Found

by Portia Moore

  Sonya laughs again, but I can hear an edge to it. I file that away, as well. It’s clear that Sonya and Gianna have different views about a woman’s place in this world.

  “Vincent insists that she makes him happy, though, and I want my family happy,” Gianna says as she pushes the door to the courtyard open, sunlight streaming in, and my train of thought is broken by how surreal this all is. The courtyard is huge, all stone, with the most perfect landscaping I’ve ever seen—flowers, bushes, and citrus trees perfuming the air. There’s elegant patio furniture under a veranda for shade. There’s a phenomenal breakfast spread laid out, complete with champagne and orange juice for mimosas and the fixings for Bloody Mary’s, as well as pitchers of sangria.

  My stomach rumbles, louder than what is probably appropriate, and I remember that I hadn’t eaten a decent meal since before we boarded the jet.

  I hear Sonya saying something quietly to Gianna that I can’t quite make out as I pile food onto my plate and reach for a glass to fix myself a Bloody Mary. I need to stay focused, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take the edge off a little.

  There are footsteps outside of the French doors leading out onto the balcony. “Morning, Gianna,” I hear a voice say. It’s soft and feminine—and familiar. So familiar I freeze in place, the bottle of vodka still clutched in my hand.

  It’s a voice I thought I’d never hear again.

  It can’t be. It’s not possible. I don’t turn around, though, because I’m not sure which would be worse—seeing the girl that I thought I’d left behind forever in the last place I’d ever expect…or thinking that I heard her voice only to be disappointed.

  “Oh, here she is,” Gianna says, with just a touch of distaste in her voice. “Sonya, let me introduce you to Vincent’s fiancée. This is Rain Carlisle.”

  My entire world screeches to a halt.

  20

  Rain

  I walk into the courtyard to see Gianna talking to one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. She’s tall, with long, silky dark hair swept up in a high ponytail, wearing a black silk wrap dress that only serves to deepen her perfect Mediterranean tan.

  That must be Sonya. She doesn’t look exactly like Gianna, not as much as Vincent does, which makes sense since she’s her niece. But I can see the hint of Gianna’s features in her face—and the other giveaway is how far away Vincent is sitting from everyone, his nose in his phone as he checks something, probably email.

  A man is standing at the breakfast table, filling his plate, his back to me. He’s broad-shouldered, with muscular arms and short blond hair. Something about him seems familiar. It makes me pause for a second in the doorway as Erin walks past me, saying a cheerful good morning to everyone and walking over to plop down next to Vincent.

  “Rain, come over and meet Sonya,” Gianna says, and I obediently cross the room to them. Gianna introduces us, and I shake Sonya’s hand, noticing how perfect her smooth hand is with its shiny nude manicure. There’s not a single thing out of place on her. She’s all perfection, from her hair down to her matching pedicured toes in her Louboutin sandals, and I realize this is what Vincent wants from me. Shiny, exquisite perfection.

  It makes me feel slightly hopeless because I don’t ever think I’ll be that. I clean up okay, but there’s always a part of me that resists how artificial all of this is. I don’t know if I can ever truly be what Vincent wants me to be—the rich trophy wife, a doll for him to dress and pose and tell what to do—and I know that means he won’t ever be completely happy with me. I’ll always be a disappointment, to some extent. But not enough for him to get rid of me. Just enough for him to make me miserable while he points out my every flaw.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Rain,” Sonya says in her cultured Italian accent. She’s smiling as she says it, but there’s something cold behind her eyes.

  Something that, like Gianna, reminds me of Vincent.

  “Vincent!” Gianna calls out, her eyes narrowing. “Come over here and say hello to your cousin. Don’t be rude.”

  I fight to keep my expression neutral. I can’t imagine anyone else speaking to Vincent that way and getting away with it. But Gianna doesn’t so much as flinch. Instead of getting irritated or angry with her, Vincent just smoothly stands up and slips his phone into his pocket, walking over to us with a cool, careful expression on his face.

