CHAPTER 2
The next weeks were very busy ones for me, as I was deeply involved in the interior decoration of César Hernandez’s mansion, redoing all the bathrooms, the living and dining rooms, and his bedroom. I had no time to wallow in regret over my past mistakes. I was doing what I loved, and as always, it made me come alive.
In the course of my assignment, I realized just how wealthy César Hernandez was. He spared no cost in updating his family’s second home, choosing top-of-the-line plumbing fixtures, furniture, and window treatments. At first the house was a mess, with the wallpaper and carpets being removed, as well as the bathroom sinks, toilets, and bathtubs, but by the end of the third week, the rooms had been transformed, and it wore a more exquisite look due to my professionalism.
“I think we should have a little dinner to celebrate the success of this project,” César said to me as I was supervising the workers as they cleaned up. He often checked in, although he mostly stayed out of the way, which I greatly appreciated.
“That’s very nice of you, César. I’m sure the crew would love it,” I suggested innocently. I had enjoyed the Prince’s company over the last several weeks, and the realization that our contact would end now that the project was complete saddened me. I’d gotten to know a little about the man behind the intimidating title, and I liked what I saw.
“Actually, Charlotte, I meant a private dinner with just the two of us. And I would be the chef for the night. It would give me great pleasure to cook for you,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Really!” I replied, excited at the prospect of the two of us having dinner together. “Yes, I would be honored if you cooked for me. What’s on the menu?” Part of me found it hard to believe how relaxed I felt around him, with him being a Prince and all. Something about César invited informality.
“Hmm,” he murmured, tapping his chin with a finger as though lost in deep contemplation. “I think I’ll surprise you. But tell me, are you allergic to any foods?”
“No, but I don’t like surprises,” I said honestly. “Will you at least give me a hint, César?”
“No,” he emphatically stated.
“Not even a hint?”
By this time, I had abandoned the supervision and was deeply engrossed in my conversation with him.
“Ah, you are quite adamant, Charlotte. Let me give you a hint then, I’m going to be treating you to a Spanish delicacy, and I can assure you that by the end of the meal, you will swear no English food is as delicious as what I’ve made,” he said.
“Really?” I asked. “I guess I have to warn you that I am not easily impressed, and I have tasted quite a few Spanish delicacies that I found not to my taste.” Not that I’d ever tasted any such thing, but I just had to brag, too.
“Get ready to be wowed, then,” he said, leaning close to me. “You’re about to get blown away by my culinary expertise.” His whisper made me shiver, and as if he knew the affect he’d had on me, he turned on his heels and arrogantly strode off.
“Whew! If everyone in his principality is like him, then it must be filled with seriously egotistical people,” I mused aloud as I watched him.
“I heard that,” he shouted from across the corridor.
I laughed and added in a louder voice, “And they have impeccable hearing, too.”
The rest of the day passed in a blur, and I was exhausted by the time I finished my final inspection of the job and then, at my office, submitting the paperwork and receipts for billing. I drove home, cheerful at the prospect of having a private dinner with the hot Spanish prince. Although I would never admit it to him, the way he looked at me scorched my flesh, and I couldn’t wait to see him again.
I had parked my car near my apartment building after work and was reaching for my handbag when my phone rang. No name showed in the caller ID window and I didn’t recognize the number, but I did notice it was from the Houston area. Maybe one of my old friends had changed her number. “Hello,” I said.
“Hello, love.” The voice on the other end sent a chill all the way to my bone marrow.
It couldn’t be, but it sounded like him. How had he gotten my cell number? I’d changed it after putting him out of my life. He must have weaseled it out of one of my old friends. “Lane? Is that you?” I said, my voice low with caution. He had already taken nearly every cent I had, and I lived so simply because I was attempting to recover financially. What could he possibly want with me now?
“Miss me that much?” he asked, and I knew for sure it was him. The last I’d heard, he’d been locked up on a minor charge, but this call clearly hadn’t come from a jail.
“What do you want from me?” I asked, my fear turning to anger. I made a mental note to change my number right away. I probably should get a number local to Westchester County anyway.
“Courtesy, love, courtesy,” he said in that familiar slick voice that I was still trying to forget. “Is that any way to greet an old lover, Char?”
“You are no lover of mine,” I said tightly. “Haven’t you ruined me enough as it is?”
“I’m sorry about that, baby. But a man’s gotta do what man’s gotta do.”
I’d had enough. “This conversation is over.”
“You stay in the Crescent Apartments in Port Chester and work at Davina Décor in White Plains, don’t you?” he said.
I gasped involuntarily, my hand freezing on the End button. “How in the world did you know that?” I demanded.
And if he knew where I lived and where I worked, what else did he know about me?
“Easy, baby, easy,” His lazy tone suggested he knew he’d shaken me up. “So, do you wanna see me or not?”
