“I’m pretty sure it was in February.” He held ground. “So, if it’s not urgent, can we go out for lunch sometime this week? Let’s say… Friday?”
Julia’s lips started a tormenting descent from his shoulder, playing around his nipples then going down again. He shivered.
“Sorry, son, but I’ll have to disappoint you and your fine companion.” Marcus grinned. “It’s urgent. You will need to postpone the thing, foreplay and all, and jump in your car. I’ll be waiting for you in five hours.”
Julia reached the flat plane of Justin’s abdomen, and suddenly dipped her head to tease him with the heated silk of her lips.
“God,” Justin whispered. “You’re killing me.” He fisted her hair without thinking and closed his eyes at the sublime feel of her mouth.
“Tell her not to kill you just yet, Justin.” His father sighed at the other end of the line. “I really need you here before that.”
Justin tugged gently at the rich mass of hair that was covering his lower body, trying to peel Julia away. “Oh, no, Dad, I was talking to you,” he hastened to reply.
Soft, pliant lips engulfed him again sending his pulse through the roof.
“Five hours? That would be a record. I’d need at least five and a half hours. You know that it takes that long to drive there. And do you have any idea what’s the time now? It’s seven p.m., Dad.”
“I know, I know,” Marcus admitted. “But it’s important. Your chauffeur can speed a little. So be here by midnight.”
Justin squeezed his eyes shut before turning his gaze toward the clock on the wall. “Look, Dad, I’ll be there in five and a half hours,” he pleaded.
Marcus Winters fought back a burst of laughter. “No way. Your mother and I must go and see Arthur and Madeline as soon as you leave here. So you better send the lady packing and jump in your car. I have taken the liberty to call your chauffeur. Your limo is waiting outside. Hurry up if you want to get here by midnight.”
“But I didn’t even have dinner.” Justin made a pathetic attempt.
“Don’t worry. I’ll get the cook to prepare a few sandwiches to take with you on your way back,” Marcus said, his tone reassuring.
That was going way too far. Justin exhaled furious, causing him to push Julia away a little too forceful. He had to make it in five hours tops to Manhattan all the way from Oswego. That was about two hundred and ninety miles.
“All right, Dad. If you want to have it your way, I’ll be starving and probably killed on the road because of this rushing, and it will be on your conscience for the rest of your life,” he blackmailed.
His father’s laugh wafted from the cell phone’s speaker. “I’m pretty sure you’ll come here in one piece. The worst that could happen is your chauffeur getting booked for speeding. That is, if you insist on finishing screwing your lady… By the way, who do you have this time?” he asked with avid curiosity. “Your secretary? Jenny Ropes? Angela Davis? Is it Kate?” He stopped after each name to wait for confirmation. “Oh, maybe the new one, what’s her name? Julia Bates?”
“Dad?” Justin fumed.
“Yes son,” Marcus replied unashamed and amused.
“You’re stalling… and wasting my precious time.” Justin almost snapped.
“All right, all right.” Marcus gave up. “I’ll see you in five hours.” And with that he hung up.
Justin stared at the screen in indecision then at the golden beauty who lay next to him, her soft lips teasing his hip, drawing seductive circles. Oh well, he mused. He pulled Julia up with a wild, sensual move and pinned her underneath him.
“Where were we?” he asked, his voice velvet soft.
He sheathed himself to the hilt inside her welcoming warmth, making her gasp with pleasure. It was all he had time for right now. No foreplay games, no teasing. Just a quick, delirious bliss.
The door to Marcus Winters’ opulent home office closed with a deliberate slam, making him raise his gaze from the papers he was studying.
“You’re late,” he glanced at the clock on the wall before returning his stare to his son, lingering a little over the misaligned buttons of his shirt.
“Traffic.” Justin bobbed his shoulders in an indifferent shrug and went to sink in the armchair across his father’s desk. “Anyway, don’t let me keep you from your urgent business, Dad. Uncle Arthur must be waiting for you.”