  “Sonya,” he says, nodding at her. I can feel the tension in the air thicken. “It’s been a long time.”

  “It certainly has.” Her voice is clipped now, tighter. “You’re looking well.”

  “So are you.”

  It’s like they’re strangers. After what Vincent told me, it makes more sense now, but still…Sonya is ice cold. I can see the irritation in Vincent’s eyes. He’s not a man who likes being forced into situations against his will. And Gianna has definitely cornered him into this one.

  “Come on, let’s eat before breakfast gets cold,” Gianna says encouragingly, trying to break the tension between them. “Besides, Sonya will want to introduce you to her boyfriend. Chase, come over here,” she calls out, and the blond man at the table turns slowly until I’m finally able to see his face…and everything shifts.

  This isn’t real. None of this is real. I’m dreaming. I’m not here. I’m still asleep because Chase…is not Chase. It’s…Zach. My Zach.

  How is he here? Why is he here?

  Am I hallucinating?

  A flood of emotion comes rushing back, and I can’t breathe. The shaggy-haired boy from my memories has turned into a man, and what a man he is. He’s taller than I remember, at least 6’2”, and muscular, dressed in crisp jeans and a button-down with the sleeves rolled up. His hair is professionally cut and styled, his face leaner and more chiseled than I remember.

  But his eyes are the same, bright and shining in his face--and fixed directly on me.

  But he’s not feeling what I am. He can’t be because he’s looking at me as if he doesn’t recognize me. His expression is blank, except for a polite smile as he walks towards us like nothing is wrong.

  Meanwhile, I feel like the earth has opened up and is about to swallow me. Like every emotion I ever felt is strangling me. Of course, he’s okay--he probably doesn’t dream about me every night like I dream about him. Maybe it wasn’t as hard for him to forget me as it was for me to forget him.

  I snap back to reality as Zach sets his plate and drink down on the table, turning towards Vincent, who reaches out to shake his hand firmly. “It’s good to meet you,” he says, noticeably less tense than he was with Sonya. “Vincent Jamison.”

  “Chase West,” Zach introduces himself, and I bite my lower lip hard. How can this be happening? I know I’m not imagining it—Zach is the one person in the world I’d never mix up or confuse with someone else. This is real—he’s in front of me, and I have no fucking idea why he’s calling himself Chase—but I’m not dreaming.

  All I know is that my past and my present have just collided—and they’re shaking each other’s hands.

  I want to disappear. I want to throw up.

  I want to scream.

  Why is he calling himself Chase? I don’t understand what’s going on. Vincent turns away from Zach, back towards me, and Zach’s eyes meet mine while Vincent isn’t looking.

  There’s a warning look in them, and I know immediately what it means. Don’t tell them you know me.

  His unspoken message sends a chill straight down my spine. Zach has had an entire life since that day he left me behind—a life I don’t know anything about. Just like I went on to move away from Indiana, made new friends, found a new job, met Vincent, and got swept up into this life--Zach has had years of experiences that I have no idea about. I don’t know him anymore. Despite everything we once shared, I don’t truly know the man in front of me, and I can’t begin to guess why he’s here.

  That, more than anything, makes my heart ache. I’d convinced myself that I’d managed to forget about him, putting him at the back of my min
d as something that used to be. But the minute his eyes meet mine, I feel like I’m falling.

  “This is my fiancée, Rain,” Vincent says, and I realize I’m going to have to shake Zach’s hand.

  When his hand touches mine, it takes every bit of self-control I have and the knowledge of Vincent’s reaction if he knew the truth, to keep nothing but a pleasant smile on my face.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Chase,” I say, and somehow miraculously, my voice doesn’t tremble or shake,

  And then it hits me as Sonya steps up to us, and Zach wraps an arm around her waist. All of the pieces come together in a flash of understanding that opens up a pit in my stomach.

  If Zach is Chase, then he’s Sonya’s boyfriend.

  He’s dating Sonya.

