himself, in love, in the goodness of others. That last one only extended so far. He was a lawyer by trade and a skeptic by nature. Besides, she was referring to the man who had hurt Arianna.
“Okay.” Eve grabbed a brush and ran it through her dark hair. “I guess I’ll just have to ask Arianna.”
Right. As if she would provide the humiliating details of the man who’d ditched her ten days before the wedding and then suddenly reappeared to offer his undying love and limitless bank account.
“He’s not her fiancé,” Quinn repeated, taking the brush from his wife and setting it on the counter. He sifted his fingers through her hair and pulled her to him. “And never ask a guy about gorgeous. It’s not in his vocabulary.”
Her full lips twitched. Twice. “You have a point there. Annie says they were crazy in love, didn’t leave each other’s side from almost the moment they met. What could have happened?”
Quinn planted a soft kiss on the side of her neck. Distraction was the key here. If she became more interested in other…pursuits…she might forget about Arianna and her reckless ex-fiancé. He ran his tongue along the column of her neck…
“Quinn.” Eve stepped back, away from his tongue and his touch. “Doesn’t it bother you that maybe they still love each other?”
Was that a prompt to say yes? He couldn’t do it.
“It bothers me that I want to take my wife to bed and she’s more interested in finding out about another man.”
Those blue eyes narrowed on him. “You’re very good at avoidance. I thought we were past that.”
Damn. He sighed and leaned against the vanity. Nothing like spilling a secret in the confines of a bathroom. Married life had dragged the truth from him on more occasions than he’d like to admit, but it was a small price to pay for a life with Eve and Hope. “Ash Revelin is really Ash Lancaster of Lancaster Development. Arianna didn’t know and he didn’t tell her. When big brother found out there was going to be a wedding and he didn’t even know there was a fiancée, he put a stop to it.”
“Oh. Well, I hadn’t expected that. Poor Arianna. Let me guess. This Ash didn’t want to lose his trust fund, so he broke it off.”
He could tell by the way her upper lip curled that she didn’t like that one bit. If he let her think that was the reason, she’d despise the guy and that would be the end of it. Maybe. But he couldn’t do it, so he added the rest. “Actually, he left to protect her. Seems she has a past nobody knew about, including me.” That last part didn’t sit well, but Arianna didn’t know about his past either. Maybe that’s why they got along so well—they both had secrets and knew better than to pry at them. “The brother threatened to expose her if Ash didn’t break it off.”
“How horrible. And sad.” And then, “What could possibly be so bad that he’d agree?”
“Oh, family secrets can be pretty twisted.” Like his mother walking out of her own life and leaving behind a husband and two children. And Eve with an abusive first husband who hunted her like an animal until he got caught in his own trap. He told her the story of the real Arianna, the one who stole from her parents, got pregnant, created a fake backstory complete with studies abroad, advanced college degrees, and wealthy, dead parents.
“Oh, Quinn.” Eve wrapped her arms around his waist and settled her head on his chest. “What are we going to do?”
We? He stroked her back and held her close. “I’m not sure there’s a we in this.”
She pulled back a bit and looked up at him. “Of course there is. She’s your friend. Ash hurt her but not because he wanted to; he did it to protect her. Once he tells her—”
“He doesn’t want her to know that he knows. At least not yet. I think he wants her to tell him.”
Eve smiled. “Of course. That shows trust. If she can share something like that with him, then he’ll know she really loves him.”
“Right.” He guessed. Hell, what did he know? He had a hard enough time keeping up with his own wife—she said one thing but meant another. Or she said nothing, which meant something else. Back in his bachelor days, he didn’t care what a woman thought or if he hurt her feelings. He didn’t care about any of it…until Eve. Now he cared so much his chest ached.
Eve kissed his neck and murmured, “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got a few ideas to help them along.”
***
“Did you really ride your motorcycle to California?”
Ash smiled at Quinn’s sister, Annie, and said, “Actually, it was New Mexico.” She was still the same energetic dynamo he remembered. Attractive. Compassionate. Ready to save the world, one disaster at a time.
“I think that’s incredible.” She laughed and forked a piece of pork tenderloin. “I’d have to know my destination so I could ship my clothes and hair products ahead of time.”
Ash laughed. “There usually isn’t a destination. It’s kind of a ‘see where the road takes you.’”
Annie’s husband, Michael, shook his head and settled his gaze in the vicinity of Ash’s neck. “Yeah. Like in a ditch or splattered on asphalt.”
“Michael!” Annie turned to her husband and shot him a “how dare you” look. “What a horrible thing to say.”
Michael Sorbonne, doctor, husband, resident jerk, shrugged. “When you see what comes in the emergency room as a result of people trying to be free, you don’t think it’s so incredible.”
“I don’t think that’s the point, is it?” Quinn Burnes cut a look at his brother-in-law that turned the man’s face purple.
“I’ve never been on a motorcycle,” Eve Burnes added, throwing a smile Ash’s way. “But I have to agree with Annie, I’d make a poor traveler. Too much baggage, I guess.”
