Chapter 12
Caleb kicked back in the chaise and sipped beer, all the while watching as his sister paced from one end of his balcony to the other.
She had called him up two days ago, letting him know that she was coming by for a visit.
That she had souvenirs to deliver. He made himself available by taking two days off to spend time with her and made sufficient noises about the leather wallet with his initials and the 'Irie Jamaica' black, green and gold t-shirt she had brought back for him.
"Where's your husband?" He finally broke the silence as she picked up a sea-green ashtray on the table for the third time.
"Gone on business. He's going to be away for a week."
"He did not suggest you accompany him?" He watched her closely as she leaned against the railing and took in the sight of New York spread out before her.
"He did."
"And you said no."
"I have work."
"Which can be done from anywhere in the world. We all know that."
"I'm behind." She offered lamely. When Jordan had suggested that she take the trip to France and Italy with him, she had felt the panic crawling all over her.
They were sleeping together in the same bed and the lovemaking was frequent and too intense.
She found herself curling up against him as if she belonged there.
And had not missed the disappointment on his face when she told him no.
She made the excuse saying that she would have to go to New York to do some business.
Meet with her agent, see to her apartment, and visit with her brother.
He had even offered to accompany her if she would wait until he returned.
"How's work?"
Tamping down the impatience, Caleb indulged her.
"Work is a bitch as usual. People get off by killing each other, making my job damned certain." He drank more beer.
"I hope you're being extra careful." She murmured absently, picking up the ashtray again. "The weather is beautiful, isn't it? I thought my allergies would be acting up by now, but thankfully, it's not."
"Good." He took another sip of beer and decided enough was enough. "We've talked about the everyday things, like your health, the weather, and my job. Now, why don't you tell me what the hell is going on with you."
"What do you mean?" She wandered over to the opposite chaise and sank down slowly.
"Jules."
Slipping out of her shoes, she swung her legs up and curled them under her, expression tensed. "He wants a real marriage." She lifted a hand to rub the back of her neck. "We—we're sleeping together."
"I see."
"Do you?" She eased out a sigh. "He's white."
"Is he?" Caleb grinned at the dirty look she threw at him. "You knew the color of his skin going in."
"It was not supposed to be a thing, a relationship."
"Were you forced?" he asked mildly, taking another sip of the beer. He shrugged at the dark look she sent him.
"I don't know what to do."
"How do you feel about him?" He held up a hand when she opened her mouth.
"Don't bother to deny it. You do have feelings for the guy.
I know you, honey. You don't go into a relationship unless you care for the guy.
That's the reason you have only had two under your belt.
You don't do casual—it has to be meaningful.
What do you feel for your husband, because deny it or not, he's your husband. "
Jules stared at the ashtray in her hand, her brow furrowing as she tried to form her words. "He's... he's everything I never wanted but somehow need." She exhaled heavily, placing the ashtray back down with deliberate care. "I thought I could keep it uncomplicated, but it's not. It's a mess."
Caleb felt a pang of sympathy for her turmoil. He knew the look of anguish that crossed her features, knew the weight of decisions that seemed impossible to make. "Does he make you happy?" he asked gently.
"He does," she admitted, her voice soft, almost lost in the breeze that wafted through the open balcony door. "But it scares me, Caleb. It's like I'm losing myself in him, like I'm becoming someone I don't recognize."
"Is that necessarily a bad thing?" Caleb mused, setting his beer down and leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "Sometimes change is good. Sometimes it's what you need."
Jules hugged herself, as if trying to hold onto her identity in the face of overwhelming emotions. "I'm terrified of being vulnerable, of giving him that power. What if it all falls apart?"
Caleb shook his head slowly. "Life doesn't come with guarantees, Jules. You have to take the leap and hope to land on your feet. If you love him, if he loves you, then you owe it to both of you to try."
She bit her lower lip, considering his words. "But what if..."
"No more 'what ifs,'" Caleb interrupted softly. "Follow your heart. It knows the way better than your mind ever could."
