'Tis the Season (31 page)

“That's right,” Vanessa said. “You are. And you've never indulged in self-pity, so don't start now. But you
do
hold a grudge. No one knows that better than me.”

He snorted and took another bite of stew.

“Charles. I know you're probably hurt and angry because Lisette left. But don't hold a grudge with her. She's too important to you. Swallow your pride, hunt her down, and beg her to come back here for Christmas. If you don't, you're a fool.”

He gaped at her. He couldn't have been any more shocked by her advice.

“My kids love her,” Vanessa said simply. “They want her; they need her. And so do you. You finally found the right woman for you, Charles. It wasn't me. It was never me. But you were so disappointed, so angry for so long, you couldn't just accept that.”

“You made it easy to stay angry,” he pointed out.

“You're right; I did. I'm no saint, that's for damn sure.” She grinned ruefully. “But if you're happy, my kids will be happy. Then I have a clear conscience to go off and do my thing.” She reached for his hand and grabbed it. “Lisette makes you happy. She makes all of you happy. And she loves you. Go find her and drag her back here.”

“If she wanted to be here,” he murmured, “she would be.”

“I saw her before she left.”

“I heard you argued.”

“We did. Know why?” Vanessa snorted. “Because your sweet little nanny turned into a spitfire. When I got here, she came right at me, furious that I'd let the kids overhear the nasty things I was saying about you. So I got defensive . . . because she was right. She was absolutely right; I shouldn't have let the kids hear any of that. That's shitty parenting, and I felt shitty about it.”

Charles could only stare.

“So since I felt stupid, put in my place, and I saw she was on the edge, upset . . . I turned it around, and I flung it in her face. I'm not very nice, remember?”

He sneered and shook his head.

“I told her to suck it up and do her job. That she was supposed to be the nanny first, and she could fall apart later. But something was really wrong, I could see it in her face.” Vanessa played with a lock of her hair. “She was . . . weary. Like she couldn't take anymore, and she's pretty tough for all her quiet and gentle stuff. She had tears in her eyes. And suddenly . . . I felt bad. I did. So, I took it down a bit and told her to take a break. That I'd watch my own kids, and maybe she should take a short breather, go away for a few days to get her head together.”

Charles's head reeled as he put the pieces together. So two people, in a very short time, had told an already emotional Lisette that she should leave. Jesus . . . he leaned in and speared Vanessa with a fierce look. “You told her to leave? On whose authority? This is
my
house!”

“I didn't tell her to quit!” Vanessa cried. “I told her to take a
breather
since I was here to watch the kids. When I saw her leaving, I figured she had taken my advice. I had no idea she'd left for parts unknown until I overheard you talking with Eileen.”

He muttered a low curse. “You were right. She was already on the edge. Your argument likely pushed her over. But it's not all your fault. It's . . . mostly mine.” He took a deep breath and took another bite of stew. What a disaster. A perfect storm. “I need to finish this food,” he said. “Then I need a shower. Then some sleep. And in the morning, I'll be able to deal with all this a lot better. Right now, I must be really out of it. Because everything you've said has made sense. Like you actually give a shit, like you're trying to help.”

“Surprise,” Vanessa said softly. She grabbed the water bottle again. “Charles . . . just find her and talk to her.”

“I don't even know where she is.”

“Oh, please. You're Charles Harrison III,” she reminded him. “You have ways.”

“True.” He nodded, finished chewing, and said, “Thank you, Vanessa. You've been . . . really decent. Almost helpful.”

“You know me,” she said with a wink. “Always full of surprises.”

* * *

After his meal, Charles took a long shower and fell into bed, asking not to be disturbed unless the hospital called with urgent news. He slept like the dead for six hours. When he woke, his room had darkened, and the clock showed it was after 10
P.M.
With a groan, he got out of bed. Events had so thoroughly scrambled his brain and his schedule, he didn't know whether he was coming or going. Scrubbing his hands over his face hard to wake himself up, he immediately thought of Lisette. His heart felt heavy as he pulled on a fresh pair of pajamas.

