Back to the Beginning: A Duet Page 9

  “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

  Vincent 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.”

  Stanley nodded then. “Call the hotel. Get the manager on the phone. We need to talk to that bartender.”

  Vincent pulled his cell phone from his pocket and made the call. Once he hu
ng up, he looked back at Stanley and realized just how lucky the entire DuChamps family was to have him on their side. “Thank you, Stanley… It seems like this family is never out of crisis.”

  Stanley grinned. “That’s good for me. It allows me to be very selective about taking on other clients… Think we can make it to the track while we’re here? I’ve heard good things about Keeneland.”

  “I doubt it… but maybe if we make it out to Ash Grove, Grant can introduce you to Genghis,” Vincent replied, referencing his brother-in-law’s derby winning racehorse.

  The plane began its descent and within minutes they were on the ground at Bluegrass Field. There was no luggage to be claimed, so they headed straight to the waiting limo.

  Traffic was light as they made their way toward the hotel downtown. The PI was meeting them there. Entering the lobby, Vincent took note of the nervously pacing man in a suit. The manager was painfully young and looked like he was on the verge of tossing his cookies.

  An older man, rumpled and clearly disenchanted with the world, rose from one of the seating areas that dotted the lobby. He approached Stanley first and Vincent could only assume he was the PI.

  “Mr. DuChamps,” the manager said far too brightly. “We’re so happy to have you back with us.”

  “We need to speak privately in your office,” Stanley said. “And we need your head of security present.”

  The manager didn’t say anything for the longest moment. He simply looked from one to the other like a deer caught in the headlights. Finally, in a serious tone, he replied, “He’s left for the day, but given this appears to be a serious situation, I’ll call him. He’ll be happy to return.”

  It was the best news he’d heard all day Vincent thought and followed the younger man to his office.

  *

  Ophelia stood at the window in one of the guest bedrooms at Greenleigh. Rosalee’s family home had been converted into an inn which she and Justin ran together. She’d flown back from New Orleans with them, unsure of where else she could go.

  The house was beautiful but she was oblivious to its charm. Even the faint glimmer of the ocean beyond the trees couldn’t failed to lift her spirits.

  “Can I come in?”

  Ophelia looked back to see Rosalee standing in the door. Isabella was sleeping. Addie was playing outside in the fading light with Justin. It was just the two of them. She didn’t want girl talk. She didn’t want some heart to heart chat. But there was no graceful way to avoid it.

  “Of course.”

  Rosalee entered, tossed her dark hair over her shoulder and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Justin says Vincent didn’t do it. That he wouldn’t have. But Vincent is his brother and Justin puts him on a pedestal. What do you think?”

  “I think I spent the morning staring at a picture of my husband naked in bed with another woman,” Ophelia replied evenly. It was a visual she couldn’t shake. Every time she closed her eyes, it was right there, tormenting her. He’d said it wasn’t what it looked like, but they all said that. Even if that was true, he’d lied to her. Thinking of the tension he’d displayed the night before, of her stalwart belief that something was very wrong and his denial of it, it was still a betrayal. If he were innocent, if somehow the whole thing was staged, why hadn’t he trusted her enough to be honest?

  “I can’t imagine how you feel,” Rosalee said. “If that happened… if I ever thought Justin—well, I’d be in prison. I’d kill him. If I didn’t, my grandmother would.”

  Ophelia smiled at that. “I may unleash her on Vincent yet. Maeve and her shotgun strike terror in the hearts of all men.”

  “With good reason… she’s got excellent aim,” Rosalee replied with a grin. Growing serious, she continued, “I don’t know what to say or do right now to make any of this better. Just know that you and Isabelle can stay here as long as you want.”

  Ophelia nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate that… Do you mind listening for Isabella? I think I’m going to take a walk down to the beach and clear my head.”

  “Sure thing… be careful. Storms roll in quick.”

  Ophelia laughed at that. “I’m from New Orleans, Rosalee. I know all about that.”

  “You may think so… but these Atlantic squalls are different.”

  Realizing that she wouldn’t get away from her sister-in-law without agreeing, Ophelia nodded. She needed space. She needed to be someplace where she could cry without anyone else seeing her.

  Leaving the house behind, along with the overwhelming concern, Ophelia followed the path down to the beach. Once there, she removed her shoes and rolled up her jeans to wade in the surf. It did little to soothe her soul, but it did help to ease some of the tension in her body.

  “Please tell me you’re not contemplating the same watery fate as your namesake.”

