Valley of Fire (Valley of the Moon Book 2)

by Bronwyn Archer

  I was in a new cocktail dress that cost more than everything I’d ever bought back in Sonoma—combined.

  “Or, maybe it was incredibly thoughtful of him to come tell me in person.”

  Roy cackled. “Lana, don’t pay any attention to Soren. He’s just bitter. His dream was to be a starving artist, but he’s always been too rich to starve.”

  Soren smirked. “Some of us worked our asses off to be successful. And others sit on their asses and pretend to work.”

  Roy looked at me. “Lana, ignore Soren. He was raised on a nudist colony.”

  Gretchen hit Roy in the shoulder. “Yoga commune. And it was an amazing place to grow up.” She looked at Alexander. “How long will you be in New York?”

  He’s been uncharacteristically subdued during dinner. “We fly back to California tomorrow.”

  Gretchen and Roy exchanged a glance.

  “But you’ll be back here for school in a few months, is that right?” Roy asked me.

  “Yep. I start in August.” Was I really going to start in August? The thing I had most wanted a month ago was suddenly the thing I dreaded. It felt like the plans had been made by someone else. Someone who no longer existed.

  I had to figure things out.

  “What are you going to study?” Roy asked.

  “Just don’t go into real estate or fashion and turn into one of these assholes,” Soren interjected.

  I laughed. “I was thinking maybe American literature. I always loved Jack London.”

  Soren rolled his eyes. “Good thing you won’t need to get a job then.”

  Underneath the table, Alexander’s hand grazed my leg. I caught my breath. His hand slid up my leg until it reached my hand, then he clasped my hand in his and held it.

  I threw my shoulders back and sat up a little straighter. “My mother thought her fortune brought bad luck. What do you guys think? Is there an Ambrose curse?”

  Roy looked concerned. “Yikes, hope not.”

  Soren chuckled. “All rich people are cursed one way or another, Lana.”

  Alexander got up. “I’ll be right back, excuse me.” He let go of my hand and walked into the restaurant. They all watched me expectantly. Except for Gretchen, who kept glancing back at the restaurant door. Finally she pushed herself away from the table.

  “Be right back, boys. Be nice, Roy.” She got up and went into the restaurant.

  Soren lit another cigarette and glanced over at me. “Lana, you seem to have a good head on your shoulders. You had a slightly more normal childhood than us Ambrose kids.”

  I fidgeted on my chair and shrugged. “I doubt it.”

  “Well, at least you have a good excuse. Your mom’s dead. Ours moved to Switzerland and we haven’t heard from her in years.” I couldn’t tell if he winced when he said it, or if it was just the clove smoke making his eyes burn. He flicked ashes into the butter dish and leaned forward in his chair. “From what I can tell, Alexander’s pulled it together these days. He still a ladykiller?”

  I looked at Roy, who drained another martini. “I hear he’s a changed man since the West Point episode,” Roy said in a low voice.

  Soren snickered. “I doubt it. You know about West Point, right?”

  I shivered in the warm summer night. He’d told me. I knew the whole story. “He got hurt in a football game, his friend died, and he dropped out.” Soren’s eyes flashed to Roy. “Or not.” Roy looked down and stabbed the olive in his glass with a sword-shaped toothpick. “Should we tell her?” he said, chomping on the olive.

  My stomach tightened up. “Tell her what?” I said, trying to act like I didn’t care.

  Soren blew out a huge plume of cigarette smoke and leaned over the table on heavily inked forearms.

  “About the general’s wife.” Oh no. I didn’t want to hear the rest. Only, I secretly did. I had to know. I had to know every mistake he made, every flaw. Then maybe I could stop liking him.

  Even though nothing he told me could make me stop liking Alexander Ambrose.

  “What happened?”

  Soren stubbed out his cigarette and raked his fingers through his beard. “Poor guy’s laying there in the hospital, entire leg in a cast, best friend dead, season over, football career over. A bunch of military brass comes through on a visit, to boost morale and shit. Some big general and his much younger wife walk on in.” He smirked and glanced at Roy. “The hussy goes back to his room later, alone. He’s basically defenseless. A nurse catches them . . . and you can imagine the rest.”

