by Lauren Canan
It had all been a lie. Everything she and Wade had between them was based on a lie. The reality was unbearable. She wanted to break down and pray this was just a nightmare, that she could just wake up and all would be back to normal. But she couldn’t. It wasn’t a nightmare; it was reality. She had to leave. She had to get out of the house before Wade came looking for her. She’d seen the pure rage in his eyes, the fury that he’d been played for a fool, and she never wanted to see that again. Nothing she could say would excuse her actions. Nor would he believe her word over that of his wife. She couldn’t face him. She knew it was cowardly, but she didn’t want to see the hate for her in his eyes. She could never live with that.
She quickly changed into jeans and a shirt and headed for the door. Before she walked out, she looked down at the beautiful diamond ring on her left hand. With tears blurring her vision so she was unable to focus on the brilliant diamond, she removed the ring from her finger and placed it on the nightstand. Unable to avoid one last look at the bed, where only moments before she’d lain in Wade’s arms and pledged her love, she turned and ran from the room.
Once at the front door, she asked the security to summon a taxi. As soon as it arrived, she climbed in, unsure where she was going or what she was going to do. In a matter of minutes, her world had been turned upside down. And the love of her life was gone forever. As they cleared the front gates, she looked back at the mansion on the hill. Inside was the only man she would ever love. He thought she was part of Victoria’s scheme to bilk him out of money by covering for her while the real Victoria disappeared to Europe to have another man’s child.
Wade now would never believe she’d had amnesia or that she was forced by Victoria to live at his house. She couldn’t blame Wade. He was the innocent in all of this. If what he’d told Laurel was the truth, he had fallen in love with the woman he thought her to be. He had fallen in love with his wife, which was as it should be. But now Victoria was back, and Laurel had to return to her own home and her own identity and begin again. The fairy tale was over. The magical kingdom had closed the door with her on the outside. Cinderella would return to her small world knowing she would never see her prince again.
The pain tore at her heart, threatened to overwhelm her. The tears fell like the rain outside the cab window.
She looked back one more time, but the mansion was already out of sight.
* * *
Wade Masters was beyond furious. He had been deceived by someone he trusted, someone he thought he loved. Sucker punches didn’t get much worse than that. He couldn’t believe it. He walked to the bar and poured himself a glass of whiskey and threw it down his throat. All this time... All this time he had played right into Victoria’s hands. Unbelievable. He would never have thought she’d find a twin to help her carry out her deception. He honestly didn’t know if he would ever get over this. Victoria he could deal with. She was on her way out the door as soon as she could scrape some clothes together. It was the other Victoria—Laurel—who had held his heart in her hands and crushed it.
He couldn’t put all the pieces together. Yet. From what he’d gained from that quick conversation in the kitchen, the accident had started all of this. But by then, Victoria had already been on her way to the airport for the trip to Paris to have some man’s baby, for God’s sake. He doubted she was even sure who the father was. He expected a scam like that from Victoria, which was why he’d been about to divorce her before the accident.
But it was Laurel Dawson who’d been involved in the accident. It was Laurel, not Victoria, who woke up in the hospital not knowing who she was. Not knowing who he was. Or so she’d claimed. Victoria’s plan had been diabolical. Since Wade had planned to spend the summer in London, had it not been for the accident, he would never have known. The hospital had called him because they thought his wife had been in a serious car accident. Her ID had been found in the wreckage. He’d immediately flown in from London. Flown in, come to the hospital and held a strange woman’s hand while she fought to survive.
He’d known Victoria was capable of a lot of underhanded things, but this had to be her finest hour. What blew his mind was that, were it not for the accident, she would’ve succeeded. She would’ve installed a woman in his house to take her place while she did whatever she felt she had to do in Paris, and he would never have been the wiser because he was away, too.
He poured another two fingers of whiskey into his glass and drank it in one gulp. The rage was greater than anything he had ever felt. Ironically he didn’t know whom to be angrier with: Victoria for setting the whole thing up; himself for walking right into it; or the woman named Laurel, who’d agreed to make the whole thing happen. That was the part that hurt the most. That was the part that wrenched his gut and left him open and bleeding.
As he began to calm down, he remembered parts of the conversation from earlier. How Laurel had tried to explain that the true story wasn’t anything like the way Victoria made it sound. That he could believe. But what was the truth? Victoria had made a plan, Laurel had helped with it and like a total fool he’d walked right into the middle of it. Over the months they’d been together, she hadn’t impressed him as one who would lie and connive with no regard for the feelings of others.
Wade sat in the darkness of his home office and had another drink of the amber liquid. Victoria had returned, intending to step back into her role as his wife, with him none the wiser. She had only a month remaining of the contract that would have made her a very wealthy woman. She was just insolent enough to think she could get away with it and still receive the amount Wade was to pay her. But Wade had given her two hours to pack her bags and clear out. He’d ship what she couldn’t carry with her. And he’d let his attorney take over from there. There would be no payment. She’d be damn lucky if he decided not to sue.