Lisette had told the kids she'd be spending Christmas with her family. But she didn't have any family. Where would she have gone? Would she get as far away as she could? Paris? No, she wouldn't fly out of the country and away from doctors just yet. Doctors . . . Maybe she'd stay hidden in plain sight. Be right there in Manhattan, so she could still see her doctors, take care of the baby. It was possible. She wouldn't go to her father; in her mind, he was pretty much already dead and gone. Goddammit . . .

Karen.
She'd go to Karen, her best friend, her only true touchstone left in the world. As far as Lisette was concerned, Karen was family. God, it was so obvious, why hadn't he thought of it sooner?

He didn't know her last name, but he knew she lived upstate, near Rochester, and that she and Lisette had gone to college together. It was a start.

He grabbed his cell and scrolled through his contacts, finding one listed only as “Rexford.” Charles made the call to the private investigator he trusted the most. “Hi, it's Charles Harrison. How've you been? Oh, good. Yeah. What can you do for me? Find someone. As fast as you can.”

Chapter Thirty-One

The snow fell lightly onto the ground, the porch, the driveway, and the naked trees along the quiet street. Lisette used to love watching snow fall, those beautiful magic crystals that blanketed everything in purest white. When she and her parents had moved to warmer states, she had missed the snow in the winter. But as an adult, snow made her think of that one long winter, recuperating at Karen's parents' house after her accident. After her miscarriage. After her fiancé dumped her. After her life fell apart.

She'd come so far since then. She'd rebuilt her life, into something completely different than she'd once envisioned, but something decent. And it made her happy. For someone who'd felt anchorless, without roots, for her entire life, being so enmeshed with someone else's family gave her something of an anchor. She took care of herself, and she got to take care of children who needed her nurturing and affection. The first family she worked for moved to Hong Kong, and she had found a new job: working for Charles Harrison III, international power player, magnate, and single father who had three children he rarely saw because he worked so much.

Accepting that job had changed her life. She'd fallen in love with his family, and with him. And now, she was carrying his child. And he wanted her, and the baby, and everything they could be and have together.

And what had she done now? Freaked out. So when Vanessa had suggested she take a break, Lisette had decided to leave altogether. Charles would never be free of his obligations, both to his family and his career . . . If his father was involved, there would always be angst, a simmering poison. The people who would talk about them, like those vipers at the Waldorf had, would always have something to say, and the thought of it was exhausting. Plus, Vanessa was back and wanted to be a mother to her kids again—and she didn't want Lisette around; that was clear.

Lisette just didn't have the energy to fight all of it at once. She was already so tired . . . She'd convinced herself she was doing the right thing by retreating, protecting not only Charles and the baby, but herself.

What a load of bullshit
, her conscience whispered.
You're running scared. That's all there is to it. Wouldn't your father be proud?

She squeezed her eyes shut as she drew some deep breaths. When she was done berating herself, she went to the kitchen to make some decaffeinated tea.

Karen and her family lived in a big old house in a rural neighborhood about twenty miles from Rochester, New York. Her husband, Jeff, was some kind of computer-programming whiz and worked in downtown Rochester. Karen was a pediatrician's assistant; she'd found a great job in this sleepy town, which was why they'd moved there, leaving the city for suburban life. Lisette moved about the kitchen in content silence. Jeff and Karen were at work, and their precious four-year-old daughter was at preschool. Hallie was a joy, a sweet little wisp of a thing whose size belied her ebullient personality. Lisette loved her goddaughter very much, and it'd been too long since she'd come to visit.

When Lisette had showed up on Karen's doorstep two days ago, with her suitcases and obviously distraught, Karen had simply opened her arms. Lisette had crumpled into her hug, grateful for the bond they shared, as she cried her eyes out.

Karen and her family had been in the middle of dinner. Karen had set a place for Lisette. Jeff made sure she was warm and comfortable, and little Hallie chattered excitedly through the whole meal, bombarding her with questions and cuteness. “This is the best surprise ever! Are you staying for Christmas? Did you get the Christmas card I made for you? Can we play Candy Land after dinner?”

Lisette and Karen had sat in the living room that night and talked for hours. After Karen was fully caught up on everything that had happened from the beginning, her pale blue eyes set on the woman she thought of as a sister, and she pronounced, “Lisette, my darling, my dearest friend in the world . . . you're an idiot.”

“Well, thanks,” Lisette had mumbled. “I needed to come all this way for you to tell me that?”