  Roy shook his head. “After he got kicked out, Elijah pulled some strings and got him into Stanford so he could finish school.”

  Soren laughed. “And that’s how the Ambrose Athletic Pool was built at Stanford, kids.” I looked from Roy to Soren. He hadn’t told me the whole truth but I understood why—who would tell people that story?

  “Sounds like that woman took advantage of a much younger boy who was intimidated by her husband and didn’t know how to get out of the situation. Honestly, she’s should have been arrested.”

  Roy’s eyes popped open wide. “That’s exactly what I said!”

  The waiter set a fresh martini in front of Roy, who carefully lifted it to his lips. “Soren, I forget—is the West Point thing the reason your dad cut him off, or was it something else?” My skin chilled. I tried not to react, but instead casually clenched my fists around the cloth napkin in my lap.

  “I think that was the final straw. Helen made sure he still got an allowance but yeah, Elijah was so furious he wrote him out of the estate plan. But they patched it up. He works for him now—and of course Helen did give him her Aston Martin.”

  How had he paid for our trip? And the car . . . I’d totaled it.

  Roy smirked. “Aw, don’t be jealous, Soren. He only drives a vintage Jaguar, Lana.”

  Soren snorted. “Sold it. I’m done with fossil fuels.”

  Roy sipped his martini. “Does that mean you won’t be taking the jet out of Teterboro anymore?” Soren ignored him. “Ah, Lana, from what I understand, did you misplace the Aston Martin on your little road trip?”

  “What?” Soren cried.

  I cleared my throat and craned my neck for Alexander, but there was still no sign of him. What was taking them both so long? I didn’t want to be stuck with these two barracudas for one more second. I thought the truth might shut them up.

  “Yeah, I drove it off a boat dock. I swam out just before it sank. The car was totaled.”

  Soren’s mouth dropped open. His cigarette was stuck to just his lower lip. “No fucking way.”

  “Way. In my defense, I was trying to hit this Russian assassin who had a gun pointed at your brother. I saved his life, but unfortunately, killed the car. Nice car, too. Real shame.”

  They both sat stunned. Roy sniggered and smacked the table. “Hoo-boy! Lana, you’re going to fit in just fine around here.”

  #

  The sidewalks were quiet and empty. We passed glittering storefronts full of fabulous luxury goods as we walked up Fifth Avenue. I had to remind myself that I could walk into any of the shops and buy whatever I wanted.

  But the only thing I wanted didn’t have a price.

  Gretchen slid her arm through mine and slowed down, putting distance between us and the guys.

  “Been a big couple days for you.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  Gretchen laughed. Maybe she wasn’t that bad—we had nothing in common, but she seemed to like me. Maybe she’d be like an older sister to me. She’d invited me to her wedding, after all.

  “Oh! I almost forgot. I found out something very interesting.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  She leaned in close and lowered her voice. “I had a little chat with Alexander in the restaurant. That’s what took so long. I want to tell you I am so sorry for ever thinking he tried to hit on you. Because you have nothing to worry about.”

  My blood froze.

  I wanted something to worry about.


  “See, I told you,” I said, desperately covering my panic with glib nonchalance.

  She nodded. “I know, I know. I asked him straight up if he hooked up with you, just to see his reaction. And it was so weird because he actually blushed.”

  My heel caught on a subway grate and I clutched her arm to stop from falling. “Then he told me he met someone last year. Did he tell you about her? Any clues? Because if it’s true, I’m pissed.”

  It felt like the sidewalk tilted uphill. He was talking about me. I was the someone he’d met last year! In my dad’s shop, the day he came in to get his mom’s new car!

  “No, he never mentioned it.” Inside I gloated, triumphant.

  She gripped my arm tightly in hers. “Did he drop any hints?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. No idea who this mystery girl could be.”

  “How annoying. Well, promise to tell me if you learn more when you get home. He said she’s in California.”