Arthur was no uncle to him, just as Madeline was no aunt. Yet he had grown up calling them that, without even knowing the reason. It seemed as natural as the air he breathed. The Wilburns and the Winters had been best friends for as long as he could remember. Arthur and Marcus had been childhood friends, even closer than brothers.
“He certainly is.” Marcus nodded. “Eagerly, I must say.”
Justin rolled his eyes with impatience. “Come on, Dad. Enough with the teasing. What is it that was so pressing…”
“To pull you from between two lovely legs?” his father arched an ironic eyebrow. “It’s business.”
“Business?” Justin’s eyebrow rose back at his father. “At this time of the night?”
“Yes.” Marcus nodded. “And I’m pretty sure you’ll be interested. Here we go.” He decided not to test his son’s patience any further. “You’re turning twenty five in a week’s time. This will all become yours, as I promised.” He spread his arms wide, demonstrating the office that was symbolic of the empire he had built.
A sudden sparkle in Justin’s eyes confirmed that he had touched the right chord. There was nothing his son hated more than being reliant on his father’s generosity for every aspect of his survival. The huge yearly allowance he was receiving made him feel impotent and dependent. It implied that he was incapable of making a wealth of his own.
“True, true. You said that.” Justin watched his father with sudden interest.
Marcus laced his fingers together and stared back at his son with unreadable eyes.
Justin suddenly straightened up. “What’s the catch?” he asked, his voice turning icy.
“You already know it.” Marcus started rocking on his chair, not once peeling his gaze from his son’s face.
Justin paled. “Don’t tell me it happened.” He gasped.
The answer was written all over his father’s face.
“They found her. But that’s impossible! Why now? Why after eighteen years? Is this a set up or something?” Justin started an urgent monologue, restlessly raking his hand through his tousled hair. “How?”
“Are you done?” Marcus asked.
Justin nodded miserably. “You’re about to give me a magnificent cake for my birthday with a pile of dung as its icing.”
“It was the deal we made with Arthur and Madeline when Elisabeth was born, Justin.” Marcus raised his hands in the air defensively. “A deal is a deal, we can’t walk back on it. Besides, it suits us in a business sense as well. Imagine two giant business empires united into one.”
True, it did suit him. It was in fact beyond his wildest dreams. Becoming one of the richest men on the planet at age twenty five. But that involved marrying a complete stranger and taking vows he could never respect. Monogamy had never been his strong point and he had no plans to change this.
“What does she look like? Is she beautiful at least?” Justin asked with a resigned tone.
Marcus cleared his throat. “Uhmmm… What are we talking about here, son? It all depends on how you look at it. You know the saying; outer beauty is like being born rich and getting poorer as you grow older. But inner beauty… the inner beauty is the light of the heart. It never fades away,” he philosophized, but even he could see his speech was hokey.
Justin’s brows met in the middle. “Dad. Don’t play games with me,” he snapped.
“All right, all right.” Marcus felt the stutter coming. “She is… well… she has her unique… sort of beauty… how can I put it to you…”
Justin bolted to his feet and crossed the distance to a bookcase on the left wall in a few steps. His g
aze skimmed the shelves and he grabbed a big, rectangular vase then dipped his hand inside it to pull out a half-full bottle of Macallan 1926 whiskey. “Does mom know that you’re treating your gout with a fifty four thousand dollar medication?” he asked, tipping his head to one side.
Color drained from Marcus’s face. Amanda was as sweet as candy, except when she turned into a harpy when it came to his gout. Spirits were the ultimate sin as far as she was concerned. She was the one person in this world that could bring Marcus to his knees.
He swallowed hard and recommenced. “I meant to say that… uhmmm… everybody says Elisabeth takes after her mother. Well… I mean… rumor has it… since she was a little baby… uhmmm… and you know that Madeline is a beautiful woman.”
“Mom?” Justin yelled out over his shoulder.
“All right. All right,” Marcus conceded. “Put the damn thing back. She’s not that beautiful, okay? She’s a little peculiar too,” he let it out.
Justin placed the bottle back in the vase with the speed of a snail then walked back to his armchair just as slow. “Can you be more specific?” he asked, sending a suggestive glance over his shoulder toward the bookshelf.
