Chapter Twenty-Two
“Forgiveness will cut a whole in half, divide and reduce beauty. Be warned, in every instance of forgiveness, some resentment remains .”
~Lucian Patras
Perhaps she wasn’t listening, or maybe she figured no man could be that stupid. Three months had passed and she still assumed he’d change his mind, that after some time apart he’d come running back to her, proclaiming his love.
She was a fool.
They never ran into each other and her enormous, empty home, which she’d so blindly purchased, seemed drenched in loneliness. Just another miscalculation on her part, another assumption that everything would work out if she played by the rules.
All she ever wanted was a simple, normal life. Someone to love who loved her back. She’d trade every luxury to her name if only she could know what that felt like—even if just for a day.
She needed to get away, escape everything, and possibly never come back.
One afternoon while having lunch with her sister-in-law, Evelyn surprised her by taking her hand. “Are you okay, Isa?”
Forcing a smile, Isadora lied, “Of course.”
Evelyn tipped her head to the side and gave an empathetic smile. “You know, when I first met you a few Christmases ago, I remember thinking you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in real life, but there was something so sad in your eyes. You’re always so cheerful and supportive of everyone else, but sometimes I worry we could be more supportive of you. If there’s anything you need, we’ll help you.”
What she needed didn’t exist.
She squeezed Evelyn’s hand and her smile turned genuine. “I know you would help me. We’re family. I’ve just been depressed lately. It’s probably just winter blues.” But it wasn’t the weather. “I’ve been thinking about getting away.”
“That’s a great idea. Let us help you make the plans. You can take the jet and go to Lucian’s island.”
“Oh, I don’t need all that. I was thinking more along the lines of a trip down the coast to a little bed and breakfast or something.”
Evelyn emphatically shook her head. “No, we’re pulling out all the stops. You worry about packing and your brother and I will take care of everything else. I insist!”
Her brother’s island wasn’t exactly what she needed, but it was a damn good substitute for reality. She lounged in the sun, worked on her tan, and gorged on novels. But after a few days she was ready to come home, the privacy of the island exploiting her loneliness to an insufferable degree.
It was a slow acceptance, but she had no other options. She was going to be alone and she needed to figure out how to live with that fact.
It was time to redefine her life again—something she had plenty of experience doing, but not with the optimism she once possessed. Still, she knew the process and forced herself to make all the right moves, believing that eventually the emptiness would get filled.
She called Seth and instructed him to message over all the invitations for their upcoming spring events. She intended to go back to work once she finished the last of her classes, but she didn’t want to work anywhere she might cross paths with her past. That meant she needed to start networking other avenues and deciding how she wanted to use her notable education.
Putting together a resume was frustrating. The emblazoned Patras across the top mocked her.
No one would take her seriously in Folsom, because her male relatives had established so much clout before she had a chance to earn her own. Their name earned favors and attention, but it also jilted the competition. She could have been a school teacher or a middle-class nine-to-fiver, but her name raised the standards and her personality balked at heights.
After weeks of polite rejections, she had no choice but to return to a world she long ago tried to escape. It was different for men of power. They were recognized. Isadora was merely borrowing her brother and father’s esteem in the eyes of those interviewing her. People either assumed she was too good for a regular job and wouldn’t take it seriously or the job was too good for her and should go to someone who actually needed the income.
Her only solace came at night, when she sat alone in her big empty house and wrote down all the deep emotions she kept hidden inside. Her journal was a decade long, an adult woman’s ramblings of a lost little girl.
Perhaps one day when she left this world someone would find it and see all she had to give, everything no one wanted to take. At least that would be something.
Lucian hardly attended social events since getting married. Stuck up affairs weren’t Evelyn’s thing and they often asked Isa to go in their stead. While Isadora wasn’t a huge fan of lavish parties meant to occupy wealthy people’s time, she did enjoy the events that actually served a purpose. When the stack of formal invitations arrived from Seth, she sorted through the piles and made the charity events her top priority.
