Dynasties: The Elliotts, Books 1-6

by Various Authors

  “I meant way back, when you first fell in love.”

  Scarlet joined her sister at the window. “How could I tell you? What was I supposed to say? He preferred you.”

  Summer pressed her fingers to her eyelids. “Maybe you’re right. And maybe you’re right about not telling me after the first night you shared. I certainly would have thought that John was using you to exact revenge on me.”

  “He wasn’t.”

  “I realize that now.” Summer stared at the street. A long time passed, more than a minute. “I think you should go after what you want,” she said at last, her voice wavering just a little.

  Scarlet felt her jaw drop. “You’re kidding.”

  “No.”

  “How can I do that? What would everyone say? The Grands—”

  “They always liked John.”

  “How do I explain it? People will talk. I’ll need to have answers.”

  “The four of us will go out together. Be seen. Let them talk. Who cares?” Summer’s whole attitude changed, from her posture to her voice. She exuded strength and certainty.

  Hope returned to Scarlet with a vengeance, but practicalities still got in the way. “I can’t do the public thing unless John and I have a future together. A long future.”

  “So find that out first and go from there.”

  “I can’t believe how generous you’re being. If the situation were reversed—”

  “You would do the same thing.”

  Scarlet put a tentative hand on her sister’s shoulder. “It was so hard keeping this a secret from you.”

  “Don’t do it again.” Summer’s eyes welled. “I know a lot has changed for us, but nothing can destroy our bond unless we let it. Regardless, Zeke is a part of my life now.”

  “I know that, Summer. I do. I think I felt left behind. Maybe a little jealous. You were so in love and so happy. And I envied you leaving your job, even if it was only for a month. It was only for a month, right?”

  “I don’t know yet. I doubt it, though. I’m finally going to do it, Scar. I’m going to make a career as a photographer.”

  There were no more questions, no more revelations. They went into each other’s arms and held tight.

  “I love you so—”

  “I love you more than—”

  They laughed shakily.

  “So, why don’t you show me your design for my wedding dress,” Summer said after wiping Scarlet’s tears away.

  “Have you set a date?”

  “We’re talking about one. But I’m willing to wait until it can be a double wedding.”

  More hope wove its way through Scarlet. A different kind of hope. One with John as the focus. “You’ll want the big, splashy wedding, Summer. I won’t.”

  “Yes, you will.” Summer’s smile was all-knowing.

  “It’s never been my dream.”

  “Until you fell in love.” She hugged Scarlet. “Show me my dress. And yours.”

  She found the sketch of Summer’s dress and brought it out to her. Scarlet didn’t want to jinx anything by pulling out the sketch of her own dress—the waddedup paper she’d rescued from her trash can at work with her impetuous design. She hadn’t redrawn it on clean paper. Nothing was certain yet.

  “Oh!” Summer traced the lines of the gown with her fingertips as if the fabric were in her hands. “It’s exquisite. And exactly what I want.”

  “I know.”

  Summer shoved her, and they laughed.

  “I’ll hire someone to sew on the beads and crystals, but I want to make it for you,” Scarlet said.

  Summer nodded, tears in her eyes. She grabbed Scarlet in another big hug.

  “Can you stay tonight?” Scarlet asked.

  “Don’t you want to go see John?”

  “Not tonight. Tonight I want to be with you.” She stepped back and smiled. “And sleep.”

  “I’ll call Zeke and let him know.”

  Scarlet wondered if they would ever have another night like this, just the two of them. Probably not.

  The thought colored the rest of the evening, giving everything they said and did a bittersweet edge. Who could have predicted they would undergo so many changes in just a couple of months?

  Where would they be a year from now? Would they even be in the same country? When Summer and Zeke decided to have children, would Scarlet even get to know them or would they always be on the road?

  She pictured her sister pregnant, smiling serenely. Summer would take motherhood in stride.

  As for herself, Scarlet couldn’t bring up the picture as readily. Maybe because her future wasn’t as settled as Summer’s.

