Chapter Twenty
CHAPTER TWENTY
Zane
I t’s all I can do not to text or call Stella every five minutes and ask when she’s coming back. I feign happiness whenever we talk. There’s no way I’m telling her how miserable I am without her.
Work helps me stay busy, and I would gladly sit in my office twelve- to fourteen-hours a day if Zarah didn’t need me.
Quietly, we celebrated her birthday, the holidays, and went out to dinner on Valentine’s Day. For Easter, I packed a wicker basket full of chocolate and a box from Tiffany, and I ordered a huge stuffed rabbit and had it delivered. Zarah loves it, and it fits beautifully into her newly decorated room. It’s not the same room she had growing up. The pink walls are gone as is most of the memorabilia she collected throughout high school. In its place is a suite done in blacks, greys, and splashes of hot pink. It’s a room fit for a young woman, except for the bunny that adds an adorable touch of whimsy.
As the months go by, I’m almost grateful Stella has been away. Zarah and I needed this time to reconnect, and I’ll never forgive myself for the years she stayed at Quiet Meadows under Ash’s supervision.
She insists she was lucky he didn’t do worse, and maybe that’s true, but every time I catch her staring into space or biting her lip, grappling to remember something or struggling to work out a problem she would have easily solved before, my heart hurts.
I asked Banks to check on the pilot’s wife and daughter. They used up the stingy amount Clayton Black decided his life was worth. Anonymously, I gave them more, but it didn’t feel like enough, and it wasn’t. No amount of money can replace a life, and I live that every second Stella’s gone. Lucille caught me one afternoon wandering aimlessly around the penthouse, and she assured me Stella still loves me. I objected, but she gave me her look and I closed my mouth. I want to be the kind of man Stella would come back for. Lucille told me I already am.
I hope so.
Spring blows warm breezes and buttery sunshine into King’s Crossing, and I pick up on Lucille’s spring-cleaning spirit. On a bright Sunday morning in May, I catch Zarah reading, sitting in the bunny’s lap. “I think it’s time to clean out Mom and Dad’s room.”
Zarah lowers her book. “Are you sure?”
“They aren’t coming back, Z. We were hoping they were still alive, but we know what really happened now, and they aren’t. We don’t have to donate anything or throw anything away, but we should clear it out and box up what we don’t want and put it into storage.”
“Okay.”
I hope the task isn’t too much for her, but I find it’s therapeutic for both of us. We sit and remember the good times, flipping through photo albums Mom made when we were little.
There’s one of Ash holding Zarah as an infant, and I blink. The story he told of him holding her really happened. Zarah pulls the picture out of the plastic sleeve and rips it into tiny pieces, a hard glint in her eyes. Though there are tears on her cheeks, she lifts her chin. “Good riddance.”
I feel the same flipping through scrapbooks Mom put together for Dad of him and Clayton. One year they tied for King’s Crossing’s Most Influential Man of the Year. They’re shaking hands and holding a gold plaque between them. It would be just like my dad to surrender the shared award since I’ve never seen it displayed in our penthouse.
Zarah and I move on to our parents’ clothes.
I don’t want to wear my dad’s suits. I have enough of my own and it would be too melancholy and macabre besides. I fold them all and pack them into boxes. I’ll donate them to a men’s shelter. They can use the clothing more than me.
Our mother was taller than Zarah by an inch or two and she packs away almost everything. She keeps a few choice items saying she’ll have them altered. All of Mom’s evening gowns Zarah leaves alone. Ball gowns don’t age, and she says Stella will want them. “Stella shares Mom’s fashion sense. She’ll need them hemmed, but that’s okay.” She brushes her hand down a sequined gold dress that would look lovely on Stella.
We need more than a week to look through everything. I give Douglas a few pieces of my dad’s jewelry and send a pair of cuff links to Richard Denton and Larry Cramer. Zarah keeps all of our mother’s jewelry for herself, Stella, and she says, smiling faintly, our children. I like the sentiment.
After we’re finished, the suite is clean and bare. But it doesn’t feel empty, not like it used to, and maybe Kagan’s and Lark’s spirits have finally been laid to rest.
“Will you and Stella move in here?” Zarah asks as we stand in the doorway about to leave.
I lean against the doorjamb. “I don’t know. She didn’t like it here.” I never wanted to believe it was true until the words left my mouth. “If I want Stella in my life, I’m going to have to change some things.”