I could imagine him smirking in delight. Then something else occurred to me. See him? But he was in Texas…wasn’t he?
“Hell no, I don’t want to see you,” I said. “Ever. By the way, the last I heard you were in jail. If you ever contact me again, I’m gonna make sure you go back there and rot.” This time I not only ended the call, but I managed to remove the phone’s battery with my shaking hands.
Breathing hard, I pressed the back of my head against the head rest, my palm slapping the steering wheel in frustration. The seconds ticked by, and then I picked up my purse and left the car for my apartment, although I kept looking around as I approached the building, half expecting Lane to jump out of the shadows. Once I had entered my apartment, I locked the door behind me and curled up on my bed.
Lane! He was trouble. I’d met him at a bar in Austin during my junior year in college, and I’d believed he was my soul mate. I trusted in the happily-ever-after back then, and with my dream-like approach to life, I looked forward to spending the rest of my life with my loving boyfriend. We became inseparable, and all our friends envied our relationship. Being an orphan and growing up with my grandparents in Houston, I had an optimistic approach to life and trusted easily…to be completely honest, ‘gullible’ best described the younger me. After my grandparents died in an auto crash just before graduation, I was inconsolable, and it was Lane who stood by me through those dark times, singing me to sleep and clutching me tightly any time I had a nightmare. I saw him as my pillar, and I told him all about the money I inherited from my grandparents, their cash, life insurance proceeds, and property. It wasn’t a whopping sum of money, but it wasn’t chump change, either.
Immediately after graduation from the University of Texas at Austin, I returned to Houston and moved into the comfortable home that had belonged to my grandparents and now belonged to me. I landed a job at a local interior design firm. My career had begun, with my plan being to open my own firm within ten years, after I had garnered enough experience working for someone else. My funding would come from my inheritance. I had my life all planned out in front of me: Lane would propose along the line, then we would get married, and I would insist on us living in the home I’d grown up in, and we would have as many kids as possible. I wanted at least three kids so they wouldn’t lead the lonely life I had lived with my grandparents, with no siblings to play with.
Unknown to me, Lane had other plans for my trust fund. He had come with me to Houston and was having trouble finding a job, and I had gladly accommodated him. Lane had graduated high school but unlike me, hadn’t gone to college. He had been working in the meat department of a supermarket in Austin. In Houston he went on a few interviews but didn’t get hired. He was essentially living off me, which I had no problem whatsoever with. After all, he’d given up his job in Austin to move to Houston with me. When he finally hinted to me about a business that he wanted to venture into but couldn’t due to financial constraints, I gladly offered him money out of my inheritance. I didn’t really understand the details of the business, but he was so excited about it, and he seemed to know all about it. Besides, he was going to pay me back once he got established.
Within months he became depressed and moody, and I had to goad him for days before he finally confessed that his business had failed woefully and that he had lost my money. Although disappointed, I wasn’t too upset. What was seven thousand dollars when my beloved was concerned, I had thought?
This became a trend, and I started siphoning money from my inheritance. I was a lone bird and therefore had nobody to check my excesses and tell me I was treading the path to bankruptcy. After Lane had several more failed ventures, all of them funded with my money, I had almost nothing left in my bank account.
At that point, I told him point blank to look for capital elsewhere because I wasn’t giving him another dime. He threw a tantrum and called me a spoiled child who had never had to work for anything in her life.
“Do you know how hard it is for people like me? People who don’t have college educations and things handed to them on a platter of gold by their loving grandparents?” he had said on that fateful evening. “Look at you! You have your whole life set up for you for the rest of your life. You have your house, an inheritance, and a job. And what do I have? Nothing! Nothing at all.” In the end I felt sorry for him and gave him the money he requested “just one last time” for a new venture, and just like all the others, it failed.
It was at this point that I decided we should leave Houston. Maybe Lane would do better elsewhere. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much going on in the interior design field in Austin. I needed to live in a larger city with plenty of wealthy residents. I began applying for jobs in the major cities: L.A., Miami, New York. Davina Décor in Westchester County, just north of New York City, offered me a job.
I promptly put my house on the market, telling myself that it was just a house. Lane and I could raise our children anywhere, but he had to have a job before he could buy me a ring.
The house sold quickly, and me, being blinded by love, deposited the proceeds in a joint account I shared with Lane. I wanted to add something of value to our future, to prove that I still believed in him. That proved to be a bad move. While I was busy with work and being in love, Lane disappeared…with all the money in our account.
Fortunately, I still had enough in my own account to accept the job in New York. I sold most of my furniture, arranged to have the rest moved, and drove to start a new life in New York, and now Lane had found me again. I guess he thought that since I’d been such an easy mark he’d try to take me for more, but by now I’d learned my lesson.