by Tara Leigh
Jolie broke apart with my name on her lips, the climax I’d given her playing out on her face. Her chin jutting upwards, mouth rounded, eyes shimmering with pleasure.
She was beautiful, breathtaking, and all mine.
I came in a dizzying rush, knowing one thing with compete certainty: Jolie Chapman was the love of my life. Every pulse of my dick was more than just a physical release. It was like a dose of reality, one beat at a time.
There was a reason we’d both returned to the same place to restart our lives, a reason we were bound by a child. Our journey was meant to be taken together. Wherever it led, whatever it took.
We came back to earth slowly, my arms wrapped around her, my hands gliding along her flawless skin. There was a dreaminess to Jolie’s expression that mirrored the hopefulness inside my heart. She looked sated and peaceful. We dozed, on and off, throughout the night, our bodies stirring us to wakefulness every few hours with the need to be connected again.
A last night of peace before engaging in a fight that shouldn’t have been necessary. A fight for our daughter, a fight for our family.
A fight for our fairy tale that we couldn’t, wouldn’t, lose.
44
Jolie
Tripp led me to the cozy corner booth of a Mexican restaurant. He ordered a pitcher of margaritas, guacamole, and a few other plates to share. We managed to make small talk until our drinks came, sipping them while a server diced tomatoes and onions, scooped out avocados, mixing everything together in a wooden bowl with salt and freshly squeezed lime juice.
Once it was just the two of us again, I pushed out a sigh and leaned forward. “How was your day, dear?”
Tripp slanted a grin my way, spreading his long, elegant fingers flat on the table and pushing them toward me. I extended mine, and for a moment we just held hands and grinned at each other. Finally, Tripp spoke up. “It’s better now.”
Other men looked at me, usually making it known they liked the view, but Tripp . . . Tripp looked into me, delving well below the surface. He really saw me. And now, knowing there were no more secrets between us, I could finally enjoy it. Maybe a little too much. His penetrating stare launched a two-pronged arrow of love and lust. It hit dead-center, exploding on impact. Every cell in my body blazing with heat. My heart on fire, too. I let go of his hands to gulp at my margarita.
Wrong move. Salt and tequila and lime juice were just accelerants to my inflamed senses. I coughed, waving my hands in front of my face, my eyes watering.
Tripp eased around the edge of the table, sliding in on my side and rubbing my back. “You have to take it slow.”
“Now you tell me,” I choked out, wiping at my eyes with a napkin. But truthfully, I was sick of slow. I finally had everything I wanted within reach, and I wanted it now.
Tripp fitted his hand around the curve of my neck, his fingers dissolving the tension bunched beneath my skin. My eyelids drooped, even the stinging in my mouth ceased. I nestled my forehead into the curve of his neck. “Thank you. I’m better now.”
Dropping a kiss on the top of my nose, he moved back to the other side of the table and lifted his own margarita to his mouth. “So, where should we go on our first family vacation?”
I blinked. “I think that’s going to be a while.”
“I like to be prepared. Tell me, what’s your happy place?”
“My happy place?” Was there such a thing?
“Humor me.”
I thought for a minute. In my industry—cities, countries, and islands were largely irrelevant. It was all about designers, photographers, and lighting. “It’s hard to say. When I travel for work, that’s all I do. There’s not much time for sightseeing.”
“What about for fun?”
Fun. “Nina used to take me skiing to this tiny little country in Europe, Andorra. I haven’t been back there in ages though.”
Tripp’s eyes held mine as he brushed salt from the corner of his lips, sucked on the pad of his thumb. “Andorra?”
“Yeah. Have you been?”
He blinked and looked away, wiping at the condensation from his glass that had pooled on the table. “Several times—but only for work. Until recently their banking laws made it a pretty attractive haven for money launderers and tax evaders.”
Before an awkward silence could settle over our table, I reversed course to answer his original question. “These days, I would say Disney is my happy place.”
Tripp paused, a chip suspended halfway to his mouth. “Disney? As in Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck, princesses and castles? Not St. Barths or the Galapagos Islands or Alaska. Disney, really?”
I swirled the straw around my salty glass and took a cautious sip. “The rides make Nina nauseous, so I get Romy all to myself.”
Tripp’s eyes shined with understanding. “Did you ever go there as a kid?”
I shook my head. “I don’t really remember much from when my mom was around, but I don’t think so. And after . . . My father was always working. And when he wasn’t, there was always some golf course he wanted to play, clients he wanted to meet, someone he needed to impress. How about you?”
“My dad liked to say that no one deserved to go on vacation until they could pay their own way. He’d usually have some new hire take me to the Stock Exchange, or onto his trading floor.” Tripp’s voice lowered, traces of bitterness leaching from it. “Some people should be born sterile.”
I licked the salt from my mouth, wishing I could erase the haunted look that had crept into his eyes. “You don’t mean that.”
The waiter returned, armed with several steaming plates of food, offering a detailed explanation of each as he put them down in front of us. I was half full from the guac and chips, and buzzing from the tequila, but I took some of the shrimp ceviche and roasted veggies.