  But that was all about to change.

  Fifteen

  The Elliott helicopter swooped over The Tides, preparing to land. Scarlet took in the vista from above—the enormous turn-of-the-century home rising near a bluff overlooking the ever-changing Atlantic. The elegant circular drive, so often filled with cars. Her grandmother’s glorious rose garden and perfectly manicured lawn, fragrant and inviting. Many a game of hide-andgo-seek had been played in that garden and countless touch football games on the lawn.

  Hand-carved stone stairs led down the bluff to a private beach where Scarlet and Summer had whiled away warm July days and hotAugust nights as they talked about boys and life and their parents, desperately trying to keep them alive as their memories threatened to fade.

  Scarlet’s relationship with The Tides was complicated. A haven but occasionally a jail. Gram the peacekeeper; Granddad the warden. Summer the diplomat, and Scarlet the rebel…until this past year, when she’d stopped waging war with her grandfather. It had felt good, too. Incredibly good.

  She gathered her courage as the helicopter set down gently, then she thanked the pilot and battled the wind generated by the blades as she ducked to race across the helipad.

  For the first time ever Scarlet had ditched work.

  She ran into the breezeway and entered the house from the side entrance. Heading straight into a powder room tucked under the staircase, she brushed her hair, straightened her clothes then went in search of her grandparents, who were expecting her and had surely heard the helicopter arrive.

  Her stomach hurt from stress and anticipation as she walked through the house, expecting to find them in the solarium enjoying the morning sun. They sat on a love seat, heads close together, speaking quietly. Maeve touched Patrick’s face lovingly. He laid a hand over hers. Their tenderness after fifty-seven years of marriage was enviable.

  Scarlet closed her eyes; drew a slow, deep breath; let it out just as slowly then walked into the room. “Good morning,” she said, bending to kiss each of them. “Thank you for sending the chopper,” she said to her grandfather.

  “It sounded urgent.”

  “Have you not slept in a month, then?” her grandmother asked, concern creasing her face.

  “I’m okay.” Scarlet thrust a box at Patrick. “I can’t keep this. It’s beautiful, Granddad, and exactly the kind of necklace I would wear, but I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve what it represents, what you said in your note. You won’t be proud of me once you hear what I came to tell you.”

  He frowned. “You’ve caused no gossip since that hoodlum a year ago. And I’ve been assured that you’ve become invaluable to Charisma.”

  “Just because he rode a motorcycle doesn’t make him a hood—” Scarlet stopped the automatic argument. She couldn’t lose her temper now. “It doesn’t have anything to do with my job,” she continued, forcing herself into control, then remembering he had a snitch in place at the magazine. “Who’s your source there, anyway? Fin hates being checked up on.”

  “Fin’s paranoid.”

  “Patrick,” Maeve chided.

  “Well, she is. I don’t check up on her. I’ve no need to. I can see the numbers any time I choose. I asked Cade how Scarlet was doing. At least he speaks to me. Finola chooses not to.”

  With good reason, Scarlet thought.

  “Si
t down, missy. Tell us what’s on your mind.”

  She pulled up a chair, grateful to sit. “I’ve been seeing John Harlan.”

  Her grandmother’s eyes opened wider, but that was her only outward reaction. Her grandfather’s expression darkened, the calm before the storm.

  “Seeing him? What does that mean?” he asked coolly.

  “Dating him.”

  “Sleeping with him?”

  “Yes.” Okay. The worst was out now.

  “For how long?”

  “A month.” She decided they didn’t need to know about the stolen night, the first night a month earlier. That could only hurt all those involved.

  “Does your sister know?”

  Scarlet nodded. “She wouldn’t have, but she came home a day early and saw us together. We were going to end it that night.”

  Her grandfather shoved himself up. Scarlet stood, an ingrained response. She wasn’t wearing heels this time, so she couldn’t meet him eye to eye. He seemed to tower over her.

