by Mary Campisi
“You had no right.” Her voice quivered, strengthened. “How dare you invade my past and pretend you wanted to be friends with those people, and all the while you were laughing at them.”
Now she was annoying him. “Laughing at them? I cared about those people. They were my friends and I might have laughed with them, but certainly never at them.” He should shut up and let her sprout her accusations, but dammit, he couldn’t. “Maybe you’re the one who made fun of them and that’s guilt spewing those words at me, trying to twist things around.”
“Hardly.”
He was sick of her subterfuge. Ash crossed his arms over his chest, challenging her. “I’m not the one who pretended my parents were dead and I was living off of a damn trust fund.”
“I had my reasons.”
“Are those reasons why your father never talked about his ‘other’ daughter?”
Her lower lip trembled, straightened out, trembled again. Oh, she was trying to be valiant as if those words hadn’t struck her soul. Well, maybe that was just what she needed—the pain of that truth invading her, smothering her self-righteous need to pretend she was someone she wasn’t. “I’m sure my sister was more than happy to fill in the gaps of my life for you.”
Ash rubbed his jaw and studied her. What she really wanted to know was how much they’d told him but, of course, she would never come out and say that. He could let her wonder a bit but he was too damn tired of the whole mess, so he spat out the truth. “Actually, no one talked about you. I tried to get them on the subject because, after all, can you blame me for wondering why you told me you were an orphan with a trust fund and not a small-town girl with hard-working parents?”
Those eyes narrowed on him. “The past is called that for a reason.”
“So we pretend?” He moved toward her, stopping when he was a reach away. “I mean, why not? That’s all we’ve been doing from the beginning, isn’t it? I pretend I’m somebody I’m not, and so do you. The difference is, when I had a second chance, I owned up and told you the truth. You didn’t.”
She stood there, statue-cold, and said nothing. It was over between them. Ash tried to ignore the emptiness in his soul, but it was too devastating to ignore. Why couldn’t she have tried harder, trusted him more? Given them a real second chance?
“I have something for you.” He scooped up a plain white envelope from the long table. Inside were pictures of Edgar Sorensen the last time Ash saw him. He handed them to her and stepped back, away from her, away from them. “Good-bye, Arianna. I hope you find what you’re looking for. Don’t worry, I won’t come after you this time.”
He didn’t hear her leave, or hear Megan enter the room, didn’t even know she was beside him until she touched his shoulder. “Ash? Are you okay?”
It was Megan’s voice, but if he tried hard enough, she sounded a little like Arianna. Almost. Who the hell was he kidding? She didn’t sound at all like Arianna, nobody did, and he was tired of pretending people were different from the pathetic, disappointing individuals they really were. Ash continued to stare out of the window at the building next door. “Sure, Megan. I’m fine.”
She squeezed his shoulder, leaned in, and planted a kiss on his temple. “You don’t sound fine and that didn’t seem like an okay meeting.”
“It’s over.”
“You and Arianna? Oh, Ash.” Another squeeze on his shoulder, an arm around him. “I’m so sorry.” And then in the softest of voices, “What happened?”
He didn’t want to talk about it and yet, the words poured from him, burning as they left his mouth, charring what he and Arianna had once shared. “Too many lies. Too much pretending. Not enough truth.”
“Is this about her past?”
He rubbed his eyes, glanced at her. “How do you know about that?”
“Pete’s investigator, remember?”
“Oh. Right. Yeah, it had to do with her past. She just couldn’t own up to it.”
“You mean the part about the baby? Or the money?”
“Both.” He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. What he needed was a ride. Full out. Country roads. No destination.
“That’s sad.”
“Yeah. Sad. Life’s sad, Megan. Don’t fall in love with somebody who can’t tell you the truth.” He sighed. “On second thought, don’t fall in love.”
Chapter 9
Arianna sat in her car clutching the envelope Ash had given her, grateful for the dimness of the parking garage. It was over. Numbness spread through her, attached itself to her heart, her brain, her soul, until there was nothing left but a hole where feeling had once existed. At some point, the numbness would fade and pain would replace it, burning and raw. It would scorch her until she struggled to breathe.
It had been this way the last time. It would be worse this time because she’d had a part in it—that truth circled her even as she tried to deny it. Why could she not have opened her mouth and her heart and told Ash the truth about her past. All of it? What was so lacking in her psyche that she had to still pretend it didn’t exist?
Maybe it was better there was no future with Ash. Loving someone demanded too much of a person, the constant need to confront, discuss, acknowledge one’s own shortcomings and the need for a higher level of honesty that wasn’t always convenient or comfortable. Why would a person want that? Why would she? It was too much to ask, too revealing. She didn’t like the nakedness of such truths and besides, who would love a person with so many obvious lackings, especially one who portrayed such sophisticated self-possession as she did?