Tripp rolled up a taco and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Maybe not literally, but thinking about my parents, about the life they led...” He shook his head. “I mean, that whole time, all their exotic vacations and shopping sprees at Hermes and Bergdorf’s, the private planes and yachts and country club memberships. The excess of their lives—every last dime of it paid for with stolen money. Half my DNA comes from a person who lied and schemed for decades. And the other half is from someone who still can’t face the truth of what he did.”
I reached across the table and grabbed for Tripp’s hand. “I’m sorry.” It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was all I could think of. All that my throat would allow me to say before closing up.
His jaw set in a tight line, Tripp refilled his glass, taking a hefty swallow before lifting his head back up to meet my gaze. “No going backward, right?”
The skin covering my ribcage was as tight as a snare drum, my heart beat pounding erratically against it. I took a deep breath, hoping the oxygen would get it under control. But instead, it was another hit of tequila and spices and the manly scent that was all Tripp. And the damn organ just beat faster, more desperately. “Right.”
He touched the rim of his drink to mine. “To tonight then.”
There was a buzz spreading through my veins that had nothing, or at least not everything, to do with what was in my glass.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” I choked out. His gaze was a strobe light, hot on my face.
“Like what?”
“Like you want to devour me whole.”
He leaned forward, his powerful forearms crossed on the table. “I do.” My ears were still ringing when he scooted back to my side of the booth, his broad shoulders casting me in shadow. “I definitely do.”
I’d loved this man before I even understood what the word meant, and I was as capable of resisting Tripp as a bunny facing down a Bengal tiger.
Not that I intended to resist.
My lips parted automatically, the margarita tasting even more delicious on his mouth than it had been in my glass. Tripp cupped his hands around my neck, his teeth trailing over my throat, his tongue swirling along my beating puls
e. I gasped in pleasure as a wave of desire crashed over me.
“Tripp.” His name left my mouth as a whispered plea. Our eyes met, and I had no doubt mine were as hungry as his. Prey hoping for a bite of the predator. “I’m still hungry. But not for food.”
45
Jolie
I should have been feeling optimistic as I met Eva a few days later. I’d found a well-respected family therapist who had agreed to work with us on our unusual situation. And Tripp said the lawyers he’d hired were making progress. But I couldn’t help the sense that the bright fluffy cumulous clouds overhead were just a front, the proverbial calm before a storm.
Pushing my anxiety aside, I grinned at Eva. “Hey there,” I said, sliding into the chair opposite her.
She brushed at the fringe of dark hair hovering over one of her eyes, squinting at me. “Ugh. You have that look again.”
A self-conscious flush rose up my neck. “What look?”
She twirled her finger in front of my face. “Glowing skin and shadows under your eyes. Classic too-many-orgasms-not-enough-sleep look.” Sadness pulled at her elegant features. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it in the mirror, but I do remember what it looks like.”
I gave her hand a sympathetic squeeze. “The right guy is out there for you, Eva. I know it.”
“Maybe. Or maybe the right guy is buried at Arlington.”
My stomach clenched at my friend’s bluntness. It was hard to see her in pain. I was trying to come up with an appropriate response when our waitress appeared. “I’ll have the salad special,” Eva said.
I hadn’t even looked at the menu. “Me, too.”
“Eva—”
“No, don’t. I’m sorry. There’s a father-daughter dance coming up at the twin’s school and it has me in a mood. Nash will take Maddie, of course. But sometimes everything hits me, you know. That their uncle will have kids of his own one day and what if I never find someone who’s worthy of being a father to my kids?” She sniffed, wiping at her eyes with a napkin. “Please, I would love a distraction. Tell me about your weekend. How did things go with Nina?”
I hesitated for a minute, but realized Eva wouldn’t want to break down in a public place. So I filled her in, only pausing when our salads arrived, my stomach tying itself into a sailor’s knot as words tumbled from my mouth. By the time I finished, Eva’s eyes were dry, and wide with surprise. “So you think your stepmother tipped off the reporter? That’s crazy.”
And it did sound crazy, even to my own ears. “Well, she didn’t actually admit to anything. And I honestly don’t know why. Thinking back, she was pretty consumed by trying to get pregnant and not having any success. My dad was working all the time. I think she thought she was going to have this great life as his wife, but it wasn’t nearly what she thought it would be.” I looked down, tapping my fingernails on the glass. “Tripp and I want to tell Romy the truth, and play a larger role in her life, not eliminate Nina from it. But I’m worried she’s going to make that impossible.”
“Surely she’ll put Romy’s best interests ahead of her own.”
Spearing a chunk of avocado, I recalled the cruel way my stepmother had put an end to the relationship Tripp and I were just beginning to build together. “I’m not so sure about that.”
“And Tripp, how is he coping with all of this?”
“He’s been amazing, given what I’ve put him through. Retaining lawyers and being completely transparent. I really feel like we’re partners.”
“Has he had a chance to check out Francis Hughes yet?”
“Tripp hasn’t mentioned anything recently. But I haven’t been thinking about Francis Hughes either.” I lifted my shoulders in a shrug. “The truth is, if Nina shuts us out of Romy’s life, I won’t be in any state of mind to launch a new business. And, at this point, getting involved with a friend of Nina’s probably isn’t the best idea.”
