by Nadia Lee
“You’re a cruel woman, Ginger,” Shane said. “It’s like you know all the ways to punish me.”
“Shane, I didn’t do this to punish you.”
“I remember the photos,” he said, his voice wooden. “I tried to verify them. Everyone said they were authentic. But I had no idea they would trace back to me if anybody were to check.” His jaw bunched. “I didn’t think to check. I couldn’t even acknowledge their existence without wondering what if. What if you told me they were real or that you wanted to leave me? That you didn’t think it would work anyway. That I would end up like my dad. And if I begged you to stay with me, you would, but only to be like my mom—with all those other men to give you what I couldn’t.”
She reached out. He pulled away.
“I want to rest,” Shane said, his voice without inflection. “The doctor said I should relax and focus on recovery.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.” He stared resolutely out the window. “Just…go.” He turned, his shoulders angling away from her.
Tears flowed silently down her cheeks. She couldn’t seem to draw in any air as the memory of her loss and the image of Shane with his back turned away from her cut into her heart like a shard of diamond.
It was over. There was too much hurt and pain and regret, and she just didn’t know how to go back and undo it all.
She pulled off her engagement ring and put it on the bedside table. She’d known it would come to something like this when he regained his memory…and the truth about why he left was exposed. But this was so much worse. It wasn’t because they didn’t love each other or care. The pain and hurt and circumstances just made it impossible for them to stay together.
Ginger managed to walk out. The door closed behind her with a soft click. Her knees felt like rubber, and she started to collapse. A pair of strong arms caught her.
“You okay?”
She looked up. Iain. Of course. Vanessa and Justin stood next to him. Tear tracks were ruining Vanessa’s perfect makeup, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“I’m fine,” Ginger said. “Thank you.”
“Ginger, I can’t even…” Vanessa covered her mouth. “Oh my god, I’m such a bitch.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I’m still a bitch.” Vanessa hugged Ginger. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Ginger hugged her back, oddly comforted by the touch. But that wasn’t enough to stop the tears flowing down her cheeks. Or her heart from breaking all over again.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“You absolutely have to stop moping.”
Shane glared at Vanessa. “And you have to stop nagging.”
“You were discharged a week ago, and you’ve been stuck in this penthouse ever since. It’s ridiculous, even for an artiste type like you.”
“They had to cut a section of my hair for the stitches,” he said. “I’m not going out looking like Frankenstein.”
“It’s grown back.”
“Not enough. It still shows.”
“Then shave your head!” Vanessa threw her hands in the air, pacing back and forth across his living room in her impractical high heels. “You can’t just stay holed up here anymore. I won’t allow it. I insist you go and do something about the situation with Ginger.”
“Why the fuck would I want to do that?” he said, feeling the weight of the engagement ring in his pocket.
She covered her belly with her hands. “You can’t use the f-word! My baby can hear it.” Then she suddenly stilled. “Oh my god.” She paled. “I’m sorry.”
“No. Stop. Don’t change because of me. I want you to be absolutely thrilled with your baby and show it.”
“Shane…”
“You owe me that much for being a pain in the ass while we were growing up.” He was happy for Vanessa and excited about his nephew. He wasn’t going to let the news of Ginger’s miscarriage diminish his sister’s joy. It was his to bear. “I’ll stop cursing if you’ll stop nagging.”
Vanessa sat next to him on the couch and took his hand. “Shane. Don’t you want to find out who sent you the pictures?”
“Ginger already tried. She said they came back to me.”
“That’s the weird thing. You didn’t send them, right?”
“Of course not.”
“That’s what I thought. So who did? Whoever’s behind this did it on purpose to put a wedge between you and Ginger. They need to pay.” She tightened her mouth. “If you won’t investigate, then I will. I’m going to unleash everything I got.”
“You mean Barron Sterling? You’re going to ask him for a baby christening gift, and it’s going to be to seek out and destroy whoever sent the photos?”
“Maybe.” She flushed. “Hey, he’s family too. Besides, nobody knows revenge like Barron.”
“Yeah, because that old man’s a psycho. You’re marrying into a psycho family.”
Vanessa made a face. “He’s not a psycho. He’s actually kind of nice.”
“Of course, he is. He does everything you want him to so long as you pat your belly while you ask.”
She gave him a withering look. “Back to the photos. Don’t let them get away with it.”
Shane squeezed her hand and looked at the picture of Ginger he’d placed on the mantel. She was smiling in that sunny way of hers. Seeing it never failed to brighten his day, no matter how foul a mood he was in. Now he’d never see it again.
He hadn’t done anything about the photos, and felt a vague lack of energy about them at this point. Nothing would change even if he found out who was responsible. Punishment would have been icing on the cake, but what was the point if there was no cake? If he couldn’t turn back the clock…
On the other hand, Vanessa was right. It wasn’t good for him to turn into a hermit, and he wanted to know who’d wrecked his and Ginger’s life together. And the baby…
He closed his eyes at the pain. It gutted him to think about the tiny life that never even got a chance. If Ginger hadn’t had to make that long, arduous flight, or suffered such shock and stress, would their baby have been born by now?
