Back to the Beginning: A Duet (17 page)

“You were supposed to work last night!” Anderson protested. “I’m supposed to believe she’s got a better work ethic than you?

“Where does she work?” Vincent asked. He wanted to be away from Danny Barnes, the kid was pathetic.

“Lola’s. It’s a strip club on Winchester Road,” he moaned sadly.

Anderson shook his head. “You can say goodbye to your hot girlfriend, asshole. As fast as you sold her out, she’ll never let you look at it again, much less hit it.”

“You warn her, you call her and tell her we’re coming,” Stanley threatened, “And I’ll have you in jail before daylight… Strung out and pill sick. You understand?”

Barnes nodded. “I won’t call her. I swear.”

Anderson dug in the kid’s pocket and retrieved his cell phone. “I’ll be taking this with me. Just for safe keeping.”

‡
Chapter Seven

T
he plane landed
at just after ten and Ophelia disembarked. It wasn’t something she’d ever get used to, she thought. Private planes. Limousines. She’d been part of the DuChamps’ world for all of her life, certainly for as long as she could remember. Their wealth and prestige was something they wore with ease. But as someone who had once been employed by the family and now found herself married into it, she was still taken aback by the luxury of it all at times.

As she disembarked, she could see Vincent standing by the limo. He looked more tired than he had the night before, if that were even possible. She didn’t want to feel sorry for him. She needed, she thought, to harden her heart a little bit, just in case. But that was easier said than done.

She walked toward the car even as he stepped forward to take her bag. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine. But you look like hell,” she replied.

He didn’t say anything, not even a smile. Passing the bags off to the driver, he opened the limo door for her and ushered her inside. The dark leather seats and tinted windows gave the impression that they were in their own little world—private, intimate, safe.

After Vincent joined her, he pressed the button to raise the partition. They were as private as they were going to get at that moment. He then handed her a small slip of paper.

“What is this?” she demanded.

“A drug test. Apparently Ambien is the new roofie,” he said.

Ophelia frowned. “I don’t understand how this happened.”

“We don’t have all the details yet… But apparently Melina bribed the bartender at the hotel, and his girlfriend, to set me up. We’ve talked to the bartender and he sang like a bird, but painted himself as far more innocent that he probably is.”

The tension that she’d been battling all day ratcheted to a new level. Everything felt tight. Her face was hot, it was hard to breathe and she felt vaguely nauseous. “And I’m to assume that the girlfriend was the woman in the photo with you?”

Vincent scrubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t remember her. I don’t even remember seeing her… Apparently Ambien can cause severe amnesia, especially when mixed with alcohol. What I do remember was coming back to the hotel, going to the bar the same way I had every day and ordering a whiskey… After that, nothing. Not till the next morning.”

She believed him. Vincent hated to be out of control. He would never admit to being so helpless, not to anyone and not for any reason, unless he was truly desperate. “And the next morning?” she asked, hating the tremor in her voice.

“I woke up next to her… no clue of who she was or how she got there. But I was sick. Puking like a teenager who’d found the key to the liquor cabinet. By the time I came back from the bathroom, she was gone,” he finished.

The next question was harder and she was afraid of the answer. “Why wouldn’t you tell me this? Why did you lie to me?”

“Because I didn’t know what to tell you. I already had Stanley looking into everything… I foolishly thought I’d have more time to piece it all together before I had to tell you,” he admitted.

Ophelia’s hands trembled as she smoothed the papers he’d given her. It was a nervous habit. “Have there been other times when you’ve kept things from me that I ought to know?”

They both knew what she was asking. As politely as the question was phrased, it amounted to one thing.
Were there other women
. Vincent shook his head. “No. Ophelia, there’s no one else I want… and no matter how this looks, I’d never willingly hurt you.”

Ophelia was reading between the lines, listening for the things he wasn’t saying. “You still don’t know if you slept with her,” she surmised.

“I can’t say with absolute certainty that the answer is no. I want that to be the case,” he answered honestly. “I don’t think I did, but I don’t know. Hell, I’d be surprised if I was capable given the circumstances. What I can tell you is that other than her presence in my bed, there was nothing to indicate that it happened.”

“What does that mean exactly?” she demanded.

Vincent scrubbed his hands over his face again. “Sex is messy, Ophelia… we both know that. If anything had happened between us, there would have been signs—some indication that we’d done more than just lay there.”

