Second Chances

by Leigh Morgan

  Rhia came into the kitchen and grabbed a scone. “Rat-bastard huh? I like that. It’s colorful. Maybe I can use it in my book.”

  Becca scowled but didn’t look up from the article she was reading. “It’s ‘dirty-low-down-rat-bastard’. One word if you’re say’n it right. And you’all won’t think it’s funny when you’re readin’ this.”

  Rhia smiled as she lowered herself slowly to the table. She wasn’t that big yet, but she felt like she was carrying around a bowling ball. At least the morning sickness had stopped.

  “Come Dolly, it can’t be that bad.” Rhia teased.

  Becca looked up. “Yes. It kin.” She frowned. “And who you’all calling Dolly?”

  Rhia laughed. “You must really be upset, sugar.” She mimicked in her best southern accent. “‘Cause you sound just like Doll…eee…Parton.” Rhia looked at Becca’s chest. “U’all need a little more corn in your muffins to pull the look off tho’.”

  “Oh shut up and listen to this.” Becca ordered, more angry than she’d been since her daddy ran off with the local hair dresser. She snapped the paper to make sure Rhia was listening, and started to read.

  “Rock’s biggest stud-muffin, Ramsey Macleod, together with his head of security, Benjamin Stark, announced today that they are planning a double wedding ceremony to take place somewhere in Britain.

  The exact place is currently undisclosed. The longtime friends and business partners were accused of using the double wedding as a publicity stunt to promote Ramsey’s new solo album.

  When asked for comment Stark said, of course the publicity is a part of it, and just to let you in on a little secret, Rebecca Stonehaven will be making her musical debut at the ceremony...”

  “Why that back-stabbin-two-timin-piece-of-shit-scum-suckin-beatle-bog...”

  Flossie cut Becca off. “Language, Becky, language.”

  Becca looked up from the paper. “Sorry Flossie. I meant to say, ‘piece-of-bloody-shite-scum-suckin-beatle-bog.”

  “That’s better. You girls enjoy’n the weeklies, are you?” Floss asked.

  “Enjoy’n’s one word for it Flossie. How about you lend Rhia and me those knitting needles of yours and we’ll find a way to really ‘enjoy’ ourselves.” Becca said.

  Rhia moved to the kettle and poured a pot for tea. Becca didn’t see the evil grin on her face, until she returned to the table and poured tea for each of them.

  “Becky’s right. We could use those needles, but we’ll need an alibi first.” Rhia took a sip of tea. “Let’s hear the rest of it Bec. We need to hear all of it to decide how much pain we’re going to inflict before we kill them.”

  Rhia’s smile was down right diabolical when she said, “It just so happens that I own a dungeon. It’s bound to have a torture chamber.”

  Well, well, well, Flossie thought, my girls have some backbone after all. What she said was, “Finish the story, Becky. Something tells me you haven’t gotten to the good part, yet.”

  Ramsey was seen coming out of an upscale jeweler today. When asked what he was doing there he said he’d just bought a seven carat diamond for the woman he was going to marry. When asked what his wife thought about that, Macleod replied, ‘I won’t let a little thing like being married stand between me and the woman I love.’ What a scoundrel folks. You gotta love Ramsey though, he sees what he wants and takes it.

  All Ramsey would confirm about the site for the ceremony was that it was going to be on private property, owned by the woman he loves.”

  Becca looked up from the paper into Rhia’s pale face. “I’m sorry Rhia...”

  “Don’t be.” Rhia answered, more bone weary than she’d ever been. “I told Ram before I left I wouldn’t take his money.” Rhia swallowed her heart and steeled her backbone. “That little interview just cost him Pentla House. He can keep the rest. Right after I break his scum-sucking-dirty-low-down-back-stabbing-head-banging jaw.”

  Becca smiled at her. “Good. Next time he calls I’ll tell him to get the paperwork ready. I’ll tell that egg-stealin-snake, Stark, where he can shove his ‘debut’ too.”

