by King, Asha
“On break?” he asked, leaning against the counter at her side.
“Yeah. Almost over, though.”
“Maybe I could talk your boss into extending it by a few minutes.” He gestured to the screen doorway where she glimpsed her three aunts.
They had relaxed the rules a little, seemed to welcome not only her working at the bakery still and seeking her own place, but her relationship with fallen pop star Sawyer and the paparazzi it entailed. What they were doing at her place of employment, she couldn’t say, but she’d certainly talk to them.
“I’ll see Gina.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze and disappeared toward the front of the shop. The din of voices in there sharply increased at his presence and Bryar rolled her eyes. If Gina got him to serve a few customers, it would pop up on YouTube within ten seconds and they’d be getting delivery orders from across the damn country. Oh well, business was thriving. Nothing to complain about there.
Bryar slipped off the apron that hung over her white uniform shirt that was embroidered with her name and the store logo, and stashed it on the counter. The aunts stepped back when she reached the door, obviously indicating she was to come outside. Bryar grabbed her leather jacket from beside the door and did so.
“I said I’d be home for dinner later,” she said. “Did you need me to pick up...”
All three of them gazed at her seriously and it was Aunt Donna who took the lead and spoke up first. “Someone’s here to see you, Bryar.”
They parted.
A man and a woman stood just behind them.
He was tall and slender, built like Aunt Lora. A black goatee was peppered with gray, as were the temples of his shortly shorn hair. Long nose and full lips, dark eyes. Impeccable business suit.
And he smiled. Kindly. So did the woman—she was shorter with spirals of curly black hair, skin a few shades lighter than his, with a wide, wide smile hanging from full cheeks. She wore a wool coat drawn up close to her neck, and her hands were locked around one of his arms.
Bryar knew without a doubt she looked at her parents.
She’d spent twenty years thinking they were dead. Not even remembering them, never seeing a photo. And now, even knowing they were alive, in some ways they’d stayed dead in her mind. While she felt like it was expected she should run into their waiting arms, any childhood dreams of a reunion were dashed by knowing who they really were.
Not terrible people, her aunts had said. Of course they’d say that. But at the end of the day, they were responsible for the death of that boy, Joseph. Probably responsible for other deaths as well.
Bryar cleared her throat to break the silence pressing down on her. “Mr. and Mrs. Perrault.”
Both of them winced and for a moment she wished she could take it back, but then she decided screw them. They didn’t get to hear her call them “Mom” and “Dad”, not after twenty years.
“They just want to speak to you for a few minutes, Bryar,” Aunt Merry said softly.
Bryar crossed her arms at her chest but nodded, took a few steps to the left to sit on the picnic bench off to the side of the shop’s porch, and waited.
Her parents sat opposite her while the aunts backed away, moving around the side of the shop to give them privacy.
The woman—her mom, Angelina—continued to stare at her with tears in her wide eyes, clearing wanting to speak though she held back. The man locked his gloved hand on hers. The contact seemed as if it was meant to be reassuring.
“You probably have a lot of questions,” Stefan said.
Bryar thought about it. “Not...not really. Google and my aunts filled in the blanks. I assume you realize that my boyfriend is way famous, security and police are usually right around the corner, and you’re still wanted by the cops all across the country.”
He nodded. “We’ll keep this brief, for now. We’d...like to see you, now and then. If you’ll permit it.”
“We’re so sorry,” Angelina said in a rush, leaning forward. “So sorry. We never wanted to give you up, never wanted this to go on so long. We love you, Talia. We never stopped.”
The woman’s tears were getting to her. Bryar kept herself stony and looked away, letting the chilly fall wind dry her eyes out. “You didn’t want this, but you killed that woman’s kid.”
Her parents said nothing and she chanced a look at them, her gaze sliding from one of them to the other as they exchanged a glance.
Her stomach gave a twist. “What? Look, I know she was nuts, but she didn’t strike me as someone who would hold a grudge for twenty years without being really sure it was justified. I’ve seen the old articles about the fire and the dead teen boy.”
Stefan cleared his throat. “Joseph Cheung is still alive.”
Bryar blinked. Hard. And gave her head an internal shake. “What?”
“We...we were responsible for the fire, yes,” Angelina admitted. “We were also there. The building was supposed to be empty, but yes, he was in it. The fire crew managed to save him despite third degree burns, however.”
