Chapter 19

MacKenzie

I feel like I’m on the edge of a cliff and about to tumble forward. There seems to be only one way down, and behind me lay all the fears I’ve had up until this point. They are pushing at me to jump. I want to jump, and that’s what’s scary.

As much as I don’t want to believe Antonio, there is just too much that rings true in what he said. They say that’s what liars do best, but perhaps this time, he’s right. I know that Michael is kind and good to me, but there is that odd feeling I have about Aunt Olivia. She was wealthy, kind, and even kind of bawdy—a woman like that should have been missed by friends, if not other family members. Why was that handled so quietly, and I was immediately invited to move in?

Oh, the demons are snapping at my heels. How much of what Antonio said is true and how much is flavored with his bad spirit and intention of making Michael out to be a bad guy?

Part of me wants to walk away, leave behind whatever possessions I have at his house and go back to my own. In fact, that’s where I’m going tonight—and that makes me wonder why Michael insisted I keep my house. What did he know that I didn’t? Was he already planning to get rid of me?

What does he want with me, anyway? Is it money? He said he knew in advance he was Aunt Olivia’s heir, so that couldn’t be it. Unless he was in trouble or wanting money for his business before she died and thought I might be the shortcut? He said he didn’t want to get married but then jumped at the idea of taking the next step to a committed relationship.

Am I happy that Antonio showed up and told me, or was it the worst thing that could happen? He is known to be a liar, and maybe he’s planting these doubts in my head to keep me off balance. He’s a bully. Who can I trust? I wish Aunt Olivia were still here. She would give me a no-bullshit perspective. I can’t trust Abby’s judgment because she’s already on the defensive on my behalf. My parents? Apparently, they already know him and don’t realize we’re talking about the same man.

No, I’m on my own now. I have to trust myself. But first, I will give Michael a chance to explain. I want him to answer the tough questions, and if I think he’s lying, I will walk.

* * *

I’m having difficulty sleeping. My thoughts, Antonio’s accusations, Michael’s unexplained behavior are capsizing the smooth sailing I was anticipating for my future. I remember Michael’s kisses, his hands, his breath blending with mine, and I’m filled with desire and a need to feel him next to me. Then come the darker thoughts, and suddenly I feel violated, and the sanctuary of my own bed is treasured. With my fitful sleeping, the morning comes early, and for once I wish I don’t have to go to work. It will just be a prolonged misery, waiting for the late afternoon and my confrontation with the man I’m beginning to love. It could all end tonight.

Margaret is cheerful, and this makes me jealous, if not almost angry. I know I haven’t had enough sleep to go into my evening. I will be short-tempered and unhappy before we even talk. She senses my off mood and tells me to take an extra fifteen minutes at lunch. I thank her for it, even though it will only make the time drag more. I’m sitting at a café table outside a small deli. People around me seem so happy, and I almost hate them for it. Can’t they see my life is about to be ruined? Can’t they pick up on the energy of my misery? What’s wrong with me? Why do I want others to be as sad and lonely as I’m feeling as of this moment?

I pray that Mr. North doesn’t come in today—I really don’t think I can be civil. Lucky for him, or perhaps for me, he has chosen to spend his day somewhere else, and that leaves me with a handful of customers I’ve never met. They have no way of knowing I’m not normally this sour-faced, so they don’t comment.

My mother texts me and wants to know if I’d like to come for dinner. I let her know I already have plans and wonder if she knew the role she would be playing in my conversation tonight, whether she could stay uninvolved. I think not. Abby texts me and asks whether we’re on for Saturday night. I tell her we are, although I have no way of knowing for sure because I have yet to talk to Michael. This may all be a total waste of time.

Once the gallery closes, I leave immediately and head home to shower. I ask myself why I’m going. Am I hoping against hope that there are logical explanations for all Antonio’s accusations? Is that even possible? Am I going because I’m spoiling for a fight? Maybe even to clear my record of having let Antonio go without knocking his block off? Who does that? Who sets up a whole wedding with all the trimmings, and then when the groom decides not to show, just retreats, pays for everything, makes his excuses and goes about life as though nothing happened. Who the hell does that?