  “Oh, I promise.” It’s me, Gretchen! He was talking about me!

  She cackled, and then whispered conspiratorially, “If he thinks I’m going to let him break it off with Bree, who is my maid of honor and who he already said would be his date to the wedding, he’s smoking crack. I don’t know who this other person is, but as far as I know, Bree just thinks they’re on a break. If he shows up with some Tinder trash at my wedding, I will kill him. And so will my parents.”

  She carefully watched my expression, but I gave nothing away. No sign that I was withering to dust and ash inside.

  She turned to look back at me. My legs had stopped moving. “Lana?”

  “Sorry.” Alexander and Roy and Soren were half a block ahead of us. I hurried up to her and realized we’d arrived at the hotel. I couldn’t let her see my face so I hugged her tight. “See you at the wedding!”

  “Late August—I’ll send you an invite.” Soren marched over and unexpectedly kissed my hand and nodded to Alexander. “Welcome to the fam, Lana. Good luck—you’ll need it.” He winked at me and headed off on foot. Gretchen grabbed Roy and pulled him over to a waiting cab.

  Once they were all safely out of sight, Alexander looked at me. “Hey, are you okay?”

  I didn’t know how to ask him about Bree. Or what Gretchen meant by “Tinder trash.” I just nodded. “Yep, let’s go.”

  He held my hand until we were alone in the hotel elevator. The instant the doors closed he put his arms around my shoulders and bent his head to my ear. “I need to be alone with you.” His words lit something deep inside my body, but I resisted. Gretchen was probably lying and just baiting me to fight with him, but how could I just say nothing? As soon as the elevator opened, I broke away from him and sped walked to our door.

  He followed close behind me and jammed the key card into the door and shoved it open. He pulled me inside and pressed me against the wall. He buried his face in my hair and murmured, “Lana, I can’t be your friend anymore. Sorry. I tried.”

  Before a tidal wave of pheromones could paralyze my tongue me, I found my voice. “Wait. Just—wait.”

  “Okay.” He stepped away from me. I kicked off my heels. I started at him. He looked hurt—and a little confused, which only emphasized his gorgeousness. His eyes shined at me from under thick lashes. As he watched me, a smile spread across his face and his dimples popped. “What’s up?”

  “They told me why you got kicked out of West Point.” His eyes widened and he shook his head disgustedly. “It’s okay. I understand why you didn’t want to tell me.”

  “Believe me, I’m not proud of it. I was stuck with my leg in traction and on painkillers—but it was a mistake.”

  “And your stepfather cut you off because of it.”

  His smile faded. His jaw clenched. “Soren is such a prick—he was thrilled when that happened, believe me.”

  “So it’s true.”

  He nodded. “You were already freaking out about how much our trip cost, so I didn’t think you needed to know that. But I make plenty of money, and Elijah and I get along fine now. Really.”

  “Okay. But you have to let me pay you for whatever our trip cost.”

  He stepped closer to me. “Whatever you want.”

  “And replace your car.”

  He took another step towards me. “Do you really want to talk about money all night? Because I have another idea. It’s officially our last night together.”

  For a second I forgot about Bree and Gretchen and everything not named Alexander Ambrose. I threw my shoulders back and turned around. “Will you unzip me?”

  He said nothing. But a second later his hand was at my back, slowly pulling the zipper of my dress down. His hands slipped under the sides of the fabric at my shoulders and slid them forward so the bodice fell down my arms.

  Gretchen’s words swirled in my head, like poison having a delayed reaction.

  He pushed the dress down over my hips and it fell to the floor. In just my bra and underwear, I turned to face him. His eyes widened and he took in a breath when he saw me. “You’re gorgeous.” My cheeks burned. My body just wanted to feel his hands on my skin. But my brain was not cooperating. He stepped over to me and slipped his hands around my waist so our bodies were pressed together.

  He brushed his fingers across my collarbone and I shivered. “I’ve been a very good boy for literally the entire year, and it was worth it.” He bent down and started kissing my neck. But I kept shivering. “Well, not totally good.” My euphoria seemed to disintegrate and slide through my fingers like sand, leaving me with just the sharp grit.

