REMEMBER US: A Billionaire Romance (Part Two)
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Yet, I instinctively understood that it was Xander and I. And that this painting came after the first.
There were others. Some even more risqué than the charcoal, some subtler than even the portrait. There were dates on the back, so I could put them in chronological order if I’d wanted to. But I could see by looking at them how they progressed. The paintings told a story that even Xander himself couldn’t have told me.
It was the story of our love—right there in front of me—told just as clearly as a hidden diary might have told it.
I was reluctant to love him, but when I did fall, I fell quick and hard.
I loved him. There was no doubt in my mind.
So what went wrong? If I loved him this much, why did I walk away from him? What was so bad about learning of his previous marriage? Was it because he didn’t tell me about it before? Was it simply a case of cold feet? Or was it something else?
I was beginning to wonder if it even mattered anymore. Things had clearly changed. So I was angry, but I didn’t take all my things. I was clearly planning in returning. Did it really matter anymore? I wanted so desperately to remember my past so that I could get on with my life. But maybe remembering wasn’t that important. Maybe what was important was the here and now. Maybe all I needed to remember was that I have this great guy who clearly loves me very much. He sat by my hospital bed for more than two weeks, waiting for me to wake up. Then he brought me here, waited on me hand and foot until I could get around on my own. What guy would do that, other than one who’d made a serious commitment and intended to make good on that commitment? And I clearly loved him. Why shouldn’t we stop looking back and start looking forward again?
Just thinking it seemed to take this weight from my shoulders.
Chapter 6
Xander
I walked into the house after arguing with Jonnie over the phone all the way home. She was unhappy with a new client I’d elected to take on, telling me that we should be choosier now that the company was on steadier feet. But I figured that, as long as the client had the money, we had the service. It was our clients that made our reputation. We could both use that argument until we were blue in the face and both be right. And I was the boss.
But you’d think that it was Jonnie’s name in the door, the way she hammered at me over these things. And she had been in charge so much lately, what with the attention I was giving to Harley. I was grateful to her, but I was going to take on the clients of my choosing.
I just wanted to see Harley’s face. I was so exhausted. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go to this party tonight, no matter how many times I’d promised Margaret I would. But Harley wasn’t in the sitting room. She wasn’t on the porch, either.
I went through the maze of rooms at the back of the house and stepped up to the open door of her bedroom, but she wasn’t there either.
Where the hell was she?
I called her name as I retreated through the house, even peeking inside the kitchen before heading upstairs. It didn’t even register that my bedroom door was open until I approached it. And then I was enveloped in a scent I thought I would never smell again: Harley’s perfume, the one she always saved for special occasions.
“Harley?”
“Sorry,” she said, stepping out of the bathroom as I pushed through the double doors. “I was looking for shoes and I just couldn’t resist.” She held up the bottle of perfume I’d bought her not long after our first date, a blush on her cheeks. “It’s really nice.”
“It’s your favorite.”
“Is it? I guess that’s why I was so drawn to it.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. She looked like my Harley again. The dress was red, one of those with a full sleeve on one side and nothing on the other, a soft linen that hugged every curve of her incredible body. She was a little leaner after the accident, but she filled it out exactly as she’d done eight months ago when she wore it to a client dinner. And, that night, the dress wasn’t on for long once we walked out of that restaurant.
She cleared her throat, and I realized I was staring.
“You’re welcome to anything in here. Most of it’s yours, anyway.”
“Yeah, I was a little curious about that. Were you living in this house long before I came along?”
“Jonnie, my office manager, insisted I needed a house to throw parties and such for the business. She picked out three or four options, I chose this one, and she furnished it for me. I hardly spent any time in it until you moved in.”
She cocked her head as she looked around. “I can see that.”
“Hey, it’s not that bad. I have my game room downstairs. And that armchair over there is mine.”
“I can tell. Have you had it since college? Because it kind of smells.”
I laughed, caught a little off guard by her joke. She smiled, that little dimple making an appearance in her cheek. And it was like, once again, nothing had happened between us. I wanted to tug her into my arms and hold her, to feel her laughter vibrating against my skin. I wanted to kiss her until my breath was her last breath. I wanted back that freedom to touch her whenever the mood struck, to hold her for hours, to love her the way we did before everything fell apart. And there was something in her eyes that told me that might not be as far out of the realm as possibility as it had been this morning.
But then she cleared her throat. “I should go, let you get changed.”
I nodded only because it seemed expected. It took everything I had not to grab her as she walked past me.
***
If there was one thing Margaret could do, it was throw a party. She sent a limo for Harley and me, even though it wasn’t a terribly long drive. But, again, I hadn’t anticipated the line we would be forced to sit in before we got to the main entrance of the community center.