  A flood of unreasonable hurt and jealousy washes over me at that realization, at the thought of them together—going on dates, laughing together, spending time together—sleeping together.

  It makes me want to burst into tears, and I know that I have to get a grip. This isn’t years ago. I’m not sixteen; I’m a woman standing next to her fiancé, even if I don’t want him to be. I cannot feel like this. I shouldn’t. Zach and I are worlds away from who we were when we loved each other.

  The irony of everything hits me like a truck— that both Zach and I escaped Indiana and wound up with people far more cultured and richer than we ever were or could hope to be.

  Is Chase a nickname, like the way Vincent calls me Poppy? The Zach I knew had no interest in offices and suits and business. I can’t picture him making his way through a crowd, schmoozing and glad-handing his way through a bunch of overstuffed old men in too-expensive suits and younger men showing off their acquired wealth. It’s not the Zach I knew.

  But then again, I’m sure he’s thinking that I’m not the Rain he once knew, either.

  We all are ushered to the breakfast table. I numbly fill my plate, trying to calm my whirling thoughts. My relationship with Vincent has taught me a lot about controlling my emotions and reactions to keep myself out of trouble, and I’m so thankful for those lessons now.

  I thought that Vincent would be the last man to ever break my heart.

  Now, I’m not so sure about that anymore.

  21

  Zach

  Rain.

  My Rain is here. The girl I never thought I’d see again.

  The best part of my past, a past tangled up with all the fucking mistakes I’ve made and a hell of a lot of hurt.

  But now she’s smack in the middle of my present, and I don’t know what the fuck to do about it.

  She looks so different than I remember. Her hair is just below her shoulders, styled into soft waves that make me want to reach out and touch them. She’s wearing makeup so soft it’s barely there. Long black lashes fringe her gorgeous brown eyes. She’s wearing a clingy floral sundress that just barely lets me see the curves I know are there. She was a girl when we were in love; she’s a woman now. And she’s somehow more stunningly beautiful than ever.

  And she’s Vincent Jamison’s fucking fiancée.

  I don’t understand it. How the hell did this happen?

  The girl I knew would never be with someone like him. She didn’t care about money or status. What happened for them to be together? I would never in a million fucking years have expected her to be here. The idea of her being with these people, a part of this family, is so foreign to me that I could never have suspected it.

  The entire breakfast is torture. Sitting across from Rain—someone I thought I’d never see again—while watching her perched next to Vincent Jamison is more painful than I could ever have imagined it could be. And it complicates things a million times over.

  I’m supposed to send Vincent to prison—collect information that will take his entire family down. I have no idea what—if anything—Rain knows about it, but I pray to God that she knows nothing. That she’s not involved in this in any way. I don’t give a shit about Vincent or his family, but I can’t bear to hurt Rain again.

  And if she really loves him—I’m going to hurt her no matter what.

  “I want to talk to you and Sonya,” Ezio says to Vincent as a servant comes to gather up our plates and glasses. I’m beyond relieved we’re getting away from this table.

  “The girls and I will find something to do,” Gianna says with a smile, looking at Rain and Erin.

  That just leaves me, the odd one out. The boy toy with nothing to do but wait on Sonya to pay attention to him. I haven’t felt bitter about any of this until right now—but at the moment, I wish I could tell them all to go to hell.

  “I’ll just go up to our room and start unpacking,” I tell Sonya, leaning over to give her a quick kiss on the cheek, trying like hell not to look at Rain. “Have fun,” I whisper to her, low enough for no one else to hear, with a wink.

  “Lucia will show you to your room,” Gianna tells me. “Come on, girls.”

  Sonya grins at me, and I squeeze her hand once before getting up and walking back into the house, following Lucia towards the staircase. “It’s the first door on the left,” she says.

  I smile at her. “Thanks.”

  I’m taking the long way to the room. I need to scope the place and clear my head, collect my thoughts. Rain being here has changed some things. I don’t know if she’s my girl from before or if she’s really with Vincent. I don’t see how she could still be the same, and to tell the truth, it’d make it a hell of a lot easier if she isn’t.