“Apparently so,” Karen had said. “That man loves you. He's shown you that in so many ways. But you are so afraid he'll leave you one day that you took off instead. You're not protecting him; you're protecting yourself.”

Lisette had fidgeted with the edge of the multicolored quilt on her lap. “You really think that's what I'm doing?”

“Yup. And deep down, you know I'm right.” Karen had shifted on the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her. “I know there's a ton of crap going on around you guys, so you feel as if you're on shaky ground. Okay, he wasn't great at listening sometimes. But you're the one who was afraid to believe; you're the one who hightailed it out of there.”

The shrill whistle from the teakettle startled Lisette from her reverie.

You hightailed it out of there
. Oh, God, that was exactly what she'd done. The hormones were partly to blame, and they were certainly doing a number on her. But mostly it was fear, pure and simple. She'd gotten scared and overwhelmed. Scared to entrust her heart to Charles in the first place, then the shock of finding out she was pregnant, then by Vanessa's showing up, then the big gala with too many people all looking at her and wondering about her—and those bitches in the ladies' room, and then Charles II raging at her . . . Lisette had bent from the pressure. She wasn't proud of herself for that.

But there was more. From the start, deep down she had been afraid she wasn't enough for Charles.
That
was at the heart of it. He'd told her over and over that he didn't care about their differences, that he loved her for her; he'd shown it in numerous ways . . . and she hadn't fully believed in him. That was on her.

She'd loved Brandon and had been so very wrong about him. Now she was afraid of getting hurt again. But Karen was right. Running away had been unfair. Lisette wasn't asking the big questions, because she was afraid of the answers.

The worn old grandfather clock in the hallway struck two. Karen would pick up Hallie from preschool at three, and they'd be home for the rest of the day. Lisette had baked brownies earlier; she took one now, along with her cup of tea, and went to lie on the sofa in the living room and let herself drown in her thoughts.

The Christmas tree was in there, and Lisette loved the way the smell of pine filled the room. The tree was covered in sparkly tinsel and delicate ornaments, and the strings of white lights around it blinked randomly. She took her phone out of her pocket and made herself comfortable under the quilt. Scrolling through, she looked at all of Charles's texts again. They varied between pleasant, then angry, then sad, then pleading. The last one pierced her heart. He'd sent it early that morning: I won't let you go without a fight. I love you too much.

God, she missed him. The heartache filled her with longing and regret. Tears sprang to her eyes. She loved her job, those kids, that house, that man. Dammit, she didn't want a life without Charles in it, by her side, especially once the baby came. What had she done?

Tomorrow. She'd call him tomorrow. She had no idea what to say, but . . .

With a heavy yawn, she found the holiday music station on Pandora. She set the phone down beside her as she nibbled the brownie, sipped her tea, and watched the snow fall. U2's version of “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” played, and Lisette teared up, her eyes stinging as she listened to the lyrics. She'd so been looking forward to her first Christmas with Charles, and now . . . Sniffling, she hit the
FORWARD
button to hear a different song. Bing Crosby crooning “White Christmas”. She let that play as she watched the snow and thought of Charles . . .

The doorbell rang, jolting Lisette awake. Disoriented, she looked around and realized she must have dozed off. She glanced at the phone, which was now playing the Hall & Oates version of “Jingle Bell Rock”, and saw it was 2:40. The doorbell rang again.

“Coming,” she called out, throwing the quilt back and rising from the couch. She glanced down at herself: purple plaid flannel pajama pants, an old white sweater over a purple long-sleeved T-shirt, and her sheep slippers. Her hair was mussed now in its ponytail thanks to her impromptu nap. She must've looked ragged, but whoever it was wouldn't care; he or she wasn't there to see her. “Coming,” she called again, trying to fix her hair as she went to the door and opened it.

Charles stood before her, in a long black wool overcoat and jeans, snow falling lightly on his dark hair and shoulders.

Her heart stuttered in her chest, and her breath caught. A wave of shock washed over her as she gaped at him.

“Hi,” he said softly, and with that one velvety word, everything in her screamed for him. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and never let go.

“Hi,” she managed. “How did you find me?”

“Once I narrowed down the possibilities, it wasn't too hard. It's also good to have a first-class private investigator on speed dial.” He wouldn't stop staring at her, the relief and adoration coming off him in palpable waves. “May I come in?”