“She must have invited everyone in the city,” Harley said, as she stared out the window.
“She probably did. At least everyone in the city with the right number on their bank statement.”
“You’re awfully cynical.”
“No, I just know Margaret. She likes to surround herself with people like her father, people who make it their life’s mission to out-make and out-spend one another.”
Harley settled back down in the seat beside me. “Well, it can only be good for the kids of this neighborhood.”
“True. Margaret does tend to do good things every once in a while, even by accident.”
She punched my shoulder. “Be nice.”
I groaned, even as I took her hand and kissed her palm lightly. “Okay. If you say so.”
She flashed a smile like the one back in the bedroom that again made me feel as though something had changed between us. I touched her cheek lightly, seriously considering a kiss, when the door suddenly burst open. We’d finally reached the coveted red carpet.
Leave it to a party in Los Angeles to lend itself to press, red carpets, and a handful of celebrities who probably didn’t even know what this thing was all about.
Bulbs immediately flashed in our faces as we got out of the car. I pulled Harley close to me as we made our way up the carpet, trying to keep her protected from the intrusiveness of the press. But then someone grabbed her arm and spun her nearly out of my grip.
“Harley Alistair! Where have you been hiding?”
I could see the confusion in Harley’s eyes as the man accosted her. I slid my arm around her waist and pulled her tight against me.
“We’re not answering questions right now.”
“You’ve always been open with the press, Harley,” he said. “You promised me an exclusive on your falling out with Margaret Wallace. Did you change your mind?”
“I don’t…”
I tugged Harley even closer against me and began making my way up the carpet, even as the guy kept yelling at our backs.
“Harley, where have you been these last few weeks? When did you get back with Xander Boggs? Weren’t you going home to Texas this month?”
The moment we were inside the building, I tugged her out of the line of arriving guests.
“Are you okay?”
“Who was that? How did he know my name?”
“He’s a reporter. He works for the LA Times, I think.”
“How did he know who I was?”
I touched her face, worried about the color that had risen in her cheeks. “You had a show almost eight months ago. It brought you to the attention of a lot of people.”
“My art? He knows me because of my art?”
“Why else?”
That confusion was back in her eyes for a second. It was as if the memory was right there, she just couldn’t grab onto it. And then she shook her head, shook whatever it was away, and focused on me. “You’re right. Why else?”
I kissed the center of her forehead, relief washing through me. Then I looked her in the eye.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded.
“Ready to go inside?”
She nodded again.
I slid my hands over her short hair, feeling each and every contour of her head. She felt so solid in my arms. And when she smiled through the confusion and fear that idiot reporter had caused I knew this was going to be okay. Everything was going to work out.
I took her hand and led the way into the party.
Margaret and her team had transformed the community center into a huge party headquarters, each of the separate rooms filled with waiters carrying trays of drinks and hors d’oeuvres and people explaining the purpose of the room once the center opened. The hallways sported drawings done by local kids; books were displayed that would soon occupy the large library; and guides were available to explain every little detail about the center that anyone could possibly want to know.
And then, of course, the gymnasium was the centerpiece of the evening, Harley’s mural was lit in such a way that no one could possibly miss it. Margaret spotted us the moment we came through the door.
“Hey!” she said, kissing my cheek lightly before turning her attention on Harley. “People just absolutely love it. It’s the icing on the fucking cake!”
“Margaret…”
“What? She’s a grown up. She can take bad words, right Harley?”
Harley just smiled. “It’s a great party, Margaret.”
“Of course it is.” She turned as someone behind us called her name. She swatted a hand, as a popular actor waved at her. “Damn actors are so demanding.” She kissed my cheek again. “Daddy’s in the library. And your mom’s with him.”
That wasn’t a surprise. Where Grant went, my mother often followed. She’d been his personal assistant for nearly forty years. I’m not sure either of them knew how to function without the other.
“Let’s dance,” I said, snagging Harley’s hand and leading her out to the dance floor. She followed quite willingly, her hand clamping down on mine. I wasn’t thinking as we reached the center of the dance floor. I twirled her around like I’d done a thousand times before, forgetting about the boot on her leg and the fact that she wasn’t expecting it. She fell headlong against my chest, nearly knocking the air out of my lungs.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“My fault. I should have been paying more attention.”
“This is hard for you, isn’t it? The fact that I can’t remember things you take for granted.”
“It’s been complicated. But that’s not your fault.”
“It’s not fair though. I was the one who went jogging on a busy street and didn’t watch traffic. But you’re suffering just as much as I am.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m suffering. When I asked you to marry me, I knew I was committing myself to whatever might come. Just because it hasn’t been all peaches and cream doesn’t mean I don’t want it.”
