Call to Engage

by Tawny Weber

  “I have to go,” she muttered, slipping her hand between their bodies to tuck the phone back into her pocket.

  “Whatever it is, it can wait,” he said. “You were going to prove you aren’t afraid, remember?”

  “It’s my mother.” Like a switch, his eyes chilled. “I have to go. Have to take her call.”

  “Of course you do.” It wasn’t exactly a sneer that covered his face, but it was close enough. With good reason, given the number of occasions her parents had demanded her time, her allegiance, in the course of their marriage. Toward the end, it had just been one more issue among hundreds that Ava and Elijah had fought over.

  Ava found herself wanting to apologize. To make excuses. But as it had so often in the past, shame reframed her words. Whether it was triggered by fear or simply a reaction to the text, the next thing she knew, she heard her mother’s accusations falling from her lips.

  “Gee, Elijah, which is worse? My mother caring enough to want my attention? Or me, sitting around worrying about my husband’s safety while I wonder if he’ll even be alive for his next birthday?”

  “You forgot the part about me selling my soul to Uncle Sam for a pittance and an ego boost,” he said, finishing the familiar refrain. “Looks like some things never change.”

  Elijah moved to one side, sweeping his arm out to indicate her path of escape.

  Sick at herself, furious at how easily she turned ugly to keep from dealing with things, Ava hesitated for just a second. Then, not knowing any other way to deal with it, she scurried away.

  She didn’t care if he thought she was a chicken. For the first time in her life, one of her mother’s nagging texts filled with emotional demands was a welcome escape.

  Damn, she was desperate.

  * * *

  DESPERATION WAS STRONG enough to send Ava home, digging into her closet, then on the road toward Mendocino. Her fingers tapping the steering wheel in time to the beat of Aerosmith’s “Just Push Play,” she maneuvered her way through the early afternoon traffic with a grim expression.

  A visit home was rarely an occasion for joy, but for multiple reasons, she didn’t have a choice.

  First, the confrontation with Con had been a rude wake-up call as to what things would be like if he was in charge. Rules, regimentation, rigidity.

  The only way to stop that from happening was to go into partnership with Mack. And if she wanted to buy into the gym, she needed money.

  She had diddly-squat for money.

  At least she had diddly-squat for available money.

  She did have a more than ample trust fund that she couldn’t access until she was thirty. Unless she got her parents to approve a withdrawal. Hence, this visit, she thought as she pulled the Silverado into the country-club parking lot.

  Having not seen her only child in seven months, her mother preferred that they lunch at the club instead of meeting somewhere private and comfortable. Fine with Ava. The club would put tidy limits on things. Not the drama—there was no limiting Celeste’s drama. But the club closed between lunch and dinner, so the drama couldn’t last more than three hours.

  Ava circled the parking lot a second time. Why the hell were parking spaces made only for compact cars? How was she supposed to fit a full-size truck in a spot the size of a motorcycle? She huffed, then finally angled herself into a spot with the most distance between neighboring cars.

  She had a delicate bead of sweat snaking down her temple and a dull headache brewing by the time she turned off the ignition. What was she doing here? She obviously didn’t fit. She wanted to drop her head on the steering wheel and cry. That or drive right back to Napa. But crying was pointless, and running wouldn’t get her what she wanted.

  So, calling on the lessons she’d learned over the last few years, Ava powered through. She angled the rearview mirror to check her makeup. Subtle with a hint of elegance. She’d taken the time to curl her hair, so it fell in long, loose spirals over her shoulders. The glint of gold at her ears and her grandmother’s diamond drop necklace around her throat not only bespoke wealth but were subtle reminders of where the trust money came from. Not that subtle would work on her mother, but Ava figured she had to use anything and everything at her disposal.

  Ready as she’d ever be, she opened the door. It took some clever maneuvering to squeeze out the door and sidle along the truck bed. Especially in heels and a dress. Once free, Ava could only grimace and shake her head when she got a good look.

