Chapter 29

DAKOTA

WE TRIED to find our way back to each other, but it wasn’t easy. Every time he touched me, I shied away. After my initial breakdown in his office, I shut off my emotions. It was too painful to feel anything, and in doing so, I blocked my feelings for him as well. By some kind of instinct, he recognized my hesitation and didn’t press for more than I was able to give. Instead, he filled me in on the details of Maxwell’s indictment and his conversations with Vanessa. That night, he slept in the guest room again, and in the morning, we headed to Seaforth Manor to meet with Maxwell.

The mere act of driving down the long, winding lane to Seaforth Manor sent a shiver up my back—and not the good kind. Once Sam and I had divorced, I’d run from my hometown like an escaped convict on the lam. This was my first return visit since then. I tried never to look back, but it was nearly impossible.

The brick façade of the house peeked through the branches of aged elms and oaks. Sometimes things looked smaller as I got older, but not this house. It loomed tall and grand in the center of emerald lawns and landscaped gardens. Memories of Sam and my mother flitted through my head, of happier days, of smiles and laughter. The further we progressed up the drive, the darker those snippets became. All the ugliness came rushing back—Maxwell’s constant belittlement, the sensation that I’d never been good enough for Sam or the Seaforth name. I shifted in the leather seat of the Porsche, trying to physically escape the mental discomfort.

 Sam eased the car around the circle drive and parked in front of the entrance. I’d been crazy in love with him in those days. Crazy enough to get married at eighteen, to throw caution to the wind and dare to dream of happily ever after. That headstrong, impulsive girl seemed like a stranger to me in the wake of our current estrangement and the loss of our baby.

Sam got out of the car and moved around the front of the Porsche with ground-eating strides. He opened my door. I took his hand and stood, happy to unfold my limbs after a long car ride. The scent of jasmine and roses hung heavy on the summer air. From the fountains in the garden came the sounds of splashing water. He squeezed my hand, his grip warm and steady. It was the first time he’d touched me in days, not that I blamed him. I’d been a cold and hateful bitch, and I hated myself even more because of it.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Yes.” I nodded, lying to the both of us, as he shut the car door behind me.

Our relationship had never been easy. If I’d known at eighteen how much pain I’d endure to be with him, would I have made the same choices? Would he? His next remark did nothing to assuage my insecurities.

“God, this place…” Sam muttered under his breath but didn’t finish the sentence.

A butler—or footman or whatever he was—came forward to get our luggage. The gesture jerked my thoughts from the past and into the reality of the present. I’d never been through the front doors before. As the cook’s daughter, I’d been relegated to using the service entrances at the rear of the house. Now, here I was, a lifetime later, entering through the front doors of the house as Mrs. Dakota Seaforth, Sam’s wife.

“Your mother would have a cow,” I whispered to no one in particular.

He chuckled. “Remember how I used to sneak you up to my bedroom through the fire escape.”

“How could I forget?” The hot summer afternoons spent kissing in the shadows of the pool house, furtive touches in the kitchen when no one was looking, making out in secrecy on his bedroom until I ached to have him inside me. We’d been so innocent, so optimistic. Nothing could dampen our love for each other in those days. “Have you been back here—since your mom died?”

“No. There was no reason after she was gone.” The muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed. Although his mother had hated me, she’d loved him, and he’d loved her. I had to think, given enough time and opportunity, she’d have come to understand how much he meant to me and changed her mind about us.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” I said, feeling the swift sting of empathetic tears. I placed a hand on his cheek. The stubble of his five o’clock shadow tickled my palm.

He took my hand and kissed it. “You’re here now, baby, and that’s all that matters.” His gestures remained sweet, but his gaze was guarded. The external consequences of my hurt and anger showed in his expression. I’d been shutting him out, ignoring his pain, selfishly unaware of anyone but myself.

A maid met us in the foyer and led us into the parlor. The heels of our shoes tapped a cadence on the polished marble floors. Everything was perfect, from the massive chandeliers to the gold scrollwork trim and murals painted on the ceilings. Rayna met us in the drawing room. Her cream linen blouse matched the color of the furniture exactly. She smiled at the sight of us.