He opened his eyes. “You know what? That’s a great idea. I’m going to get whoever this motherfuc—uh, bad guy—is, and serve his head on a silver platter to Ginger.”
* * *
Ginger had huge amounts of work to do, but for some reason she couldn’t muster the motivation. She changed the wording on her website to indicate she was fully booked for the next six weeks and hit “publish.”
She couldn’t look at the happy couples and pretend she was thrilled to be there anymore. If that made her a horrible person, so be it. But that was probably better than crying. She’d do the weddings she’d already booked, but that was it.
She closed her laptop and stared at the ceiling. It’d been over a week now, but Shane was constantly on her mind. Every day the memory of him seemed to grow stronger, more vivid. And the pain in her chest would intensify and pulse through her body.
Her phone rang, playing the cheery Brady Bunch theme. She hit the speaker button. “Hello?”
“Hey, heard from Mom you tried to reach me. What’s up?”
“Nothing much.” Except for getting my heart broken all over again. “Where are you?”
“Classified.”
She sighed. One day, she’d finally remember not to ask.
“So, when’s the happy day?” Trevor asked.
“What?”
“The wedding. Shane told me there was a misunderstanding between the two of you, and you guys were back together. Gotta mean there’s a definite wedding date sometime soon, right?”
She swallowed and drew in a breath. She would have to announce this to her family sooner or later. “There’s not going to be a wedding.”
Silence.
It was so long she thought the line got disconnected.
“What the fuck?” Trevor finally exploded. “He ran out on you again?”
Sh
e winced. “It’s not like that.”
“He told me he wasn’t going to do that kind of shit.”
“Trevor, cut it out. Let me talk.”
“No, I’m going to kick his ass. Cut off his balls. Break his knees—he’s never gonna be able to run again. I swear to god, he’s gonna cry like a fucking—”
“Stop! Can’t you just be quiet and let me talk for a moment?”
“Why? So you can defend the douchebag?”
She growled. “If you keep talking, I’m never going to answer your calls again. Ever.”
She could hear him breathing heavily over the line, but he finally said, “Okay. Say your piece.”
“Thank you. Now, about Shane and me. It just couldn’t be helped. Nobody’s a villain here.” She told him about the photos and the confrontation at the hospital—minus the miscarriage. “We hurt each other so much through all this, and I don’t even know if love is enough to make things right between us. Sometimes too many things are said and done.”
“The pictures… You said they’re the reason why Shane left in the first place?”
“Yeah. When he investigated them, everyone said they were authentic. He couldn’t bring himself to confront me…and I totally understand that. My mind went blank with pain when I thought he was with another woman. All I could think was that I was in a nightmare, made that much worse because I never thought he’d turn out to be like his father.”
Trevor cursed.
“And he wasn’t, okay? So I’d appreciate it if you don’t try to put a contract on his head or whatever other ‘classified’ thing you feel like doing.”
“Ginger, do you love him?”
“Of course I do.”
A heavy sigh. “Okay. If I told you I can fix this, would you believe me and not do anything rash?”
“I appreciate the thought, but how are you going to fix this?” When Trevor didn’t say anything, she said, “If you threaten Shane into staying with me, it’s not going to work. And I’ll kick your ass and make you cry.”
“You can kick my ass even if I fix it,” Trevor said, his voice surprisingly grave. “I’ll be in touch.”
* * *
Whoever had sent the photos had to be damned good. Shane had enlisted multiple top investigators in the country who worked for his family, the Sterlings and the Lloyds, but none of them had been able to come up with anything useful. They could confirm that the person who’d mailed the photos wasn’t Shane—it had been somebody pretending to be him. But they couldn’t figure out who had done it.
Shane stared at the reports and blew out a frustrated breath. Now that he couldn’t find the perp, he wanted to know who was behind it even more. Who would hate him and Ginger so much that they’d do this?
“Think more money would do it?” Shane asked Mark over a drink at La Mer, one of Mark’s restaurants. Unlike Éternité, it was ocean-themed, with giant aquariums that held numerous exotic fish and crustaceans. Even the walls and partitions were made of fish tanks. Shane preferred the soothing blue of La Mer over other restaurants when he felt agitated. “There’s plenty more to throw at it.”
Mark shook his head. “If it was just money, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Mark swirled his scotch. They’d opened the Macallan Sixty Year Old from Dane.
“Shit. I feel like I’m missing something.”
“Maybe you are,” Mark said. “Sometimes the bad guys are a lot closer than you think.”
Shane nodded, ruminating. “You think it was Dad?”
“Whoa. Dad? Seriously?”
“He never liked me. He always tried to teach me how I was no better than him. And you saw how he couldn’t bother to come to the dinner or the hospital while I was there.”
“He probably stayed away because of Mom. Things are getting really nasty between them. Maybe his lawyer told him to limit contact with us or something.” Mark sighed. “Dad has his flaws, but he’s not sneaky like that.”
Shane snorted. “You haven’t seen him in action. He had a lover in the town where my high school was. I bet the real reason why he was mad about me going to Berkeley is because he’d already slept with every coed in the area.”