“Like what?” she asks, alarmed.
Fear shoots through my sister’s eyes. She’s endured enough upheaval to last a lifetime, but I can’t hide her from it. I’d be no better than Ash, locking her up and throwing the key into the Renegade.
“Maybe we don’t live here anymore. Maybe we buy a house. A large one that has a yard. Trees. She was never city like we are. Were. Are.” I fumble. I don’t know what I am. Well, that’s not completely true. I know what I’m not. I’m nothing without Stella.
“Could you be happy mowing grass?” Zarah smiles. She’s teasing me, and it lightens my heart. She’s going to get better. I know she will.
“I think I would. I think I could like anything as long as Stella and I are together.”
Her smile fades. “Can I live with you?”
I mimic Nigel Wagner’s thick British accent. “Kid, I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
She laughs, knowing exactly who I’m copying. “Won’t Stella mind?”
“Zarah, you know her just as well as me, maybe better. Do you think she’ll mind?”
She frowns, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Finally, her expression clears. “No. She won’t mind.” Suddenly, she bolts downstairs. “Come on! Let’s let Lucille help. She’s coming, too, right?”
I follow at a more leisurely pace, and by the time I reach the kitchen, Zarah and Lucille are already searching for properties on Lucille’s laptop. I help myself to coffee and peer over their shoulders.
You’re right, Z , I think as they peruse huge houses sitting on acres and acres of land. Zarah, unable to contain her delight, exclaims over each one. We’re not going to leave anyone behind.
Sitting at my desk in my office, I wonder how much longer I can keep this up.
Zarah, in all her excitement, found a few properties that piqued my interest. One that looked especially promising already had two cottages on the property. I’m thinking, of course, if Douglas and Lucille move out of the city, the cozy cottages would be perfect to keep them close, but far enough away everyone would still have their privacy.
I’d have a bit of a commute, providing I don’t wash my hands of the entire thing. When I brought it up to Stella, I was at a point where I’d do anything, say anything, to keep her, but since the Blacks’ empire has fallen, the work I do feels more important than ever before. I don’t want to let my father’s legacy go, and I’m hoping Stella will understand.
The phone sitting on my desk rings, and my heartbeat quickens. It always does when I think it’s Stella, but she wouldn’t call my office phone. She calls my cell, usually texting first to ask if I’m too busy to talk. I never, ever, am.
It’s work then.
It’s difficult to keep my head in the game when I’m constantly thinking I’ve lost Stella to her parents and sister.
I clear my throat enough to answer and ask, “What is it, Peggy?”
“A Mrs. Monica Christianson is on line one, sir.”
“Put her through.”
My body goes from hot to cold and back to hot in a second. It took less time to connect the name with the face. A face that is a lovely example of what Stella will look like in about twenty years. I close my eyes and lean against the back of my chair needing the support.
“Maddox,” I answer.
“Mr. Maddox, this is Monica Christianson.”
She sounds exactly like Stella on the phone.
“Mrs. Christianson, what can I do for you? Is Stella okay?”
“Monica, please,” she says, then pauses. “Stella’s fine.”
“Then how can I help you?”
There’s silence as she gathers her thoughts, and several possible scenarios run through my mind, none of them pleasant. They want money before letting her come back to Minnesota. They want a monthly allowance so they can live a richer lifestyle. She’s calling to tell me Stella doesn’t want to come home and that we’re done.
My heart hurts more for Zarah, if that’s the case. Since we’ve been looking at country houses—ah, mansions—she’s more impatient than I’ve ever heard her to have Stella back.
“I don’t know how to put this,” she says.
I’m not reassured. “Just say it, Mrs.—Monica.”
She blows out a breath. “Stella didn’t tell me she was engaged until the other day. I’ve seen her ring, of course, but we didn’t talk about it until a few days ago.”
That hurts. She’s been gone for months, and she didn’t want to share me with her family.
“We’re not engaged, exactly,” I say truthfully. “The ring is a promise. She knows I want to marry her, but we haven’t set a date. I’m sure you can understand why.” I can’t quite hide the pain in my voice.
“Yes. I’ve, we . . . we’ve kept her for a long time.”
I know how long it’s been. I feel every second like they’re each a hundred years. The only thing that keeps me from falling apart is her happiness. She’s happy with her family.
Never mind I want to be her family, too.
“What does this have to do with me?” I don’t mean to sound clipped, but seriously. I don’t need the reminder Stella’s in Florida and not here.