  Ophelia sighed. It seemed there was no place in the entirety of St. Brennan’s Island that she could be alone. Maeve, Rosalee’s salty tongued grandmother, was strolling along the beach in a flowing skirt, her unnaturally dark hair piled high in a chignon that looked to be from another era. Maeve enjoyed being an eccentric, she enjoyed the whispers. She had to be seventy at least, but she was still tall and statuesque and dressed to accentuate her curvy figure.

  “Hardly,” Ophelia replied. “I’d never be so insensible.”

  Maeve nodded sagely before settling herself on a piece of driftwood, posing as if for an artist. The woman never did anything that wasn’t a statement. “Is that why you ran away from your husband… because it was sensible?”

  Ophelia’s eyebrows shot up. “I take it you disapprove of my decision?”

  Maeve shrugged elegantly. “Not necessarily. Are you trying to teach him a lesson or are you simply avoiding the way you feel about it all?”

  Both, Ophelia thought. “What would you suggest I do, Maeve?”

  The older woman laughed, a throaty and sensual sound. “Fight for that man, child. You love him… and whatever happened, it’s clear that he loves you.”

  “Does he? He married me because of Thomas’ will… and maybe he only stayed with me because of Isabella. What if it’s this other woman that he really wants?” Giving voice to that fear left her trembling. He’d said he didn’t even remember her. Vincent often withheld things, but usually because he was trying to protect everyone. For him to tell an actual lie was unheard of.

  Maeve smiled slyly. “Then you remind him of all the other reasons to be with you… but you can’t do that from here.”

  “I don’t know, Maeve… I just don’t know.”

  “You’re hiding, Ophelia, behind your anger and fear. You didn’t run away because you think he wanted another woman. You ran away because you’re afraid he doesn’t want you.”

  The truth stung. Like a dozen needles poking her at once, it left her feeling raw and edgy. “I’m not the kind of woman people expect a man like Vincent to be with… and since I had Isabella, it’s gotten worse. I still haven’t lost the baby weight. I probably never will. And physically, he’s perfect! I see the way people stare at us when we go out, Maeve, and I know what they’re thinking!”

  “Does he see it?” she demanded.

  “Does he see what?”

  Maeve shook her head sadly, as if Ophelia were somehow dense. “Does Vincent see how these other people are looking at the two of you?”

  Ophelia rolled her eyes. “Of course not. He’s so supremely confident that even if he did bother to see or acknowledge it, he simply wouldn’t care.”

  “Then maybe you should take a page from his book… it doesn’t matter how those people see the two of you. It only matters how you see yourselves and each other. Regardless of whether or not he was with someone else, Ophelia, you’re the one who is letting other people into your marriage!”

  Ophelia sank to her knees in the surf, heedless of her clothes. Tears burned her eyes. It was true. She’d been obsessing about that for months, since Isabella was born honestly. “I don’t know what to do, Maeve.”


  “I do.” Maeve said calmly. “Call him. You can’t hide from this… and the more distance you put between you the harder it will be to come back together.”

  Ophelia sighed wearily. It was good advice. She knew that. And maybe running away hadn’t been the right choice, but she’d needed the space, even if all it did was show her how miserable it was to be anywhere without him.

  “I’ll leave in the morning. I hate to disturb Isabella again.”

  “Nonsense. You can’t very well seduce your husband with a baby on your hip! You’ll leave that child with us. It’ll be good practice for Justin and Rosalee since he keeps insisting they need to have at least six children.”

  She’d never been away from Isabella more than overnight and even that was infrequent. But it would make things easier. They could talk freely. They could yell at one another and she was pretty sure that was going to happen.

  Pulling her phone from the pocket of her jeans, she hesitated for a moment before placing the call. She wanted to bury her head in the sand but it really wasn’t an option.

  Maeve rose and walked away, heading back toward the house, clearly victorious.

  ‡

  Chapter Five

  Vincent stared at Martin Shanks, the head of security, and considered punching him in the face. He was a smug asshole and clearly had no appreciation for just how shitty a day Vincent already had going.

  “Just get the goddamn security footage,” Stanley said. “One of your employees may have been complicit in drugging my client. Do you really want to make this any uglier than it has to be?”

  The manager sighed. “We can’t just turn over footage like that. It compromises the privacy of our other guests.”

  “We’re not posting it on social media,” the hard bitten PI answered. If ever a man looked like a private investigator, Will Anderson did. With his bad hair, cheap suit and vague disdain for the human race, he was every cliché in the book. “We’ll view the footage here for fuck’s sake.”