Читать книгу Star-Crossed Scandal - Kimberley Troutte - Страница 12

Two

Contrary to what he’d led his daughter to believe, RW was not going to stay curled up in a dark room all day.

His chest hurt and the pain behind his eyeballs was excruciating, but he wasn’t staying in bed. Not today. He waited until Chloe went down to greet their guest before sneaking out the back to take care of business.

His daughter had a job to do and so did he.

Even if his children didn’t know it.

Shielding his eyes from the California sunshine, he strode across the patio and took a seat across from the first woman he’d ever loved—Claire Harper. It had been ten years since she’d walked out on him, taking their daughter with her. She’d arrived back in Plunder Cove for Jeffrey’s wedding two months ago, and for some damned reason she was still here. He’d invited her for a late lunch today to get to the bottom of what she wanted.

“Claire, you do not age,” he said.

She smiled at the compliment, but the fine lines around her eyes and lips hardly creased. Her forehead was smoother than he remembered. Ah, so that’s where some of the millions he’d sent her had gone.

A flash of Angel, the woman he loved now, entered his mind. He preferred a real lady who came with wrinkles and flaws. A woman who could accept his flaws, as well.

Dealing with Claire was the first step in bringing Angel back to him.

“And you seem—” she studied him “—healthy.”

He wasn’t. Not yet. Still, he was much better than he’d been when he had lived with Claire.

“I’m impressed with this place. Our son did all this?” Claire motioned to the restaurant.

Where they sat under the eaves, it was easy to see that the amazing wood-and-glass structure resembled a pirate ship. It was an architectural masterpiece that was sure to grace the pages of magazines for years to come.

“That boy has come alive with this resort and restaurant project. I’m so proud of him.”

A waiter arrived carrying one plate of pasta that he sat down in front of Claire.

“I went ahead and ordered my lunch. Wasn’t sure you’d show,” Claire said.

“I’m here, Claire. This is my home.”

The waiter nervously stood by him. “Sorry to interrupt. Would you like anything, Mr. Harper?”

“Just a glass of water. Thanks.”

The waiter quickly walked away.

“Water? Not bourbon and Wagyu steak?” Claire wound the fettuccine carbonara around her spoon and took a bite. As she chewed, her face tried to screw up into her old expression of disgust, but her forehead refused to budge. “The sauce is horrid.”

“Impossible. Our chef is acknowledged as a top chef on both coasts.”

Tentatively, she licked the sauce on her spoon. “It’s spoiled!” She scrubbed her cloth napkin over her tongue.

A satisfied smile crept over his lips, for he knew what Michele had done. God, he loved his daughter-in-law. “I wouldn’t eat the rest of that.”

Claire swigged her pinot to cleanse her palate only to find a tiny bandage at the bottom of the glass. The look of horror on her face made his entire year.

RW threw his head back and roared with laughter. For the first time in...hell, he couldn’t remember when...tears of laughter streamed down his face.

Indignantly, Claire stood. “It’s not funny. Do you see what’s in my glass? The health department will shut Jeffrey’s restaurant down for this sort of negligence. I’m going to have a talk with the chef.”

“Sit down,” he ordered, wiping his eyes. “The chef is Jeffrey’s wife.”

She sat slowly. “My daughter-in-law did this to me? Why?”

RW shrugged. “She heard about the time you locked Jeffrey in the shed, Claire. Expect a night getting close and personal with your toilet bowl.”

“She wouldn’t poison me.” Claire pushed her plate away just in case. “The shed thing wasn’t my fault. The servants were supposed to let him out.”

“That’s crap. It was your fault and mine, too. I was so wrapped up in my own personal hell that I couldn’t see what was happening in yours. Our kids deserved better parents than us, Claire. You deserved a better man. I’m sorry.”

She cocked her head. “I’ve never heard you apologize before. Or laugh like you just did. You’ve changed.”

“I’m working on it.”

“I can see that. Don’t change too much.” Her gaze traveled over his tanned, muscular arms. “You’re a good-looking man. Strong, rich, sexy. You’re fine the way you are.”

“You don’t know me anymore.”

“What do you mean? I married you and had your three children. I know you.”

“I’m not the man you married. You left that guy for dead a decade ago. With good reason. I’m not an angry, despicable sap anymore. I...I woke up.”

“You woke up? What does that mean?”

