Oh, my love, she’d thought as she watched the video again and again. Is success everything you hoped for? Is the world as wonderful as you imagined?
India had a million questions. Though she’d known for a long time that Morgan was alive and well—thanks to a brief message from Marcy Reinhold, she hadn’t known where he was or what path he’d taken—until now.
But no matter how often she stared at the video, the bits and pieces of information, the details she longed to know, eluded her.
Morgan’s life had been torn apart because of her. Because he made the colossal mistake of falling in love with the wrong girl.
Was he happy? Oh, please, India prayed, let him be happy. Was there a woman in his life, someone he cared about? She hoped so. Though the truth would hurt, Morgan deserved everything good, including love.
India realized she might never find the answers to her questions. But one thing was certain. Morgan got out, found his place, and was on the brink of superstardom. He did it. Though she didn’t have the right to feel anything, she’d been proud beyond words.
Hitting pause, India’s gaze lifted from the screen, pulling herself from the past.
She stared out the window, a frown wrinkling her brow. If she could go back, she would tell him not to hide in the shadows. Morgan’s attempt to disguise himself had been unnecessary.
From the moment Morgan left Lake Darwell, her father kept tabs on his location. A fact India hadn’t discovered until much later.
Except he hadn’t left. He was thrown out. Until today, she believed Rance Curtis had his men escort Morgan from town with a warning not to return. One more lie on top of a lifetime of others. She shouldn’t have been surprised
If she’d known that her father’s goons beat Morgan, broke his bones, dumped his body, what could she have done? Other than worrying herself to death, the answer was nothing.
Now, India knew the truth. And she was at a loss as to what she should do.
For almost a year, from the moment India watched her first Razor’s Edge video, she wanted to believe she and Morgan still had a chance at their happily ever after. Her hopes and dreams, her wishes, were mortally wounded the moment she agreed to marry Allard Hallstrom.
The final death blow came the day of her wedding. The last time, before today, she stood face to face with Morgan.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
♫~♫~♫
FIVE YEARS EARLIER
HAPPY IS THE bride that the sun shines on.
India pulled back the curtain and glanced at the sky. Not a cloud to be seen. She straightened her shoulders and looked in the antique full-length mirror. White for purity—ha! Lace and satin were traditional. The dress, one of a kind and worth a small fortune, was, she admitted, beautiful.
Today was her wedding day. India sneered at her reflection. Whoever equated sunshine to happiness could kiss her ass.
The room where she waited alone was on the first floor. Near the closet stood a hand-painted three-paneled folding screen, imported to provide a bit of necessary privacy when she’d removed her clothes and slipped into her gown. A bed sat against one wall, a bureau of drawers by another. For one day, the guest room was a staging area.
Hair, makeup, wardrobe. India had a part to play, and she was required to look her best.
Outside, the garden was decorated with imported flowers and silk bunting. Two hundred white chairs waited for two hundred guests—a reasonable amount, she was assured. Not too big, not too small. Some family, a few friends.
Mostly, the people assembled for today’s festivities would be the only kind who mattered. Influential, powerful, movers and shakers.
In exactly one hour, she would marry Allard Hallstrom. The thought no longer made her want to vomit. She waited, expecting the nauseous feeling to return. A little queasy but nothing she couldn’t handle. Helped that she had little in her stomach to throw up besides weak tea and bit of dry toast.
India’s appetite was a thing of the past. As was her ability to feel anything. Instead of a bride’s giddy excitement, or an understandable sense of gloom and doom, her emotions were non-existent.
Bone-tired, all she wanted to do was sink into the nothingness of sleep. Unfortunately, India chose the most inconvenient time possible to land a massive case of insomnia.
She couldn’t sleep, she didn’t eat. At the last fitting for her dress, she’d lost two inches off her waist in one short week. Nerves, her mother explained with a wave of her hand at the concerned seamstress.
India almost laughed—almost. The truth was, she’d discovered the ultimate weight loss secret—agree to commit your life to a man you despise. Just the thought of him touching you made your skin crawl.
Breathing deep, India slowly paced the length of the room. Don’t sit, her mother had instructed after the maid fastened the last button at the back of her dress. Wrinkles, as you walk down the aisle, would be a no-no.
Always thinking about appearances first, Aurora Curtis hovered over the woman who was tasked with India’s makeup to make certain her daughter was photograph ready. Extra concealer to hide the dark circles caused by sleep deprivation and general misery was a must.
“Do you love me?” India asked when they were finally alone.
Aurora had peered into the mirror, dabbing at her perfectly applied lipstick, then ran a finger along the line of her jaw—perhaps double-checking the results of her latest round of plastic surgery. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, she patted her expertly coiffed hair. Newly blonde for the big day, she wore a knee-length sheath in the exact same shade of gold.
“Don’t be silly,” her mother said.
Silly or not, the question went unanswered. Aurora’s feelings for her were left unspoken. Perhaps her mother could only love one person, and her feelings for Rance Curtis were so strong, she had nothing left for her daughter.
Still, India reasoned, surely Aurora had to feel something for the child she carried in her body for nine months if only a wisp of compassion.