“Welcome. I’m so happy to see you both.” Her hands gripped my shoulders as she air-kissed both my cheeks. “You’re the last to arrive. Vanessa is already here. She’s resting upstairs before dinner. I’m sure you’d like to freshen up. I’ve put you in the Blue Room on the second floor. Penelope will show you the way.”

“I know where it is,” Sam said. He stared down at his stepmother.

“Oh, of course you do. What am I thinking?” Rayna rolled her eyes, attempting charisma and failing miserably. “I’ll leave you to it then. Dinner is at seven sharp. Oh, and we dress for our meals,” she added as we walked away.

“Was that remark intended for me?” I asked Sam as we ascended the sweeping staircase. “Like I’m going to dinner naked?”

“Behave.” Sam’s shoulder brushed mine, and I flinched at the unintended contact. “If I had my way, you’d be naked for every meal.”

The playful remark put me off balance. Our conversations since the beach house had been limited to discussions of work and non-inflammatory topics like the weather. I cast a sideways glance at him. Daylight streamed through the leaded glass windows on the first landing and highlighted the blond streaks in his hair.

Our bedroom was the size of my tiny Laurel Falls apartment. In the adjoining bathroom, a white slipper tub faced a window looking down on the garden. I’d never been above the ground floor except for Sam’s room. The bed loomed in the center, a king-sized monstrosity draped in pale blue velvet. I eyed it, intimidated by its size and what it represented.

“I didn’t want to ask for separate rooms,” he said, reading my thoughts. “I can sleep on the chaise.”

“No. Don’t be ridiculous.” It was his turn to flinch when I placed a hand on his forearm.

“Is it? Ridiculous?” A muscle flexed in his jaw. I removed my hand from his arm.

Instead of answering, I walked to the French doors of the balcony and stared down at the colorful beds of dahlias and roses below. Everything was the same yet different, like I’d walked into an alternate universe. I wrapped my arms around my waist and shivered in the cool air conditioning.

“I think I’ll take a bath,” I said after a long and unpleasant silence.

“I’m going for a walk,” Sam replied. I didn’t move until the door clicked shut behind me.

Two hours later, I walked into the corridor and stopped at the top of the stairs. Dozens—no, hundreds—of candles lit the dark staircase. Their dancing flames cast an eerie glow on the walls, causing the maidens in the murals to dance and weave as I passed by. The myriad candles lit the path to the dining room, their melting wax attended by a young girl of about eighteen. One of the candles extinguished as I approached the double doors. The girl quickly bent to relight the flame, her young features taut with panic.

The doors opened to reveal the long table decorated with overflowing floral centerpieces and immaculate linens. For a brief moment, I traveled back in time, having spent more than my fair share of hours polishing the silver in this room. I straightened my shoulders, aware of the eyes watching my every movement, and let the butler lead me to a chair beside Sam. Maxwell sat at the head of the table, Rayna and Vanessa to his right, Sam to his left. Sam motioned the butler away and stood to pull out my chair.

“Good evening, everyone,” I said, taking my seat with as much poise as I could muster.

“Good evening,” Rayna replied.

“Am I late?” I asked, nonplussed. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

“You’re right on time,” Sam replied. As he slid the chair beneath me, he bent to murmur in my ear. “You look fantastic.”

“Thanks.” I flushed under his approval and smoothed a hand over the soft silk of my dress. When I glanced up to meet his gaze, he quickly extinguished the heat in their green depths.

“I love your outfit,” Vanessa said. “Where did you get it?”

“Um, Fran Barrett’s boutique,” I said, a little surprised by the compliment. Vanessa and I had never been more than passing acquaintances. In Seaforth tradition, she’d been shipped off to boarding school on the East Coast for the majority of her teen years and had preferred to stay away on breaks and holidays.

“I remember her—I think we called her Clover back in the day,” Vanessa murmured. “I’ll have to look her up when I’m in town.”

“You’re sticking around?” I jumped at the rumble of Sam’s deep voice. He lifted an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” she replied. Like Sam and Maxwell, she’d mastered the art of hiding her emotions. A mask of indifference smoothed her delicate features.

