Back to the Beginning: A Duet (14 page)

“Good morning,” she said as he entered. “Hungry?”

“No,” he replied. “I spent my morning at Cafe Du Monde eating enough beignets with Rosalee and Addie to kill me. I may never eat again.”

True New Orleanians didn’t really do Cafe du Monde, and that Justin had gone there was a testament to just how wrapped his new wife and stepdaughter had him. Ophelia bit back the grin and gave a solemn nod.

Vincent was carrying Isabella through the dining room, while she chattered and pointed at everything.

“Oh, this was on your porch,” Justin said, and dropped a white box on the counter. It was wrapped with a pretty gold bow. “Vincent doing guilt gifts for leaving you alone with your little hellion?”

Ophelia took the package from him. “Maybe,” she agreed. “Can you watch those for a minute?”

Justin moved toward the stove as Ophelia tugged the bow from the box. Lifting off the lid, she smiled at the folded velvet. Knowing Vincent it was undoubtedly some ridiculously expensive piece of jewelry she’d never have occasion to wear outside their bedroom.

Folding back the velvet, she stared at the contents. She wasn’t aware of the sound that escaped her, of the startled, wounded cry that had Justin turning off the stove and coming back to her.

The ornate, intricate and lovely picture frame surrounded a photo of Vincent. His face was dark against the white linen, but it was the woman lying beside him, her naked body draped comfortably over his as Vincent’s hand rested on her slim hip that drew her eye. She couldn’t look away from it.

“Give me that,” Justin said.

“No,” she replied. “Who is this? Who is she?”

“You need to talk to Vincent, Ophelia. This can’t be… I don’t believe that he would do this to you,” Justin said. He sounded desperate and was clearly out of his depth.

“What’s going on?”

Ophelia looked up to see Vincent walking back into the kitchen. Still shirtless, Isabella clinging to him. He was as physically beautiful in that moment as it was possible for a man to be, but it made her physically ill to even look at him.

“I think that’s my line,” she said. “Justin, I need you to take Isabella back to the hotel with you… I’ll come get her soon.”

Justin stood there, looking back and forth between them for a second, before shaking his head and muttering a curse. He walked over and took the baby from his brother’s arms, but as he turned to leave, he called out over his shoulder, “Do not be dumbasses. Please.”

Ophelia said nothing, she just stood there staring at her husband, the edge of the photo frame digging into her hand as she clutched it while her whole world fell apart.

*

Vincent noted the
pallor of her face but he also took note of the firm set of her jaw. His worst fears were being realized. “What is it?”

“Your mistress,” she replied, turning the photo around for him to see it. “The frame was a nice touch. Did you know she was taking selfies in bed with you? Did you even care?”

His gut clenched. It was even worse than he’d thought. Blackmail he’d assumed was the motive. But that wasn’t the case. They’d gone straight for the kill. “I don’t have a mistress. I don’t want any woman but you. You have to know that!”

“Well, the evidence points to the contrary.” Ophelia’s voice was hard, bitter, deeply hurt. He’d only ever heard her sound that broken once before. It had been his doing then, as well. “Who is she?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I have no memory of any of it.”

She screamed and the frame that had been clutched in her hand shattered against the wall, only inches from his head. If he hadn’t ducked to the side, he’d be needing stitches. As it was, bits of glass clung to his skin and his hair.

“I know that sounds crazy—.”

“No. It would only be crazy if I believed you… and I don’t! She was in your bed, Vincent. You had your hands on her! And she sure as hell had her hands on you!” Ophelia snapped.

Vincent dropped his head to his chest. He had no defense. The truth didn’t even sound believable to him. His only memory was waking up next to a woman, but before he’d even gotten a good look at her, he’d been in the bathroom heaving up his guts. What happened between them was a blank to him, as was her face. “I will fix this… I will prove to you that it isn’t what you think.”

“I can’t be here with you right now,” she said softly. “I can’t.”

The anger he’d expected. The hurt and the fury he could deal with. The broken quality of her voice and the hint of resignation he heard in it terrified him. “Don’t leave me… I
swear
I will fix it. But for the love of God, Ophelia, don’t walk out on me.”

She shook her head at him, looking lost and so achingly vulnerable that it cut him to the core. He’d done that to her. It wasn’t the framed picture, it wasn’t someone trying to destroy them from the outside. His lies, his need to spin everything and control everything had left her open to being blindsided. If he’d heeded Stanley’s advice and told her the truth, she wouldn’t be hurting as much now. Regardless of whether or not he’d done anything else wrong, that was totally on him.

When she spoke, her voice was steadier, calmer, but equally terrifying, “I don’t have a choice… I can’t look at you. I can’t think straight when I see you right now. I just want to lash out and make you hurt the way I do. If I don’t go, Vincent, it won’t matter what you do to fix it. I’ll break us even more.”

Vincent watched her walk out of the kitchen, feeling like she was walking away forever. Hands clenched at his side, he let out a harsh breath. Forcing himself to pick up the photo, he headed for the library and flipped through the book on the desk until he found Stanley’s number.

