Enchanted Heart

by Felicia Mason

  Lance squatted down so he was eye level with Tarique. “I didn’t know where your mom was,” he said. “And I didn’t know about you at all. Not until a few weeks ago.”

  “She said you were rich and didn’t care about us.”

  “That wasn’t true,” Lance said. “There were things . . .” He only wished he knew what. “Things that happened that kept us apart. If I’d known, I’d have been right there with you, every step of the way.”

  “Yeah, right. Nobody wants me.”

  Tarique had overheard the exchange between Lance and Gayla’s mother. She’d refused to acknowledge the boy back when Gayla first told her she was pregnant, and she refused any association with him now.

  Lance put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “That’s not true. I do.”

  When Tarique didn’t say anything, Lance rose. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

  Later that night, after a meal of juicy cheeseburgers and crispy fries from What-a-Burger, Lance took Tarique to the Granger Shores apartment to pack up some of his stuff.

  “I’ve been thinking about moving into a house,” he told the boy. “Someplace where we could put a basketball hoop.”

  “Yeah?”

  Lance nodded.

  “Well, I don’t like basketball.”

  Lance sighed.

  Tarique went to his room and Lance, standing in the middle of the cluttered living room of Gayla’s apartment, closed his eyes. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  The drug paraphernalia had been taken away by the police, but bloodstains remained on the threadbare carpet. Lance had gotten a call that the housing authority needed the place emptied out. There wasn’t a thing Lance wanted, but he did make his way to Gayla’s bedroom.

  The room was littered with clothes and magazines. Ants skittered over a mound of what may have been the remains of a sandwich.

  Lance spied a photograph on the dresser. Stepping around a laundry basket, he picked it up.

  His gut clenched. She’d kept it. All these years and she’d kept the photo of them on Buckroe Beach. The picture, more grainy sand and expansive beach than anything else, had been shot by a man with one of those electronic search sticks. He’d been looking for treasure on the beach while Lance and Gayla frolicked in the surf. Their images were distant, but happy.

  Lance put the photo in his pocket. It was probably the only one his son would ever have of his parents together.

  They came to an uneasy truce that night. Not knowing what else to do, Lance took Tarique shopping for some things for his bedroom. Not wanting to take the chance of transporting ants, roaches or any other crawling creatures from Gayla’s apartment, Lance promised Shay, Gayla’s friend and next-door neighbor, her pick of Gayla’s furniture and clothes. Everything else he’d leave.

  Tarique put up a fuss about his TV and CD system, so Lance outfitted him with a new entertainment system.

  Now the boy was in his new bedroom watching a DVD and eating Cinnamon Toast Crunch straight from the box.

  When Lance’s intercom buzzed, he invited Sonja on up. Tarique had, for some reason, taken a liking to Sonja. It was probably the way her dresses fit her compact body. But Lance was glad of the support. He needed an ally while he worked through the minefield called instant fatherhood. The three of them were going to have pizza and then go to a movie. But when he opened his front door, Sonja didn’t stand before him.

  “Hello, Lance.”

  “Vivienne. I mean Rachel.”

  “It’s Vivienne,” she said. “May I come in?”

  His surprise at seeing her quickly transformed into suspicion. “How’d you get up here? Where’s your boyfriend?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend. That’s what I’ve come to explain. And I told the guard you were expecting me.”

  He’d have to have a talk with the management about that. But Lance stepped away from the door so she could pass by him. As she did, he caught a whiff of the perfume that never failed to curl up in his gut and travel straight to his groin.

  How could he still want someone so treacherous?

  How could he still be in love with her?

  Lance stopped short. Then, carefully, he closed the door. He did love Vivienne, even though she’d played him. He suspected that just like it had taken him a while to get over Gayla, he’d eventually get over Vivienne.

  Was that the true legacy of the Heart men—that they could only love women who dealt in deceit? Even Cole, who until this whole Brazil thing had seemed immune to bad choices, had fallen victim to a deceitful woman. Sonja had set out to destroy not just Cole, but all of the Hearts and had nearly succeeded. In the beginning and on the surface, she’d been an awful choice for Cole. But his love won Sonja over.