“You have the power to stop the wedding.” India grasped at her mother’s hand. “Please.”
“Stop the wedding?” Her mother looked genuinely horrified. “Why? You’re about to marry a wonderful man.”
“Allard Hallstrom isn’t wonderful. He’s a cruel, cold fish who doesn’t love me or even like me. The feelings are mutual.” India had one last chance to make her mother understand. “I won’t be his wife; I’ll be an asset. A piece of property.”
“He’ll take care of you.”
“I can take care of myself,” India insisted.
“No, you can’t.” Aurora shook her head, her eyes filled with pity. “Time you faced the truth.”
“Which truth?” With so many to pick from, India had lost track. “The one where my parents think of me as nothing more than a bargaining chip?”
“Grow up, India.” Aurora sighed. “Women are weak. In body and mind, we’re inferior to men. We need their strength, their guidance. Be grateful. Allard has a will of iron. He’ll keep you on the right track, and his money will make the journey soft and easy.”
The advice—misguided and horrifying—was heartfelt. Aurora meant what she said—every crazy-ass word. India realized any last-minute help she hoped to find from her mother was a pipedream.
Shackled. India could think of no better way to describe her situation. She would soon be bound to a man, a life, she didn’t want and never would.
To be fair, she could have said no. No one had drugged her or locked her away. At first, if she’d said the word, she could have walked away. Except she couldn’t, a fact her father knew when he presented his proposition.
India was in a corner and Rance Curtis had the paint. In the end, she made the only choice possible. Now, she had to find a way to live with the consequences.
Shaking out her hands, a massive diamond, attached to a circle of twenty-four karat gold, came precariously close to falling from her fing
er. The stone was perfect, not a flaw to be found, and, in India’s opinion, obscenely ugly.
No reason to have the ring sized—again. After today, a new gold band, a symbol of her servitude—proof of Allard’s ownership—would take the diamond’s place.
Of course, no one asked India’s opinion on what kind of engagement ring she wanted. She wasn’t consulted on any of the wedding details. The flowers, the cake, the dress—only the best would do for Aurora Curtis’ idea of chic.
India had one responsibility. Show up. Though even her presence on what should have been one of the happiest days of her life was orchestrated by someone else.
From the moment she said yes—the day after she graduated from college—India’s every move was monitored. A virtual prisoner in her parents’ house, eyes followed wherever she went. When she walked out the door—even if her only destination was the backyard for a breath of fresh air—the man paid to stick by her side like glue followed close behind.
Rance Curtis claimed India’s burly jailer was merely a bodyguard. As the fiancé of a wealthy man, she needed protection against would-be kidnappers. The explanation held water about as well as a sieve. Her movements were monitored not for her protection but because her father feared, despite their agreement, she would run.
He needn’t have worried. India was committed to her decision. Her conversation with her mother had been her last attempt to grasp at straws she knew weren’t there. No one could save her from what was about to happen. Like the rising and setting of the sun, today, the ceremony, and the path of her foreseeable future was inevitable.
“India.”
“Morgan?” she said with a gasp.
With a jerk of her head, India looked over her shoulder. The room was empty, delivering a final ironic blow. Just when she thought nothing worse could happen, her hearing decided to play the cruelest trick of all on her and conjure up the love of her life.
“Wouldn’t matter,” she sighed. “There’s nothing he can do. Noting anyone can do.”
“You’re wrong.” Morgan stepped from behind the screen. “Together, we can do anything.”
Certain he was a figment of her imagination, or worse, a ghost, India stumbled backward. Her shoe caught on the hem of her gown and if Morgan hadn’t grabbed her arm, she would have tumbled to the ground in a flurry of satin and lace.
His touch burned, familiar and painful, and for a second, she wished he’d let her fall rather than remind her of what she once had but was now lost to her forever.
“Impossible,” India said with a gasp as she tried to settle her rocketing pulse. “You can’t be here.”
“Yet, I am.”
Four long years she’d been starved for the sight of him. The Razor’s Edge videos, a fleeting balm to her aching heart, didn’t count. If she’d known their last time together at the cabin would be the last time, knowing what her younger self couldn’t guess, she would have held on for dear life.
Turned out, each second she’d spent with Morgan, the moments she blithely took for granted, were precious beyond measure.
India stared, frozen, afraid if she moved, he would disappear in the same manner he arrived—in a blink.
“Your hair really is gone. Just like in the Razor’s Edge music videos.”
A silly observation all things considered. However, the first thing that came to India’s scrambled brain was understandably nonsensical.
Lips quirked, Morgan ran a hand over his head, then frowned.
“I shaved off my hair. You straightened yours.” He brushed his fingers over one long tendril. “What the hell have they done to you?”
India spent most of the morning having her hair blown out, pulled, pinned, and chemically straightened into submission by Aurora Curtis’ favorite stylist. Flown in at great expense to her father, the man almost fainted when he first laid eyes on her mass of curls but with a healthy new injection of cash in his bank account as an incentive, he considered himself up to the task.
Another time, before she agreed to the farce of a marriage, she would have cried when she saw the end results. The new India merely shrugged. The look was part of her refined image as a business mogul’s trophy wife.