  ...

  Rhia heard his voice two heartbeats before Ram entered the room. She had her feet up while she sat on the couch next to Becca, a huge bowl of popcorn between them.

  “Picking up all Flossie’s bad habits I see.” He said, clearly amused.

  Rhia set down the knitting needles and the yarn she was destroying in her futile attempt to learn how to pearl. His voice was rough and low, reminding Rhia of the way his hands ran over her and the way he could turn her to liquid silk just by whispering in her ear.

  “Is something wrong with your ear Rí?” Ram asked.

  “No. Why do you ask?” She replied tartly.

  “Because you’re rubbing it like you’ve got fleas.”

  “I don’t have fleas.”

  “Then stop scratching at your ear.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do, Ramsey Macleod.” Rhia yelled, getting up with difficulty.

  “Why not?” Ram countered. “Last time I checked you were still my wife.”

  “A condition, and I quote, that ‘won’t stop you from marrying the woman you love.’”

  “Damn straight.”

  Flossie walked in and held up her hand. “Children, Children, this is getting you nowhere.” Floss pulled Rhia away from Ram before Rhia had a chance to hit him. Once Flossie had Rhia out of punching range she turned to Becca where she sat silently eating her popcorn.

  “Show’s over Gucci-Girl” Floss said, ushering Becca out of the room.

  “Floss, I’ve told you a million times I never modeled for Gucci.” Becca complained.

  Floss ignored her and continued pushing the much taller woman. “That nice Mr. Stark is waiting to go over the music for the wedding with you. He’s in the kitchen.”

  “Well, why didn’t ya’ say so, Flossie? I’ve got more than my share to say to that no-good-turnip-eating...” Becca’s voice trailed off and suddenly Ram and Rhia were alone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Ram had paperwork in piles on the table in front of her. It was tabbed in spots with helpful ‘sign here’ stickers and the top page bore the heading, Findings of Fact, Conclusions of Law and last but by no means least, the granddaddy of them all, Judgment of Divorce.

  Rhia had seen enough legal documents in her life to know that what she was seeing through the tears welling in her eyes was a bonafide, and no doubt binding, Divorce Judgment.

  “I changed my mind.” She said softly.

  Ram looked at her not sure he could believe his ears. “What?” He asked.

  “I know I told you I didn’t want your money.” Rhia raised her chin and sucked back her tears. “I changed my mind.”

  Ram’s eyes narrowed.

  “I want Pentla House.” There she said it. He wouldn’t divorce her now. Pentla was his favorite home.

  Ram looked at her disappointedly and said much too quickly and without enough feeling as far as Rhia was concerned, “Fine. Turn to page seventeen. See there.” He pointed over her shoulder. “Paragraph four. ‘Respondent shall be awarded the parties’ home in South Wales, otherwise known as Pentla House.” Ram said handing her a pen.

  “Just sign the damn thing, Rhiannon. I want to be done with this.” Ram said, meaning it. He didn’t like the look in her eye or the way her lip trembled when she read the first page. He’d almost called the whole thing off, but this was too important and he didn’t want to go through this hell ever again.

  Rhia signed. And signed again. She signed next to every little sticker, her hand shaking as she tried not to feel like a two-time loser.

  Pregnant, two-time loser.

  Rhia thought about it again and amended her new title: Pregnant, unemployed, two-time loser, with a really nice house.

  As soon as she was done signing Ram grabbed the stack of papers from her hand, stuffed them in a manila envelope that was already stamped and sealed it. He handed it to the short, balding man
who’d witnessed Rhia’s signature. “I want these filed as soon as your plane touches the ground.”

  “Yes Mr. Macleod.” Came the man’s quick reply. He handed Ram another sealed envelope and left.

  Ram tossed the envelope on the table in front of Rhia. God, she was beginning to hate manila. Even the scent was making her sick.

  “What is that?” She asked.

  “Your copies.” Came Ram’s harsh reply. “When you’re done reading them, come and find me.