  Lance didn’t think love had enough power to convince him that Vivienne was here to win him over or to declare her undying passion for him. He looked at her stomach.

  “So, are you really pregnant or was that just part of the game you and what’s-his-name were playing?”

  “There’s more to the story, Lance. A lot more.” Vivienne walked into the penthouse and looked around.

  While she studied his great room, he studied her. Today, Vivienne was dressed in a pale pink miniskirt suit. High heels in a barely there pearlescent pink matched the tiny purse on a long strap. Her legs went on forever and Lance vividly remembered the feel of them wrapped around him.

  Heat flashed through him, headed south and he closed his eyes against the desire. He still wanted her. After all her lies, he still wanted her. That made him angry at himself.

  She turned to face him. “Yes, Lance. I’m really pregnant. My ob/gyn confirmed it. I’m six weeks along. Maybe eight.”

  If Lance were the father, that would put conception at that first wild night they’d had at the Downtown Marriott. It seemed like a lifetime ago. An unlikely lifetime.

  He stood near a white leather sofa, arms folded across his chest. “I’m not supporting somebody else’s kid. If you came over here to try to get money out of me, you can forget it.”

  “I don’t want your money,” Vivienne snapped. “And this is your child. You’re the only man I’ve been with without protection.”

  Lance laughed out loud at that. “Bring on the DNA test, baby, ’cause it’s gonna take that and more to convince me.”

  Vivienne closed her eyes. “I shouldn’t have come.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. But since you’re here, why don’t you tell me why you came?”

  Vivienne faced him. “I . . .” She paused, licked her lips and started again. “I wanted you to understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  “What I’ve been going through. What I’ve been living with.”

  Glancing at the watch on his arm, Lance said, “Make it quick. We’re . . . I’m expecting company.”

  He motioned for her to sit down. Viv placed her small handbag on the coffee table and settled on the edge of the large sofa. She always looked so together. So perfect. He closed his eyes to her beauty and willed himself to maintain his justified resentment.

  From a room to the left came laughter and a grunt. Viv glanced that way.

  “Television,” Lance said by way of explanation. With luck, Tarique would stay put. “Can I get you something?”

  Vivienne shook her head.

  “Dean Khan isn’t my boyfriend,” she blurted out. “He used to be. A long time ago. At Brown. But now he’s blackmailing me.”

  That was the last thing he’d expected her to say.

  “I need your help, Lance. I’ve thought about this, turned it every which way, inside and out. He wants Guilty Pleasures.”

  “What do you mean he wants Guilty Pleasures?”

  “Sixty percent of weekly revenue in cash at five o’clock every Friday.”

  Lance whistled. “I know what kind of business you do. That’s a lot of money. What makes you think I’ll help you? Or that I care?”

  The question obviously threw Viv. She’d apparently be
en expecting his anger given the way they’d last parted, but not out and out derision. “You’ve made a significant investment in the company.”

  “If it means I get rid of you and your lies, I’ll just write it off as a failed venture. Trust me, it won’t be my first.”

  The doorbell chimed before she could answer. A door to the left banged open and a small brown flash flew by Viv.

  “It’s Sonja. I’ll get it.” Tarique was at the front door and had it open. “Did you get extra pepperoni?”

  Lance heard Sonja’s laughter and smiled, the unlikely but welcome camaraderie between Sonja and the boy the only bright spot in the last week.

  Vivienne stood as Sonja and Tarique came into view. Tarique rushed the pizzas toward the kitchen. “I’ll get some napkins.”

  “Who is that?” Vivienne asked.

  “Hello,” Sonja said with a smile. “You must be Vivienne.”

  The two women spoke at the same time. Vivienne faced Sonja, then looked at Lance.