Her face softened as she looked up at me. “That’s sweet.”
“Is it?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard commitment described quite so plainly before.”
I ran my hand up the angle of her neck and rested my fingers just under her jaw. “Just because we never actually got married doesn’t mean I don’t think of us that way.”
“You really do want to be with me, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re the one. I don’t know how else to put it.”
But she seemed to understand. She moved closer to me, her hands moving slowly up under the back of my suit jacket. When she looked up at me, I kissed the tip of her nose. I began to pull back, but then she followed my movement and our lips brushed. It was the sweetest kiss I had ever tasted. I wanted it to last forever. The fact that she didn’t pull away when I deepened the kiss gave me more hope than anything leading up to this moment had.
I loved her. Despite everything, Harley was my life.
“What the hell are you doing?” a voice growled behind us.
I turned, tucking Harley behind me, and forced a smile onto my lips.
“Hello, Mother.”
Chapter 7
Harley
She was everything I expected her to be. Tall. Dark. Stylish. There were a lot of similarities between mother and son. Except for the dark scowl on her face when she looked at me.
“What are you doing, Xander?” she hissed in a low voice. “When I heard rumors that she was in some sort of accident and that the two of you were back together…”
“This really isn’t the place, Mom.”
“After what she threatened to do, you’re here with her? Are you insane?”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Boggs, but I don’t think—”
She whirled on me in an instant, prompting Xander to once again move me behind him so that his body shielded me from his mother. He whispered something to her that I couldn’t hear, then he drew me away, leading the way across the room like nothing had happened. I clung to him, suddenly aware of people staring at us.
What was going on?
I felt like I was always in the dark these days, always wondering why people were looking at me as they were. Why were they whispering behind their hands? I told myself before that it was just my imagination, but I couldn’t quite do that this time.
“Why is she so angry with me? Is it because of the called-off wedding?”
“Sort of.”
“She didn’t know about the accident?”
“I tried to keep it under wraps. People don’t need to know about it.”
“But, I’m sure it was in the papers. An accident like that…”
“I have friends who owed me favors.”
There was an edge to Xander’s voice that I was pretty sure I hadn’t heard before. I turned into him to make him stop moving.
“Will you tell me why your mom’s so mad at me? Why people are looking at us like we’re aliens or something?”
“They aren’t doing that.”
“They are.”
Xander looked around the room, a little amusement coming into his eyes. “Okay, maybe some of them are.”
“See? There’s something going on. It’s not just my imagination.”
“Of course not.”
But before he could answer my questions, a tall, red-haired woman came toward us.
“Harley, darling,” she said, holding out her hands to me.
I had no idea who she was, but there were charcoal stains on her hands, so I knew she was an artist. And when she kissed my cheek, she did it with this exaggerated movement that reminded me of artists I’d met in New York during a trip with my life forms class.
“Patricia,” I said, a memory suddenly sweeping through my mind. “How are you? I thought you were headed back to New York this past spring!”
“No,” she said with a fake smile. “I decided to stick around. Margaret makes a good argument,
you know?”
“Oh, I know.”
“How are you? I hear you were in an accident of some sort?”
“I’m fine.”
“We should have lunch.”
“Definitely.”
She pretended to kiss my cheeks again, then disappeared back into the crowd.
“How did you know who that was?”
“I didn’t, but I remembered seeing a pamphlet for her show on Margaret’s desk out front.”
Xander laughed as he pulled me deeper into the crowd. “That’s my girl. You always did think quickly.”
Other people sought us out, mostly friends of Xander’s. I tried to participate as best as I could, but it was a losing battle, really. The more I thought I could figure out about each person, the less I actually got right. Xander was constantly having to listen to what I was saying, so he could correct my erroneous statements. It must have been exhausting for him, but he smiled at me every time like it was nothing.
He really was a great guy.
There was a tall, dark woman who kept walking along the edges of the room, shooting glances our way. I didn’t notice her at first, but once I did, I couldn’t help but wonder why she was so curious about us. She looked vaguely familiar, but so did most of the people in this room. I was quickly beginning to figure out that Xander and I had been very social in our lives together and most of the people in this room were mutual friends. It was kind of odd, that thought. These people all knew me, some quite more than just as party guests. And I couldn’t remember spending a single moment with any of them.
I excused myself and headed to the bathroom, needing a break from the sensory overload of the party. The bathrooms were quite large and utilitarian, as one would expect in a facility meant to service children. I ducked into a stall and sat to relieve the pressure on my booted leg. It ached still, deep in the bone. The doctor said it would probably bother me for years to come, but not always so intently. I was looking forward to that time because this was bothersome.