Chapter 15

Charlie

The chauffeured vehicle sat in the street outside, glistening in the purple dusk that crept between the houses in the street. A black Mercedes-Benz, windows tinted, that gave off that “fabulously rich” vibe.

“This was a dumb idea,” I said and flicked the curtain shut.

Pammy stood on the opposite end of the window, her nose practically pressed to the window. “I can’t believe Clarissa wants to have dinner with you. This is so exciting,” she gushed.

“I thought you didn’t like the richies in this town,” I replied. That was what Pammy had taken to calling them. “You said you hated working for them, that it was like something out of Downton Abbey without all the British accents to make it worthwhile.”

“While I admit I’d adore meeting a British butler and falling head over heels in love, I don’t remember saying I hated the work.” Pammy unglued herself from the window. “And even if I do, what’s the difference? You hate working for Henrietta, but you’re not quitting at Daisy Oaks.”

It wasn’t Henrietta who bothered me.

I walked toward the door, putting some distance between me and my aunt. I hadn’t gone to the cops about Greg’s behavior, yet, and I hadn’t been called in to see the principal either. It was an uneasy equilibrium.

Jenny surely wouldn’t hold back, but the fact that it was weekend might’ve stalled her until Monday.

And Greg?

I couldn’t shake the feeling that reporting him would only end badly for me. I’d be blamed and judged, and he’d come out superior and continue harassing me whenever he could. Likely, the whole thing would blow up in my face.

A super-scandal.

Henrietta would let me go, no doubt. I’d be a bad representation of what Daisy Oaks ‘stood’ for.

“Charlie?” Pammy laid a hand on my shoulder. “Are you OK? You’ve been acting different of late. Is it your dad? You know, he’s fine at home with your mother. They’re doing fine, now.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m—I’ve got work stuff on the brain, that’s all.” Maybe seeing Clarissa would help. Maybe, if I went to dinner with her I could ask about Houston. About contacting him.

My stomach turned.

It terrified me, but it was what I’d have to do. I couldn’t leave him in the dark about this.

That’d be wrong. He deserved to know. He deserved a choice.

Too many thoughts. Too many things to deal with. I want to break. I want to shatter. But I wouldn’t.

“I’ll see you later,” I said and held Pammy’s hand on my shoulder, gave it a squeeze. “I’ll tell you all the glitzy details.”

“Ooh, try to Instagram a photo of whatever you eat, OK?” Pammy drew her smart phone out of her pocket. “I’m already following you.”

“I have an Instagram account?”

“Uh, yeah, we created it when you got here, remember?” Pammy laughed. My hip and happening almost-fifty aunt tossed her long, red locks. I couldn’t have loved her more. “All right, go. And have fun. Forget about Daisy Oaks and all the dickheads. Just enjoy yourself.”

“You should write motivational speeches,” I replied, then hurried to the door. I scooped up my handbag along the way and walked out and down the path.

The chauffer stepped out of the car, tipped a black cap to me, then walked to the back and opened the door for me. “Good evening, Miss Stinson.”

“Hello,” I said and swallowed a ball of nerves that immediately popped back up. I got into the car, clipped on my seatbelt, and inhaled the scent of leather seats. This was luxury, all right.

The driver got in and didn’t say a word, simply started the engine and pulled out into the street. I cast a glance back at Pammy’s little cottage, with its picket fence, and grinned—she waved frantically from the front window.

I was Cinderella driving to the ball, except I didn’t have glass slippers or a fairy godmother. Or a prince to save me. Not that I needed one, but damn, it would’ve been nice.

We rolled down Main Street, past folks in the pizzeria and the General Store, open later than usual on a Saturday—Milly ran it and always kept it open later on weekends for folks who worked during the week.

A five-minute drive took us past the edge of town and right up to a pair of gilded wrought-iron gates. Fancy schmancy. My heart burrowed downward in my chest. If this was how Houston had lived, he’d slummed it with me.

His mother was clearly loaded, but was that what he wanted out of life? Money and an awesome mansion and nothing else? Surely, not. Then again, who the hell was I to judge?

The gates swung inward and the car cruised up the drive, loose gravel crunching beneath the tires. Trees flanked the path on either side, and a mansion loomed ahead, came into view as we rounded a bend in the road.

I gasped.

Gorgeous, opulent, maybe a little too much gold, but what the heck?

The grand wooden doors had been thrown wide open and Clarissa Pope waited on the porch, adorned in an evening dress that swept the stone at her feet.

Oh, god, I was totally underdressed for this. I’d chosen a light, summery dress, which showed a little more cleavage than usual and a pair of pumps. Thankfully, my pregnancy didn’t show yet, though my breasts were super uncomfortable no matter what I wore.

The car halted, and I stopped thinking about my breasts. Kind of. I mean, they really hurt.

I moved to open the door myself, but Mr. Fancy Chauffer beat me to it, grinning and bobbing his head as he did. He offered me his arm, and I took it, then slipped from the car’s interior and let go immediately.

“Charlotte,” Clarissa said and came down the steps, stopping just short of walking onto the gravel itself. She threw her arms wide.

I strode over and gave her a hug, bathing myself in her patchouli-scented perfume. It wasn’t too strong, but it drove my nose wild, regardless. The last week had been an education in smells.

“I’m so glad you came,” Clarissa said and released me.