I face it, I’ve been a pushover, and there’s no excuse for that. I spend my life trying to keep those around me happy, and where has it gotten me so far? That’s a big question I ask myself.

I dress carefully for our outing, choosing layers in case it gets cool out on the water. I do not, however, take the bathing suit Michael asked me to bring. It’s not that I don’t want to go swimming—I just don’t want to be any more vulnerable than I’m feeling right now.

I climb into my car with a determined expression that isn’t duplicated in my gut. There’s nothing I’d like better than to have never heard this and to make it go away. Why does there have to be a showdown?

I pull into Michael’s drive, and he’s waiting for me, leaning against the garage of the house, his arms crossed over his chest. His car is next to him, the trunk open, and I can see basket handles peeping out. Michael is smiling, and I can’t help it, but I smile in return.

I pull to the side so as not to block his car. Michael walks toward me, his hand reaching out to open my car door. I push it open before he gets to it, and spring out of the car. I’m not my usual cheerful self, but neither do I appear angry. I hope he just thinks I’m having a bad day.

He does.

“Everything okay?” he asks me.

“Why shouldn’t it be?” I smile and am intentionally evasive.

He gives me an odd look, and I know he’s suspicious. He simply doesn’t understand why. “I’m sorry I had to leave town suddenly. I had a business problem come up that I wasn’t prepared for. I needed to be there. I was surprised when I got back, and you weren’t here.”

“I wanted to stay at my house,” I say simply, which is neither an answer nor an excuse.

“Shall we go?” He opens his passenger door, and I climb inside. I am feeling so confused; I want to believe there’s a reasonable explanation for all this, and yet I’m trying to protect myself.

Michael is a wonderful driver, smoothly handling the curves as we glide toward the marina. I open my own door as he is pulling baskets and gear from the trunk. I offer to help, but he shakes his head and tells me just to follow him. We pass a dozen boats; each more luxurious than the last. At the end of the row sits the largest, and it’s here that we turn down the side dock. A man in captain’s uniform approaches the side, saluting Michael and signaling to another crew member to take the baskets from Michael. He hands me up the ladder, and I find myself standing on the deck of a magnificent boat. There are three stories above the water line, including the radar deck. Smartly decorated, the entire vessel seems to be a confection of glass, brass, and navy blue upholstered seating. The door to the bridge closes, and we are left alone with a linen-covered tablecloth as the yacht backs out and heads out to the open water.

“Pretty impressive, Michael,” I say. “You seem right at home.” I’m trying to give him openings to tell me what’s going on without being openly accusative.

A third man, who evidently is going to serve as our steward appears, and hors-d'oeuvres and a bottle of champagne appear and are placed on the small table between the chairs where we’re seated. Michael seems nervous, or maybe it’s my own nerves being reflected back at me? Michael signals the steward to leave us, and I look out over the water toward the sun. Tiny lights laced through the canopy overhead come on, and it’s probably the most romantic scene I’ve ever seen. It somehow makes the talk we’re going to have all the worse.

“Do you like this?” Michael asks.

“It’s stunning,” I say with all sincerity.

“Are you ready to eat?”

“No,” I shake my head, “let my stomach settle a bit from the waves?”

Smiling, he reaches to pat my hand. “No problem. Just let me know if or when you’re hungry.”

I nod and take deep breaths of the salty air to calm my tummy and nerves. “How you must love this,” I say.

“I’ve loved it since the first day,” he responds, and I look at him sharply.

“I thought this belonged to Aunt Olivia?”

He isn’t answering, and his fingers are interlacing as he’s thinking.

“What is it, Michael?”

“We need to talk.”

“Yes … I know,” I answer, looking down. I’m not looking forward to this, but I know it has to happen.

“Why didn’t you come home last night?” Michael’s face is concerned, and I know I won’t get away with another half-assed answer.

“I didn’t want to be at your house.”

“Okay … and can I ask why?”

