Chapter Ten
“Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned,
Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned .”
William Congreve
The Mourning Bride
“Yes, ma’am,” the bartender responded with deliberate politeness.
A clear shot slid in front of Isadora and she brought it to her lips with a trembling hand, throwing it back.
“Thank you,” she rasped.
She reached for her purse only to find it missing. “I left my bag at the table. I promise I’ll be right back.”
“Sure,” he commented, voice thick with skepticism.
She pushed through the crowd and found her clutch resting on her seat. Cracking it open, she removed a fifty. She shouldn’t have snapped at the poor bartender. He didn’t deserve her anger.
“Where were you?”
Her head snapped up at Toni’s question. “I… I was having a drink. I need to go run this over to the bartender.”
“Why is your face all red?”
Her hand fluttered to her warm cheek. “Is it?”
“Yeah. Lucian, isn’t Isa’s face red?”
She shushed her sister. “I have to go.”
“Where are you going?” her sister called as her brother’s assessing gaze marked her quick escape.
She walked away without offering an explanation. She was twenty-six years old. Lucian answered to no one, and he was five years her junior. She was tired of being treated like a child when she was the eldest.
She slid the fifty across the bar. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
The bartender’s brow lifted. “It’s cool. Let me break that for you.”
“Keep it. But I’ll take another shot.”
He eagerly poured. Turning, she tossed it back and scanned the room.
Where? Where were all these supposed admirers? She scoffed, not seeing a single person looking at— Well, hello. Aren’t you handsome?
Holding her clutch at her hip, she sauntered across the ballroom toward a man with sandy brown hair, dressed in a striking Prada three-piece suit. The music pulsed loudly as she reached the edge of the dance floor, nearest to the speakers.
The man laughed, conversing with another attractive gentleman. She pasted on a smile, eased by the alcohol throbbing through her veins, and drew in a breath to back her words.
“Hello, gentlemen. Either of you care to dance?” She wasn’t being choosey.
Their conversation cut off as they both stared at her. Oh boy, maybe Sawyer was wrong. Maybe he really was the only one who thought she actually—
“Absolutely,” three-piece said, shoving his cocktail at his friend’s chest and taking her hand. “I’m Tyrian.”
“Hi, Tyrian. I’m Isadora.”
“You have a pretty name.”
“Thanks. Are you a friend of the bride’s or the groom’s?”
He escorted her onto the dance floor. “I went to school with the groom. You?”
“Bride’s.”
Enough small talk. They worked their way into the throng of dancers and Isadora mimicked what another woman was doing, unsure how to actually dance fast without appearing to have a seizure.
Tyrian was a wonderful partner. He stayed close and never broke eye contact. He had a nice smile and straight teeth. Everything was going great until the music changed and couples partnered off for a slow song.
His lashes lowered as his motions slowed. “Shall we?”
Catching her breath, she nodded.
It was a classic Elvis ballad and she knew it well. It struck her as ironic, that when she danced with Sawyer, a man she’d seen naked countless times and sinned with frequently, he’d barely held more than her hand, no telling signs of intimacy beyond a platonic hold of her fingers. Tyrian, however, made his intentions clear as he pulled her body close.
He possessively cupped a hand to her exposed back and Isadora, again, regretted letting Toni talk her into wearing a dress outside of her comfort zone—which she was getting a little sick and tired of people accusing her of staying inside. She took risks.
She tried new things—tap, pottery, Italian, fucking her dad’s colleague... Just because she wasn’t some sort of adrenaline junkie or reckless and irresponsible didn’t mean she lived a sheltered life.
As they swayed, she noted Tyrian lacked the skill and self-possession Sawyer owned, but he was also no slouch. Her gaze scanned the tables, a slight panic taking hold when she saw Toni’s seat empty. Searching for her sister’s dark hair, she breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted her only a few feet away—dancing with Shamus.
Her heart warmed as Shamus led her little sister around the floor casually, much like the platonic way Sawyer had led Isadora. It was indeed nonsexual, the way he laughed and smiled at whatever Toni was saying to him.
Unfortunately, Toni’s gaze reflected absolute adoration. Certain things just needed time to fade. Perhaps that was a lesson Isadora needed to learn as well.
Tyrian’s hand moved in smooth circles over her spine. “Are you doing anything after this?”
“I’ll be going home with my brother and sister. We came together.”
“I’d like to see you again. Do you live in the city?”
“Just outside, about a thirty minute drive.”