This was too weird. I hardly knew this woman. We’d spoken once, yet she’d invited me for dinner. And she knew I’d been, ahem, friends with her son.

But, as Pammy had pointed out, one does not simply refuse an invitation from Clarissa Pope. She was at the tip-top of the socialite clan in Summit Springs.

“Thank you for having me,” I managed, at last. I took in the dress and the makeup—light, of course, since Clarissa was a classy woman—and the crow’s feet beside her eyes. Her hair was piled atop her head in ringlets.

“It’s my pleasure,” Clarissa purred. “Come inside, dear. Let’s take some coffee in the living room before dinner. It will be nice to catch up. There’s cake, too, if you want it.”

“I’d better not. My mom always told me never to eat dessert before dinner or I’d have nightmares.” Mom had all kinds of quirky sayings and habits.

“Oh, dear,” Clarissa said and tapped her chin. “That explains all those clown dreams I’ve had of late.”

I blinked at her.

“I’m kidding.” She chuckled. “This way.” She swept up the stairs ahead of me, her heels clicking on the stone, and I followed, kind of in awe of her more than the house.

We entered the mansion, and I rethought that. Marble floors, a staircase, and a tantalizing scent on the air. Something lemony I couldn’t quite place. A voice rumbled from down the hall, and I edged toward it, but Clarissa went the other way.

I followed her instead, casting looks at the paintings and pictures, a few of which depicted Houston and Clarissa together, laughing at a beach or playing piano together.

Finally, we seated ourselves in a living room, I on a comfy leather sofa and she in an armchair across from me. A glass coffee table separated us, a tray centered on it, bearing coffee cups and a pot of the good stuff.

Beside it, a cake rack tantalized me with treats—cherries on top, fondant, butter cream frosting, what looked like carrot cake cupcakes. Oh, heavens, if I didn’t stop staring, I’d drool down the front of my dress.

This pregnancy stuff had caught me between nausea and dire hunger so far.

“Help yourself.” Clarissa winked at me.

“No thanks, I’ll just have coffee.” I reached for the pot.

A tufty-haired dude beat me to it. I let out a yelp and retracted my hand—one second it was Clarissa and I, alone, the next it was us and this suited guy who poured the coffee, asked how many sugars, and whether I wanted it black or with cream.

Once that was all done, he dematerialized again. Or rather, he slunk out of the room to wait, likely within listening distance.

I took a sip of my coffee and sighed. It was too good. The first cup I’d had in ages. Technically, it was OK for me to have a coffee a day, but I didn’t want to mess around with this pregnancy, particularly since my mom and dad had struggled to get pregnant.

What if I had the same problem? I wasn’t past the danger zone yet.

Clarissa cleared her throat, and I lifted my gaze to meet hers.

“Sorry,” I said, “it’s been a long day. It was rude of me to—”

“I know,” Clarissa said.

How could she possibly know I’d had a hard day?

She gave a tiny shake of her head. “I know.”

“About?”

“The baby. The pregnancy. I know it’s my son’s child.”

What. The. Fuck.

My jaw dropped. No words came out. “H-ha-ho-ow.” Yeah, that wasn’t intelligible.

“You’re glowing, dear. Your breasts have swollen.”

I draped my arms across them and blushed.

“And I heard from Milly at the General Store that you bought two pregnancy tests from Roger at the drug store,” Clarissa replied.

I paled.

She waved a hand. “Don’t worry, don’t worry, I’ve already had them silenced. Money talks, as usual, but I don’t think anyone heard before I did. I’m somewhat of a gossip diva in Summit Springs, if I do say so myself.” She puffed out her small chest. “No one will find out your secret until you’re ready to share it.”

I gaped.

“And I hope you’ll be ready to share it soon,” Clarissa continued, scuffling forward to the edge of her seat. She put down her coffee cup and reached across the space between us, brushed her fingers across the back of my hand. “Don’t be afraid, dear, your secret truly is safe with me. But I want you to know that you can’t keep it forever. You will need to tell my son, and you will need to deal with this soon. Understand?”

I trembled my coffee cup over to the table, splashing liquid onto the glass surface. “I—this is why you invited me to dinner?”

“Yes, and I wanted to get to know the woman who’s the mother of my grandchild,” she said and clasped her hands together. “I’ve waited so long for Houston to settle down. This is the best possible thing to happen.”

“S-settle down?” I hadn’t even told him yet, and now we were settling down? God, oh, god, this was way too much to deal with right now.

I’d come for dinner and, yeah, a part of me had hoped this might even have traveled around town as hot news and reached Henrietta’s shrewd ears, but this was not worth the price.

I rose from the sofa. “Clarissa, I need to leave. I can’t deal with this right now.”

“Oh, dear, I have sprung it on you, I know, but I wanted us to have an open conversation about it, and then, once you’re ready, I’ll call Houston into the room and—”

“Into the room?!” Was she saying he was here? No, no, no, I wasn’t ready for this. And I couldn’t see him again. I’d only just gotten over all the memories of us together. I’d started recovering, planning.

I’d wanted to tell him, of course, but over Skype or something.

“Yes, of course,” she said.

“I can’t—” I swung toward the exit to the living room and cut off.

There he was.

Larger than life. He stole the breath from my lungs.

And he didn’t look happy.