  “I thought you’d grown up finally. How could you do that to your sister? Betray her like that?”

  He’d used the word before—betray. Even though Summer had forgiven her, it still stung, especially since she’d worked so hard to change. Had changed.

  “I couldn’t help myself,” she said quietly. “It’s no excuse. I know there’ll be penance to pay.”

  “Couldn’t help yourself?” he roared. “Animals can’t help themselves. The weak can’t help themselves. You’re a strong woman who knows the difference between right and wrong. This is wrong, missy.”

  “I know.”

  He walked away.

  “I’m sorry,” Scarlet said. “I know I’ve disappointed you. Both of you.” She dared a look at her grandmother. “I didn’t mean to hurt Summer. She’s the last person on earth I’d ever hurt.”

  “But you did, colleen,” her grandmother said.

  She could bear being a disappointment to her grandfather—that was nothing new—but not Gram. Scarlet wanted to stare at the floor. Instead she kept her head up.

  “Why are you telling us?” he asked.

  Scarlet hated that she’d put that tone in his voice that said she’d failed him, had fallen short of his expectations. “Because I’m in love with him.”

  “You mean you have every intention of going public with this? Humiliating your sister?”

  “Summer is fine with it. As for going public, I don’t know for sure. I just wanted you to know, in case.”

  “Does he love you?” Gram asked.

  “He hasn’t said so.”

  “Are you looking for my blessing?” Granddad asked, as if dumbfounded. “You think I would—”

  “Quit prowling,” Maeve said, interrupting. “Sit yourself down. You’re not helping.”

  “I should help this?” he queried righteously, but he sat anyway. “I should make her comfortable?”

  “Yes, I do believe you should, dearie.”

  Scarlet was grateful to sit again. “I didn’t have anything to do with their breakup.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” her grandmother said, patting her hand.

  Scarlet grabbed it as an anchor. “I do want your blessing, Granddad. I don’t know what will happen. Maybe all this would have been unnecessary. But I can’t even begin to hope things can work out with John unless I know you accept it.”

  “Give my blessing, you mean.”

  She nodded.

  “And if I won’t?”

  She met his gaze directly. “I won’t see him anymore.”

  He sat back, his brows raised. “You would give him up?”

  “I’m not the girl I was. I’ve grown up. I appreciate all you did for Summer and me after Mom and Dad died. I’m sorry it took so long for me to show you.”

  The room held no clock to tick during the long silence that followed, but the sound seemed to reverberate inside Scarlet’s head, anyway, a time bomb determining her future—she hoped. John still had to have his say.

  “You have our blessing,” he said at last.

  As if a nuclear blast hit her, she fell into her grandmother’s waiting arms, wishing she could control the relief that spilled out in huge, gulping sobs, but finally just giving in to the overwhelming emotions. She felt her grandfather pat her back a few times.

  “You’ll make yourself sick,” he said, obviously uncomfortable with Scarlet’s tears when he was accustomed to arguments.

  He stuck a handkerchief in her hand. She grabbed hold of his hand, too, then shifted from her grandmother’s arms into his. “Thank you,” she whispered shakily. “Thank you so much. I’ll try to handle it in a way you can be proud of.”

  “I am proud, missy. I’ve always been proud. You’ve got a good bit of myself in you. It’s why we butt heads. I expect you’ll go far in the company, maybe even run it someday.”

  Scarlet used his handkerchief to dry her cheeks and blow her nose, stalling. She tried to smile. They had, after all, taken Summer’s request for a leave of absence well. “About that…”

  He raised his brows.

  “No matter what happens with John, my plan is to stay on at Charisma until the end of the year—when Fin wins the contest,” she added pointedly. “And then I’m going to try my hand at designing full-time.”

  “You couldn’t have saved that bit of news for another time?”

  “Might as well put everything on the table at one time. Deal with it and move on.”

  “That sounds suspiciously like a motto of your own,” Maeve said to him.

  He smiled, then shrugged.