  “That was my son, Tarique. And this is Sonja.” Lance made the introductions without any explanations. He perversely enjoyed the stricken look on Vivienne’s face, and he had no intention of disabusing her of the obvious leaps she was making.

  Vivienne’s gaze landed on the very large diamond ring and band on Sonja’s left hand, and the easy way the other woman smiled up at Lance.

  “ You . . . You . . .”

  “Yes?” Lance asked, innocence personified.

  Sonja winked at him. “I’ll leave you two to your conversation. We’ll save some pizza for you.” She waved at Viv. “Nice meeting you.”

  Viv let out a wail of fury and hurt, then grabbed her bag up from the table. “You lied to me. You’re married!”

  Lance laughed at the irony. “Now you know. Two can play that lying game, baby.”

  Vivienne’s humiliation carried her through the apartment, down in the elevator and to her car parked in the visitor lot. It wasn’t until she’d locked the doors around her and looked up toward the penthouse where she imagined Lance and his family laughing at her that she let tears come.

  First one, then two, then a flood of emotions and regret and anger and fear swept through her. Viv rocked back and forth, letting it all come, knowing on some level that just as soon as the tears finished, she’d be able to think clearly.

  A knock sounded on the window.

  Viv screamed and clutched her throat. Then, focusing, she saw the security guard.

  She started the car and powered down the window.

  “Ma’am, are you all right?”

  Viv wiped her eyes. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  The guard stepped away. Viv swiped at her eyes again and then powered up the window and put the car in reverse.

  She didn’t know what she was going to do about Dean Khan. But she sure as hell knew what she was going to do about Lance Heart Smith. If he thought he could get away with screwing her over, he had another thing to think about.

  Viv placed a hand over her stomach, over the child that even now grew there, nestled within her womb. She would have Lance Heart Smith’s baby. And he’d pay through the nose every month for the next eighteen years.

  T.J. was right, Lance decided. He needed some closure on some things and notwithstanding the drama with Viv, he also needed to introduce Tarique to the family. The Heart aunts and cousins wouldn’t be a problem. They’d shrug it off as more of the same—somebody’s illegitimate child welcomed into the family fold. As long as there weren’t any claims to family money or property, no one really cared. But Tarique wasn’t illegitimate. He had as much claim as any other Heart heir, and Lance planned to make sure everyone knew.

  His grandmother and great-uncle, the two primary instigators, would, however, pose a more significant problem. So he’d requested an audience with Virginia at the compound.

  When he walked into the parlor, he was surprised to see how youthful she looked. Relaxed even. That cruise must have done her well. But Lance wasn’t in the mood to exchange pleasantries. He just wanted to get this ordeal over with so he could go on with his life.

  But before he could voice the platitudes that marked the beginning of any conversation with Virginia, she cut in.

  “What’s this I hear about you having a son?”

  Like a microburst, all of the original anger he’d felt at her interference shot through Lance.

  “Yeah,” he said, holding tightly to Tarique’s hand. He angled the boy so Virginia could see him. “Look familiar?” he asked her.

  Virginia’s stricken and horrified expression said more than anything else that the child standing before her was a Heart, Lance’s issue. The resemblance was formidably striking. She reached an unsteady hand out to a chair and collapsed into it.

  “But who? When?” Virginia sputtered.

  Uncle Jimmy chuckled. “Well, I’ll be.”

  “My wife,” Lance bit out. He felt more than saw Tarique glance up at him. “The one you bought off and sent away.”

  Color drained from Virginia’s face. “Lance, I . . .”

  “Just shut . . .” He looked down at the child. This battle was between Lance and his grandmother. Not the boy. “There’s a pool and tennis court out back. Wanna go look?”

  “Naw. I wanna stay here and listen to this.”

  Lance motioned for Penelope who’d brought a tray of refreshments into the room. “Penny, would you get my son some cookies and milk, please?”

  The maid cut a sharp glance from Lance to Virginia to the boy. “We don’t have any milk,” she eventually said, “but I think I can find something you’ll like.” She held a hand out to Tarique. The boy looked at it, then at his father. Lance jerked his head in a “go on” motion.

