19. Reese
CHAPTER 19
Reese
“More to the left.”
I dropped the crib on the hardwood floor with a thud. The fan was going full blast, but the air was still stuffy with paint and baby powder, and sweat ran down my back.
“Well?” Jennie rocked in her chair, ice cream in hand. “Get to it.”
The nursery was painted in pastel stripes, baby clothes were stacked to the ceiling, and a corner was full of stuffed animals with shiny eyes.
I only came to borrow her drill.
“Careful,” she warned. “It’s antique Norwegian wood.”
With a glare, I shifted the crib nearer to the bookshelf. I glanced over the shelf and saw kids’ books and family photos, but one picture really hit me hard.
Jennie, Conrad, and me as kids, all huddled together.
“Thank you,” Jennie said. “I’ll be so glad when this kid gets off my bladder.”
The crib creaked as I adjusted it. “There. Happy now?”
“Actually, yes.” She glanced around. “Oh, could you scoot the changing table a little to the left? It’s driving me crazy.”
I moved the table. “How’s that? ”
“Perfect,” Jennie said. “You always know how to make things right.”
I was glad somebody thought so.
“Good. Are you gonna give me some of that ice cream as payment?”
Jennie gave me the pint, grabbing another spoon from the diaper drawer. I eyed her skeptically.
“Pregnancy cravings,” she explained. “I need to keep snacks in here when I cry.”
I chuckled, taking the spoon. Jennie was wrong: I always made things worse. Every single time. With Laurene, it was like I couldn’t stop myself.
“Reese?” Jennie’s voice snapped me back.
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “Just thinking.”
“Remember building forts with Mom’s blankets?” Jennie laughed. “We’d spend hours setting them up and then refuse to take them down for days.”
“How could I forget?” I said. “You said I was your puppy and had to do what you said. Then Dad would barge in and order the staff to rip them down just so he could watch the news in peace. Like we were nothing but a fucking inconvenience.”
“He wasn’t a total monster,” she said quietly.
I ate more ice cream. “Yeah? Name one good thing.”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.
Dad’s voice echoed in my head, that cold, clipped tone he used whenever he addressed me. You’ll never be anything but a disappointment.
I stared at the spoon in my hand, at the way my knuckles had gone white from holding it too tight. Maybe he was right. Maybe that’s why Laurene couldn’t look me in the eye when I told her I loved her. The way she rolled out from underneath me, like I was the fucking plague. The way her lips had pressed into that thin line.
I’d laid my heart bare, and she hadn’t said a damn thing.
Maybe she thought I was too reckless, too much like my father. That thought burned more than anything. I wasn’t him. I’d spent my whole life trying to prove I wasn’t him. But the longer I stayed here, stuck in the same cycle of anger and failure, the harder it was to believe it.
“Have you looked at the quarterly reports for the clubs yet?”
I glanced at her, surprised by the shift in tone. “Not yet. Why?”
“I’ve been combing through the resort accounts, and something’s…off. There’s a discrepancy in the numbers. Not huge, but noticeable.” She chewed on her bottom lip.
My stomach tightened. “How much are we talking?”
“About fifty thousand, give or take.” She swallowed.
I needed to step up investigating this missing money. “You’re not imagining it. I noticed something similar with the distilleries last month. I’ll get Nathan to speed up his audit.”
Jennie nodded and I handed her back the pint. “You notice anything strange about Dad lately?”
“Strange how?”
“Just, you know. He’s been acting different.” She hesitated. “He took the jet last minute without telling anyone where he was going. I had a meeting in Arizona planned, and suddenly it was gone.”
I raised an eyebrow. “The more he’s gone, the better it is for all of us.”
“I’m serious, Reese. I called him, and after ten times he finally answered. When I asked where he was, he hung up on me.”
I scraped the empty ice cream container, my mind wandering. “What do you want me to say? That he’s a selfish bastard? That he doesn’t give a damn about anyone but himself? You already know that.”
“This is different,” she insisted. “Mom told me he’s been leaving the house for hours and days sometimes. I called the investors in Phoenix, and he never showed for the meeting.”
“Your primary concern should be having a safe pregnancy, not worrying over that asshole. ”
“Forget it. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Jennie’s eyes searched mine. “Did Laurene tell you what happened?”
That made me look at her.
“I feel so guilty, but the bridal shower, it didn’t go as planned. Nothing awful, just…not well. We gave her the wedding dress.”
I frowned. “Wedding dress?”
“I guess it just unsettled her,” Jennie said. “I mean, now that I’ve thought about it, it was wrong.”
“ What wedding dress, Jennie?”
She finally met my eyes, guilt flickering across her face. “The one she was supposed to wear when she was going to marry Conrad.”
A sharp, angry heat flared up inside me. “You gave her that dress?”
That dress would have painfully reminded me of the past. A sick, aching reminder I was always second place, second choice, never the one who was supposed to matter.
“Yvonne suggested it. She thought it might give her some closure.”