“Why in the hell wouldn’t you tell her that?” She looked at both of them again. “He’s alive? What—”
“He was badly burned, as I said,” Stefan cut in. “And Joseph wanted, more than anything, a life away from his mother’s business. He wanted to be dead, at least to her. He escaped into protective custody. I found out about ten years ago. But The Dragon was underground we had no way of safely sending a message to her—not one that she’d believe. And after all this time...”
“She would’ve blamed us anyway,” Angelina said. “Regardless of the circumstances, she lost her child. He’d escaped her, though. Wherever he is now, he has a life. One he didn’t deserve to be ripped from, any more than you did.”
So let the kids live in ignorance of the sins of their fathers, or at least as much as possible, until that past comes up to eat them whole.
Now that The Dragon was dead, though, at least it was over.
Bryar chewed on this, thinking it over. They might not be responsible for that death, but surely they were for others. The Perraults ran drugs, prostitutes. Had corrupted police in their pockets. Maybe not so much now that they’d been in hiding for twenty years but the file on them was massive and there was no pretending otherwise.
“We’re just glad you’re okay,” Angelina whispered. She reached out her hand and Bryar stared at it for a moment.
They weren’t good people. Nor were they bad people. They were just people, both good and bad, and her parents at that. No matter what, they loved her.
She took a deep breath and reached out as well, let her mother fold her hand in her own. Stefan clasped his over the top of hers and emotion swelled in Bryar’s chest, threatened to crack her in two.
“We don’t want to put you in a difficult position,” her father said. “So we understand if you say no, or if you immediately go to the police to tell them you spoke to us. But we’d like to contact you once in a while. Make sure you’re okay.”
Bryar swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “Okay.”
Eventually they rose and gave her a long look but didn’t push for a hug, didn’t impose anything else on her. And she didn’t run into their arms for a final embrace—wasn’t ready, didn’t know if she ever would be. It wasn’t closure. Closure probably wasn’t even possible. But it was another piece of her life fitting into place, a hole of her past finally being patched up.
The Perraults disappeared into a nondescript parked car in the lot and moments later drove away.
The kitchen door opened and Sawyer stepped out, dropped to sit at her side. His arm came over her shoulder and she happily leaned into him.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
She swiped at the tears under her eyes and happily found she at least wasn’t still crying. “That was my mom and dad.”
“Yeah. Your aunts called me to meet them here and gave me like two minutes of warning so I couldn’t tell you ahead of time. How’d it go?”
/> “About as you’d expect. As long as the paparazzi didn’t get a shot of that, I think we’re good.”
He held her tight and said nothing for several long moments. The wind was cold, biting at the tip of her nose and drying any remaining tears from her cheeks. Winter was coming, the smell of snow in the air even if the flakes didn’t fall yet. She was cold and should head back inside, but the comforting silence out behind the shop kept her in place.
“So I conspired with Gina,” Sawyer said lightly. “She’s going to make little guitar-shaped cookies and I’m going to sign them with icing. For a local women and children’s shelter. Charity guitar cookies. She’s a tough negotiator, but I won her over.”
“What did you get for it?”
“What did you get,” he corrected, and pulled an envelope from his front pocket to set in front of her.
She opened it to find a pair of plane tickets. To Paris.
“Two weeks’ vacation next month,” he continued. “For you and me. Touristy stuff is on the menu if you want it but I am looking forward to locking myself in our hotel suite for a few days with a guitar and see if I can’t write some songs on my own. And I’ll need a naked hot girl for a muse, of course.”
“I assume that muse is me.” She leaned back on his arm and grinned up at him.
“Only muse I want.” His lips claimed her lips in a long, deep kiss.
“Just make sure breakfast in bed is nut-free,” she said.
“I will burn every peanut in France ahead of time if I have to.”
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About the Author
Asha King likes good-looking men and hot books, and often strives to combine the two in contemporary, paranormal, and suspenseful romantic stories. She lives in the exotic land of Alberta, Canada, where she doesn’t ride a polar bear to work but does drink vast amounts of locally brewed beer and watches hockey.
She loves connecting with readers and you can keep up to date with her online at www.AshaKing.com, where you’ll find a list of her books as well as what she’s working on.
Find more of Asha at...
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Email: [email protected]
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Table of Contents
Title page
Beauty
Also by Asha King
Copyright © 2015 by Asha King
Dedication
Once Upon a Time
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Happily Ever After
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About the Author