  Like her, it simply didn’t fit. The rear of the truck was hanging out between the two compacts like a roll of fat squeezed between the waistband of too-tight jeans and the hem of a skinny knit top. When something didn’t fit, it wasn’t comfortable and definitely wasn’t pretty.

  But it was worth it if it got you where you wanted. She figured sometimes that was what it took to get through. And she was an expert on getting through.

  With that in mind and the afternoon sun beating down hot enough to straighten her curls, she took a fortifying breath, smoothed her hair one more time, then wended her way through the BMWs, Mercedes and Jags toward the club. Her heels clicked on the polished cement as she hurried past the tweed-clad golfers and glowing people in their crisp whites on the tennis courts. Once she would have recognized—and been recognized by—most everyone she saw. Now they were all strangers.

  She nodded her thanks to the doorman when he opened the heavy oak-and-glass door, the brass trimmings blinding her for just a second before she stepped inside the restaurant. The plush luxury was so claustrophobic that Ava had to take a second to breathe before moving through the gilded tables filled with pretty people toward her mother.

  Unlike Ava, Celeste Vargas Monroe was in her element. Her mother’s hair was a short sweep of rich chestnut framing the pampered perfection of golden skin. The daughter of an Argentinian vintner, she’d been raised with only one goal. To marry well.

  A goal she’d tried to pass on to her daughter, an ultimate frustration for both.

  Stress tightening her neck, her shoulders stiff with it, Ava took one deep breath, plastered on her best smile and stepped forward.

  “Hello, Mama.” Ava brushed her lips over the plump softness of her mother’s cheek. “You look lovely, as always.”

  “There you are, darling. What took you so long? I’ve been here for ages. A lady should always be early, Ava. You know that,” Celeste chided in lieu of a greeting.

  Ava didn’t have to check her watch to know that she was only three minutes late. But she did mentally kick herself. She was here to charm her mother, not irritate her.

  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Ava said as cheerfully as she could manage, sliding into her chair. “It’s too bad Daddy couldn’t join us.”

  “He’s in meetings all day. But he’ll finish in time to meet us for drinks at six. You’ll stay for dinner, of course. Better yet, stay for the night.”

  “I’d love to,” Ava lied. “But I have to get back this afternoon.”

  “Nonsense.” Celeste waved that away while signaling the sommelier to fill Ava’s glass. “We’ll spend the afternoon shopping. It’s past time to freshen your wardrobe. That dress must be at least three years old.”

  Six, actually. But there was no point mentioning that, or the fact that she’d dug the Versace sundress out of a suitcase she called “Past Lives” and kept hidden in the back of her closet for occasions exactly like this.

  “Good fashion is timeless,” she said instead. “And as fun as all that sounds, I can only stay for lunch.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “I have a commitment this evening.”

  “Do you have a date?” For the first time since Ava had sat down, Celeste looked excited. She reached across the table to lay one pampered hand over Ava’s. “Darling, that’s wonderful. Now tell me everything. Who are his family?
What does he do? When will we meet him? Soon, I hope. Before you become too attached.”

  Listen to that. There were so many things her mother left unspoken, yet the words still screamed through Ava’s head. The reminder that her parents hadn’t considered Elijah’s name, wealth or occupation worthy of their only child. The accusation that she’d kept her relationship with him secret from them until she’d gotten pregnant, stealing their opportunity to refuse when Elijah asked for her hand in marriage.

  Struggling not to squirm in her chair, Ava clenched her hands tight in her laps and summoned a smile.

  “I don’t have a date tonight. Actually, I’m not dating anyone.” One night of sex with her ex didn’t count. “I have a class tonight.”

  Wrinkling her nose, Celeste said, “You mean you’re making a bunch of flabby housewives huff and puff and sweat.”

  “Not everyone stays in shape through the wonders of plastic surgery,” Ava pointed out.