“You’re being too harsh.” Mark frowned. “I don’t think he would’ve done anything on purpose to hurt you. And if he ever was in your face, that’s just the way he is sometimes, especially when he thinks he’s being challenged.”
The maître d’ came to their table with a familiar man. Shane scowled when he realized it was Trevor. What the hell? La Mer wasn’t his scene at all. Ginger’s brother was the kind of guy who finished off his burgers and fries with an ice cold beer. Besides he was way overdressed for his usual self—a button-down shirt and slacks? What was next? A tuxedo?
Even in the dim interior light, the hard lines on Trevor’s face were unmistakable. His gaze was direct and purposeful, and his impatient gait moved him from a spot behind the maître d’ to one right in front of Shane and Mark’s booth.
He sat without waiting for an invitation.
Mark raised an eyebrow, then gestured at their server for another glass, which appeared instantly. He poured a finger for Trevor. “Here.”
“Thanks.” He swigged it down and blinked. “Wow, good stuff.”
“Better be. That was at least two thousand bucks you just poured down your gullet.” Shane smiled dryly when Trevor choked and coughed. “What do you want?”
“It’s about Ginger.”
Shane’s heart twisted. Damn, that hurt…and it might never stop hurting. She’d been his everything.
“Do you love her?” Trevor asked.
Shane gave him a cold look.
“I’m serious. Do you love her? I need to hear you say it while looking me straight in the eye.” Trevor made a V with his index and middle fingers and pointed them at his own pupils. “Say it.”
Shane locked gazes with him. “I love her. Always have.” The words burned, salt in his still-bleeding wound.
Trevor pushed his empty glass at Mark and signaled for more. Mark glanced at Shane, who nodded. Trevor downed the second one just as fast as the first, then rubbed his mouth. “I don’t even know where to begin. But…” He breathed out. “I’m the one who sent the photos.”
Shane stared, his brain unable to process for a moment. Then a fiery fury exploded in his chest, incinerating every rational thought and vestige of control. “You son of a bitch!”
He launched himself across the table. Glasses fell and shattered on the floor as he smashed a fist into Trevor’s face. Shane grabbed Trevor’s collar, pulling his arm back for another punch, but Mark grabbed his wrist. “Shane, no!”
Hand pinned, Shane yanked Trevor sharply toward him instead, head-butting him, knocking him from his chair and having the satisfaction of seeing blood spurt from his lips and nose. “I’ll fucking kill him! I swear I will,” Shane snarled, pulse throbbing in his temples.
“No! Jesus man, what’s the point of hitting a guy who’s not fighting back?” Mark wedged himself between the two other men. “Look!”
Shane glared at Trevor. Mark was right. Trevor didn’t even have his arms up, and blood covered his face and shirt. Yeah, like Shane would give a damn about that. What Trevor had done damn near destroyed Ginger…and Shane too.
Mark continued, “He’s Ginger’s brother. Are you really going to kill him?”
No. Ginger adored him.
Breathing roughly, Shane released the collar and rose to his full height. His hands dug into his hair, then clenched until his scalp hurt. He paced in a tight circle, doing his best not to step over to Trevor and start kicking him in the ribs. “Fuck. Fuck! Why did you do it?”
Was it out of hatred for Shane? He knew how much antipathy Ginger’s brother had for him. Trevor had always made the point that Shane wasn’t good enough for her, no matter how rich he was. Once, over a drink, he’d said, “Dunno why you bother. You probably can’t make her happy. You’re just too…broken,” when Shane had announced his intent
ion to follow Ginger to Berkeley.
Mark signaled the waiters to clean up the broken glass. “We’re going to continue this in my office,” he said in a low voice. Customers were craning their necks, and one or two had cell-phones out. Mark whispered some instructions to the maître d’, who had appeared as if by magic, and then pushed the other men toward the back of the restaurant.
The moment they were in Marc’s office, Shane stopped, planted his feet and faced Trevor. “Start talking.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ginger stared at the ceiling. The TV was playing a Korean drama. She didn’t understand a word without the subtitles, but reading seemed like too much trouble to bother with. A woman and a man were talking in complete gibberish, and occasionally hooting with laughter.
Romantic comedy. Always a fun genre. And hey, if she couldn’t have real romance, she could at least live vicariously through others who did.
Until her control would suddenly break down and she’d start sobbing.
She’d gotten better though. The intervals between her crying jags were getting longer. At this rate, she would be functional in about three months. Maybe four.
Somebody knocked on her door. “Hey, Ginger. It’s me—Debbie.”
“It’s unlocked!” Ginger yelled.
Debbie came inside, carrying a big purple and yellow tote bag that matched her dress. She’d been stopping by every day, ostensibly to bring food. Ginger knew better, but played along anyway. “So what delicious thing did you bring this time?”
“Just some bacon wrapped scallops. Oh, and cheesecake.”
“That sounds good. Does your housekeeper know you’ve been filching food?”
“She does, even though she pretends like she doesn’t see it. She thinks I need to eat more.”
No kidding. Debbie was thin enough to blow away in a stiff breeze.
“Let me put the scallops in the fridge,” Debbie continued. “I want to eat the cheesecake first.”