As her schedule booked up she gradually found a level of equilibrium again. She wasn’t happy, but she wasn’t broken. She existed behind a façade of class and poise no one cared to see through. It was the armor she’d adorned the moment her mother died and it still fit well.
Everything was working rather well, this disguise of contentment she’d concocted, until her false confidence started to garner the unwanted attention of gold diggers. And they were gold diggers. Any man more interested in her name than her breasts was not a man she needed to know.
Perhaps Sawyer had broken more than her heart, because any sort of masculine attention grated on her nerves. She was jaded, cynical, and uninterested in men as a whole.
Throughout her entire life she’d been overshadowed by one indomitable personality to the next. Whatever species of human they wrote about in romance novels, she decided, was purely fictitious, woven fantasies that made little girls believe in things that were as nonexistent as unicorns.
Real heroes and shining knights didn’t exist. So it was her job to save herself.
But the pathetic advances got worse and worse—fortune hunters dead set on cornering her and asking uncomfortable questions—always about her family’s business. They came out in droves and could be as relentless as a swarm of wasps. It became such a problem, she was certain something had to be provoking so much attention. It certainly wasn’t her.
“Do me a favor, Lucian,” she said one afternoon when her brother stopped by the house. “Don’t send any more of your colleagues to these functions with the expectation that I might fall desperately into their arms.”
He frowned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Isa.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. I know you and Evelyn have been trying to secretly set me up. It’s getting tedious—and a bit insulting.”
“Isadora,” he said slowly. “ What are you talking about?”
“Just stop, okay? Every time I attend a benefit or a gala, more men come up to me, introducing themselves as your colleagues, and asking me to dinner. Enough already.”
He laughed. “Did it ever occur to you that if men are asking you out, it’s because they want the pleasure. Evelyn and I have nothing to do with it.”
“But…” That couldn’t be right. It happened too often to merely be a coincidence. Although her father had always insinuated she should marry a sizable bank account, it had been years since he hounded her on the subject.
Lucian had to be lying. Either that, or his wife was doing this on her own.
“I know Evelyn thinks I’m looking to meet someone, but I’m not. Can you ask her to stop? It has to be coming from somewhere.”
He gaped at her and scoffed. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why is it so hard to believe someone might be interested in you without any prodding? I assure you my wife is not contacting any men, on your behalf or otherwise.”
“I…”
Men weren’t interested in her. It was either her name or her money.
“Well, I don’t like the attention. They’re only talking to me because I’m a Patras.”
He shook his head. “Yes, you’re Isadora Patras . You’re beautiful and nurturing and have the kindest heart of anyone I know. I can’t, for the life of me, understand why you still don’t see the value in yourself. Trust me, Isa, people like you for more than your name.”
Changing the subject, she snatched a heavy, white invitation off the counter and smacked Lucian in the arm with it. “When were you going to tell me about this?”
He glared at her. “About what?”
“The opera house event! Lucian, you were voted Man of the Year and you said nothing? Did you expect us not to find out?”
He shrugged. “I don’t need all that attention.”
“But you’re going, right?”
He let out a sigh. “I’m going, but Evelyn should be the one they honor. She’s the one who got me involved with St. Christopher’s.”
She nudged him with her shoulder. “ Man of the Year . Like your ego isn’t going nuts over that title.”
He snatched the invitation from her and arched a brow, his mouth twisting into a boyish grin and reminding her of when he was young. “It is pretty impressive.”
The opera house’s white tie gala was Folsom’s most formal event of the year. Each year the proceeds went to a different cause. This year all donations were going to the homeless shelter.
Isadora had been a volunteer at the shelter since it reopened, so she was quite passionate about the cause. However, four generations of Bishops had chaired on the board of the old St. Christopher’s church, so she suspected Sawyer would be in attendance. As much as she hated the possibility of running into him, she couldn’t miss an event that honored her brother.
Toni and Shamus were in some sort of disagreement, so Isadora decided her sister would be the perfect buffer for the gala. Although she didn’t want to see Sawyer, she needed to look her absolute best in case he saw her. For the first time in her life, Isadora put great thought into her attire, pulling out all the stops and sparing no cost.