  “Surgery, exercise, what’s the difference?” Waving that away with a flick of her fingers, Celeste took a ladylike sip of wine. “It’s a tragic waste, Ava. With your upbringing, your family connections, you’re qualified for so much more.”

  All her upbringing and connections qualified her for was to be a pampered princess. And an unhappy one at that. But pointing that out—again—wasn’t going to help achieve her objective.

  “I wish you’d understand how much I enjoy what I’m doing,” she said instead. “Mother, in the last year alone I’ve earned my accreditation in clinical and rehabilitation massage as well as my certification as a Pilates and yoga instructor. I’m also a second-degree black belt.”

  “And your point would be?”

  “That I love what I’m doing. That I’m good at it. And that I’m continually expanding my skills and qualifications, which makes what I offer more and more in demand.” There. She leaned back in her chair, glad to have finished that pitch after practicing it so many times on the drive.

  “Oh, darling, that’s just a distraction. None of that can make you happy. Not like taking your place in society would. It’s time you found the right partner and focused your priorities. A home, a family. A future.” Celeste patted her hand again. “That’s what will make you happy.”

  The room dimmed. The sound of the other diners, of cutlery on china and the soft background music all faded, drowned out by the roaring in Ava’s head.

  “You mean being a wife and a mother?” Hoping it would keep her from screaming, Ava gulped down her wine. She took her time setting the glass back in the precise same place on the white linen tablecloth before meeting her mother’s gaze. “We both know it takes more than that to be happy, Mother.”

  “It needs to be the right marriage, darling.”

  “The right...” Ava didn’t have enough air to finish the sentence. “You think that Elijah and I...that I lost Dominic because...”

  “Because it wasn’t right,” Celeste finished. To her credit, the words were sympathetic and her eyes were bright before she blinked away the tears. “If it was right, it would have been easy, darling. You shouldn’t have to stress or struggle or sacrifice to make a marriage work.”

  Ava opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She had no words. She could only stare in stunned silence.

  Her mother believed that. It wasn’t simply another one of her patronizing attempts at manipulation. Ava racked her brain, but in that moment, she couldn’t remember a single time her mother had stood up to her father. She’d never argued, she’d never disagreed, she’d never expressed disappointment.

  No wonder they’d always called Ava their little princess. She’d grown up in a fairy tale.

  Had she done the same thing? Had her marriage stood a chance against that sort of emotional sabotage? Ava clenched her fist around the napkin in her lap. How had Elijah?

  “Ladies, may I serve your lunch?”

  Thank God. Distraction. Ava wanted to leap up, grab the waiter’s narrow face and give him a big, smacking kiss of gratitude. She settled on a smile and a murmured thanks as he set a gold-rimmed plate on the charger in front of her.

  As soon as the waiter left, Celeste grabbed control of the conversation. Social news, gossip and sugarcoated criticisms filled the next half hour. By the time they’d reached coffee—God forbid someone mention dessert around Celeste Monroe—Ava’s head throbbed and her stomach growled. How far could a girl get on a four-inch square of salmon and three broccoli sprigs? Her nerves were shot.

  She wanted to leave. She wanted to go home, curl up in her rainbow-tinted bedroom and hide.

  But she hadn’t gotten to the point of her visit.

  “Mother, there’s something I need to ask you,” she burst out, interrupting Celeste’s ode to why Ava should try her hairdresser. “It’s about my trust fund.”

  “Darling, we’re not going to discuss money at lunch. That’s so tacky.”

  “Tacky or not, I have a favor to ask you and Daddy. I’d like you to release part of it. Not the trust itself,” she rushed to add when she saw the immediate refusal on her mother’s face. “Just the interest. It’d be more than enough for me to invest.”

  “You’re planning to invest?” One perfectly arched brow rose. “In what?”

  Oh boy, here we go.

  “In Mack’s gym. I’d like to buy in as partner.” Before her mother could get out the no hovering on her lips, Ava hurried on with her carefully rehearsed explanation of how well the gym was doing, how happy Ava was there and why she thought she’d be a strong partner for Mack.