Our conversation flowed easily for the next half hour, until I pulled a credit card from my wallet and held it out toward our waitress. “My turn.”
Eva frowned. “Are you sure? I thought—”
“Nope. You paid the last time.”
She shrugged, finishing the last of her Pellegrino. “It’s all you, then.”
The waitress re-appeared at my elbow shortly after, looking embarrassed. “I’m afraid this card has been declined.”
“What? That’s impossible.”
“I can—”
“No.” I cut Eva off and handed over another card. “There must be a misunderstanding.
“Maybe you’ve been so preoccupied you forgot to pay AmEx,” she teased.
“No. Nina takes care of all my . . .” My throat closed before I could finish my sentence. From my very first modeling job, Nina had always taken care of my money. My paychecks were deposited into a joint account, and Nina handled everything else. We were a great team.
Given our recent confrontation, maybe those days were over.
By the time the waitress returned, I wasn’t at all surprised when she informed me that it had also been declined.
“I’ve got this,” Eva said, shooing me with a manicured hand. “You go figure out whatever needs figuring out.”
Giving her a grateful hug, I hurried from the restaurant, my phone already at my ear.
46
Jolie
Nina didn’t answer my call, so I caught a cab back to my apartment. I’d been spending most of my time at Tripp’s place, but I knew if he saw me upset, his natural instinct would be to take over. Hopefully I could solve this on my own. When Nina didn’t answer my second call, or my third, I pulled out my wallet and called the phone number on the back of my American Express card.
Nina had cancelled it. Ditto for my Visa.
Irritation at her petty behavior was giving way to anxiety. But after calling my bank, I learned that cancelling my credit cards was just the tip of the iceberg.
I was still struggling to absorb the depth of her betrayal when my screen brightened with the uncropped photo Tripp sent me the night he admitted to borrowing Lance’s identity. Not even the sight of his chiseled abs and treasure trail could bring a smile to my face.
“Jolie.” The hair on the back of my neck rose just from the way he said my name.
“Oh no. What else did she do?”
“Else?”
“Two of my credit cards were declined when I tried to pay for lunch an hour ago. Nina cancelled them. And when I called up the bank to check on my accounts, it turns out they’ve been closed, too—right after she emptied them.” I put a hand to my forehead, rubbing at the stress frown that felt like a permanent addition. “I can’t believe she’d do this.”
Tripp cursed. “There’s something I haven’t told you. I didn’t want to put you in a position where you would have to keep lying. If you slipped up at all, Nina would get spooked and—” My stomach clenched as Tripp’s sigh reverberated through the phone. “It’s about Nina. And Francis.”
“What about them?”
“Not them. They’re one and the same.”
“Tripp, please. I’m not up for word games right now.”
“This is no game. Francis is actually Nina. Or, I should say—there is no Francis.”
I dropped into a chair, feeling lightheaded. “You have it wrong. Nina doesn’t have that kind of cash.” At least, not before she’d stolen all of mine. “Francis is Nina’s friend.”
“Have you ever met him?”
“No. Because of the difference in our time zones, he prefers to email.” Realizing how easily I’d been played, the pieces started to click together. But the glue sealing those pieces together . . . disappointment in Tripp. I felt played by him, too. “Is that why you were in Connecticut that day? Not because of Romy, but because of Nina?”
“Yes. The address Hughes gave on a lease traced back to Nina. When I drove up to see what I could learn, I saw you and Nina come out to meet Romy’s bus.”
Romy. The need to hear her voice, to ma
ke sure she was okay, was visceral. I glanced at my watch. She should just be getting home.
“I’m going to check in with Romy, make sure she’s okay.”
“Good, you do that. I’m going to call the lawyers, fill them in on this latest development.”
I hung up, my mind whirring like an old fashioned Rolodex, the kind my father used to have on his desk. I needed to set aside my feelings about Tripp’s deception. We could work through them later. Right now, the greatest danger came from Nina. Somehow she had conned her way into my father’s life, and mine. She’d used me to get to my daughter, and now that she saw me as a threat, she was trying to hurt me anyway she could.
But I wasn’t about to roll over. I’d worked too hard and given up too much not to fight back.
There was a bit of a street fighter in this Park Avenue Princess—and she was rolling her shoulders and cracking her knuckles. It was time to defend what was mine.
47
Tripp
I hung up the phone with Jolie, feeling like a complete asshole.
At the Nutmeg Inn, I had promised there would be no more secrets, no more lies. A promise I broke. At the time, I’d genuinely believed I was making the right call. But the catch in the back of Jolie’s throat as she realized that I’d known the truth about Nina—and kept it to myself—was a slingshot, the sharp rock hitting me right between the eyes.
It wasn’t the right call. It was the wrong call. A bad call.
And there was absolutely nothing I could do about it at the moment. Not until Nina had been neutralized. I'd learned a lot about Jolie’s stepmother in the past week, little of it good.
She had managed to squirrel away several million dollars over the course of her marriage to Chapman, mostly by selling off the jewelry her husband had given her, and even the pieces he'd given to his first wife, Jolie's mother.