How could he explain it? He’d suffered from depression for most of his life. Deep down he’d known he needed help, but his parents had said that Harpers didn’t have those problems. Claire must’ve known he was ill too, but she pretended the despair that overtook him—sometimes so debilitating that he locked himself in a dark room for days—was normal behavior.

She’d put up with the way he treated people. He’d been an ass, not because he wanted to be, but because he didn’t know how to interact, to connect, when he hurt so much. Hell, running a multibillion-dollar company was far easier than connecting on a deeper level with the people he loved.

He’d closed off his feelings to survive. The only emotion that seeped out occasionally? Anger. Matt had been the only one who stood up to him, taking the rage that RW fought to control, shielding the rest of the family from RW’s outbursts. His son shouldn’t have had to live that way. None of them should’ve.

After a while, RW had reached a breaking point. Why take his next breath when no one cared if he did? His kids hated him. Claire wished him dead—that’s what she screamed at him more than once—and he didn’t care anymore. Ten years ago, he’d sent the kids away so he couldn’t hurt them anymore and he quit life.

Or he tried to.

By some miracle he never deserved, a beautiful woman rescued him. She’d said he had a mental illness. If the wound had been in his leg, would he have let it fester and rot without treatment? she’d asked. No. So why be ashamed of the pain in his psyche?

Gentle, kind and strong, Angel became his therapist as he started the arduous process of healing his mind. Feelings, like colors of the sunset and sweetness on a tropical breeze, flooded his senses. He wanted to survive. No, more than that—he wanted to be happy.

Angel told him happiness was achievable if he followed her three rules: seek redemption, make amends, forgive yourself. The first two were going to take a lifetime to achieve, since he’d hurt so many people. He didn’t deserve forgiveness.

But even though he was undeserving, he sought redemption anyway.

And he fell in love with Angel.

For the first time in his life, he had a purpose.

He woke up.

Claire would never understand. She turned her light brown eyes on him and twirled a platinum-blond curl around her finger. “Things weren’t always bad between us.”

“They weren’t good enough. I know the difference now. I don’t intend to ever settle again. How about you? Don’t you want to feel joy? Happiness? Love?”

It was her turn to laugh, but there was more spite than humor in it. “What has gotten into you? You really think a guy like you can fall in love? When will you have time for it?”

His mood darkened. “Why are you here?”

“I want what’s mine.” She leaned over the table. Her stature was fiercely determined, but something else, too. Desperation. “The kids are back and you are better. Plunder Cove is where we all belong. Together.”

He leaned over, too. “No. Go home, Claire. I’ve found someone else and I’m going to marry her, if she’ll accept me.”

He didn’t tell her that he had no idea where Angel was at the moment.

“Polygamy is a crime, sweetheart,” she said with a wicked smile. “Or have you forgotten? I didn’t sign your divorce papers.”

“Damn it, Claire! Enough. Sign the divorce papers, take your money, hop on that broom of yours and fly back to Santa Monica.”

“Now, that’s the man I remember.” Crossing her arms, she sat back. She seemed rooted to the chair and was decidedly not leaving.

“This is my home,” he said, “passed down from my family. Mine. Understand me? Be happy with the money I’ve given you the last ten years and get on with your life. Leave me the hell alone.”

Without yelling or throwing anything, RW got up and walked away. He was surprised at how steady and sure of himself he felt.

He picked up his cell phone. “Robert, bring the Bugatti around to the side. It’s time to go.”

Claire would eventually sign those papers. He had no doubt. He needed to move on to the next item on his agenda.

He was sneaking off to a quiet town on the coast, far away from prying eyes. If all went as planned, he’d be back before his kids knew he’d left Plunder Cove. If they realized he’d overstated the extent of his illness this morning to sneak out, he’d have some explaining to do.

He couldn’t drag his children into the danger surrounding Angel. He was expendable. Hell, he was living on borrowed time already. But the woman who’d saved his life needed him to save hers.

She’d been running from a Colombian gang of murderers and drug dealers for years, barely staying one step ahead of them. She’d been hiding in his home under an assumed name all this time. But when the gang came to his home, searching for her a few months ago, Angel fled to protect him.

She thought she’d be able to hide from the gang, from him, but he had resources she couldn’t imagine.

Enough was enough. He’d do whatever he could to force Cuchillo and his gang to their knees and bring Angel home.

Even if it meant sacrificing himself as bait.