Seeing Morgan’s horrified expression, she felt a prickling behind her eyes. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her like this.
“Forget me. Why shave off your beautiful hair?”
“You know about Razor’s Edge?” When she nodded, he shrugged. “Mixing up the way I looked seemed a good way to stay under your father’s radar.”
Pointless. She would have explained her father knew everything he did, hired someone to track everywhere he went, every movement he made. Morgan didn’t give her the chance to fill him in.
“Didn’t expect the little bar band I joined to suddenly get an invitation to the show. Opening act for The Ryder Hart Band. Still seems like a dream.” He squeezed her hand and smiled. “Hardly low key.”
“No,” India agreed as she automatically returned his smile
“I should have quit, but my ego and the chance at a once in a lifetime opportunity wouldn’t let me.”
“I’m glad. You were—are—amazing.”
“Were,” Morgan corrected. “Razor’s Edge is history.”
“Why?” The idea that Morgan and his group would never play together again was inconceivable. “What happened?”
“Complicated, to say the least. I’ll explain later. Right now, we need to get you out of here.”
India’s heart sank. What was she doing? How could she let herself forget, to hope for the impossible? Morgan was her past, and her future had no place for him. As much as she wanted to jump into his arms, kiss him, find out if his beard was as soft as she imagined, she didn’t have the right. Not now, not ever again.
Morgan still loved her. Why else would he risk everything to rescue her from a fate worse than death? The fact that he wasn’t in danger didn’t matter. He didn’t know the truth.
If only he’d stayed away, things would have been much easier. India could have gone on loving him from afar without tarnishing the memory of what they once had. Now, India was forced into something she never imagined herself capable of doing. She had to hurt him—coldly, deliberately, ruthlessly.
Would she break his heart? Only Morgan could say. One thing was certain. She felt the first crack in her own heart. And with each false word, the pieces began to fall.
“Leave?” India’s laugh had a brittle edge, the perfect imitation of her mother’s. “Why?”
Morgan frowned. Obviously confused, his hand tightened on her arm.
“Doesn’t matter what your father said or did to make you agree to marry Allard Hallstrom. He can’t stop us.” Morgan’s eyes took on an anticipatory gleam. “Let him try.”
India pulled away. Almost before she was free, she felt the loss of his touch like the sharp cut of a knife. To avoid temptation, she turned away, crossing her arms.
“How did you know about the wedding?”
“The Lake Darwell Courier has an online edition,” he explained. “I would have been here sooner, but I must have missed the announcement of your engagement.”
“We forgot, I suppose.” India shrugged. “Everything’s been a wonderful whirlwind.”
“Wonderful?” Morgan paused. “What the hell, India? You can’t mean you want to marry Allard Hallstrom.”
“Yes, I do.” She forced herself to push another laugh past the lump of bile in her throat. “I do. The two most wonderful words in the world—when said to the right man.”
“You don’t love him.”
“Oh, Morgan.” India sent him a pitying smile. “Four years is such a long time.”
“I don’t buy what you’re trying to sell.”
India swept her gaze over him. From his wrinkled t-shirt to his dust-covered boots, Morgan had the look of a man who had traveled a long way in a very short time. He was dirty and disheveled and the most hands
ome, sexiest man she’d ever seen. And completely off limits.
“People change, Morgan. You have. Why can’t you believe the same about me?”
“No one changes that much,” he insisted. “The woman I knew wouldn’t be caught dead in the same room as Hallstrom. She sure as hell wouldn’t marry him And, share his bed? Impossible.”
“My point exactly. I’m not the woman you knew. I was a girl playing at adult things. And you were a boy, my willing toy. Our emotions were jumbled by hormones.” Forcing herself not to look away, India deliberately met and held his disbelieving gaze. “Love? Hardly.”
“If not love?” Morgan demanded. “Then what?”
“Lust,” India answered without hesitation. “You were sweet. The perfect first lover. My starter kit, so to speak.”
“You’re serious.” The color drained from his face. “Why?”
More than anything, India wanted to tell Morgan the truth. Nothing has changed. I love you, she longed to say. Always have, always will. She couldn’t. Not now.
Four years ago, India could read Morgan’s thoughts. She didn’t need words to know how he felt. Seemed some things didn’t change. By the look in his eyes, she could tell he was on his way to hating her—mission accomplished. She had to lock her knees to keep from falling to the floor with pain. No time to waver from her goal. She needed to obliterate any lingering trace of his love.
“Everyone deserves a bit of rebellion. You were mine.”
India’s tone was matter of fact. When Morgan answered, his voice was devoid of emotion.
“You’re where you belong.”
“I knew you’d understand.” She glanced at the clock. “Almost time. I’m sure you’ll understand if I don’t invite you to the ceremony.”
“Guess there’s such a thing as too civilized.”
Morgan turned to leave, and India felt a rush of relief. When he stopped, she almost burst into tears. Biting the inside of her cheek, she raised an eyebrow and waited.
“Wedding days are all about tradition.”
ALMOST EVERYTHING Page 16