She stared at the envelope in her hand. Was it a parting gift? A remembrance of those few short months after they met, when they believed in forever? Part of her didn’t want a reminder of what could have been, but the other part… She opened the envelope and slid the photos out—two black-and-white, three color. She held them against the window to see them…focused on the face of a colored print…Blue eyes stared back at her, sad, alone. Her eyes. The chin was the same, too. And the mouth. Unsmiling. Edgar Sorensen, her father. She placed a finger on the photo, gently traced the nose, the jaw, the flannel shirt. “Oh, Daddy, I am so sorry.”
Arianna clutched the photos to her chest, let the grief pour through her, weigh down her shoulders, her arms, her soul. “Forgive me.” She stayed like that until the tears passed and the grief congealed around her heart. There would be no magical cure for this type of pain; it would live, breathe, and torment her for the rest of her life. If only she had spoken to her father one last time, demanded to see him, begged his forgiveness. Then she could forgive herself. She swiped her eyes, blew her nose, and took one last look at her father before tucking the photos in her purse.
Work had saved her before. It would have to save her again. She started the car and eased out of the parking spot. When she reached The Silver Strand, she entered through the front door and flipped the sign to “Closed.” Quinn was sitting behind the counter with a sketchbook, looking relaxed, content, and nothing like the man who once jet-setted around the world with a string of women trailing behind him.
“Hey.” He stood and set down the pad. “I was just wondering about you.” He moved toward her. “Arianna? What’s wrong?”
She threw her arms around him, buried her head against his chest, and let the tears come once again. “Oh, Quinn.” Her body shook, her voice trembled. “What a mess.” Quinn held her tight, stroked her hair, and made her feel safe. She might be alone for the rest of her life, but she would always have Quinn. When the tears stopped, she swiped at her eyes and eased herself from his grip. “I’m sorry.” She brushed a hand over his shirt. “I got you all wet.”
“Don’t worry about it.” His lips twitched. “Hope gets me wet and stinky.”
She tried to smile, but the attempt fell flat. “Ash and I are done.” She couldn’t tell him about the photos of her father; that would only mean more confessions and she couldn’t do it right now.
“What happened? I was just getting used to
the guy.” He paused, added, “Again.”
“You can’t build a relationship on lies.”
“True.”
She sniffed, straightened. “Or half-truths.” She cleared her throat and made her way to the studio in the back of the shop. “Do you want a drink?”
“If it will get you to tell me what’s going on, then sure, but I’m making veal saltimbocca tonight, so I have to be on my game.”
Who would have thought Quinn could be domesticated? And who would have thought he’d be perfectly happy about it? Arianna reached for two glasses and the bottle of whiskey. She poured their drinks and handed him a glass. “Ever wonder why we get along so well?”
He tossed back his drink, set it on the table. “We like each other?”
She sipped her whiskey. “True, but ever wonder why we hit it off? Like, what was it about us that made us trust one another but not want to get romantically involved?”
Quinn shrugged. “I didn’t want to mess up a good friendship.” He met her gaze. “And you didn’t ask questions, just accepted me for who I was—” he paused, adding “—or who I said I was.”
“Exactly. Let’s be honest here; we both knew we were keeping secrets, right?” Why pretend now, when they’d sensed it all along? He nodded. “But we respected that about each other, that need for distance and for not poking around.”
“Yes, we did.”
She threw back the rest of her drink, slammed the glass on the table. “Then tell me why Ash Lancaster couldn’t mind his own damn business and stop snooping around.”
Quinn refilled their drinks. “I’m going to go out on a limb here, but because the guy loves you?”
“Ha! What does that have to do with anything?”
“Well…when you’re in a romantic relationship you’re kind of expected to be honest with the other person. It’s one of the unspoken rules.”
Arianna rolled her eyes. “I was honest. I just didn’t divulge everything.”
“Yeah. Ever hear of errors of omission? Leaving important things out on purpose? Just as bad as errors of commission.”
“Don’t get all lawyerly on me. I know what that means, but what’s that got to do with a person’s right to privacy?”
“Unless Ash was a third party, you owed him the truth, not heaped-up non-truths.”
Quinn was not supporting her case for privacy and the fact that her past was none of Ash Lancaster’s business. Not that it mattered anymore, because he’d said it was over—the numbness had begun to dissipate and a slow burn was settling over her. “And you’ve always told Eve the truth? Everything she’s asked? Even things you didn’t think she should know?” There, let her friend talk his way out of that one.
“Yes.”
“Are you serious?”
Those silver eyes studied her, burrowed deep, seeing more than she wanted him to see. “Before I met Eve, I lived a big lie. Nobody knew but me and it went on for years. I had to tell her about it because it’s what had me so messed up, afraid to trust, unable to love. Once I told her the truth, I was free. Maybe I didn’t realize it at first—” he smiled and shrugged “—because I can be stubborn and hate to admit I need anybody. But eventually, I saw what she’d done for me and knew if I wanted a life with her, a real life, with love and trust, I couldn’t keep up the charade.”
“Yes, well, what could be so bad? A despondent father? Who could blame him after what happened to your mother.” She shook her head. “I feel so bad every time I think about it.”