“She doesn’t know I’m calling. She spends a lot of time on the beach, and if I wake up in the middle of the night, I hear her crying. She sees a therapist, but I’m not sure it’s doing any good.”
“Look, Monica, I’m sorry she’s having trouble adjusting—”
“She’s having trouble because she doesn’t want to be here. She’s torn between staying for us and going home to you.”
I scrub a hand over my face. “What do you want me to do?”
“Press the issue. Tell her you want her to come home. Set a date for your wedding.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why? You wouldn’t need to persuade her. She’s waiting for you to tell her that you still want her and still love her.”
“I do. She doesn’t need me to tell her that. But I’m not ordering her back here, and I’m not setting a date—we’ll do that together.”
“But . . . why ?”
She sounds distressed, upset, and I wonder just how hard these past few months have been for Stella. Maybe she’s having a more difficult time than I thought she was. If that’s true, I’m partly responsible. She should be enjoying the time with her family, but it also eases my heart. Stella hasn’t forgotten about me.
“Stella has had very little control over her own life. She didn’t get to choose which foster home she lived in, or how long she could stay there. She constantly lost friends. She has attachment issues because she thinks anyone she grows to love will leave her. Has she told you about Maryanne?” I have no idea how much history Stella has shared with Monica.
“Yes, but barely.”
“Did she tell you Maryanne’s dead?”
She gasps. “No.”
“Stella escaped Black Enterprises, and to retaliate, Ashton Black had her killed. Stella told you about the years he held her prisoner, didn’t she?” I hoped to God she did, because that’s Stella’s story, not mine.
“Very little.”
“That’s enough. In some ways, important ways, Stella has never had freedom. When she wasn’t shuttled among families, she was praying one of them would adopt her. After she aged out, she had to say goodbye to Maryanne, and she had to work and go to school without support. She didn’t have the luxury of going to college and staying in the dorms and making friends. She had to work during the day and attend online classes at night because there wasn’t anyone to pay her bills. Then Ash kidnapped her, and she lost five years of deciding things for herself. All her life someone has told her what to do, or her situation gave her no choice. I will not be one of those people, our engagement will not be one of those situations. She comes to me on her own or not at all.”
Monica’s silent for so long I think she hung up on me or the call dropped.
“Then what should I do?” Her voice is weak and broken.
“That’s up to you. Stella’s wanted a family her entire life. She’ll stay if you ask.” When I say that, sweat beads along my skin. If Monica asks Stella to stay, there’s no hope for me. I try to loosen my tie, but I’ve already done that. I’m choking on my own fear.
“Whether she wants to stay or not,” Monica says dully.
“Whether she wants to stay or not,” I agree.
“I couldn’t do that no matter how much we love her or love having her here.”
“Then you need to communicate and tell her she needs to do what she thinks is best. Making her own choices is a luxury and something she has a difficult time doing because she hasn’t been given many opportunities to do so. Support her, tell her that whatever she decides is okay. She needs the next phase of her life to be on her own terms.”
“How did you get to be so wise?” Monica asks.
The answer’s simple. “I know Stella, and I have my own fears. I don’t want to pressure her to come back to the city only to have her leave again because she wasn’t ready, or she decides to leave after only a few months because it’s not what she wanted after all. Those things could still happen, but I increase those chances by telling her what to do. I love your daughter, Monica. From the second I saw her she captivated me. You know my parents were killed in a plane crash, and she gave me my life back. I’m miserable without her, but I want her for the rest of my life. She’s worth the wait.”
We say goodbye soon after that. I think Monica is smart enough to follow my lead and let Stella choose what to do on her own. In the meantime, our conversation gives me hope. Stella loves me and misses me. All I have to do now is have patience and give her space to figure out what she wants to do.
I tell Peggy to cancel my appointments and clear my afternoon, and I go up to the penthouse. Zarah’s reading in the bunny’s lap, and Ingrid’s crocheting in a rocking chair near the window.
“Wanna take a drive?” I ask, pulling my tie from around my neck.
Zarah’s gaze lifts to mine. “Where are you going?” she asks, her voice full of curiosity.
“How about to that country house you and Lucille found the other day? I talked to the realtor, and we can walk through at our convenience.”
She tosses her book aside. “Yes! But what about Stella? Are you going to buy it without her?”
“It will be a lovely welcome back present. Because I think she’s going to be coming home very, very soon.”