“I really don’t know, son,” Marcus rushed to answer. “I haven’t seen her yet, and Arthur didn’t say much when I spoke with him. They found her in the hospital, suffering from amnesia after a hit and run accident. She has just recovered her memory and ran away to where she believes her real family resides, somewhere in Queens.”
God, I hope she doesn’t come back, Justin prayed inwardly.
“Arthur has sent an army of people to bring her back and investigate her kidnapping. The people she has been living with will most probably be charged, but all this needs to be done with the outmost consideration for Elisabeth’s feelings.” Marcus took away his son’s hopes. “So, do we have a deal?” he asked.
Justin stared at his father for a long moment, absently running his fingers across his chin. If the girl was as ugly as sin, well… that suited him even more. He will have no regrets for cheating on her. The only sticky point would be the procurement of children, which would also be stipulated in the pre-nuptial agreement. But there was plenty of time to think about that later.
“Yes, we have a deal.” He reached out for his father’s hand that extended over the desk.
“All right then.” Marcus rubbed his hands together in content. “Then why don’t you go say ‘hi’ to your mother, take your sandwiches and go back to your lady? Make sure you stop by at my office tomorrow afternoon to meet with my lawyers and sign the pre-nuptial agreement. Wedding is in one month from Saturday. Invitations will be sent out on Friday.”
Justin stared at his father open-mouthed. “Whoa,” he exclaimed. “That’s a bit fast, don’t you think?”
“No.” Marcus shook his head with conviction, pursing his lips as he did. “It will be well past your twenty fifth birthday, if you think of it. The wedding ceremony will be held on June 30th. On Elisabeth’s eighteenth birthday.”
“But what if Arthur doesn’t find the chick… I mean Elisabeth until then?” Justin asked. “And have you thought of the possibility that she might not want to marry me?”
“Oh, but we will find her. And she will want to marry you,” Marcus said reassuringly. There was a weird finality in the tone of his voice, almost sinister. Justin brushed the thought away as he said his goodbye and left the room. Why would he care, after all? In a month’s time, he will be richer than Croesus, and the master of his own life. And that was all that mattered to him.
Four hours had gone since Lizzie had left, and Patrick had not called back yet. Arthur pulled the cell phone out of his pocket time and time again, staring at its screen as though he wanted to check if it had not turned off all by itself. He wanted Elisabeth back with the desperation of a drowning man. Not because she was his trophy or his prize to conquer. He loved her as much as his lungs begged for the air he breathed, as much as he hated the fate that had marred her with her imperfections.
Sitting straight with the souvenirs box clasped to her chest, his wife was as taut as a bow’s string ready to break. Her face was calm, but each of her features had a tortured story to tell.
The cell phone rang in Arthur’s hand, making his heart take a painful leap.
“Yes?” he snapped into the receiver. He listened for a few seconds then he broke off the connection.
“That was Gérôme. They are on their way back, with Elisabeth,” he told his wife.
Twenty minutes later William burst into the living room like a tornado, panting as if he had just finished running the marathon.
“She’s here, she’s here! Miss Elisabeth is here, sir,” he finally remembered himself and assumed his usual stiff position, before bending in a slight bow and leaving the room with quiet steps.
Another minute and the main entrance door of the condo flew open, slamming hard into the wall. A painting broke free of its hook and crashed to the floor.
Madeline managed to put the souvenirs box down on the couch and stand up, pressing her hand to her heart as if to stop it from jumping out.
Lizzie drew up short in the doorway, searching the room with wild, teary eyes. The moment she saw Arthur she bolted toward him, crossing the room in one feline leap. “You, bastard,” she shouted, raising her clenched fists.
“Lizzie, don’t.” Madeline grabbed her by the waist and started dragging her back with desperation.
“I’m gonna kill you.” Lizzie fought the rage, her wild gaze fixed on Arthur’s face.
He didn’t make any move to either step back or come closer. Just stared at her with pained, burning eyes.