“I’m in the historic district. Maybe this week I could take you to dinner, somewhere quiet where we could talk.”
Her father was speaking to Tibet at an almost empty table. It occurred to her how much Lucian, despite his efforts, echoed the bad habits of the man they all worked so hard not to hate.
Like their dad, her brother was sitting on his ass, while his date gazed longingly at all the other couples dancing. It was likely the last slow song of the evening.
What was it with men? They all seemed intent on disappointing the one woman they were meant to please. It couldn’t be all men. Maybe she was surrounding herself with the wrong men, so ambivalent in regard to romance. Perhaps not all men were like that.
As they made another revolution, her gaze fell on familiar eyes and her heart jolted. Sawyer stared at her, and not in a discreet way. He looked … jealous. But he’d been the one to suggest she dance with someone else.
Anger resurged and her focus returned to Tyrian. “Is there a place you wanted to meet?”
“How about I call you this week and we can set something up.”
“Sure,” she said, numbly, as Sawyer continued to stare.
How did it make him feel to actually see another man’s hands on her? His expression blanked, turning to something unreadable, yet he watched her with an intensity that said he was feeling some sort of unsavory emotion. That was his own damn fault.
His harbored guilt should not deprive her of opportunities—opportunities to be with whomever she wanted, including him . She never once complained or asked for more than he was willing to give. Why couldn’t he just accept what they had?
The song was nearing the end. Sawyer nodded and forced a fake smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Then he stood and handed his date her purse. Together, the picture of absolute middle-aged dullness, they turned to her father and made their goodbyes.
She wanted to go home. Her anger made such a fast transition to sadness, she lost track of her surroundings and her eyes prickled. It was time to leave.
“Thank you for the dance. I think my brother’s looking for me.”
“Can I have your number?” Tyrian asked, halting her escape.
She paused, having already forgotten about agreeing to a date. Ugh, why had she done that?
He handed her his phone and she robotically typed in her number, her attention pulling to the door as Sawyer exited the hall. She would decide when Tyrian called if she’d answer or not. A lot of her decision depended on the man who just left with another woman.
The limo ride home was quiet. Monique rested her head on Lucian’s shoulder and Toni slept. Isadora watched the city of Folsom rush by in an ashen blur.
Her mind returned to Sawyer, over and over again, and stuck there as she lay down to sleep that night. She wanted to call his house to prove he’d gone home alone. But her dignity forbade it. If they couldn’t trust each other, they had nothing. Maybe they had nothing anyway.
He doesn’t love you…
The thought sliced through her, making her physically flinch. A tear slowly rolled from the inner corner of her eye to the bridge of her nose as she rested her cheek against the pillow.
He loved her. He had to by now. If he didn’t, what the hell were they doing? If he couldn’t bring himself to say the words, fine, but to flat out deny it…
She rolled onto her back and scowled at the ceiling. It was one thing for him to have issues with love, but how dare he act like she was too naïve to identify such emotions. She’d never actually been angry with him until he accused her of not knowing what real love was.
She wasn’t an idiot who needed people to tell her how to feel. She meant what she said, not just about loving him but also about a relationship involving two people. They were going to hash this out one way or another—the two of them.
When she fell asleep, her dreams were sketchy. Images swirled, and she was the passenger of a carousel, whipping around the center of a ballroom, as all her friends and family watched. Her father kept giving Toni her things—the keys to her Volvo, the figurine he’d gifted her on her tenth birthday, and worst of all, the pearl earrings her mother had left her.
It wasn’t fair. Toni had been left Momma’s sapphire earrings. The pearls were hers .
Nothing made sense and as the dream spun, Lucian grew bigger and bigger while Sawyer seemed to shrink away, like a man walking backward in a narrow tunnel until he was only the size of a flea.
She awoke in a sweat the next morning, tired and cranky. Her hair deflated from its up-do, leaving some parts lifeless and others stiff. Her dress hung like a forgotten memory over the chair in her bedroom. She definitely needed coffee.
Slipping into her robe, she went downstairs. Someone was awake and in the den. She wasn’t sure if Lucian came back after taking Monique home, or if he spent the night at his girlfriend’s. But she was happy to find the coffee made.
Pouring a cup, she went to the den. Lucian sat, still in his tux but wrinkled and sans tie. His posture was tense and his gaze was riveted to the television.
“Good morning,” she grumbled, taking a seat next to him.
He barely nodded.
She glanced at the television—some sort of breaking news.