  Tarique didn’t take the woman’s hand, but he did watch her backside as she switched out of the room.

  “He’s definitely got the Heart eye,” Jimmy intoned. He settled himself in his chair to get a good look at the fireworks.

  “Like father, like son,” Virginia said.

  Lance whirled around. “Had it been up to you, I never would have even known he existed. Why’d you do it? Why?”

  “It was for your own good. She was nothing. You had a life in front of you.”

  Lance’s hand whipped out, knocking over a vase. Virginia gasped, her eyes on the shattered porcelain.

  “That’s what I mean,” Lance thundered. “You care more about a fucking piece of glass than you do a human life. Human lives. Three times now you’ve fucked me over.”

  “Watch your language. I’m still your grandmother.”

  “Ginny, don’t you think it’s time for the truth?”

  They both turned toward Jimmy, who’d been quietly watching the proceedings from his chair.

  Lance had been so focused on his grandmother that he’d forgotten all about his great-uncle.

  “What truth?” Lance asked.

  “This isn’t the time for that,” Virginia snapped.

  Jimmy chomped on his cigar, then lit it. Virginia didn’t say a word. “I’d say it is. If you don’t tell him, I will.”

  Lance looked from one to the other of his scheming relatives. “Tell me what?”

  Virginia got up. “I don’t have to sit here and listen to this.”

  “Sit down.”

  The command, as if from God, boomed so loud, and with such a threat that Virginia sat. So did Lance.

  Jimmy stood. Working on the cigar, he walked to the mantel, fingered a few of the photographs.

  “All your life you’ve been told a lie, Lance.”

  “So what else is new?”

  Shaking his head, Jimmy glanced at him. “Not that little mess. Yeah, we bought off that Gayla woman. What was it, twenty-five-thousand dollars? She disappeared quick enough. She was supposed to get an abortion not have the kid.”

  “Well, she didn’t. And that kid you tried to do away with is now almost eleven. My son, Grandmother. You had no right.”

  “She wasn’t the w
oman for you.”

  “She was my wife and she was pregnant with my child.”

  Virginia clutched her chest. “That boy,” she said, looking toward the door that Tarique had exited, her voice just barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think she was even really pregnant.”

  “We got married in Mexico.”

  “I remember that,” Jimmy said on a chuckle. “That was a nice move.”

  Two heads whipped around toward Jimmy. “You knew?” Twin accusations echoed in the room.

  He tapped ashes in a vase. “Pure chance. I was in Tijuana for a . . . er, I was there. Saw you coming out of a little chapel.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Virginia accused. “You knew and didn’t try to stop them?”

  Jimmy shrugged and grinned. “Just wanted to see how it’d play out.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you people?” Lance yelled. “You can’t just play with people’s lives like this is a game.”

  Ignoring the outburst, Virginia asked, “What ever happened to her?”

  “She died,” Lance bit out. “No thanks to you.”

  “You can’t blame me for . . .”

  Lance advanced on her. “I can and I do. Gayla was a crack addict, Virginia. She smoked drugs and lived in the projects and raised my son in filth. All because you decided to play God and gave her a little money to disappear from my life. Well, it didn’t quite work out the way you planned.”

  “Neither did some other things,” Jimmy said.

  “James, please.”

  Jimmy shook his head. “Time’s up, Ginny. Either you tell him or I will. He needs to know.”

  Lance turned to his grandmother. “I need to know what?”

  When Virginia wouldn’t meet his gaze, Lance turned to Uncle Jimmy.

  “You’re not who you think you are,” the older man said by way of explanation.

  “Come again?”

  The cigar dangled from the edge of Jimmy’s mouth as he talked. “Did you ever wonder why you and Cole were so close, why you looked so much alike?”

  A dawn of understanding flashed in Lance’s eyes. He whipped around and looked at Virginia. She sat there, hands clasped tight in her lap, her face drawn and pinched, lines at her mouth.