Ball gowns were de rigueur for woman, no exceptions made. Full-length, white opera gloves were also expected. It was probably wrong that she bought a dress the exact shade of Sawyer’s eyes, but it was one of the few colors she recognized and pale enough to be in theme. The men were expected to wear tuxedos with white accessories down to their pearl cufflinks and gloves.
Toni refused to tailor her gown according to some silly tradition. And while she stuck out like a sore thumb, she looked radiant in a crimson antebellum gown that covered one shoulder and fell into a cascade of roses at the hip.
“I feel like a cupcake,” her sister laughed, as they took the wide marble steps up to the opera house entrance.
Antique sconces flickered on every wall, illuminating the grand interior staircase leading to mezzanine seating. Invitees were dressed to the nines. Dapper men loitered in the lobby, sharply adorned in designer tuxedos, as women graced their arms like debutantes at a royal affair.
A quartet played while guests ascended the steps. They were required to give their name in order to pass, the long celebrated event boasting an “invitation only” VIP guest list of the most elite men and women on the east coast.
“You look fine,” Isadora told Toni, as her sister continued to fuss with her extravagant gown. “You’re lovely.” The train of her skirt might have been a little too much, but her sister didn’t need to hear that.
“Hey, isn’t that Emily Cornerstone, the actress? I loved her in Don’t Come Knocking Twice.”
“Who?” Evelyn asked, not sharing Toni’s affinity for A-listers.
Pretending to look at the actress, Isadora scanned the crowd for Sawyer, pausing at every silver head her gaze passed.
While she hoped he wasn’t there, she also didn’t want to be caught off-guard. Better to spot him first so she could avoid crossing paths.
The evening opened with cocktails and butlered hors d'oeuvres and by the end of the first hour they were moving to their seats. Their family owned a mezzanine box and Lucian was eager to get to their private balcony.
“Let’s head upstairs.” He maintained a territorial hand on his wife’s hip.
Wanting to freshen up before the main event, Isa excused herself. “You guys go ahead. I’ll catch up.”
Toni frowned as their brother and Evelyn followed the crowd. “It’s starting in five minutes, Isa. Lucian’s giving his speech soon.”
“I’ll be there. I need to use the restroom.”
“Okay.” Her sister followed their brother as the lights dimmed, signaling the guests that it was time to take their seats.
Bedecked men and women flowed through the wide corridor to their seats and Isadora traveled down the extensive hall, eyes searching for a restroom.
Instruments hummed from the pit as a prelude to the evening. The halls were almost empty when she left the bathroom. The balconies quieted as people settled in and the orchestra echoed from below.
The prelude concluded and the halls were silent except for her shushing skirt. A woman’s voice resonated from the stage, welcoming guests.
She needed to get back to their box or she’d miss her brother’s speech. There was a round of applause followed by Lucian’s recognizable, deep voice.
“Damn it,” she hissed, pausing at a random archway to watch from someone else’s balcony.
He looked magnificent in his tuxedo, so much a man to admire. Her heart pinched with pride as she allowed herself to take a small bit of credit for the incredible person he’d become. Gone was the ruthless young opportunist he’d been, and now a palpable sense of contentment flowed in place of his vengeance.
“Not many of us know what it is to go hungry,” he began, voice strong. “But some of us do. Some of you have taken quite a journey to get here tonight.”
He smiled the way he often did when in deep reflection. “Some of us wear courage like a second skin, making it all the more difficult to detect. There’s a woman here tonight, I won’t give her name, but she’s the most courageous woman I know. She didn’t start her life at the top, yet she sits amongst us like a queen in her own right. She played a silent role in keeping St. Christopher’s doors open.”
The audience sat silently, hanging on his every word. If someone dropped a pin, she imagined the sound would echo through the theater.
“There are a lot of privileged people here tonight. But with privilege comes great responsibility. Your generosity ensures that the less fortunate have a roof over their head, food in their bellies, and coats on their shoulders. Your generosity feeds hope. It fuels an unwavering belief that every member of this community deserves a second chance. The woman I mentioned… She survived many cold winters with little more than flicker of hope to keep her warm.