A man was being escorted in his robe across a manicured lawn. A woman cried and a teenage boy appeared startled as news reporters swarmed a private residential property.
“What happened?”
Lucian sipped his coffee and pointed to the television. “Crispin Hughes was arrested. He’s going to jail.”
“In a bathrobe?”
Crispin Hughes was a heavy hitter in Folsom. It was a toss-up which name was worth more, Patras or Hughes. People joked and said Crispin Hughes and Christos Patras were gods, the two Christs of Folsom. In her mind, they operated closer to hell than heaven.
Of course that made Hughes a rival and her father liked to keep his enemies close, so she was familiar with the name.
“Daddy will be happy.”
Lucian grunted and she wasn’t sure if that was agreement or disagreement. She read the crawl at the bottom of the screen, a laundry list of charges against Hughes ticking by.
“Was he embezzling from all those companies?”
“Not sure. Definitely some insider-trading going on. And they’re saying he’s been at it for years. They’ve already confiscated all his computers and bank records.”
She frowned as they angled the camera back to the boy and his mother. “Why do they keep doing that? That poor woman probably had nothing to do with his underhanded dealings and that kid can’t be more than fifteen. They look devastated. The media should leave them out of it.”
“Paparazzi. They’re vultures. Nothing better to them than a wealthy family brought to its knees.” He sat back, but kept his eyes on the screen.
“That’s shameful.” She continued to stare, appalled, as FBI agents entered and exited the family’s private home, carrying more than just computers.
She thought of their personal belongings being ransacked for the sins of their father, a man they hardly knew, a man who couldn’t be bothered to call on the holidays. A sense of insecurity struck with startling discomfort.
She glanced around the den, feeling like she was in someone else’s house, which she was, but this was their home. If anything happened to it, she and Toni would have nowhere to go. Well, they had trusts and would figure it out, but her lack of control in such a situation filled her with anxiety.
“Do you think I should buy this house from Daddy, Lucian?”
“Yes. Either that or buy a different one. The less you’re indebted to him the better off you’ll be.”
She thought of how large the house actually was. It was too much for just her and Toni. It wasn’t practical. “I’ll never be able to afford this property.”
He glanced at her and back to the TV. After a long moment, he said, “If you want this house, Isa, I can help you. Not right this minute, but give me a year or two. You could dip into your savings, get a thirty-year mortgage, and we’d make it work. It’s not going to always be just you and Toni living here. Eventually you’ll have a husband and a family of your own.”
She wanted to laugh but her chest constricted. The house would be miserable with just her living there. It was meant for a family. She should probably be more realistic and think about moving into a smaller place after Toni graduated. She didn’t need all this room. Sawyer didn’t want children…
Her hand fluttered to her stomach, a nauseating ache forming in the pit of her belly. Even if she and Sawyer worked through whatever their problems were, what kind of security did they really have? What was she to him? A lover? A girlfriend? Would they ever consider moving in together?
And what if when Toni graduated Isadora didn’t want to get married and jump into domestic living. It would be her first chance to actually do something with herself. She could finally get an education and maybe even a job.
She thought back to a man she’d met at a bar years ago with Lucian. He’d dumped his fiancée for putting her career before him. Isadora didn’t want to make a choice like that. She wanted to be something, do something she loved, but she also wanted to be loved.
Lucian shook his head and muttered, “That kid’s life is about to get so screwed up. I wonder if he hates his father as much as I hate ours.”
Isadora tsked, feeling bad for the young Hughes boy.
“This is going to change things,” Lucian muttered, eyes distracted.
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Taking Hughes out of the picture will open up some opportunities for those still climbing.” He stood, setting his empty coffee mug on the end table. “I have to make some calls.”
She looked at the clock. “It’s seven-thirty on a Sunday.”
He ignored her, searching his pockets as he stepped toward the door.
“Lucian,” she snapped, getting his attention.
“What?”
“It’s Sunday morning. What kind of man makes business deals off another man’s misfortune?”
“It’s how the game’s played, Isa. When you see an opening, you take it.”
She scoffed in disgust. “Everything isn’t a chess match, Lucian! They aren’t game pieces. They’re real people whose lives are about to be ruined.”
“Well, I didn’t ruin their lives. I’m only moving accordingly, as the pieces fall.” He left the room and she took the remote, switching the channel.
Even if life was one big chess match, the world was short on shining knights. Everyone wanted to be a stupid, selfish king.