She lets out a raspy giggle and takes another drag on her cigarette. After another puff of smoke, she admits with evident annoyance, “As you already know, we’re not exactly close.”
I shrug. Still, I know how much Lenor looks up to her mother. It baffles me because Lenor is the smartest girl I know. But what baffles me even more is how completely oblivious Louise is to her daughter’s worship. I know Louise’s indifference is a scratch at Duchess’ heart.
I hate Duchess hurting. I know I’ve scratched her heart many times over the years. “Maybe you should try to spend some time with Lenor, before she goes off to Georgetown next month.” And that realization scratches my heart. “I’m sure she’d love to spend some time with you. One-on-one.”
Louise tilts her head sideways and frowns—as much as Botox allows. “You care for her, don’t you?”
I’m not good with blunt truths, so I only manage to groan, “I do.”
“Why? I’ve seen you whoring around since you reached pre-puberty, so what does Eleanor have that is so special?”
You have to give it to Louise Carrington, motherly love doesn’t blind her. The sound of footsteps prevents me from elaborating on how special Lenor is. I turn to find where that cute laugh is coming from. Lenor is the first to the top of the stairs that lead to the terrace. Her focus is still on Freddie boy. For once, it’s a good thing because the sight of her wearing one of those tiny tennis skirts, one whose hem barely covers her ass, gives me a raging hard-on.
“Freddie, you should definitely work on that back hand of yours. It feels… a bit weak.” Lenor is teasing Geeky Boy.
I readjust myself… under Louise’s raised eyebrow. I hope the woman doesn’t get the wrong idea.
“Zach.” Lenor saunters towards me. I can’t stand up quite yet without making a fool of myself. “You’re early. Sorry, I haven’t showered yet or anything.”
Fuck. I won’t be standing up for a while. I clear my throat and lean forward for some strategic cover. Louise is still watching me. She doesn’t look impressed. I’m not impressed with myself either.
Freddie and his father—same lankiness, same nerdiness—announce they’re both going to the changing room. Needless to say, that image doesn’t trigger the same reaction in me.
“Murdoch, you’re here.” Bruce Carrington finally appears. In his tennis shorts.
And the hard-on is gone.
I can finally stand up. “Mr. Carrington.” My voice is clipped, but I give a slight bow anyway. Before my father’s fall from grace, Bruce and I used to be on a first-name basis.
The man marches towards me. He’s been sweating heavily and his tennis shirt is drenched. “What are you doing here?”
I bite my tongue. However badly my father screwed up—however low he fell—, it’s all on him, not me. I’m not my father.
“Ashton is having us for dinner tonight,” Lenor chips in.
Her voice is unusually chirpy and a flush reddens her cheeks. She holds her racket flat against her chest like a shield and moves her body into the space between her father and me. I know what she’s trying to do. But as grateful as I am to my self-appointed bodyguard, I don’t need her protection.
I step forward, lining my body against Lenor’s back. I wrap my arm around her shoulder and pull her against me, resting my chin on the top of her head, her head in the crook of my arm. She stiffens against me because I’m not usually big on PDA—rephrase, I don’t do PDA—but, quickly she relaxes, her fingers circling my wrist.
I want Carrington to get the message loud and clear. His daughter is mine and he can go fuck himself or better that sex-crazed wife of his. His gaze turns icy and I’ve no doubt the guy would love to punch my lights out.
Lenor twists her head so that she can look up at me. “I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”
“I’ll wait for you in my car.”
She nods, waves at her parents, and leaves me alone with them. I guess what follows qualifies as a ‘pregnant pause.’ It’s like the air on the terrace has thickened, making my next breaths heavier.
“I should go too.” Another bow towards Carrington then I swivel. “Louise.” She’s still smoking, her dress still open, but her mouth is now set in a tight line.
I’m heading back inside the club, but Carrington isn’t done with me. “I don’t approve of you being around Eleanor. You’re just like your father. Not only can you not keep it in your pants, but you don’t have the good taste to be discreet about it.”