She rose and walked to the railing. Leaning her upper body over it, she stared at the bright lights that vied with the bright lights spearing upwards.
The faint sounds of vehicles whizzing by had her smiling slightly.
She missed the frenetic activities—of people rushing by without even glancing at each other.
The often-feverish madness of the natives.
The easy access to anything one desires.
"His mother wants to have lunch."
Behind her, Caleb tensed, his beer forgotten.
He had the opportunity to study the woman from afar while at the wedding reception and Jacquline Wainwright had not looked at all pleased.
Oh, she had tried to be pleasant, putting on a good performance, but he was trained to observe, trained to see beneath layers and had seen the flash of hatred, the bitterness, each time she looked at Julesa.
It had his hackles rising and at one point, had almost confronted the woman.
"You told her no, of course."
"I told her that I would think about it."
"Jules—"
"She hates me, and the feeling is mutual." She turned around. "And if the relationship—if this marriage has any chance of being real, I have to do this."
"You don't have to do a damn thing. The woman is more likely to stab you in the heart. What the hell does she want to have a meal with you? And what does Wainwright have to say about it?"
"I haven't told him."
His eyes glimmered. "What? Why the hell not?"
"He would insist on going with me." She lifted her hands, palms up. "I need to clear the air. I still have nightmares about what she did—what the family did to mama and me. And dad."
"Your dad was a piece of work—" He shook his head at her rebellious expression.
"I know you thought he walked on water, but it's time you start to accept that he was a worthless fool.
He might have told you bedtime stories and gave you piggyback rides, but that did not make him a father.
He was lousy at being one and even worse at being a parent.
He put mama through hell and made my life miserable.
" His expression turned ominous. "I wanted to kill him.
That's why I up and left. If I had stayed—" he shrugged.
"Let's just say that I would be running from the law instead of wearing a badge. "
She went to him, sitting on the edge of his chair, expression contrite. "I'm so sorry."
Taking a sip of the beer, he put the bottle away and reached for her hands—such delicate fingers, long and elegant, he thought absently.
"Don't be stupid. You have nothing to apologize for.
I love you, honey, and am only sorry I left.
" He squeezed her hands. "With that said, I don't want to be responsible for shooting that miserable woman with her bigoted ideals.
" He gazed at her. "I was prepared to hate your husband, determined to lump him in with the rest of his family.
But I have seen the way he looks at you.
He cares a hell of a lot. And I think his sisters are not so bad either.
They are just part of a family that are entrenched in the past and its unfortunate ideals.
I didn't approve of your reasons for going forward with this marriage, but it might turn out to be a very good thing and end up changing their minds and hearts.
The senior Wainwright seems to be willing to try. "
"The mother runs the show. She always has."
"That too can change. Now, why don't we open a bottle of wine and enjoy the view? I chose this horribly expensive place for just that."
"I might be giving up my apartment." She spoke without thinking.
"Oh?" His brows lifted. "Thinking of putting down roots?"
She shrugged helplessly. "I am conflicted."
"Sometimes that's a good thing."
*****
Thousands of miles away at the villa tucked on the piece of land that was home to the vineyard he had invested in, Jordan kicked back on the terrace and sipped and savored the wine that came from it.
Not bad, he thought. What he knew about planting grapes and fermenting them could fill half a page of a small notebook, but he was a connoisseur, which meant that he knew a good vintage and knew when it was a step away from watered-down alcohol.
The last rays of the setting sun gilded the sky in hues of orange and pink, casting a warm glow over the vast expanse of vineyard.
Jordan's thoughts drifted back to the city, to the intricate dance of relationships he'd momentarily left behind.
He couldn't help but wonder about the unfolding drama between Julesa, Caleb, and the ever-dominant Jacquline Wainwright.
Jordan's villa was a world away, but the undercurrents of the city's drama reached him, nonetheless.
He took another contemplative sip of wine, the rich flavor grounding him amidst his reflections.
He couldn't help but hope that, like the grapevines that transformed under his stewardship, the relationships he cared about would also grow and flourish, even if it took time and patience.