“Oh! Good Lord, of course!” She moved aside to let him into the house, only then noticing the black town car parked in front of the house. Charles brushed snowflakes from his coat and looked around briefly, assessing his surroundings. His presence seemed to fill the room. She closed the front door behind him and watched him as her heart pounded and she tried to remember how to breathe.

“Anyone else home?” he asked.

“No, not yet. Soon, though. By three-thirty for sure.” She cleared her suddenly dry throat. “Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you.”

“Brownies? I baked them this morning.”

“No, thanks.” He didn't even unbutton his coat, just kept gazing at her from across the room. The Christmas tree stood behind him, and the white lights around him made him seem otherworldly.

“Um . . .” She fidgeted with her ponytail. “Your father. Is he . . . ?”

“He's recovering,” Charles said. “He had surgery, and he's expected to make a full recovery.”

“Good. That's good.” She swallowed hard, trying to grab a coherent thought from her shocked brain. His eyes didn't leave hers. “I don't know what to say,” she admitted, his quiet stance making her feel as if she had to talk.

“That's okay,” he said. “For now, I'm so happy to see you, I'll just stare.”

Melting inside, she couldn't help but grin. “Well, I didn't know I'd have company. I'm a bit of a mess.”

“A beautiful mess,” he said, open reverence in his voice and his gaze.

That made her knees wobble. She cleared her throat. “Do you want to sit down?”

“What I want is to pull you into my arms and not let go.” His voice was thick with emotion as he jammed his hands into his coat pockets. “What I want is to kiss you until you can't remember your name. But most of all, what I want is for you to tell me why you left. Not the bullshit excuses in that letter. The truth.”

Her heart plummeted to her stomach. “I did tell you the truth.”

“No. No, you didn't.” His eyes narrowed, and he took a step toward her. “Because we talked about things. A lot. About how we were both willing to do whatever it took to be together.” He took another step closer. “How we love each other, how incredible our connection is, how much we can do and have together.” Another step. “And suddenly, you were gone.” Another step, and his brows arched. “Wait, I take it back, not everything in that letter was bullshit. You made some valid points.”

“Such as?”

“I do brush aside your concerns sometimes, and I want to apologize for that. But it was meant to soothe you, you know? To reassure you that we'd be fine, that I'd be there for you no matter what. I'm sorry I made you feel dismissed when I did that. But now I'm aware of it. So come back and let me show you I can be a better listener, okay?”

She released a shaky breath, every nerve in her body lit with awareness of him, his presence, his strength. “You want me to come back? Even after I took off?”

“Hell yes, I want you back. This is nothing we can't get past, Lisette.” He stopped in front of her. “But you have to trust me.”

“I do!” she said.

“Then why'd you run?” he asked, his blue eyes pinning her, searching. “Dammit, tell me what you're afraid of.”

“A lot of things,” she whispered. She drew a deep breath . . . and took the leap of faith she knew she must. “But most of all, I'm afraid of how I feel about you. Because I love you so much, it's overwhelming,” she finally said. “I want this with you so much it scares me. I don't want to lose it. But I'm so sick of swallowing my feelings. My desires. My dreams.” Tears slipped out and rolled down her cheeks, but she met his gaze. “I want to believe you when you say you don't care what people say, but those women were vicious, Charles. Them, and your father, and Vanessa . . . and it threw me. I got scared again. I swallowed my feelings again. I mean . . . I've done that for so long, I don't know how else to be.”

“Then just stop,” he said gently. “If I did it, so can you.” He reached out to touch her face. “The past is the past. Stop punishing yourself already.”

“I thought I'd done that.” Her voice cracked on a sob. “And instead it's made me feel like I'm in a freefall.”

“I'll catch you,” he murmured. His eyes held hers as he wiped her cheeks with his thumbs, then cradled her face. “I'll catch you, sweetheart. I promise.”

Her lungs felt tight, and her heart pounded mercilessly. “I'm scared to death.” She drew a shaky breath, looked down, and gently tugged at the loose thread at the bottom of her sweater. “But I've been so scared of getting hurt again that I haven't been living. I've been hiding. You . . . dragged me out into the light.”