“Why the hell did you call the police on them? Why? What’d they do to you?” Lizzie kept screaming, fighting to pry Madeline’s hands off her waist. Huge tears started streaming down her face, spraying over the plastic lenses of her glasses and blinding her. “Why?”
Her voice broke into a cry as she stopped fighting and started wiping the lenses on the wrong side with the back of her hands.
Madeline let go of her waist and turned her around, clasping her to her chest. She didn’t meet any resistance. Lizzie’s head nestled on her shoulder, shaken by heartbroken sobs that streamed out in muffled eruptions.
“Oh, God,” Madeline murmured, caressing her daughter’s back in restless movements.
“Why’d you do it? You’re a damn monster.” Lizzie’s voice sounded muffled from the crook of Madeline’s neck.
The monster stood just feet away, staring at her with eyes hazed by unshed tears. Tears of emotion, not of shame. He would not lose his daughter again.
Lizzie suddenly pulled away from Madeline, holding her glasses with both hands. “Oh, crap,” she exclaimed, holding two halves of the frames separated at the bridge of her nose where the superglue had broken.
“It is all right, sweetie, we will get you another pair first thing in the morning.” Madeline rushed to reassure her.
“The hell you will,” Lizzie replied indignantly. “Johnny bought them for me. I’ll fix them. I just need some strong glue.”
Arthur walked to the wall with heavy steps and pulled a velvet cord. Within seconds, William appeared as if he were waiting just around the corner.
“Miss Wilburn needs a tube of superglue,” Arthur ordered.
“Right away, sir.” William bowed and disappeared out the door.
“Why’d you do it?” Lizzie asked, calmer.
Her gentler voice made Arthur flinch. He turned around slowly and looked at her with the same pained eyes.
“Because they stole you away from us almost eighteen years ago, Elisabeth,” he said. “You cannot even begin to imagine the pain we felt in our hearts and souls every day since. Those people are not your family. They are your abductors. Why they kidnapped you, we are yet to find out.”
“They didn’t kidnap me, dammit.” She took a menacing step toward him, clenching her fists once more. “I asked Momma if I were her daughter, and she
swore to me on her life. I was born Emma Wallace on July 7th, 1993. Why the hell don’t you get it, huh? Momma even showed me the dress dad bought for me. It’s a frilly thing, and it has my initials on it. EW. There!”
“Do you mean, like this one?” Madeline opened the lid of the souvenirs box and pulled out a miniature white silky dress. It was white and had elegant, with winding letters embroidered on the lacy cuff of a sleeve. EW.
Lizzie came to sit next to her in silence, letting her callused fingers run through the folds of the dress.
“Where did you get this from?” she almost whispered.
“We have a few boxfuls of them upstairs, dear,” Madeline replied. “In white and pink. And bonnets, tiny socks and shoes. They were waiting for you when you were born. Your father was adamant you would be a girl.” Her hand dipped in the box again to pull out a pile of photographs. “Here,” she spread them out. “This is you when you were four days old. You were born on June 30th, 1993. July the 7th is the day when you were kidnapped.”
“Holly shit.” Lizzie gasped with horror. “I look like Chucky the Lakeshore Strangler, only that I’m dressed like a damn porcelain doll.”
“Your superglue, Miss,” William interrupted, holding out a thin tube.
Lizzie spent the next couple of minutes creating a big ball of transparent glue between the two halves of her frames until they finally got stuck together.
“At least let us take the glasses to an optometrist tomorrow to have them professionally repaired,” Madeline pleaded.
“Don’t even think ‘bout it,” Lizzie said. “I can’t be your child and Momma’s child at the same time,” she remembered the matter at hand. “Somethin’ smells fishy here.”
“Of course you cannot be, dear. You are our daughter,” Madeline explained patiently. “All evidence points to it. We had several DNA tests done. Do you know what they are?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Lizzie nodded. “They’ve explained it all to me at the hospital.”
A hint of victory sparked in Arthur’s eye. “So you understand that you cannot go back to those people, Elisabeth?” he asked.
Follow the white pebbles Page 6