“That’s real courage. It’s a fire that burns through the darkest hour but remains bright enough to lead a person home. It’s going against all odds and holding onto the faith that you can always be more tomorrow than you are today. Your generosity meets more than basic needs. Your generosity keeps that flame alive, lighting the way to a better future. You are all honored guests this evening.”
He lifted the crystal award he’d been presented for his work on the new homeless shelters, three more built just that year.
A grin teased at his lips. Turning his gaze toward the upper balconies where their family sat, he smiled.
“I humbly accept this honor on behalf of every donor in the room tonight, but I dedicate it to you, the queen amongst us that let that little fire guide her all the way home.”
Uproarious applause broke and Isadora blotted her eyes. A reoccurring gratitude filled her chest as she, too, was overwhelmed with appreciation for the generous people here tonight, the ones that gave Evelyn the tools to rise above adversity and find a home in her brother’s heart.
Wanting to catch Lucian back at the box and see Evelyn’s reaction to his speech, she turned and came to an abrupt stop, the breath knocking out of her lungs so fast it obliterated the smile from her face and left her dizzy.
Sawyer.
But he wasn’t alone. He was speaking softly to a woman who looked to be in her late fifties. The woman laughed and cupped his cheek lovingly.
Isadora’s stomach lurched. A scream bubbled in her throat, as he leaned in and pressed his lips to the other woman’s. A crushing ache exploded in her chest as his arm wrapped around her, pulling her close, holding her the way only a lover would.
He drew back, smiled and whispered something in the woman’s ear.
They looked right together. Well-suited. Happy.
Every admitted truth killed a part of her soul, piercing her fragile heart like a sharp, lethal thorn.
The woman laughed over some intimate secret and Isadora could bear no more. Closer and closer she moved until she was standing not two feet away from them.
The words formed in her head, almost without volition. “You son of a bitch! How could you? Too old to date? Can’t get it up? Guess those pills don’t bother you so much now!” She glared at them. “Or maybe it was just me!”
Something cold fell on her breast, and she jerked, as if coming out of a dream, her lips locked tight around her clenched teeth. She was facing her worst nightmare and unlike the enraged voice in her head, her heart was too broken, too shocked, to voice a single sound above a whimper.
Another tear fell, slipping silently down her breasts and disappearing behind the bodice of her gown. The way he looked at her… Smiled…
Oh, God…
She wished she had the courage to say every horrible thing running through her mind, slap him, and rip out that woman’s hair, but thirty-six years of instilled manners, and a fear that she might actually let her true self show, kept her silent. They hadn’t spotted her and she still stood thirty some feet away, unnoticed, her fingers pressing into her lips to hold her pain inside.
She watched them from a tortured prison made of invisible walls that separated her from everyone else. And she hated herself for not having the courage to tell him exactly what he deserved to hear.
How could he do this? He couldn’t be with me, but he can be with someone else? It hasn’t even been a year!
A sob burbled in her throat, nearly slipping out. She needed to get out of there before he saw her. Run!
Pivoting, she hiked up her gown, and bolted toward the nearest exist. She was an absolute disgrace, sobbing and wheezing, unable to do more than walk at a clipped gate in her tight bodice and heeled shoes.
So many attempts to be a strong woman and he’d brought her to her knees in a matter of seconds, cut her down to exactly what she was. Nothing.
She was such a fool! Such an absolute idiot, because despite all he’d done, she still loved him. She foolishly let him have this power over her heart and she hated herself for being so naïve.
He’d clearly gotten over his little blue pill phobia, because he was obviously in an intimate relationship now. Nausea churned and she gasped through her rushing tears.
Her mind replayed the image of him kissing that woman, a cruel carousel that spun round and round in her mind, ceaselessly beating at her until she wanted to rip out her memory and forget everything she ever knew of Sawyer Bishop.
Wiping her gloved fingers over her face, the pale silk smudged with damp mascara. She berated herself for giving her life and heart to a man who never appreciated it—never wanted it.