  I’d only known him a few weeks. Gretchen had known him for years.

  “Won’t Bree be upset?” He froze. He stared at me for a long beat, and then it was like a slow dawn breaking across his face. His expression changed to total confusion, then flickered to realization, and then his jaw clenched and he stiffened.

  “Oh.”

  “Gretchen told me she’s your date for the wedding.”

  He slammed his hand down on the bed and jumped up. He raised his voice and said, “Lana, listen to me—Gretchen is trying to mess with you—she doesn’t want you to trust me!”

  “Why not?”

  His shoulder sagged and he let out a slow sigh. “It’s a long story.”

  “Then tell me. But tell me the truth. For once.” The last two words I blurted out and immediately regretted. He smashed his fist onto the stereo and the soft jazz song that was playing abruptly stopped. A horrible, screaming silence descended on the room. He stormed over to the window. He shook his head and ran both his hands through his hair. “I thought Gretchen was over this bullshit, but I guess not. Lana, listen to me!”

  “Who’s Bree?” There was no fixing any of it. No fixing me. Or him. No amount of kissing would change the fact that he had a past, and we had no future. There was only the present moment, and it was slipping away.

  He sighed.

  “A woman I dated. Very briefly. Gretchen’s friend.”

  “Did you invite her to the wedding?”

  He looked pained. “Honestly, I don’t remember. She’s Gretchen’s maid of honor so I’m sure the subject came up. This was over a year ago, Lana.”

  “She thinks you’re on a break.”

  “She’s an idiot. Lana—I was different guy. I have no intention of taking her to anything, anytime, anywhere.”

  “If you’re a different guy, why does Gretchen act like you’re the same guy.”

  His eyes softened. “She liked the old me better.” Had he changed? Could someone change so much that they’d drop all their bad “habits”? Or would they eventually relapse? “Come on, Lana. Forget all that crap she told you.”

  My voice broke as I tried to talk. “I don’t think I can.” He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips together. Sobs choked my throat. “I don’t think I can.” He stared at me and then his eyes flicked to the window. His face was pale and his expression cold.

  “You want to believe everything everyone says about
me, fine. I’m used to that. I’m done defending myself from Gretchen Ambrose and all the other Ambroses. Fuck them.”

  Every cell in my body wanted to run to him, jump into his arms, kiss him.

  But that would be just making the inevitable harder.

  He will never be yours.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I whispered. I turned and ran from him. I scurried into the still darkness of my bedroom and curled up into a ball in the cold sheets and cried until I fell asleep.

  Chapter 21

  Lacus Excellentiae ~ Lake of Excellence

  I woke up stiff and cold. It was past noon. Someone banged on my door.

  “Be ready to leave in an hour. Do you hear me?”

  “Fine!” I yelled.

  A few seconds later, the main door to the suite banged shut. I showered and got dressed in a pair of $280 jeans from Bergdorfs, a pale rose sleeveless top, short blazer, and flat black ankle boots. Dressing like a rich girl was easy—when you were actually rich. I’d have to sit on a plane for five hours next to Alexander, and my destroyed heart would play better as bitchy snobbery.

  I jammed my new purse inside my new tote bag. I took the rest of my clothes and shoes out of their bags and boxes and stacked it all up on the coffee table in the living area to make it easy to pack into one of the new suitcases that had been delivered to the suite.

  I had the nagging feeling I was forgetting something. I wandered through my bedroom and stopped to look around. The necklace! I went to the closet, opened the safe, and slipped it around my neck. To be safe, I tucked it into my blouse.

  The knock on the entrance to the suite made me jump. I was starving and room service had arrived.

  Only it wasn’t room service.

  “Oh! Good morning, Lana!”

  I feigned joy. “Hey, Gretchen! What’s up?”

  She looked at the room number on the door and then back to me. “This is Alexander’s room, so you tell me.”

  She swept past me without waiting for an invitation.

  “Alex?” she called out.