  “So you see, it’d be a smart investment,” she finished, trying to smile despite the refusal she felt was coming. “I have an outline of what it would entail, and what the benefits would be.”

  Her mother shook her head before Ava could reach into her purse. “Oh please, Ava, don’t be ridiculous.” Celeste dismissed her with a wave of her hand. “This is just another silly impulse of yours.”

  “Another? This is a business I’ve been involved with for three years, one I’ve devoted a lot of time and energy to learning. I hold multiple certifications denoting my skill at it. I’ve even written up a business plan to show to Daddy so he can see that I’m serious about it. How is that a silly impulse?”

  “It’s obviously something you think will make you happy in the moment, but in the long run it’ll only cause problems. Your father and I don’t approve of your spending your days in gyms or massage parlors, Ava. We indulged you before because we love you, darling. But we won’t do it again.”

  “Before?” She’d never asked for money before.

  “Before, when you ran off and married Elijah. And look at how that turned out. A mistake of epic proportions, complete with heartbreak and misery.”

  “And Dominic?” Ava asked, her voice breaking on the words.

  She knew her parents had loved Dominic. They’d been doting grandparents. But once he was gone, Dominic had ceased to exist in Roger and Celeste’s world.

  “That matter isn’t open for discussion, Ava.” To emphasize her point, Celeste rose from her chair. “Now, if you’ll excuse me for a moment, I need to say hello to Meredith and Sharon.”

  And with that, lunch was finished. Knowing that if she stayed, she’d say something she’d regret, Ava grabbed her bag and left.

  She wasn’t going to call this a wasted trip, she decided as she drove home, even if she didn’t like the things she’d learned. And she’d take out a loan if she had to. Because she was definitely buying into Mack’s gym.

  Nobody would ever say that Ava Monroe walked away from a challenge again.

  CHAPTER TEN

  WHEN A MAN awoke sexually satisfied and alone, it was usually cause to count his blessings. But for Elijah, it had only served as an irritation.

  He just wasn’t sure if he was pissed about
the sexual buzz still rippling through his body or if it was the fact that she’d snuck out of his bed like a booty call gone bad.

  Oh, oh, maybe it was the fact that she was still dancing to her parents’ tune. That thought sent a shaft of fury straight down his spine. Elijah knew from experience that his feelings about her family didn’t matter. Actually, his feelings in all things having to do with his ex didn’t matter.

  Something to remind himself of a few million times, until it sank in.

  Frustrated, irritated and suffering from the occasional pang of hunger, Elijah strode into Mack’s apartment a little after three without a clue what to do with the rest of his day.

  This leave was turning into quite the challenge.

  He hit the kitchen, grabbed pizza from the box he’d stashed in the fridge as emergency rations and paced the kitchen while it heated.

  Too distracted to draw, not interested in TV, he took the pizza into his room. He eyed the bed, but didn’t give in to the temptation to crawl under the covers. He wasn’t in the mood to be dogged by dreams, for one. And two, he’d be damned if he was going to fall into the habit of napping just because he was on leave.

  It would feel good, but habits like that could be damned hard to break when he went back on duty.

  Unless he didn’t. Go back, that was.

  Elijah shoved to his feet as if movement could shake off the unwanted thought. He’d unpack, he decided with a deep breath. Unpack, settle in and clear his head.

  Then he’d figure out what the hell he was going to do with himself for the next three weeks before reporting for duty. Because he’d damn well be reporting for duty again.

  He kept his thoughts calm, his mind on the task at hand. Clothes out of the duffel, into the drawer. Neatly folded, all perfectly aligned. Toiletries stacked on the dresser, ready to take into the bathroom. One pair of shoes, his spare boots, tucked in the closet.

  That frantic energy still pulsing, he decided to empty his backpack, too. In the second pocket he found a photo.

  Weird.