by Stacy Gail
Now it seemed more like fate’s cruel joke.
“The way things turned out,” Scout continued, “you felt relatively good about the role you were able to play that night. You were able to save the driver from the certain death of smoke inhalation. You made the best out of a godawful situation, while the true cause of the problem couldn’t see past her own selfish needs. I’m sure Monique never felt a hint of remorse over what she did that night.”
“Did you?” Payne demanded, even as part of him whispered he was being unfair. But the thought of what Becks had been made to go through tore him up, and he didn’t know how to make it right. “Did you ever once think that I needed to know about his?”
Scout had the grace to look uncomfortable. “What would have been the point?”
“I could have done something about it then.”
“Like what, make that poor boy not be dead? There are some things that not even you can undo in this universe, Payne. Death is one of them.”
“I could have been there to look after Becks,” he snapped, and the blinding rage over what she’d suffered through all by herself roared to the surface once more. “She was literally abandoned on a sidewalk with a broken back and no money because her asshole parents blamed her for her brother’s death.”
Scout paled. “Oh, my God.”
“But if I had known…” He plowed his hands through his hair as the anger drained from him all at once. “Fuck it. I can’t say what I would’ve done if I’d known all the facts. And I know you were following orders to scout out for any trouble that could potentially hurt House Of Payne. But… for God’s sake, someone died, Scout. Were you ever going to tell me?”
“When I realized Becks and Rebecca Delgado were one and the same, I figured I’d have to do it sooner or later.” She rubbed at her brow, as if a pain was starting there that she wanted to erase. “But I was hoping this conversation could be held off until after the exhibit. I didn’t want this to upset the apple cart, and let’s face it. Addressing it now, after all this time, isn’t going to make any of it better.”
“I don’t know about that.”
Scout frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure yet. I’ll have a clearer picture after I make a few calls.” When she continued to look about as unhappy as he’d ever seen her, Payne sighed and put a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you for looking out for me and the House. Is there anything else I need to know about this?”
She shook her head, the picture of misery. “I still can’t believe your Becks and Rebecca Delgado are the same person. What are the odds?”
“Pretty good, since the crash was what made me discover her.” The trick now was to make sure it didn’t tear them apart.
“Have you decided where you’re going to put the Christmas tree yet?”
Becks turned to stare at Claire, lounging on the bed in the guest room across from Payne’s bedroom. Becks had commandeered the room the night before, dumping several potential outfits for the exhibit into the unused closet. Now she had the task of figuring out what to wear on the most important night her career had ever known. What exactly did a woman wear when her ultimate work-related fantasy came true? This was an actual freaking exhibit of her art, for crying out loud. According to the terrifyingly efficient Scout, it was going to be a monster of an event, complete with red carpets, paparazzi, photo ops with celebrities from the music, athletic, royal and entertainment worlds.
And she had one dress borrowed from Claire, an outfit she’d bought years ago for college orientation, and two skirt-and-blouse sets from Target.
Crap.
“Christmas tree?” Baffled, and absolutely certain she didn’t have shoes to go with the borrowed dress she now wore—a brightly sequined green, white and black sheath in a chevron design—she stared at her friend. “Claire, it’s February. What Christmas tree?”
“The Christmas tree that’d look freaking epic in the grand foyer. It’d have to be one of those tall, thin ones,” her friend went on while Becks continued to stare. “You know the kind I mean, right? Like, formal-looking. The kind you don’t sling a bunch of presents under with mismatched wrapping paper and bows that fall off so you’re constantly having to tape them back on. I’m talking about one of those hoity-toity designer trees.”
“First off, I wouldn’t be caught dead shelling out good money for one of those things. And secondly, who says I’m going to still be here by the end of the year?” What Claire didn’t know was that Becks had already tagged the spot in the middle of the family room’s bay window as the perfect place for a Christmas tree. If she admitted that, even to herself, it meant she was once again allowing concepts like always and forever into her thought process. As much as she knew she loved Payne—and oh, God she loved him so much there were times the weight of it crushed the air out of her lungs—her allergy to anything permanent was still going strong. She would love Payne minute by minute, until she didn’t have any more minutes left with him. And she’d be happy with that.
Or so she told herself.
“I’m just saying it’d look good if you put one there when you throw your holiday parties.”
Geez. “So now I’m having holiday parties?”
“Annual holiday parties,” Claire confirmed, nodding like it was a done deal. “They’re going to be the highlight of the season, I’ll make sure of it. Can’t you just imagine greeting the Queen of England at the door with one of those fancy Christmas trees behind you?”
“I can picture that about as much as I can picture the Queen getting a tat.” Experimentally she did a shimmy in the mirror and frowned at the results. “Houston, we have a problem.”
“What?”
“I think I need more boobage for this dress. It looks saggy. Or I look saggy, take your pick.”
“You’re not saggy, the dress is. My bionic boobies have probably stretched out the material. Arch your back a little.”
“I’m already arching.”
“Arch some more.”