  With that he was out the door.

  ...

  “Well Mr. Stark, or should I call you Mr. Shark? Sing at your wedding my ass! You back-stabb...”

  Ben grabbed Becky and kissed her. She fought him tooth and nail. No doubt about it he was going to be sore tomorrow, but he was a fighter, not a quitter.

  When Becky finally stopped fighting, Ben shoved the black velvet jeweler’s box in her hand and jumped out of the way. “I love you Becca. I’ve loved you for a long time. I would have given you this box that night at Ram and Rhia’s, but you left before I could.” When he saw her face soften, Ben said, “Open the box Becky.”

  What hit Becca first was the fact that he used both names he had for her. He didn’t need to, she’d been a whole person since he first kissed the top of her head the night Rhia broke her bridge.

  She opened the box.

  Ben was behind her looking over her shoulder as he grabbed the ring and slid it over her finger. “The center stone is what they call a ‘cushion’ cut. It’s two and a half carats and it’s flawless just like you.” He said turning her around for a kiss.

  Ben wiped a single tear from her cheek and grinned, happier than he’d been in a long time. “It’s not as big as the rock Ram picked out for Rhia, but I didn’t think gaudy as sin was your style. I wanted something a little more elegant for Becca Stonehaven.”

  Becca looked at him and said the only two words that came to mind: “Becky Stark.” She corrected. Then she giggled.

  “What’s so funny?” Ben asked, charmed despite himself.

  The smile Becky gave him was worth every sleepless night he’d had over the past two months. Ben couldn’t wait to see her reaction when she found out she was having his baby. But that was another story altogether.

  “I was just thinking that with as many times as I’ve changed my name, I’ve never had to change my monograms.”

  Life with a super model; who knew?

  ...

  Ram kicked off his shoes, tossed his cashmere and silk jacket over the chair and pulled his v-neck t-shirt out of his jeans. He’d asked Rhiannon to marry him the first time in this house, a house he no longer owned, he mused, smiling. This time when he asked her she’d know exactly what she was getting into. And so would he.

  Flossie had put his favorite champagne in the cooler, but it was too early yet to celebrate. He was feeling nervous, antsy, and trapped, and he didn’t know why.

  Yes you do you idiot. If she leaves now you will have given up every advantage you have over the rest of the male population. Why would she choose you without your money and your fame?

  “Because she loves me.” Ram said out loud as he poured himself a drink. “God, almighty. She’s got me doing it too. Next thing you know I’ll be arguing with sheep and singing off key.” Ram shuddered. He hadn’t been getting all that many keys right since Rhia left anyway.

  Ram felt his jeans pocket for the ring box. Yep still there. He looked at his watch. Where the hell was she? He’d only left her ten minutes ago, but Ram knocked back his third drink by the time he heard a tentative wrap on his door. “Come on in Rhiannon. Door’s open.”

  Rhia opened the door to Ram’s suite and went inside. As far as she knew, he hadn’t been back to Pentla House since before she’d left, months ago. And yet the short hall into the suite was full of photographs, mostly of her.

  Ram was always snapping photos. The man carried an impossibly small digital camera in his pocket all the time, but Rhia knew that the medium he preferred was film.

  As if reading her mind, Ram said, “I had those framed in Milwaukee, and mailed here.”

  There were photos of her sketching in her journal. One of her flying a kite down by the lake with Hunter and Ethan, and one she didn’t remember him taking of her, in her fuzzy pajamas and glasses at her computer and one of her hand rubbing her belly, stroking their unborn child.

  “I like the one with you in those pink frog pajamas the best.” He said, not moving from his perch on the bed. He’d lit the entrance to the suite so he could see her when she came in, but he’d left the lights next to the bed off, purposefully casting himself in shadow. Ram wanted to judge her mood before she was close enough to touch. He needed every advantage he could get.

  The very last frame on that wall held one of her sketches. The one she did of him playing his Gibson bare-chested in his jeans, a small sensuous smile teasing his lips.