“Closure?” I scoffed. “It’s not ‘closure’—it’s a damn slap in the face to her, and to me. Did you even think about how I’d feel?” I snapped, my voice rising. “That was a hell of a thoughtless move, Jen.”
No words came from her.
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” I muttered. “Why would anyone think about me?”
“It wasn’t about…replacing anyone, or making you feel less than,” Jennie mumbled.
“She was supposed to marry Conrad in that dress,” I said. “And now you want her to wear it again for me? Like I’m just picking up where he left off? Like it’s supposed to fit my life the same way it fit his?”
“That’s not how anyone sees it, Reese,” she said, her tone almost pleading .
“It’s how I see it,” I shot back. “It fucking hurts. Why the hell am I still living in his shadow? Nothing I ever do will be enough to be seen as more than his replacement.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said. “I know you and Conrad never got along?—”
“I’m just supposed to grin and bear it, right? Play the role? Pretend like it doesn’t fucking kill me? You’re the only person in this family that gets me. You out of everybody in this family should have stood up and said no .”
“Reese—”
“I’ve spent my life trying to be different from him,” I went on. “But the truth is, it doesn’t matter what I do, does it? I’ll always just be the one who wasn’t Conrad . I bet you wish I was dead instead, just like Dad does.”
Jennie’s face fell, but I didn’t let myself feel sorry for her.
“I’m not Conrad, and this wedding isn’t his memorial service. It’s my day.”
I took a deep breath.
“I need to go.” I leaned down, planting a kiss on the top of Jennie’s head, but she wouldn’t look at me. “Tell David he owes me a drink for hauling that crib up here.”
“Reese, wait?—”
I was already heading for the door, my mind racing with thoughts of Laurene.
I reached my car, slid in, and put my head back. My grip on the wheel tightened, and before I knew it, I was turning the key.
What the hell was I thinking? A cake? A fucking cake? I ran a hand through my hair, staring at it. I parked outside the Kings’ place, my heart racing.
I stopped off at Café L’Amour on the way. I knew Laurene loved that place—they served her favorite dessert .
I grabbed the box. Whatever, who cares. I slammed the car door and went to the front door.
Sighing, I rang doorbell . The door opened, and there he was: the butler who saw us in my car.
Great.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Ashbourne,” he said. “Can I help you?”
I played it cool. “Um, is Laurene in?”
“Miss Laurene’s in her studio near the garden, sir. Shall I fetch her for you?”
The cake box felt heavy. “Uh, no. That’s okay. I’ll go to her.”
“Very well, Mr. Ashbourne. I trust you know where it is?” He smoothly stepped aside, and I swore he was smirking.
The grand mansion loomed, its high ceilings echoing faintly, marble floors cold beneath my feet. I stepped onto the warm patio, surrounded by lush greenery.
I found the little guest house way at the back of the garden; it was painted a pale green. The last time I was there was before she got engaged to Conrad. I pushed the cracked door open.
“Reese? What are you doing here?” Laurene turned to me in paint-covered jeans and a too-small T-shirt.
I felt ridiculous holding the cake box. “Got you something.”
“From Café L’Amour?” She blinked, a hint of something vulnerable in her expression. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yeah.” I rubbed the back of my neck and handed her the box. “Figured you could use a pick-me-up. Jennie told me what happened.”
Laurene gave me a look and nodded. “I can’t believe they still make this. You remembered.” She broke off a piece of cake, and her eyes fluttered shut as she licked the frosting off her fingers.
I was captivated watching her expression soften, and I felt my dick harden in my pants.
“It’s still so good.” Her eyes met mine, and I wondered if my face was a billboard for my feelings: total admiration, guilt, fear, and lust.
I cleared my throat. “I only came by because I wanted to check on you after the whole shower thing. I’ll get you whatever dress you want.”
“I’d never wear that dress. I know what it means—to both of us.”
The relief that swept over me was sharp, almost startling.
“Good,” I murmured. “Just pick another dress you like.”
“Gigi’s already on the case.”
I watched as she quickly devoured the cake and suddenly the decision didn’t seem stupid. Her eyes met mine for a brief second, but she quickly looked away, focusing on something in the distance.
“Something else happened at the spa,” she told me. “I got trapped in the sauna.”
“What? What the hell happened? You should have called me immediately. We’re going to need to hire more?—”
“I tried to get the door open, but I couldn’t,” she cut me off. “It’s been playing in my head… I think it’s personal. Of course it’s personal , but I’m being targeted more than you.” Her nails tapped against the table in an erratic rhythm. “I’ve been going over everything in my mind, and what if you’re just collateral? I’ve done so much shit—or maybe it’s somebody after Mama but…” She trailed off, jaw tightening.
“Laurene.”
She exhaled sharply and turned to face me, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. “Maybe you should go.”
The words came so suddenly that for a second, I wasn’t sure I heard her right.
“I’ll tell my parents I called off the wedding,” she went on. “I’ll take the heat. You don’t have to be dragged into this. You don’t have to stay.”
“Are you serious right now?”