As if Carrington was keeping it in his pants… He’s just smart enough not to get caught. But I don’t want a show-down with Bruce Carrington. I’m not scared of the guy, but standing up to him will make my thing with Lenor only more complicated. Next month she starts at Georgetown and I’ll go back to Harvard. The clock is ticking and what I want… I’m not sure what I want exactly, except that Mom has finally popped up her head out of her pity-party and is cooking for Lenor and me.
“Mr. Carrington, please believe me when I say that I have only the best intentions towards Lenor.”
“I don’t believe a word of it.”
I repress a chuckle. At least he has made his views clear. “But your daughter does, and quite frankly, that’s all that matters to me.”
His eyes narrow. “I could make your life very difficult. I—”
“Leave the boy alone, Bruce. He’ll get bored of her soon enough.”
The sudden anger swirling up inside me is cold and lethal. I have to leave before I lose control, before I smash something, someone. I force myself to step away from Lenor’s parents, but when I reach Louise’s level, I stare down at her.
The knowing smile is back on her mouth but her eyes seem to throw me an open challenge. I bend slightly forward and say in a low voice, so that she’s the only one who can hear me. “I wouldn’t bet on that if I were you.”
She flinches.
The knot in my stomach loosens and I move further away from this train wreck.
Lenor is true to her word, because she’s inside my Jeep before her twenty-minute deadline. The ends of her hair are still wet and the fruity scent of her shampoo mixed with the fresh taste of her lips on mine rinses away the sour aftertaste of my bust-up with her parents.
I let my hand run up and back down her leg, pulling her dress further and further up. Lenor keeps pushing it away but I know she’s become a pro at teasing me. Why I haven’t made love to her yet is beyond me. God knows she wants me to.
She tugs gently at my bottom lip, then breaks the kiss. “Your mom must be waiting for us.”
I lean my head forward trying to get her mouth back but she shuffles backwards on the passenger seat. A stuck-up older couple passes by and throws shocked glances our way. Lenor tucks her hair behind her ear looking sheepish. “Zachary Murdoch III, you’ll be my downfall.”
I give a light squeeze to her thigh and she squeals. “Let’s roll,” and I turn on the engine.
I don’t drink and drive, but I don’t have the upmost respect for speed limits. However, with Lenor by my side, her hair flying in the wind, I always go ten miles per hour below the speed limit. The trip from my house to the club took ten minutes. The way back takes double that.
I park the Jeep in our driveway. Without giving me the chance to open the car door for her, Lenor gets out. Freddie Boy isn’t the only one who can pull some old-world moves. Not that I’m competing.
We stroll towards the front door, her arm linked around my elbow. I could get used to this. It feels good. We reach the doorstep and I stop there. I turn to face Lenor and run my hands up and down the sides of her arms.
“Eleanor… I, I mean, you—” I swallow hard while struggling with my words. Damn, why is it so hard to articulate my thoughts around her?
“Yes, Zachary?” Her eyes twinkle and it tells me she’s having a ball watching me stuttering and stammering.
“I’d like to know if it’s okay… I mean, if you wouldn’t mind… Can I tell my mother you’re my girlfriend?”
> A strangled giggle erupts from Lenor’s mouth and a light spray of saliva reaches my face. “Oh my god, sorry.” She’s now blushing, her palm flat over her mouth.
I feign wiping my face with the tips of my fingers. “However douchy I’ve been in the past, I’ve never had a girl spit at me before.”
“I’m soooo sorry.” She says, pulling her shoulders together. “Please, tell me the offer is still on.”
“The offer…” I fake a frown.
“The can-I-call-you-my-girlfriend offer?”
“Still very much on the table despite the spit.”
She rolls to the tips of her toes, locks her arms around my neck, and kisses me. My hands are now wrapped tightly around her narrow waist. I want the moment to stretch on forever, but Mom is waiting for us inside. She’s doing something special for me and my… girlfriend. It means a lot to her, and maybe, maybe, the whole fucking drama with my father is a blessing in disguise. My mom may realize that we don’t need that jackass to be happy, to be a family.