  “Where did you get this?” Rhia asked. “This is from the first journal I started here. It’s been missing for months.”

  “It was never missing, Rí. I stole it. And that, unfortunately, is not the original.” Ram kept his voice as devoid of emotion as humanly possible. He had no idea how she was going to respond to what he’d done.

  Rhia didn’t know what to say to that. She couldn’t see him well, but she knew he was on the bed and she could see he was fully clothed minus the shoes and socks. Ram wasn’t trying to seduce or tease. Nothing in his tone suggested intimacy, he could have been talking about the weather or the price of oil. His lack of emotion wasn’t doing her torn and tattered nerves any good at all, atall.

  Why had he taken her journal?

  “Look to your left.”

  She did. The counter for the kitchenette was clean except for an express mail envelope that had already been open. Rhia looked at the envelope. It was addressed to Ram, post marked after she’d left.

  “What’s this?”

  “Open it.”

  She did. Her journal was inside along with a single sheet of heavy bond paper.

  Rhia read: “Dear Mr. Macleod, Thank you for your inquiry regarding the enclosed sketches. On behalf of our editorial board we are pleased to offer Rhiannon Thorson Macleod the enclosed advance check in exchange for the rights to publish her sketches. Of course we will forward a contract, complete with residual rights and percentage of the royalties from future sales in the event she accepts our offer. Thank you for your interest in our company and we look forward to your wife’s response. Sincerely...”

  Rhia turned the envelope upside down and sure enough an advance check fell out. It wasn’t as much as she earned in a year teaching, but it was close. Tears welled in her eyes and she brushed them away.

  “They are interested in your book too. Unfortunately, I had no way of stealing that.”

  “When...why...”

  Ram cut her off. “I took the journal when I came back from the hurricane relief benefit and you were gone. I found it in the night stand next to your bed.” Ram took a deep breath, but didn’t move. He couldn’t read the expression on Rhia’s face, but he did see her wipe away her tears. She was staunchly refusing to shed any more.

  “I took it because I wanted something of you next to me. I meant to give it back. Then the day the press came, and you lost your job...well I figured what the hell. You needed a new career and I knew if someone knowledgeable saw your work that would be it. And it is. Now you have a second chance to do something you really love for a living…if you want it.”

  Rhia put the check and the letter back in the envelope and took another step toward him before she stopped. She had the copies of the papers she’d signed earlier in her hand. She turned and put them on the counter too.

  “And these?” She asked. “I don’t understand.”

  Ram’s voice turned to steel. “Yes you do. You’re a smart girl, and there’s a dictionary in your room.”

  “I’ve never heard you be so sarcastic before.”

  “I’
ve never had to watch my wife tear my world apart before.” He shot back.

  “If I’ve read these correctly, not only do I own Pentla House, but I have a stake in a casino that brings in approximately fifty million dollars a year. Have I got that right?”

  “Don’t play naive with me. The financials are straight forward.”

  She’d adopted his neutral tone and it was driving him crazy. He wasn’t sure what Rhia was thinking and the wait was slowly killing him. Ram’s chest felt tight and he was certain if he survived this night, he’d be counting gray hair in the morning.

  “It appears that I still own a castle, I have an apartment in Paris and I own a beach home in Portugal.”

  “I like Portugal. What’s your point?” He was getting more irritated by the second.

  Rhia ignored his sharp response. “With what I was able to add in my head, once that paperwork is filed I’ll be worth more than one-hundred million dollars.”

  “One-hundred twenty-three million and change.” He sounded bored now.

  “You know there isn’t a court on the planet that would make that kind of settlement on a marriage that’s lasted less than a year.” Rhia took a step closer, watching as Ram folded his arms behind his head, sinking deeper into the pile of pillows against the head board.

  What the hell was Ram thinking, leaving her that kind of money?

  “Are you out of your mind?” She asked, getting angry at his lack of response. He sighed, crossed his ankles and started to whistle.