A sob broke from her throat, disrupting the silence of the halls. She was losing it. She needed to run faster. Get the hell out of this place.
Seeing the sign directing the way to the front entrance, she quickened her strides. Music played and guests were starting to mingle their way into the halls. Soon the entrances would be clogged and she couldn’t let anyone see her like this.
Taking the turn at a breakneck pace, she raced around the corner and cried out as her body was thrown backward, her face colliding with something hard as her heart lurched and her body careened, the back of her head smacking painfully on the floor.
A burst of white light exploded behind her eyes and the chandeliers swirled above her as her body collapsed in a disgraceful heap of tears and silk on the floor.
“Shit!”
Her head throbbed as her body was fully laid out on the carpet. She blinked, literally seeing stars.
Her hearing funneled in and out, making it difficult to focus on what the man above her was saying.
“Jesus, are you okay? I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you and—”
Mortified, she adjusted her gown to cover her legs. “I’m fine. It was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
She babbled nonsense, her focus on nothing other than getting up and getting out. Heaven help her. Guests were filtering into the hall.
She awkwardly shifted her upper body off the carpet, strands of hair coming undone from her French twist as a woozy sensation stole her breath. Voices carried and her skin burned hot with embarrassment, her humiliation the only distraction from the pain of the fall.
“Let me help you—”
“I assure you, I’m fine.” She searched for her shoe and wedged it on her foot.
“You’re trembling. Please, let me help you.” The man held out a hand and she stilled, her vision finally clearing enough to make out his features.
Arresting eyes of an indiscernible color gazed upon her with unfeigned concern. There was something about those eyes, something… She’d seen eyes like that before, but for the life of her she couldn’t recall where.
“Please,” he insisted softly and a strange calm came over her.
Her hand slid into his as he gently, without much effort, pulled her to her feet. He reached down and collected her clutch. “You dropped this.”
His voice was deep, thick, the sort that filled a woman’s ears and did strange things to her body.
“Th—thank you.”
“There’s a bench over here. Why don’t you have a seat for a moment and find your bearings.”
She glanced at the bench, her thoughts disjointed. She was tempted to rest, when only a second ago she’d wanted nothing more than to run.
Her attention pulled between those eyes and the sound of nearing company. “I… I can’t.”
“Please. You really busted your ass and— shit .”
She drew back as he reached for her face. “What are you doing?”
“You…”
He swiped a finger across her mouth. He hadn’t bothered with the white gloves required that evening, nor did he bother to ask before invading her personal space.
“Your lip’s cut.”
Her fingers rushed to her mouth, which was sore and puffy. As she pulled her fingers away a dark blotch mixed with the smeared makeup marring her silk gloves. “Is that blood?”
“I’m sorry. Are you going to pass out? Shit, please don’t faint. I’m really sorry. I know I keep repeating myself, but I feel terrible.”
“Oh, God.” Wooziness softened her knees. She probably looked a wreck.
“Let me find you some ice. Are you here with someone? Is there anyone I can call for you?”
She shook her head, amplifying the ache radiating through her neck and skull.
He led her to the bench, those familiar eyes studying her so closely she felt uncovered in some strange way. Naked.
He lowered his tall body to the bench, his knee brushing hers through the silk of her gown. His brow creased as he examined her face.
“Your pupils are even. We crashed pretty hard. It looks like the start of a bruise along your chin. If you wanna take a swing at me to make it even I’d totally understand.”
A numb, disjointed laugh slipped past her swollen lip. He wanted her to hit him?
“It’s not your fault. I was moving too fast.” She frowned, wondering why everything suddenly seemed eerily calm when she’d been a frantic mess seconds ago. Maybe she had a concussion.
He appeared unharmed. “Are you hurt?”
“Nah. You got my jaw pretty good, but I think you took the brunt of it. You should really get some ice on that lip.”
She frowned at the lapel of his white tux where a smudge of what might be makeup tarnished the ivory fabric. Her attention pulled from his jacket as voices flowed into the hallway.
She was shivering and couldn’t stop shaking. “I think I’m okay now. I should go.”