I draw in a couple of short breaths, and my stomach lurches. Even if it means getting sick, I need to get this out. “Look, Michael, you’re not the only one with things to say. I’m upset, and I’ve been this way since yesterday.”

His eyebrows gather in a frown. “Why? What’s wrong?”

I expel a huge sigh and go for it. “Okay, I’m just going to lay this on the line. Yesterday, I was supposed to meet Mom for lunch at the country club. She had to back out at the last minute, so I was eating alone, reading a book when Antonio sat down at my table. I’m going to just go on with this, even though I know you’re not going to be happy with it. Take it for what it’s worth. Anyway, he tells me that you’re not who I think you are. He claims you’ve met Mom and Dad and been seen golfing with Dad. Now, I happen to remember Mom trying to get me to meet someone at the club she’d met, and she called him Michael. That’s an awful coincidence. Next, I don’t believe that things are entirely on the up and up with Aunt Olivia. You don’t seem to be in deep grief—like someone would be who lost a dear, mother-like figure. And this boat—you just said you’ve liked it since the first day. That sounds like you picked it out, not just inherited it. You live like someone who has money, Michael, but then you claim to have been living with Aunt Olivia and running a business that involves developments that don’t come cheaply. There are a whole lot of little things, Michael, that just don’t make sense. What’s up with Mort? He follows your orders but was quite chummy with Aunt Olivia. If he worked for her, why does he only obey you? Do I need to go on?”

Michael is watching me and saying nothing. He tips up his glass of champagne and sets the glass firmly down on the table. Scooting to the edge of his chair, he balances his elbows on his knees and weaves his fingers into a clasp that is definitely nervous in appearance.

“Before you go on, I want you to know that I brought you here tonight, on this boat, because I wanted to talk to you about some things that you don’t know.”

“Such as?”

“I’ve been hiding behind a story.”

“Ugh! I don’t understand!” I was frustrated.

“I made up Aunt Olivia.”

“You what?”

“I made her up! She’s not my aunt, never was. She’s an actress I hired to play my aging aunt.”

“You what? Why would you do such a thing?”

“Because I knew you didn’t want a man who had money. I couldn’t get rid of it, and the way I lived was unmistakable. I had to come up with an explanation that would let me pass muster for you.”

“So, you hired an actress and made up an aunt?” I knew my voice was a bit shrill with amazement.

“Yes, I did. Sort of the way you made up having a husband to get your job.”

I had to give him that. I wasn’t entirely innocent, either.

“But you could have told me. Eventually. And then she died … wait a minute, is she dead or fired?”

“Not dead. Comfortably relocated, let’s call it.”

“Well, that explains why you’re not grieving. You’re too warm-hearted to be that cold.”

“Thank you … I guess?”

“Okay, so I asked you to stand in as my husband, but Michael, you lied to me! You know I have trust issues. How could you fabricate such a farce and lie outright to me?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Michael? Answer me.”

Michael leaps up from his seat. “Because I love you, damn it! I love you! Do you hear me?”

My mouth drops open. What can I say? “I love you, too. But it’s not supposed to be like this. We had a pact, remember? No strings, no permanence, no marriage?”

“And who gave in on that first?”

“I know, I know, I did. But I didn’t lie to you—not you. I was upfront.”

“Mac, don’t do this. Don’t end this. We’re too good together.”

“But Michael, this might not be the last time. The next time there’s something you think I’ll get upset over, you’ll withhold it. I can’t deal with that, don’t you understand?”

“I do understand, and all I can say is that if something like this comes up again, I swear I will sit down and talk with you about it. I will let you know everything involved because it also involves you.”

We are shouting, and no one is coming near us. I understand Michael’s choice of outing then. He wants us out where I am not able to run away. It only serves to make me feel more trapped. I’m feeling blindsided. “Didn’t you think this would eventually come out, and what did you think would happen then?”