I open the door and step in after Lenor.
“She’s given the maid the night off. I’ll bring you something to drink.”
Lenor knows her way around my house, so I head straight to the kitchen. It’s empty. The island looks pretty much like I left it an hour ago with half of the tomatoes sliced on the cutting board, the sharp knife next to them. I check the range cooker and nothing is stewing on the stove. Nothing in the oven either.
“Mom,” I call, back in the hallway.
No answer.
“Zach!” And again, “Zach!” Lenor’s shout is chilling.
I rush through the reception room. The French doors are wide open and next I’m standing right behind Lenor. My hands fall on her shoulders and slowly make her step sideways so that I can see what she’s seeing.
The space around us starts whirling. I’m losing my balance. I anchor myself to Lenor. My mom is there, curled on the loveseat, the one she loves watching the ocean from. Except that her skin is stark white, her eyes open but glassy, her arm stretched over the side of the seat, her hand hanging, her palm upwards.
I register the half-empty glass of water on the side table. No, it’s not water. There’s a bottle of Bombay Sapphire standing next to it.
“Call 911.”
Lenor already has her cell in her hand and I throw myself at the feet of the loveseat. “Mom. Mom.” I gently straighten her up, trying to shake her out of her stupor as gently as I can. The bare skin of her arms is still warm under my touch, but her head bobs over her chest at an awkward angle.
“Mom, wake up. Please, wake up.” I want to shout the command, but it comes out as a pathetic whisper.
And those eyes of hers not meeting mine. I hear Lenor giving our address in the background. She’s answering questions and more questions until she stomps her foot. “Goddammit, just send an ambulance. Like right now.”
She must have hung up because all I hear now is the wind rustling through the shrubs that fill the space between the house and the beach. I feel Lenor’s body brushing against my side. She’s kneeling next to me and murmuring. A question. “Can you check her pulse?”
I do as she asks, pressing the tips of my fingers against the side of Mom’s neck. I wait. I wait. I want to feel blood pumping through her veins, pressing against that parcel of her skin. I’ve never wanted—prayed—for anything more fervently.
I don’t feel anything.
I shake my head. Lenor links her fingers with mine. I don’t have the strength to react to their pressure.
All I manage is to say, to repeat, again and again. “I wasn’t enough.”
I am not enough.
Chapter 22
LENOR
Paris ~ Present.
When Zach parks his car in exactly the same place as he was waiting for me before we embarked on our Provençale adventure, I want to rewind time. I want to grab the big arm of the clock and spin it round and round and round until we’re back at that moment, at that crossroad.
Unfortunately, I’m no magician.
“Paris is renowned for being a pretty nice place to live, you know?” Zach’s voice sneaks its way into my thoughts.
I stop staring at the soft light that spreads out onto the pavement from the streetlamp and give him a forced smile. “What do you mean?”
“You look as if you’re on death row.”
“I want to go back to la Calanque.” It sounds like a moan.
I fight the guilt. I’m lucky my mom is still here. Alive. Charlie has sent me a gazillion texts while I was away. She ‘wants me to be happy’ and ‘cares’ for me ‘so much.’ I have no right to complain about my life. No right at all, but still, “I never want our bubble to burst.”
Zach caresses my neck and gently draws me towards him. He kisses my forehead. The gesture is innocent but it awakes a wild craving within me. Three days aren’t long enough for me to have my fill of him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. After you’ve taken your mother to the clinic you can come straight to my place.”
Mom has a blood test and full medical check-up scheduled for tomorrow. I have to be there. I want to be there. Not because she’s asked me to, but because this will be the closure I’ve been looking for. Not that there’s any real closure with an addict. You can’t be cured from it and recovery will be a day at a time. But hopefully she’ll pass the tests and I’ll be free to move on and get on with my own life soon. Or in the near future.
“Stay with me tonight,” I blurt out.