He caught her wrist. “Just give it a few minutes. I’ll get you some ice and—”
“I can’t stay.” She stood, but her legs were so unstable she inelegantly dropped back to the bench in a swish of silk and tulle.
“Easy,” he said softly, supporting her arm. “Who’s here with you? I’ll call them.”
“No.” She didn’t want to explain herself to anyone. “I just need to leave.”
“The party’s just starting.”
“I…”
She frowned, unsure why this man was so determined to help her. She must look horrifying for him to be this concerned.
“I can’t stay. Thank you for waiting to see if I’m all right, but I’m fine now. Just a little shaken.”
“Then let me take you somewhere to get some ice on that lip. I’d hate to say it, but it’s getting worse. The longer you let it go the blacker the bruise will get. Then I’ll be left in social ruin, branded the man who knocks over beautiful women at white-tie events. Do you really want to do that to me?”
She laughed again and winced as her lip pulled. It wasn’t that funny, but the way he said it, with such self-deprecation, struck her as comical.
Something in his expression told her he really didn’t care what other people thought about him. He gave a sheepish grin and his whole face came alive. She must have really whacked her head.
“You have a great laugh,” he said, those eyes steadily staring into hers. What color were they? Too light to be brown. Certainly not blue.
“Thank you.” She was suddenly warm, but still shivering.
“If you can’t stay here, let me take you to across the street. There’s a small bar. A drink might calm your nerves and you can put some ice on that lip. Please.” He stood and held out his hand.
“You shouldn’t have to leave on my account. I can ice it when I get home. I’m steadier now. You stay.”
He shrugged. “These sorts of events really aren’t my style anyway.”
There was something strange about him, different, yet so convincing, she immediately believed he was telling the truth. Her hand slid into his as he pulled her up with little effort, steadying her before allowing her to take a step. Once she found her footing he released his hold and her skin prickled.
“Don’t forget this,” he said, tucking her clutch into the crook of her elbow. “M’lady?” He held his arm out to her, the gesture of a true gentleman.
Conscious of her surroundings and not fully trusting her wobbly legs, she accepted his aid and allowed him to lead her down the grand staircase at a slow pace.
Her heart jerked as familiar faces filled the common areas. She lowered her face hoping not to be noticed.
“Are you hiding?” he murmured, keeping his gaze forward.
“I don’t want them to see me,” she confessed, her focus on the entrance several yards away.
“Keep your head down and stay by my side.” He guided her hand to his other one as his arm slid around her back, placing her in the protective shelter of his body. “Laugh like I just said something funny.”
A fake chortle slipped past her throat as more guests closed in.
“Good. No one’s paying attention. We’re just slipping out to get some air. Watch your step.”
The fresh evening breeze was a blessing. It filled her lungs, but each breath was laced with something else, something rich and comforting. Once they crossed the street, she realized the scent was coming from him.
“We made it.” His hold fell away leaving a cool chill in its place.
He held the door to the small establishment and she stepped inside, not recognizing the dimly lit bar. “I’ve never been here before.”
“No? They have comfortable seating in the back, couches and books for anyone interested.”
“Books at a bar?”
“Some stories require something stronger than coffee.”
He led her to the back and it was like something out of a sitcom. Vintage furniture was arranged at various angles, providing intimate nooks and crannies for people to converse or read.
He directed her to a small table by the rear wall. Shelves stacked from floor to ceiling, full of battered old books. A bow window overlooked a small patio with an illuminated pond.
“This is so charming.” It was as if she’d stepped into a dream.
“It’s one of my favorite places.”
Since arriving at the bar time seemed to stand still. She’d gone from her worst nightmare to this hidden, peaceful corner of the city she didn’t know existed. It felt safe here. “Do you read?”
“As often as I can.” He glanced to the front of the bar. It seemed they were the only customers at the moment. “Let me go see about getting you some ice. What do you drink?”
Should she have a drink? Maybe a cab would be the better thing to order. Although, the thought of going back out there, leaving this hidden nook…
“I suppose a glass of chardonnay is merited.”
He nodded and disappeared to the front.