“If I arch any more, my shoulder blades are going to touch.” With a sigh, Becks relaxed her stance and watched the sad, deflating cave-in of the spangled fabric. “This was a great idea, Claire, and I’m so grateful you brought it over. But, sad to say, I’m afraid I don’t have the bodacious ta-tas to fill it out.”
“Becks. This is serious.” Her friend managed to slide off the bed without discernible mishap. “You absolutely cannot wear Target clothes to the exhibit.”
“Why not?”
“Holy crap, are you serious? Everyone knows you don’t stand in front of the paparazzi wearing clothes from a place that also sells toddler flashy shoes, jars of peanut butter and adult diapers.”
“Wow. That’s quite a combination.”
“You know what I mean.”
She did, and it made her blow out another sigh before wriggling out of the sheath. “I’ll figure it out. Are you staying for lunch? Andreas is expecting you to.”
“Hell, yes. An actual Andreas meal served in a swanky mansion—I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to this. Even if I hadn’t brought Mia with me and she was on the other side of town, I’d still hang around long enough for one of his legendary meals.” At the mention of her daughter, Claire rounded the bed to peer at the sleeping baby in her cozy car seat. “We’re gonna stay in Auntie Becks’s new digs until she has to forcibly kick us out into the cold, cruel world, aren’t we, sweetie?”
“For the billionth time, this isn’t my new place.” Sliding into one of the skirts she brought, Becks wrinkled her nose at the tweedy scratch against her legs. “It’s Payne’s house, and he worked like a madman to get it.”
“I think even Mia knows you’re going to be completely moved in a month from now, so I suggest you start making peace with that and figure out where you’re putting the Christmas tree.” Blowing one last kiss to her zonked-out daughter, Claire moved to where Becks wrestled with a stuck zipper. “FYI, if you wear tweed to the exhibit, I�
�m going to pretend I don’t know you.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m not going to. I forgot how itchy this skirt is.”
“Yeah, scratching yourself in public is so not cool.” Claire caught her faint wince when she shrugged into a stark white, poof-sleeved blouse. “Still hurts, huh?”
“Not too bad.” Pausing in the process of buttoning up the blouse, Becks leaned toward the mirror to examine her tattoo. Before she’d tried on Claire’s dress, she’d carefully peeled off the bandage to show it off. Just looking at it melted her insides until she felt like she was made up of warm honey and rainbows, and she couldn’t stop herself from smiling at it. “If the tattoo site wasn’t still red around the edges, I’d go out and buy one of those slinky dresses cut all the way to my belly button to show it off.”
“Buy one anyway. Or several, now that I think about it. I get the feeling you’re going to need a closetful to keep up with Payne.” Claire rested her chin on Becks’s shoulder and smiled at her in the mirror. “Hey. Did you know that you wear happy really, really well?”
Becks tipped her head to the side until it touched Claire’s. “You think?”
“I don’t think, I know. I also know that it’s not going to matter what you’re wearing. Just keep looking this happy and you’ll outshine them all, baby.”
A wild flutter migrated from her stomach all the way up into her chest, and the smile it created felt like the best thing in the world. “I just don’t want to screw this up for Payne. He’s worked so hard on this that I think the poor man’s exhausting himself.”
“Why do you say that?”
“After we got home last night, he said he had to make some last minute calls to Scout and a couple other people, so I went up to bed.” She grinned at her friend in the mirror. “Would you believe that for the first time since I’ve been here, we actually spent the night together under the same roof without having sex? I fell asleep waiting for him to come to bed, and when I woke up this morning he was on his way out the door.”
“Oh, my God, you guys are turning into an old married couple. Did you wave him off at the curb like a good little housewife?”
“Hell, no. I texted him that if he didn’t have time for morning sex, he’d better be prepared to make up for it tonight.”
“If the technology had been around in the fifties, you just know ol’ June Cleaver would be sexting Ward big-time just as soon as she got Wally and The Beaver off to school.”
Becks laughed, all the while wondering what else she could text Payne to get his motor running. Whatever it was, she planned to make sure she didn’t spend another light alone.
Chapter Eighteen
“That was delicious, Andreas. How about I do the dishes since you cooked?”
“I wouldn’t hear of it.” As he reached for the dishes she’d already stacked into a neat pile on the breakfast bar—she’d flat-out refused to eat in the formal dining room where the table had been originally set—he gave her a kind smile. “Washing dishes is my personal form of meditation. Besides, I thought you had one or two last-minute projects to prepare for the exhibit?”
“I am wrapping up a project, actually.” But it wasn’t for the exhibit. It was a surprise for Payne, though since he already knew she’d done a portrait of him, she wasn’t sure how much a surprise it really was. But with the coloring and shading she’d put into every last detail of both him and her bed back at the loft, she was pleased with how it was turning out. She had just a few more touches to do on the golden beams of sun slanting across his sleeping face, and it would be it. Her tribute to the most beautiful man she had ever known would be done.
If Payne had come home at his usual time, she probably would have been motivated to finish it by tonight. But he hadn’t, so she didn’t.