From a quick online search, he’d discovered that Laurel had been a free spirit, used to cutoff jeans and baggy shirts and probably going barefoot. An up-and-coming artist with great possibilities. In one picture, her dark hair was caught in a long messy braid falling over her shoulder as she smiled her beautiful smile at the camera.
But it didn’t matter. Hell, it didn’t matter at all. Victoria had been caught. Laurel Dawson had been forced to come clean regarding her role in the scheme, and he had learned a very valuable lesson: don’t trust anyone. Ever.
Wade had seen the hurt and remorse in her eyes for only a few seconds before Laurel had run past him and out the door into the night. How could she have betrayed him like that?
The rain continued to fall outside, lending its sweet smell to the foul odor of deception he sensed throughout the house. And as if on cue, Victoria walked past him just then with absolute audacity, as though she was the one wronged in all of this.
“Get all your things and get out,” Wade couldn’t resist saying. “And don’t forget the painting in the library. I want no reminder of your presence in this house. Needless to say, you just relinquished any claim to any money you might otherwise have had.”
“We’ll see about that when my attorneys get finished reviewing this mess. And that’s not my painting in your library. It came from the little bitch. She painted it. I bought it two days before she convinced me that her plan would work and encouraged me to go to Paris, assuring me everything would be fine.”
Wade knew that was a lie. But he didn’t see any reason to drag it out further by arguing. “It doesn’t make any difference. You lost at any rate. But I would like to know one thing. How did you find her? How did you find someone that looks so much like you?”
Victoria’s body slumped forward as though she had maintained an air of false indignity as long as she could. “My older sister had a baby out of wedlock and had to give her up. My curiosity got the better of me, and I tracked her down. As soon as I saw her... Wade, I made a mistake, and I had to go to Paris to make it right. I might have been wrong in not coming clean with you
up front, but, after all the verbal attacks and warnings to keep my affairs discreet, I didn’t really know how you would react to a pregnancy.”
“What happened to the baby?”
“I left her with friends in Paris. I will be joining them as soon as things are arranged over here. I plan to start adoption proceedings when I bring her back. For what it’s worth, this was not an attempt to purposely defy or shame you in any way.”
“You just wanted the million dollars.”
“Yes.”
“Victoria, you are a piece of work.” She’d been only a month out from their contract ending. But by then her baby would have been born and clearly he wanted no part of that. It was between Victoria and the father of the child. Bad timing on her part, to say the least.
He took three seconds to let his eyes roam across the face of this despicable woman before he turned and walked out of the room.
Victoria would soon be forever gone from this house, never to return. He wouldn’t listen to one syllable of her whining or her lies. And Laurel was gone as well.
Which was fine with him, too.
Thirteen
“It’s almost five o’clock,” Beth Hamilton called from the back of the small shop. “I think we can start to clean up for the day.”
Beth’s store in the small town of Waxahachie was a combination art gallery and learning center for the neighborhood. Some twenty students from finger-painting five-year-olds to the more versatile teenagers and young adults filled the art studio on a daily basis and after school for their group and one-on-one instruction in painting with watercolors and acrylics. A couple of the older kids and adults had begun using oils, and it reminded Laurel of her own excitement when she’d first worked with that medium many years ago.
It didn’t take Laurel long to clean the already cleaned work spaces and tidy up in preparation for the next day.
“How are you coming on your painting?” Beth asked as she came into the back studio. “Are you gonna let me see this one?”
Laurel shrugged. “I don’t know why you make such a big deal of my paintings. They are just landscapes, nothing new about them.”
Beth walked over to an easel standing in the corner. Carefully removing the drop cloth, she stood back and contemplated the canvas before her.
“This is amazing. Even better than the last few, and that’s saying something.” She replaced the cover on the canvas. “You know, Mrs. Bridgeman is going to have a hissy fit if you don’t let her put your collection in one of her gallery exhibits.”
“I don’t have a collection,” Laurel corrected. “And these are not for a showing.”
“Seriously, Laurel. You know you are an exceptional artist. I wish you would let her show them just one time and see what happens.” Beth shook her head. “I can’t imagine where you come up with the landscapes that you do. I’m pretty sure the places don’t exist anywhere on this planet.”
Laurel smiled but said nothing. The images to which Beth referred were not in Laurel’s imagination. They were in her memory, indelibly permanent, but for her eyes only. They were the special places she’d gone with Wade. The pine forest, the still pool, the small waterfall, the pastures with the cattle and calves and the horses whose spirit shone in their eyes. These memories were her life now. She would never see them again. But, somehow, with each brushstroke she felt close to Wade: his deep voice, his warm breath against her skin, his brooding laughter. It was all she had. She didn’t want to share them with anyone, let alone put them on public display. That would be wrong. It would be sharing personal, precious moments with the world. They were her memories. They were all she had left of the man she’d loved and still loved.