“Most people have too much baggage, dear,” Quinn said in an even tone. “But it doesn’t stop them from making the trip.”
Good old Quinn and his sharp tongue. Ash bet he’d been great in a courtroom—before he gave it up and became what some might consider a human being with feelings. His wife had brought about the transformation. Ash would like a word or two with her, find out how she achieved it. Burnes must really love her to give up the other lifestyle—the women, the cars, the chase. Ash could relate. He’d give just about anything for a chance to marry the woman beside him, even though at the moment she was silent, still, and pretending he were invisible.
“Speaking of trips,”—Eve Burnes slid her gaze over Ash before landing on his ex-fiancée—“could you fit everything you needed in a saddlebag?”
Arianna shifted in her chair and fingered her wine glass. She didn’t quite meet Eve’s gaze, which was interesting since he’d thought they were friends. “I’ve never thought about it.”
An intriguing response and sadly, untrue. They’d discussed travel with limited space on numerous occasions, beginning and ending with Ash’s recommendations that less clothes were better, night clothes were unnecessary, and bras were optional. She’d feigned shock and tossed clothing at him with rapid fire—shirt, jeans, bra, panties. All the more enjoyable since they’d been on her person. Yet now she denied the mere thought of traveling with limited storage? Perhaps he should remind her, in detail, of what they’d done the last time the subject had come up. He remembered. All of it. The blonde hair partially covering her naked breasts, the narrow hips, the long legs. Ash cleared his throat. “Really? You never thought about it?” The pink creeping up Arianna’s neck told him she remembered everything.
“No. I’m really not interested in baggage.”
“Hmm.” Are you interested in the sex that went into discussing the baggage? He wanted to ask that question so damn bad his tongue burned. Let her pretend. Let her dismiss what they’d shared, or attempt to, because it wasn’t going away; he could tell from the spread of pink turned red along her neck and cheeks.
“I think the whole idea is romantic.” Annie clutched her husband’s hand and kissed him on the cheek. “No agendas, no deadlines. No ‘on calls.’ Can you imagine that, Michael? It would be like living in another world.”
Her husband grunted and drained his wine glass. “I haven’t had the capacity for that kind of imagination since I was in grade school.”
“Then maybe that’s the problem.” Annie rubbed her jaw. “You’re so busy working on the next goal, you miss what’s in front of you.”
“Not everything, my sweet.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips across her temple. “I see the important things.”
“Just make sure my sister stays one of the important things”—Quinn Burnes worked his lips into an almost smile—“or use your imagination to figure out what happens if you don’t.”
Eve smothered her husband’s pseudo threat with a laugh. “Quinn, really? Ash is going to think you’re serious.” She glanced at Ash and smiled. “Don’t mind my husband. He feels honor-bound to protect us all, even when we don’t need protecting.”
Ash’s lips twitched. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
***
“The domestic life suits him.” Ash followed Arianna down the stone path of Quinn and Eve Burnes’s home. Roses colored both sides of the walkway—red, pink, salmon, yellow, white, growing in clusters or solitary magnificence, climbing metal archways or tied to white lattice. Had Eve Burnes created this garden, or had Quinn done it? Not long ago, Ash would have laid a lot of money on Eve, but now he wasn’t so sure. If Ash wer
e lucky enough to have another shot with Arianna, is this what would happen to him? Did he care? He stopped to touch the velvet petals of a white rose. There were worse things than growing flowers. “Who would have thought?”
Arianna paused and called over her shoulder, “A man who sings ‘Hush Little Baby’ and paints his wife’s fingernails is well and truly domesticated.”
She was in front of him, making it hard to discern her words, or the meaning behind them. Had she just snickered? More importantly, had he heard her right? Of course not, but even as he doubted his hearing, he repeated what he knew could not be true. “Painting fingernails?”
Another sound, lighter and higher than the last. A definite snicker. “Eve says Quinn’s better than any manicurist she’s ever had.”
“I’m positive he would not want that secret repeated.” Their hushed voices reminded him of the intimate conversations they’d once shared—in and out of bed. He missed that. A lot. And he planned to do his damnedest to get that back. If she’d give him a chance, he’d paint her fingernails and her toenails. Every week. For the next sixty years.
Arianna opened the wrought-iron gate and waited for him to pass through. “My car’s over there.” She pointed to a silver Audi twenty feet away and pulled out her keys. “So”—her gaze landed on his chin—“have a good night.”
She turned and walked away, head high, shoulders back. Could she really just get in her car and drive away as though she didn’t care? As though they’d never meant anything to each other? “Arianna?”
She paused, hand on the car door. When she looked up, he could have sworn there were tears in her eyes “Yes?”
So sad. So lonely. He reached her in four steps, lifted his hand to touch her, stopped. “Will you come with me tomorrow to meet Ian Debenidos?”
Those eyes flashed with confusion and something that looked an awful lot like panic. She inched back a step and shook her head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“You’re probably right. If you come, I’m going to remember the time we went to three different galleries to hunt down that designer who painted cigar boxes. And when we finally found his work, do you remember what happened next?”