“I want to hear that from her… Not because I think you’re lying. I don’t,” she said. “But because you honestly just don’t know, and I have to…
we
have to know.”

Vincent’s jaw clenched and when he spoke, his voice sounded tight. “And if I’m wrong? If something did happen?”

“I don’t know…” It was an honest answer and she sounded utterly broken by it. There was no getting out of it. They both needed to know, whatever it brought.

“She works at a gentleman’s club here in town. We’re supposed to meet Stanley and the PI there,” Vincent explained. “You can ask her but that won’t guarantee the truth.”

“A strip club?” she asked in horror. “She’s a stripper?”

Vincent threw his hands up. “Do you want me to go there without you?”

That put it into perspective. “No! I don’t want you to go there at all!”

“I have to know, Ophelia,” he said solemnly. “I can’t not know.”

She understood that on an intellectual level. But the thought of him coming face to face with this woman left her sick. “I’ve never been to a strip club before.”

“I haven’t been in years. It’s not really my thing,” he replied. “But if you ever want to strip for me, I’ll have the pole installed tomorrow.”

That earned him a baleful stare. “You think now is a good time to be funny? Really?”

“I didn’t think I was being funny. I was dead serious,” he answered. “Of course, given the circumstances, I concede the point.”

Ophelia settled back in the seat, forcing some of the tension from her shoulders through sheer iron will. She had some confessing of her own to do. “When I saw that picture this morning… my first thought was that you finally figured it out.”

He frowned at that. “Figured out what?”

“That I don’t belong with you. That there are women out there who are smarter, sexier, more sophisticated, certainly more beautiful.” She paused for a moment and took a deep breath. Her voice was firmer when she spoke again, less tremulous, but it still held a wealth of pain. “I don’t let myself voice those thoughts, but the fact is, I have them all the time. I think, since Isabella was born, I’ve just been sitting back and waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

*

Vincent cursed under
his breath. “I have
never
made you feel that way, Ophelia… I know we’ve spent more time apart than either of us wanted, but I’ve tried every day to show you how much you mean to me—how much I want you!” It infuriated him that she would sell herself so short.

“It isn’t about you, Vincent. This isn’t about the way you look at me. It’s about the way I look at myself. I’ve gained weight, my boobs aren’t quite as perky as they were when you married me… and all the sexy lingerie in the world won’t change that. And I’m not about to have a boob job while chasing after a toddler.”

He scrubbed his hands over his face, an age old gesture of frustration. “I don’t care how much weight you’ve gained. And you’re not getting a boob job, period—because you don’t need one… I happen to be pretty damn pleased with them just the way they are.”

“You are?”

“The only way I could be happier with them was if I had my hands on them right now… and my mouth.” The confession was uttered in a harsh tone, one that left no question as to his sincerity and his desire for her. “I thank God every day for Thomas and his meddling. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have you. And you’re the best damn thing that ever happened to me, Ophelia.”

He saw the tears. They glistened on her cheeks in the dim light stealing through the car windows. Vincent reached for her and pulled her close. “I just need you to promise me that you won’t leave. I can’t make it without you, Ophelia. You’re it for me. And not to encourage you in this direction or anything, but it’s not like you couldn’t do better than me.”

She laughed at that. “I’m not dating your younger brother. He’s married, remember?”

“That isn’t what I meant… I’m a workaholic. I’m a control freak. I come with enough baggage to fill an airport. And then there’s my sister—.”

She laughed again. “Are you trying to make me divorce you? Leave Kaitlyn out of this, seriously. We’ve reached an accord with one another… mostly.”

“That’s good because we’re staying at Ash Grove,” he said. “In the guest house. It’s apparently supposed to be very romantic.”

“Kaitlyn scheming to fix all of our broken pieces?” Ophelia asked.

“I sort of requested it,” Vincent admitted. “It’s a small space where we can’t avoid each other. We can’t run from this thing between us. We’ve been fading on one another for a while. With Isabella, with work… I know it can’t be like it was, our life is different now. But we should at least try and work together for our marriage.”

Ophelia started to speak, but the car had rolled to a stop. Her expression shifted when she looked out the window at the flashing neon sign, her jaw firming and her gaze growing shuttered.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“No,” she admitted softly. “But let’s do this before I chicken out.”

‡
Chapter Eight