Charlotte (Marked Heart #2)

The true measure of a person's worth lies not within what they can offer you but what you have to offer them. No matter how desirable, are they worth your time, patience, forgiveness, loyalty, friendship, love, respect, understanding, compassion, trust? If not, they are worth more than you have to offer. They deserve for you to let them go.

Home

An uneasy feeling filled
Charlotte as Trace drove through her small southern hometown. The trip from the airport felt like they were moving in slow motion. Nothing seemed to have changed. Hoping only the appearance of the town was the same, the last thing she wanted was to spend the next three months feeling like she did before she left for Spain.

Five and a half years ago, Charlotte's adoptive parents, Emerson and Amila Roberts, agreed to let her move to Spain with Emerson's mother. A clean slate to start over, far away, where no one knew her. Erin Roberts opened her home and many opportunities to Charlotte. Her life became better than anything she could have imagined. The decision to go back, although only temporarily, came at an unexpectedly convenient time. With Trace, who Erin liked to refer to as Charlotte's suitor, just days away from months of investment meetings with his father, the timing was perfect.

The decision was made that Trace accompany Charlotte on her trip home. He would then be introduced to her adoptive father before flying out to meet his father in Europe. It was a show of respect as Erin had explained. Trace never mentioned proposing to Charlotte
. However, Erin swore she knew he would. When Trace's meetings were over, he would fly back to the small southern town that she was staying in, ask Emerson for permission and then propose.

Formalities aside, Charlotte was going back for a different reason. It wasn't that she didn't believe what Erin shared with her and she intended to say yes. There was something
Charlotte left without five years ago that she needed in order for her life to be complete. It was promised to her the moment she returned.

Two days
ago, Charlotte received a phone call that let her know, the one thing keeping her from truly enjoying the life she now led, would be gone forever if she wasn't there to receive it within a week. Forgiveness.

"Your father will love me," Trace assured.

Pulling her eyes from the scenery, Charlotte laughed, "Of course he will, everyone does."

His messy brown curls
bounced around his head as he nodded.

"Isn't that what you're worried about?"

Shrugging a shoulder, Charlotte focused on the large two story house in front of them, saying, "I don't worry."

"You have been acting strange since we arrived."

As they pulled up to the front of the house, she shared, "I'm not ready to go in yet."

Leaning over and flashing an 'I'm too perfect' toothy grin, he suggested, "The sooner we go in and do a meet and greet the sooner you and I can go out and then to my hotel."

"There's no going out here and it's an inn, not a hotel," she assured recalling how absolutely boring this town was.

His brown eyes reflected a hint of indecency as he responded, "I will be more than happy to drive us straight to the inn then."

Tilting
her head to the side, Charlotte closed her eyes for a moment as Trace ran his lips across her jaw line.

Easily s
liding out of the driver's seat, Trace walked over to the passenger side opening the door for her. Looking him over as she stepped out, his slacks still held a perfect crease down the center even after their twelve hour flight. He always dressed as if they were going out. Trace was incredibly fashion forward. Suit jacket, dress shirt, no tie and dress shoes, his theory was if you are always dressed for any occasion then you never have to decline an invitation. He was all about appearances.

As they made their way up to the front door, she
stopped as Trace gave the bottom of her skirt a slight tug.

Glancing down at his hand, Charlotte griped, "There is nothing wrong with my skirt."

"The line is off," he stated, continuing to tug at the hem.

Brushing his hand away, she assured, "Amila isn't going to care."

"Isn't she Society?"

Nodding, she fussed, "I said she won't care and neither do I. Now let go and walk to the door."

Trace scowled at her in disappointment as he complained, "If you do not care about your appearance, how can I trust that you will be suitable for more."

"The same way I trust more includes our being exclusive, I imagine."

Giving her skirt a final tug, he questioned, "Why are you being this way?"

Silently counting back from ten in
her head, she wasn't entirely sure.

"Perhaps it is not necessary for me to be here," he stated.

Wanting to blurt 'bye' to him but knowing he was her future, she fluttered her eyelashes, "Is that really what you want to do?"

Placing his hand on the small of her back, he replied, "That depends, will you be acting like this the entire time I am here or will you be the girl I know in Spain."

Moving her
shoulder's back, she faced forward and headed to the door.

Trace was all about formalities and courtesy, on
Charlotte's end that is. He could be sweet and charming when he wasn't preening her like she was a misfit of some sort. Normally she had no problem with the guidelines he held her to. They actually helped her learn to control herself. But now that Charlotte was back where she came from, she was having trouble. Wondering if maybe it was in the air here, after tonight, Trace would come to dinner with her family and then be away for three months. The least she could do was hold it together long enough for him before he left.

The moment Trace
rang the doorbell, the front door flew open and Amila threw her arms around Charlotte.

"I can't believe you're finally home," she cheered squeezing her tight.

While hugging each other, Charlotte replied, "It's good to be here," appreciating how much Amila cared about her even from the beginning.

Placing her hands on the sides of Charlotte's face, Amila said, "You look so grown up."

"Where is everybody?"

Releasing her hands from Charlotte's face, she reminded, "The Rec Center, its Wednesday."

Shifting her focus, Amila stated, "And this must be Trace."

"Yes, it is a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Roberts," Trace replied.

Giving him a sweet smile, Amila offered, "Come in, come in."

Trace gave a polite smile before declining, "We have a previous engagement. I apologize for our haste and look forward to dinner tomorrow evening."

Her smile faded as she asked, "You're not staying?"