He throws his hands out to his sides in a gesture of desperation. “Mac, I know you’re angry, and you have good reason to be. I would be, too. All I can do is ask you to remember back to when we first met. You were adamant about not wanting a man with money. You equated the two as making the man arrogant and abusive, like Antonio. I wanted to get to know you—you enchanted me. How could I do that if you saw how I lived? I’m not Antonio, Mac. It’s me, Michael, and I’ve never hurt anyone. I never thought ahead to how I’d get myself out of this mess—sometimes you want something or someone, so badly that you’ll lie, cheat, or steal just to be with them. I want you. If that’s a crime, then so be it. I’ll tell the captain to turn the boat around and make port, and I’ll leave you alone for good. But, please, don’t let what another man has done to hurt you destroy this between us. Please.”

I hate that he’s begging, and I see tears in one eye. This is no rehearsed performance, that much is obvious. This is a confession from a tortured heart, and I think back to when Antonio’s spot at the altar was empty, and how badly I wanted just this sort of desperate apology. Now, here I have it, and Michael isn’t leaving. He’s trying to hold me close, trying to keep me with him if I only allow it. He’s right. I’m punishing him for what Antonio did. He’s right. I do know what it’s like to want someone so badly that you’ll lie, cheat, or steal. And maybe, just maybe badly enough to forgive …? I understand because this is exactly how I’m feeling right now.

The tears come then. I hold out my arms. “Please, just love me? Make this nightmare go away, and let’s put this behind us and swear never to hold back anything again? I love you, too, and even stronger than that, I need you. Help me stop hurting, Michael?”

He stands up and looks down at me. There is a little boy in the face of a man. I acknowledge for all that I wallowed in self-pity over being stood up at the altar, that’s nothing when compared to the loss of both parents and the uncertainty of relationships that are only as deep as your pocket. I know I’m wrong, that both people in a relationship having money is a safe thing. As arrogant as that sounds, it removes the shadow of doubt from motivation.

Michael leans over and scoops me up, holding me against his chest as one would cradle a baby. Now I’m feeling love and the desperation of not wanting to lose it coming from his chest and in the way he’s holding me. I have nothing to be frightened of from Michael. He is exactly what I want.

I’m being carried down a short hallway, and the door he opens is to a stateroom. It holds a king-sized bed dressed in navy with alternating red and white cushions. There is a custom white plantation shutter over the porthole that Michael closes after he lays me on the bed.

“You’ll never be hurt again,” Michael swears in a voice that’s raspy with emotion. He begins a slow, sensuous removal of my clothing, using his tongue and lips to taste my skin as it slithers onto the stateroom floor. His promptly join mine, and I reach up and trace the outline of his engorged penis with my index finger. His eyes close, and a low, guttural sound of sublime enjoyment escapes his throat. “Oh, my God,” he breathes, “you are unbelievably sexy.”

I laugh gently, filled with the power a woman has over a man when he’s at his most vulnerable. I pull him onto his hip and begin my own exploration. My lips travel the length of him, my fingers find his erotic valleys, and when he can stand it no longer, he pushes my hand away and spreads my legs. With the sound of a thirsty man who is given a glass of icy water, he slides into me, incrementally pushing more and more deeply until I can’t move. He has me pinned to the mattress and makes me crazy as he straddles my hips and traces light, wispy circles around my nipples with his lips. I respond by rocking my hips upward to take him as fully as possible, and he plays the game of almost withdrawing, only to dive deeply again to moisten the walls of my woman’s cave.

My head is filled with colors and razor shards of light as I close my eyes and bathe in the sensations. Michael begins muttering love sounds, kissing my throat and licking the inside of my ears. His long torso, compared to my petite one, permits him to ravage my face and my pussy at the same time. His lunges are harder, and he drags his chest over my sensitivity-heightened nipples. I feel my explosion mounting, fed by a stream of sensual current that’s unrelenting. I cry out, reaching with my arms to pull him flat against me, but Michael is caught up in his own release, his head thrown back, and his mouth open in short, but frequent gasps. We are both caught up in the ecstasy that is love between two mating creatures who, at that moment, want nothing more than to feel enveloped by the other.