  “You’ll be wanting to take the helicopter back right away, colleen.”

  “Yes, Gram. Thank you.” She stood.

  Patrick stood as well, and passed the jewelry box back to her. “I haven’t been more proud of you than now, Scarlet. Wear it with pride. My pride. You’ve become your own person. It needs recognition. No more tears,” he added in mock horror.

  She laughed. Then she left to find the man she loved.

  Sixteen

  Late that afternoon John closed his office door, shutting out the normal workplace noise, which seemed suddenly chaotic. He’d been sure he would hear from Scarlet as soon as Summer forgave her—or whatever they did to make things right again. He’d certainly expected their reconciliation by now. He didn’t know what to make of Scarlet’s silence.

  He checked the time. She would still be at work, but just barely. He dialed her number, got her voice mail, waited for the beep. “It’s John.” Did he really have to identify himself? “Give me a call when you have a minute. Thanks.”

  If she didn’t call back before he left the office he’d try her home phone, then her cell. He needed to know what was going on with her, wanted to tell her a few things, too.

  His private line rang. He let it ring twice, his hand on the receiver. “John Harlan.”

  “Hi, it’s me.”

  Scarlet. Message received. He dragged a hand down his face and relaxed into the chair.

  “Thanks for calling.” He held back from bombarding her with questions because he wanted to see her in person, to know for himself how she felt. He needed to talk her into meeting him somewhere. “Did you and Summer settle things?”

  “Yes.”

  He waited, but she didn’t add anything. “Well…good.”

  “John? We need to talk.”

  “I agree. That’s why I called you.”

  “You—” A pause, then, “When?”

  “Just now. Isn’t that why you’re calling?” he asked.

  “No. I wanted to let you know I’m sending you an envelope by messenger. You can read what’s inside and think it over and get back to me.”

  “Why don’t we just meet?” he asked.

  “Everything will be clear when you get the message.”

  At this point in their relationship she’d decided to play a game? Why wouldn’t she just talk to him? “All right, Scarlet. I’ll get back to you.”

&nbs
p; “One way or the other, please?”

  He wasn’t sure what she meant but figured it would work itself out. “Okay.”

  “See you later,” she said, almost turning it into a question, but not waiting for an answer before she hung up.

  He called the doorman in his apartment building to say he was expecting a delivery and to call him as soon as it arrived. Someone rapped sharply on his office door, then opened it without waiting to be invited.

  “Got a minute, son? We need to talk.”

  John stood to greet his father, aware of how ominous those words sounded, echoing his own to Scarlet. It was not the best day in his life.

  Scarlet shook out her hands to help calm her nerves then strode lightly across the sumptuous hotel suite to the door. She viewed the room from the entry. The small fortune she’d paid for one night in the two-room suite at the Ritz-Carlton was worth it. A table for two was already set by a window overlooking Central Park. She’d arranged for a memorable meal from the hotel’s award-winning restaurant, Atelier, everything from beluga caviar, to bluefin-tuna-and-artichoke salad, to herb-crusted rack of lamb with spinach-and-ricotta gnocchi, to the decadent final touch—warm molten chocolate cake with caramel ice cream.

  It was a meal meant for a celebration. She’d even met with the master sommelier to choose wines for each course.

  Now all she needed was John.

  She paced the room, caught a glimpse of her reflection in a window in her fitted black sheath, black-satin-and-rhinestone high heels and her mother’s pearl-and-diamond necklace and matching earrings. She’d never worn them before, had saved them for a special occasion. She couldn’t imagine an occasion more special.

  The mantel clock struck six. Any moment now, he would arrive.

  She was scared and anxious and exhilarated.

  She wandered around the room, moved dinner plates half an inch then back again, straightened perfectly aligned silverware, picked up a wineglass, held it to the light then set it down again in precisely the same spot.

  She walked some more, stopped at a window. A siren blared, an everyday sound that pierced the quiet hotel room then stopped nearby.

  In the sudden silence the clock chimed the quarter hour.