"I'll be back in a few hours," Charlotte assured before giving her a tight squeeze."

Amila's pleasant
demeanor was noticeably forced as she told them to be careful and that she would see Charlotte later."

Stopping at a local diner, they stood in the parking lot. Charlotte cringed as she glanced across the street at The Dog House, a local bar owned by Jackson Thomas. It wasn't the thought of Jackson that upset her or his wife Ren. She cared a great deal for Ren. It was the knowledge that Augustus Caffrey was tending bar there. He hated her and the feeling was completely mutual.

Trace appeared hesitant about going into the
restaurant.

"What do they serve?" he questioned.

"Burgers and fries are the best here but they have steak-finger baskets too."

Taking a look around with a disgusted expression, Trace offered, "Let's go there."

"That's a bar, not a restaurant," she spit out hoping he didn't notice the apprehension in her voice.

Without paying her any atten
tion, Trace took her arm and led her in the direction of The Dog House.

"Wait, I can't."

Continuing to pull her in the direction of the bar, he said, "No need to be uppity, think of it as trying something new."

"I'm not, I can't go in there."

The doors to The Dog House were
propped open, allowing passer's by to hear the band playing inside.

Trace insistently tugged at her, saying, "There is live music."

Struggling to break away from his hold, without making a scene, Charlotte looked up and noticed they were already across the street and right outside the open doors.
With one final effort, she jerked away from him.

It was a slow night at The Dog House, Wednesdays were always that way. The band was there but only to rehearse for the weekend crowd. With around fifteen patrons in the bar, most of which were regulars, Auggie stepped from behind the bar. Raising his hand in the air to catch his brother Braden's attention, the second the music stopped something outside the doors caught Auggie's attention. Stepping to the side, he saw a pair of long legs attached to a woman with blonde hair being manhandled by some overdressed jerk.

Hot footing it to the doors, he shouted, "Hey!"

The second Mr. Fancy let go of her, she turned around. Instantly
, filled with anger, Auggie glared at her. Visibly stunned at the sight of him, her blue eyes were wide before she narrowed them at him in an equally hateful glare.

Auggie was about to tell her where she could go when Braden stepped up to them with a surprised, "Charlotte!"

Assuming the misunderstanding could be quickly resolved, Trace held his hand out saying, "This is not what it looks like. I was trying to convince her to come into your establishment. Trace Delgado, and you are?"

Auggie pulled his eyes away from Charlotte long enough to glance down at Trace's hand and state, "Augustus Caffrey," while refusing to shake it.

"Braden," his brother introduced himself, shaking Trace's out stretched hand.

With no interest in pleasantries where she was concerned, Auggie griped, "What are you doing here?"

"Anything I damn well please," Charlotte snapped back at him as she refused to let him rattle her.

"She's a bit jetlagged and doesn't realize how rude..." Trace tried apologizing for her when Auggie took a step toward him.

"Was I talkin' to you?"

Knowing how this was going to play out, Braden tried to diffuse the situation by offering, "Trace, how about you and I step inside and grab a beer. On the house."

Confused by what was going on, Trace questioned, "I do not understand the problem here."

More than happy to answer his question, Auggie stepped closer
.

Gritting his teeth as he got directly in Trace's face, Auggie growled, "For starter's you brought that..."

Before things go
t too far out of hand, Jackson quickly made his way behind Auggie and pulled him back by his shirt.

They all turned in the direction of a woman's voice, warning, "Knock it off."

Slowly walking up to them was Ren Thomas
, shaking her head with a smirk across her face.

Auggie instantly barked, "She's not stepping foot inside."

Ren glanced at Charlotte before fussing, "That's enough. It doesn't look like she wants to spend any extra time with you either."

Jerking away from Jackson, Auggie gave Ren a dirty look before heading into the bar.

"Make sure he doesn't pick a fight in there," Jackson cautioned Braden.

Nodding, he shared, "Sophia and Ailin are inside."

Ren gave a smile, saying, "We'll be in in a minute."

As Braden headed back into the bar, Ren turned to Charlotte and raised an eyebrow at her.

"Of all the places in town, you decided to come here?" Ren fussed before saying, "So do I get a hug or what?"

Charlotte laughed and hugged Ren before turning to introduce her, "Trace, this is Ren."

His expre
ssion bordered on wonder as he stared at her. Barely five foot tall with long brown hair and light gray eyes, she was beautiful. He couldn't quite understand how a rough bartender like Augustus would instantly obey her. Just moments before she showed up, his face was redder than his beard and he was ready to fight. Quickly realizing he was standing there gawking at her, Trace composed himself and spoke.

"It is an honor. I have heard so much about you."

"It's nice to meet you too," Ren said before hooking her arm into Jackson's introducing, "This is my husband Jackson."

Reaching out, Jackson shook his hand
as he gave Trace a courteous nod.

"I interned for your ex-husband last year," Trace shared.

Unimpressed, Ren asked, "Is that how you two met?"

Without answering Ren's question, Charlotte blurted, "Gah, Ren what were you thinking. He's such an ass."

Before Ren had a chance to respond, Trace turned to Charlotte scolding, "That is incredibly disrespectful. Mr. Herterand is one of the foremost successful businessmen in the world. Not to mention being a major investor in my father's company."

"You know what," Ren started as Jackson quickly wrapped an arm around her waist to prevent her from taking a step forward as she continued, "It's even more disrespectful to talk down to someone especially when you don't know the people you're doing it in front of or the character of the person you're defending."

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