The attorney answered on the second ring. “It hit the fan didn’t it?”

Vincent forced his hand to relax, to avoid crumpling the picture. “I’ve got a photo of her if you want to see if you can get an ID.”

“Of the X-rated variety?” Stanley asked. “Did Ophelia see this?”

Vincent laughed bitterly. “It was fucking gift wrapped, Stanley. If there was any doubt about Melina Tate’s involvement, that sealed it.”

“Son of a bitch!”

“No. Just the bitch,” Vincent corrected him. “Whatever it takes, Stanley. I want her to burn. I’m not going to spend the rest of my life being picked apart by her petty schemes… and if she ever hurts Ophelia again, regardless of what happens now, I’ll see her dead.”

“I’m your goddamn lawyer, Vincent. Don’t tell me that shit!”

Vincent’s eyes traveled back to the photo and the mystery woman who was at the heart of all his troubles. He had no recollection of her. Even seeing her face failed to stir any memories. The whole night was a blank, from the time he walked into the hotel bar until he woke up sick the next morning. “Find this woman, Stanley, and pay whatever it takes to get her to turn on Melina.”

“That may not fix what’s happened, Vincent. Women can be shockingly unforgiving when it comes to infidelity… I love my wife. But it wasn’t love that kept me faithful. It was fear.”

“Myra would never leave you, Stanley,” Vincent replied evenly.

“Hell, I’m not afraid of her leaving me! I’m afraid of what she’d
do
to me! Women are vicious, Vincent, fucking vicious!”

In spite of everything, Vincent smiled. Myra looked like a Sunday school teacher, but Stanley talked about her like she was a Valkyrie. “That’s probably smart… Stanley, if you find her—.” He stopped, not quite able to voice the question.

“What, Vincent? Whatever it is, just tell me.”

“I need to know, Stanley. I don’t remember a damn thing… Maybe I did… cheat.”

Stanley cursed. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“No. Meet me at your office. I need to get out of this house, I can’t be in it without her and I sure as hell can’t be in it when she walks out on me.”

Vincent ended the call, but made no move to leave the room. He just stood there and listened to the silence of the house growing around him. He hoped like hell it wasn’t something he’d have to grow accustomed to.

‡
Chapter Four

V
incent paced the
confines of the private jet. Stanley was settled into his seat, wearing a pink polo shirt and white pants. He’d been making calls to set everything in motion. They’d left from Stanley’s office directly to the airport and were almost to Lexington. The PI he’d hired was waiting for them and they were less than forty-five minutes out.

“You owe me a tee time at Audubon,” Stanley groused. “And for fuck’s sake, sit down! I’m more likely to get motion sick watching you pace than from the turbulence!”

“Fine,” Vincent snapped and took his seat. He was still tense, leaning forward, ready to spring. Being confined when his whole world was falling apart made him crazy.

“Do you have the photo?” Stanley asked.

Vincent dug it from his pocket and handed it over. “It was dropped off early this morning, gift wrapped. Not mailed. It was in a frame but it busted when Ophelia threw it at me.”

“That’s a good sign,” Stanley said, nodding sagely.

“How the hell can that be a good sign?” Vincent demanded angrily.

“As long as she’s angry, she still cares… when she stops being mad, you’re fucked,” the attorney said simply. “Saddest thing I’ve ever seen in my life is a bloodless divorce.”

Could that be them? Could they ever get to that point of just not caring? He wouldn’t. It wasn’t possible. Ophelia wasn’t just his wife. She wasn’t simply the woman he loved or even the mother of his child. A part of his life for as long as he could remember, she was his past, present and future. She’d burrowed so deep into his soul he’d never be free of her.

He was angry. Madder than he’d ever been. But he was also afraid. It wasn’t an easy thing for him to admit that fear, even to himself, but he
needed
her, he needed what they had together. “I can’t lose her, Stanley.”

Stanley sighed and settled back into his seat “I was going to wait and do this with the PI, but if I don’t get your mind on something else, we’re going to have to talk about feelings and I just can’t handle any more of that. What do you remember? Let’s start there.”

Vincent closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d replayed that night in his head a half dozen times every day since and the gaps had never filled in. “I left the job site. I’d been meeting with contractors, fighting with them over how fucking far behind they were… I left, went back to my hotel and went to the bar. I needed a drink.”

“Did you order it or did someone order it for you?”

Vincent rose again, recalled Stanley’s earlier request and immediately plopped back down in his seat. He placed his hands on his knees and rolled his eyes. “I ordered it from the bartender.”

“What did the bartender look like?” Stanley asked.

“How the hell do I know?” Vincent shot back. He didn’t make a habit of paying attention.

“Could the woman in the photo have been the bartender?”

“No. The bartender was male,” Vincent answered. He paused then. It was a detail he hadn’t recalled before.

“Was the bar crowded? Did you have to wait for your drink?”

Vincent shook his head. Details. Little things were filling in. “No. Only a handful of people were there and the bartender served me as soon as I sat down… He didn’t even ask what I wanted because I’d ordered the same thing almost every evening.”