“Arianna.” The emotion had drained from his voice. “My mother wasn’t taken. She left.”
“What?”
“She went to the grocery store one day, like she’d done for years, and just walked out of her life. When she showed up in Philly, it wasn’t for a grand reunion, it was to ask for my help proving her real identity. Seems the identity she bought belonged to a thief whose accomplice had just been released from prison; he wanted his side of the cut.”
“Oh, Quinn. I am so sorry.” Arianna forgot her own sordid past, forgot everything but the pain in his words.
“Yeah, nice mother, huh? When I told her to take a hike, she threatened to tell Annie the truth. I couldn’t have that, so I helped her.”
“But now…you get along very well with your mother.”
“I owe that to Eve. I told her the truth and she helped me see that keeping that hatred buried inside was only killing me and my chances for happiness.” He met her gaze. “She was right.”
Arianna nodded. “But don’t you feel so…exposed?”
He smiled. “Yeah, I do. But you know the great thing about that? She loves me anyway. If you care about this guy, it’s up to you to show him the real Arianna Sorensen, past and all.
***
It had been four days since she’d returned from Endicotte, four days since she’d heard from Ash. She’d thought about what Quinn had told her and there was a part of her—a huge part—that wanted to run to Ash and pour out the whole truth, no reservations, no holding back. But there was a tiny piece buried deep in her soul that was so scared she could barely breathe. This was the piece that came to her in the blackness of night, or at odd times of the day, consuming her with doubt and torment.
When the plain white envelope with bold type arrived at The Silver Strand that afternoon, Arianna thought it might be a request to show her work, or perhaps, a meeting to discuss a private viewing. It was neither. The letter consisted of three sentences:
I know about the baby and the money you stole from your family. My price for silence is $50,000, cash. I’ll contact you in two days for further instructions.
Arianna stared at the letter. Who could have sent it? The postmark was from Philadelphia but it was easy enough to get around something like that. For $50,000, a person could pay anyone to mail a letter from anywhere. Could it be someone from Endicotte who spotted her and wanted to make a bundle of quick cash? But if they were going to blackmail her, wouldn’t they have done it years ago? Her mother had said the town knew about her success, even though her own father had never been willing to acknowledge it. It made no sense, but who else knew? Jeremy? He was off in his own world of adventure, and if he’d wanted money, he would have kept what they’d taken from her family. The only other person who knew anything about her past was Peter, but he’d never mentioned knowing about a baby or stolen money. Did he know?
She dialed Quinn’s number but he didn’t pick up. What was she going to do? The whole world would find out the truth if she didn’t come up with $50,000. She didn’t have that kind of money. Ash would find out…what kind of person stole from her own parents…Ash would find out what a completely unlovable person she really was…
Arianna tried Quinn three more times, but the call went directly to his voicemail. Had he said something about a checkup for Hope? She couldn’t remember because the blackmail note had invaded her ability to think, to reason, to take a full breath. The thought that Ash would find out from a newspaper what she’d been trying so desperately to hide made her sick. He might not want to be a part of her life anymore but she owed him this one last truth. And whoever was trying to blackmail her had to be stopped, but with Quinn unavailable, there was only one other person who possessed the ability to do it.
Twenty minutes later, Peter Lancaster slid into the booth at The Banana Tree, looking concerned and determined. She hadn’t told him the reason for the meeting, only that it was urgent and confidential. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” She must have looked anything but okay, because he didn’t give her a chance to answer. “What happened? Please. Tell me.”
His concern was genuine. Odd that a few years ago he’d been responsible for her breakup with Ash and the dark hole she’d fallen into afterward. Now he might be the only one to keep her from falling into it again. “I love Ash.” There. She’d admitted it—to Peter but, more importantly, to herself. “But I think it’s too late.” She paused, cleared her throat. “The last time I saw him he pretty much said t
hings were over. It’s my fault.”
“Arianna—”
“Please. I have to take responsibility for this. I was so certain he couldn’t love the girl from Endicotte that I hid her, from him, and myself. I made up a whole different life, but worse, I rejected my family because I was ashamed of them. I have to set things straight, even if there’s no hope for us.”
“He loves you.”
She didn’t respond. It wasn’t about whether Ash did or didn’t still care about her. It was about doing what was right. “I didn’t ask you here to talk about Ash, but I did want you to know how I feel about him.” She pulled the envelope from her purse and slid it across the table. “I received this a few hours ago. Someone’s trying to blackmail me.”
Peter snatched the letter and opened it. “What the …” He looked up, lips flattened, jaw twitching. “Who else knew about this?”
“When you sent your investigator, did you find out about the baby? And the money I took from my parents?”
Peter flushed and nodded. “It was in the report.”
And then, because she had to ask, “Does Ash know?”
He cleared his throat, said in a quiet voice, “That’s something you need to ask him.”
“Right.” Was that a “yes, he knows” or a “he doesn’t know but you should tell him”?
“Who would have done this?” He scratched his head, studied the letter and the envelope. “A Philly postmark. Interesting.”
“Anyone could have done that.”