  I wander through the rooms—parlor, living room, library—full of antiques and gorgeous textiles and old paintings, but nothing that leaps out to me as being helpful. All I can think about is Rain—how beautiful she is now, how different, and how desperately I want to know if deep down, the girl I loved is still in there. I don’t know which I would prefer. If she’s changed, if she’s the kind of person who could know who Vincent really is and still love him, then it will hurt less to do what I have to.

  But there’s the possibility that she’s in the dark. And if that’s true, if she’s still the same girl I once knew, just all grown up—this is going to be hell. I can’t believe that no one in the FBI ever thought to tell me that Rain Carlisle was Vincent’s fiancée—surely they knew about her and me.

  Maybe it’s a test. Maybe they wanted to see if I’ll do the job, no matter what.

  I check my watch, realizing it’s been almost half an hour. I should probably go upstairs to our room just in case Sonya comes to get me there—I can’t give her any reason to be suspicious. I walk out of the library and towards the staircase.

  And there she is.

  The woman who haunts my thoughts and dreams. In the flesh.

  She’s walking in the other direction, and she doesn’t see me. It gives me just a moment to look at her, and as she passes by,

  I can smell her perfume. It’s something light and sweet, like dessert. I have the sudden memory of her body, arched under mine, the smell of her skin and hair and sweat all around me--it’s so visceral for a second that I almost think it’s five years ago. I’m back in Rain’s tiny bedroom, trying to keep quiet in case someone comes home.

  Knowing that once we are finished, I’ll have to leave and never see her again.

  If only I’d known.

  She disappears into a room across the hall, never even realizing I was there. Every part of me aches, wanting to go after her.

  But instead, I turn and walk up the stairs to the bedroom that Lucia told me was mine.

  Mine and Sonya’s.

  I’m dozing in bed, atop the covers, when Sonya walks in.

  “So, what do you think of the estate?”

  “What?” I ask, blinking awake.

  Sonya rolls her eyes and gives me a playful smile. “Come help me with my zipper. What do you think of everything?” she repeats as I sit up groggily, sliding out of bed to cross the room towards her.

  “It’s like something for royalty,” I tell her, knowing she’ll like that.

&nbs
p; She shrugs off the dress, tossing it over the bed as she turns to face me. She’s beautiful, standing there in only her smooth black bra and matching underwear, all of the curves of her body bare to me. But all I can think of is Rain.

  Sonya looks at me curiously, wondering why I’m not all over her right now. But instead of saying something, she just pecks me on the lips and walks to the old-fashioned wardrobe, where the maid has already put away all of our clothes that she’s unpacked. She pulls out a pair of tight jeans and a designer t-shirt and puts them on, her back to me the entire time. I stand in the middle of the room, a little unsure as to what to do. I’ve never felt as out of place as I do here. I’ve come a long way in life since my Indiana beginnings, but being in this stupidly grand mansion makes me feel like a poor hick all over again.

  Sonya walks back to me when she finishes dressing, her hair swinging loosely around her shoulders as she takes my hand. “Come here,” she says, leading me to the French doors that open out onto the balcony, pushing them open. “This is all my family’s,” she says, gesturing out across the expanse of it. “There’s more than you can see from here. And it makes us an immense amount of money.”

  “I believe that,” I say cautiously. I’m not sure what her point is.

  “So when I ask you what you think of it, I have a reason.” She pushes her black hair away from her face, looking at me intently. “My uncle is going to give this estate to me when he passes. Vincent thinks it’s going to be his, but he’s an idiot. He thinks that because of what’s between his legs, he’s automatically the heir. All men are so arrogant. But the estate will be mine. Not for a while, probably, as my uncle is a healthy man.” She notices the shocked look on my face and laughs. “Don’t get me wrong, Chase, I love my family. I hope my aunt and uncle live to be one hundred or more. But one day, this will be my place. And my uncle would be happy to have me here sooner, I think, to help him with things. He gets tired more easily now.”