If he wasn’t careful, she’d forget what he looked like.
Stifling a sigh, she slid off the stool and gave Andreas a smile bright enough to cover the vague disquiet sliding through her. “I guess I’d better get to it, then. That project’s not going to finish itself, is it?”
“If I were you, I’d take advantage of having the studio to yourself. It isn’t often that young Sebastian has to spend so much time away like this. But as the driving force behind House Of Payne, it does happen. When it does, I always relish the peace and quiet for the rare thing it is.”
Becks had to smile at the gentle way the man had of excusing Payne’s unexpected absence, when they both knew he’d promised to be there. A quick text to both her and Andreas from Payne told them to go ahead and eat without him. No apology. No explanation. Not even a possible time when they would see him again. Just to go ahead and eat.
That was it.
For the first time, Andreas sat down and shared a meal with her at the breakfast bar—no doubt taking pity on her, though he swore he did it because his food tasted better when it was eaten while enjoying the company of others. It was a sweet and gallant gesture, and because of this she did her best to do justice to his excellent cuisine.
But inside…
Slowly, her stomach was developing a cold, stone-like layer of dread that made eating almost impossible.
“I think that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Hopefully if I work hard enough, I’ll have my decks all cleared by the time the exhibit rolls around tomorrow night, and I can just relax and enjoy the moment.”
“This is precisely why you are so good for Sebastian—you have a very pragmatic outlook.”
She wasn’t feeling very pragmatic, Becks thought as she aimed herself toward the studio, her smile fading. Insecure and unsure of where she stood when it came to the man in her life… now that was a much more accurate description. As she settled at the drafting table that sat opposite Payne’s much more cluttered workspace, she tried not to think about how she had barely seen Payne since the night he’d tattooed her. Or how he had barely spoken to her that night on the way home.
Home.
Ruthlessly she shoved that word out of her mind. What was she thinking? This beautiful but strangely empty house wasn’t her home, for God’s sake. It was exactly as she told Claire—it was Payne’s house and he’d busted a hump to make it so. Just because she’d decided to hang out under the same roof with him for a while didn’t make it her home as well. She hadn’t moved into it. Not completely, anyway.
And if this sudden distance between them was a sign of things to come…
She shook her head and forced herself to focus on Payne’s portrait. Thinking they were done for as a couple simply because they hadn’t had sex in over twenty-four hours was the height of stupid. She wasn’t an alarmist and she was disgusted by pearl-clutchers on principle. She and Payne were fine.
Just fine.
Time faded as she immersed herself in wrapping up Payne’s portrait, but when she at last put the finishing touches on it she was thrilled with the results. As detailed as a photograph and so three-dimensional it appeared as though he could roll over and rise from the bed at any moment, she sent the image to her personal email, shut the studio down for the night and zipped upstairs to retrieve her tablet. She would set it up next to the coffee maker tomorrow with a sticky note on it that said “Play Me”, and it would be the first image he’d—
Her plans on how to surprise Payne came to an abrupt halt when she once again reached the main floor and saw light under the door leading to Payne’s office. Without conscious thought she altered her course and made a beeline for it, certain a light must have been left on while he was out. Because there was no way he’d come in without at least letting her know he was there…
The door swung open on silent hinges, and she was two steps in before she saw him sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep. He’d changed clothes. Or at least, she assumed he had, because she highly doubted he’d gone to work in low-slung navy blue pajama bottoms, a ratty-looking long sleeved Disturbed shirt and bare feet. Those clothes had to be what he slept in on a cold winter’s night. She’d never seen them before, of course; she’d
always been more than enough to keep him warm.
But not now.
Not now, because he had come home—some time ago, from the look of it—and ignored her presence.
That quiet, awful dread solidified into pure stone in her stomach while her fingers tightened on the tablet she forgot she held. He hadn’t talked to her when he came home because she’d been working, she thought, all the while hating the desperation that fueled it. He was being thoughtful by giving her the space he thought she needed. That had to be it.
But she didn’t need the space now.
She needed him.
“Hey.” Before she could think better of it, she closed the distance and pressed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Instantly his eyes flew open and locked on hers. “Hey, sleepyhead. It’s after one in the morning. You coming to bed?”
“Becks.” He blinked and pushed to a sitting position, effectively dislodging her hand as he scrubbed his hands over his face as if to erase the fatigue there. “I don’t think so. I’m still waiting for a call from a client in Europe. Why don’t you head on to bed? Don’t wait up.”
That feeling of her stomach turning to stone got worse. “You can wait for the call upstairs, you know.”
“I don’t want you to be bothered by it.”
“It won’t bother me.”
“Becks, it’s cool. Go.”
Slam. Becks stopped breathing, because she knew this feeling all too well. It was the same feeling that hit whenever her father had belittled her, or when her mother had flat-out refused to tell Becks that she was loved whenever they weren’t absolutely alone. It was the one common thread that the tapestry of her entire life had been made up of, more than any other feeling in the spectrum.