It had taken over a month before she could pick up the ruins of her life and trudge forward again. She’d stayed with Beth for a while, withdrawn and silent. Beth had picked up on something not right and hadn’t pushed her for any answers. Gradually, Laurel had begun to try to rejoin the world of the living. At first, she’d refused to go out with their other friends, preferring to stay at home, quietly remembering, silently crying with a broken heart she knew would never heal. But eventually she’d joined their small group of six old and loyal friends, who didn’t push her for information but were just grateful she was taking a few first steps. They knew something horrendous had happened during the months she’d been gone. And clearly they could see that it had broken her soul. Laurel appreciated their friendship and understanding, and it was that understanding that had eventually brought her around.
Her oldest friend, Beth, had done the most. Finally, unable to listen to another night of sobs from her guest room, she had given Laurel a good shake, figuratively, and demanded to know what had happened. To be fair, Laurel told her some of the story. Very little, however. Just that she’d met the wrong man and had become heartbroken through her foolishness. Relieved that Laurel wasn’t suffering some debilitating disease, Beth had finally left her alone to work through the shredded emotions. She gave her a place to tuck her tail and hide from the world and provided friendship and encouragement when it was needed.
“Mrs. Bridgeman will not give up,” Beth persisted. “She has been a fan of your work since we were in high school, and she will have that showing. Are you staying over tonight?”
“Yeah. I’d like to work here for a while, if that’s okay?”
“Of course. Just be sure to grab a bite to eat. There’s some fruit and some lunch meat in the fridge. If you lose any more weight... Just eat, okay?”
“Okay.”
She heard Beth tidying the front of the small art studio and the clang of the cash register as her friend put the day’s take in a bank bag. Then, after a friendly See ya tomorrow! there was the tinkle of the bell over the door, and all was quiet.
Laurel walked to the corner of the room where her current work in progress was propped on its easel and took the cover off. It was another one of the old hunters’ cabin from a different angle. The use of alternating shadow and light made each tile of the roof stand out. The overall impression was one of gentle decay. The painting was set in the fall, and leaves fell dispassionately down over the entire scene, the reds, golds, greens and browns swirling around the old chimney and accumulating on the ground. Rays of sun broke through the clouds, highlighting the hundred-and-fifty-year-old structure. Maybe that was why she was drawn to it. So many things in her life never lasted. Her mother had died when she was born and, with no other relatives, Laurel had had a firsthand glimpse of the state’s foster-care system. Going from family to family, house to house, she had always felt like she was on the brink of losing it all.
But she’d always had art. It was the one thing that got her through the hard times. A small sketch pad and a pencil had become her best friends. Inside the pages of her spiral notebooks were images of the people and places that, when compiled, told her story. Good, bad or indifferent, she’d captured the visuals and the essence that made up her life.
The tolling of midnight from the bell tower of the small church across the street brought her back into the here and now. Stretching, she flexed her back and dropped the brushes into the cleaning solution. She sat back rubbing her neck and looked at the picture in front of her. Better. Some of the details could be enhanced, but for the most part she was happy with her work. Through the smell of turpentine she could almost sense the tang of fall in the air that surrounded the little cabin. Thanks to Wade, there would be plenty more pictures to paint. It was the only release from her tortured mind. Images of Wade caught unawares by something she’d said or done. Or rubbing the bump on his head with a towel after he’d upended the table in the middle of the hallway. And the incurably adorable look on his face in the moments of discovery of anything he should have already known.
What she could neither paint nor forget was the look on his face the last time they’d ever made eye contact. The waves of fury at having been played f
or a fool. The look that said I trusted you. How could you do this to me? The internal rage that distorted his handsome features into a mosaic of the raw pain of betrayal.
She carefully replaced the protective cover over the canvas, rinsed and dried her brushes, and turned off the light on her way out. Tomorrow was Sunday, the one day of the week she dreaded. No kids came on Sunday. The little bell over the door didn’t ring. No shoppers filled the still time. Beth wasn’t there, telling her what she had to eat for lunch. It was a day to remember. A day to try to forget. One more day to somehow get through. A sixteen-hour day applying paint to canvas, bringing alive memories both bitter and sweet. It was a day to live inside the vacuum, where pain could only get in if she wasn’t strong enough to prevent it. She had to prevail. If not, the feelings would intrude and yet again shatter the bruised remnants of her heart.
* * *
Wade had ensured Victoria made it out of his house and off his property, and he let his security staff and attorneys handle the rest. Clearly, going to Paris or anywhere else to have another man’s child broke the stipulations of their contract. But dammed if she hadn’t almost gotten away with it. For all Victoria knew, Wade had been in London during the months she was away and Laurel was taking her place. The whole scenario was intended to play out with him none the wiser.
Then an eighteen-wheeler had run a red light.
And when he thought of Laurel, all that surfaced was the look on her face when he’d screamed at both women to get out. Laurel had run from the room, and he’d not spoken to her again since then.
It had been over a month, and Wade still couldn’t let go. His instincts told him to walk away from it all. Be glad he was rid of both of them. His heart said he should go to her. She’d been played as much as he had. Laurel was the first and only woman he’d ever loved. He honestly believed she loved him, too. Or had, before he’d lost his temper big-time the night Victoria had come wandering home. Would Laurel still want anything to do with him after he’d lost it and screamed for them both to get out of his house?