“Enough small talk.” Maxwell’s commanding tone brought a halt to the chit-chat, and everyone stiffened. “Let’s get to business.”

Servants flooded the room, carrying soup tureens. They passed from person to person, ladling delicious liquid into priceless china bowls. Rayna extended her wine glass for yet another refill. I followed suit. Perhaps a little alcohol would soothe the irritation.

“As you know, I’ve decided to step down from Seaforth Industries,” Maxwell said. “And I’ve asked Cameron Blackwood to take my place.”

Sam’s anger radiated down my arm where our shoulders touched, but his face remained impassive. Vanessa kept her eyes on her soup, a small frown playing on her lips. That was when I got it. In true Maxwell fashion, this was a carefully planned ambush, aimed at my husband, to force him into submission.

“I won’t have that manwhore running our family business,” Vanessa said, her brows lowering.

 “Vanessa, I’ll handle this.” Maxwell shot his daughter a squelching scowl. A mask of false pleasantness slid over his features. “Unless you’d like to take over, Sam. Or do you still have no interest in the family’s future?”

“I said I had no interest in running the business with you,” Sam said. “I don’t want to see the company fail, but I have my own interests.” He shot a sideways glance in my direction. “And frankly, I don’t have the time.”

 “I’m not asking you to choose,” Maxwell replied. “I’m done playing games with you. Drop this silly vendetta of yours and take your place at the helm.”

“You can’t let this happen, Sam.” Vanessa’s voice climbed to a higher note. “I’d rather see the whole thing collapse than have Blackwood in charge. You know what he’s like.”

 “You’re trying to force me into choosing between my business and yours.” Sam shoved back from the table. Soup sloshed over the edge of my bowl. “I won’t give up what’s mine.”

“You’re screwing this up, Maxwell.” Vanessa scowled in an exact approximation of her father’s expression. After a calming breath, she turned to face her brother. “We need you to take over. The company needs someone stable, someone with a good public image, to overcome the negative publicity. Daddy thinks—”

“Daddy?” One of Sam’s golden eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“Don’t be petty about this,” Maxwell interjected. “The company needs you. If not for our sake, do it for the legacy.”

“I have a business of my own to run,” Sam said. Although his voice remained smooth, rage vibrated in his undertones. “A damn fine business. And I don’t want any of your dirty laundry tainting all of my hard work.”

“You owe Seaforth Industries a huge debt. Without it, you’d never have become anything.” 

The air in the dining room thickened by tenfold at Maxwell’s jab.

I bristled on Sam’s behalf. They intended to railroad or shame him into becoming Maxwell’s pawn. Beneath the table, I slid my hand into his and squeezed to let him know he wasn’t alone, that I was here to back him up. A bit of the tension in his jaw eased. His gaze met mine, unreadable and filled with enough anger to set me back in my chair.

“Sam became a success despite Seaforth Industries,” I said, unable to remain silent any longer. “Everything he became is because of his hard work. He has a stellar reputation because he disassociated from you. You had nothing to do with it. If anything, being a Seaforth has worked against him.”

A flush the color of eggplant rushed up Maxwell’s neck. “You don’t belong here.” He turned to Sam. “See? This is what I meant about her.”

Sam squeezed my hand tighter. “I’ve had enough of you. I knew this was a mistake.”

Rayna peered over her wineglass, eyes round. She set down the goblet and drew in a deep breath. “Please, everyone. Let’s take a second to breathe and think about why we’re here. This is about coming together, not driving each other further apart.”

An inappropriate and nonsensical urge to giggle twitched my lips. I cleared my throat. Sam shot a sideways scowl in my direction which quickly morphed into confusion. Our eyes met. For the first time in a long time, I felt a surge of emotion, of love, toward him. This wasn’t just dinner. This was war.

“He might be persuaded to reconsider it, if the reward was high enough,” I said. Sam shook his head, the movement imperceptible to anyone but me.

“Spoken like a true gold digger.” Maxwell smiled with something close to approval.

Sam slammed his napkin onto the table. He shoved back from the table. “No. No way.” Before any of us could react, he stormed out of the room.