“Lenor, it’s your family home and—”
“Please,” I beg. “It’s already midnight. You can leave first thing in the morning. Nobody will see you do the walk-of-shame.” And by nobody, I mean my mom, who—I fear—is an experienced walk-of-shamer.
Zach frowns as if he’s trying to read my thoughts. I attempt my most convincing ‘Puss-In-The-Boots’ pout in response and he capitulates, “Okay.”
My shoulders slump in relief. “Thanks.”
A couple of minutes later, I dial the code to access la Cour d’Honneur with Zach behind me. He carries my bag. His is still in the trunk of the Porsche and I assume he’ll be sleeping in the nude. That prospect is positively uplifting.
The ground floor of the townhouse is shrouded in semi-darkness, with only the drawing room light at the top of the first flight of stairs to help us find our way. I take two steps forward, hear a voice and freeze. Seconds tick away while my brain cells struggle to make sense of the words and voices.
My father. My father and my mom. Arguing with each other. Anger makes me recover from the surprise and I shoot up the stairs. Her road to recovery has had enough set-backs. She has fought—we have fought—hard for this new beginning. Without my dad’s blessing. Without his help. There’s no way in hell I’ll let him spoil her life… and mine.
I ignore Zach whispering my name and ask him to wait for me. I reach the drawing room door, throw it open, and cut right to the chase.
“What are you doing here?”
For once, I manage to attract both my parents’ attention at the same time. For a split second my father even looks slightly sheepish. That realization doesn’t settle well with me.
“Lenor, ma chérie, I didn’t expect you to be back tonight.” She stands up from her Bergère and extends her arms towards me, ignoring my father’s scowl. “I’ve missed—”
She stops and I don’t need to follow her gaze over my shoulder to guess Zach is right behind me. Her face falls, looking as if the blood has been drained from it, and her arms hang at her sides.
“That’s what I thought.” My father doesn’t usually bother with greetings and introductions. His time is far too precious for that. He’s dressed casually by his standards. Polo shirt, beige slacks, boat shoes.
“I had no idea you were in Paris. You should have given me the heads-ups.”
He lifts his chin and gives me the once-over, as if I’m a naughty teenager who deserves to be grounded. I stand up straighter
because I’m a twenty-four year old woman and I won’t indulge his tough act.
“I had no plans of coming to Europe but I had to. Your mother couldn’t help confessing to me who else was in Paris. However it seems like I arrived too late.” He delivers these words without even sparing me a glance. I’m already old news. His attention is focused behind me. “As expected, Murdoch you can’t keep your promises.”
Zach reaches my side, the back of his hand brushing against mine. I draw strength from his proximity because the air reeks of stale hate.
“Mr. Carrington. Long time no see.”
Since Zach and I have become reacquainted in Paris, I’ve seldom had glimpses of The Freezer. In my father’s vicinity, it seems like Zach’s default mode has reactivated itself. With full force. Now, quite frankly, my dad has that effect on many people. How he has managed to become a political powerhouse is beyond me.
“Bruce, why don’t we let Lenor go to bed? You can speak with her tomorrow.” My mom’s voice is weak. It sounds as though she’s begging him, a mother bear’s last attempt at protecting her cub in the wild forest.
“What do you want, Dad? What was worth you leaving D.C. for? It must be a matter of life or death… oh, wait, now I remember, it took you two days to answer my call when Mom was in ICU. So what’s even more important than life and death?”
I’ve never talked to my father like this before. He frowns at me and Mom’s skin tone veers from white to green. Tension bounces between the upholstered walls of the drawing room. I’ve felt tired and vulnerable before, but now anger boils up inside me. Anger directed exclusively at my father. It has been a long time coming.
“I came because of him.” He nods at Zach with the same level of contempt he’d show to a rabid dog. “I didn’t want him to get his paws on my daughter too, but I fear I’m too late.”
“Don’t you dare talk to him like that,” I spit out and launch myself towards my father, but Zach grabs my elbow and holds me back. He pulls me against him, his hand falling from my elbow to my hand. His hold on me is firm and all I want is to snuggle against him and pretend everything is fine.
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