Her eyes flashed. “Reese?— ”
“No.” I shut that down immediately. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She swallowed. “I mean it, Reese. If this is about some mistake I made, there’s no reason for you to be?—”
“This isn’t just about you.” I said. “You think I’m fine because they haven’t locked me in a sauna yet?”
I shook my head.
“I know what this is. I know what it means when someone wants to break you down, make you paranoid, get inside your fucking head. Who is to say after they hurt you, they won’t come after me? I’ve done things I’m not proud of either.”
Something flickered across her face.
“I’m in this with you, Laurene,” I said. “You don’t get to push me out. I don’t care how much you try.”
Soft, moody music played from her open laptop. I glanced at it, then back at her.
“Let’s go back to the beginning.”
She glanced at me, brow furrowing. “The beginning?”
“We’ve been reacting this whole time. Every new threat, every new message—we’re just chasing whatever comes next. But if we really want to figure this out, we need to go back. To the first sign something was wrong.”
She exhaled, nodding. “The first thing was the letter.”
For the next hour, we worked in sync, piecing things together, ruling things out. Laurene’s fingers moved fast as she searched names, scrolled through old news articles, and pulled up grainy photos from gossip blogs and social media.
“Here.” She turned the screen toward me. A blog post from a couple of years ago, half speculation, half scandal. The photo was small, slightly blurred, but it was someone we both recognized.
“That’s Dante,” I muttered, narrowing my eyes. “And he’s with…”
“Toby. ”
The headline was bait for clicks: “Lush Foundation Welcomes Unlikely Benefactor.”
“This was for the Lush Initiative,” she murmured.
“I remember this—it was some scholarship fund for kids. Dante started it after he got elected.” I frowned. “Toby was never the ‘give back to the community’ type.”
She scrolled down. The article was mostly fluff—mentions of wealthy patrons, the night’s entertainment, and a few named donors.
Then she stopped.
“‘A generous contribution from local businessman Tobias Merrick helped launch the second phase of the program.’”
I scoffed. “What money? Most of his fast-food chains shut down after that salmonella outbreak.”
“But this was before all that. Back when his businesses were still standing.” Laurene tapped a nail against the laptop. A thought clicked into place.
“I’ve just never seen them together, even now. Maybe they’re hiding their relationship?” I asked.
She exhaled sharply. “Or they were in business together all along. Toby didn’t just donate—he was the biggest contributor. If you said you ended all your partnerships that Conrad made with Toby, maybe he went to Dante for a bailout? Dante’s expanding this city, so he has money…or access to it. And this was required of Toby to fulfill the deal, help with Dante’s plan?”
I leaned in, studying the photo again. It was subtle, but Dante’s posture, the way he leaned in close, the way Toby looked tense despite the forced smile—it didn’t look like a friendly conversation.
It looked like business. Messy business.
She sighed, rubbing her temples. “I need a break before my head explodes.”
“Okay. That’s enough for now. So… Still avoiding the whole ‘I love you’ thing, huh?”
Her eyes snapped to mine, and her expression tightened .
“Reese, I—” She stopped herself, like she’d been about to say something she wasn’t ready to say. The walls were back up, higher than before. “Would you like to see some of my paintings from Paris?”
Paris? What the hell did Paris have to do with this? With me baring my soul and her sidestepping it like it was nothing? My chest tightened, frustration and something I couldn’t quite name clawing at me.
“Sure.”
A blink, and suddenly her face looked soft, almost fragile. Like she was surprised I said yes. Now that I had, she was lost.
Laurene moved slowly to the canvas, handling it as if it would break. She brought it into the light, then stepped back. Suddenly, the room felt smaller, the air heavy as I moved closer.
Paris at dusk. Long shadows stretched across the cobblestone streets, the streetlights glowing softly in the windows. It was so peaceful, like the city was waiting for nightfall.
I stared at it, my heart beating too loud in my chest.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.
She shifted beside me, her arms crossing over her chest. “It’s just something I worked on while I was there. Nothing special.”
“Don’t,” I said, sharper than I meant. “Don’t act like it’s nothing.”
Her eyes met mine, wide and uncertain. “Paris was smelly, dirty, rats everywhere, but there’s a raw beauty there too.”
I could see her in each shade of blue, green, and gold.
“This…this is how you felt, isn’t it?” I gestured at the canvas. “This is you.”
Her breath hitched, and for a second, I thought she might deny it. Shut me out. But she didn’t.
“It’s easier to paint it,” she said softly. “Than to say it.”
She lifted another canvas. This one was simple: a woman hunched over, her back arched, with a small furry dog trailing behind her on a leash.
“Every day I saw this woman buy a baguette and an espresso from the café near my apartment.” Laurene ran her fingers over the painting. “She was always in such a rush but couldn’t move than two miles an hour, and the dog probably moved at half of that. I got brave enough to say hello one day.”
“What happened?”
She laughed. “Cursed me out in French. Called me out for being American.”
“Damn.” I grinned. “Did she also steal your lunch money?”
“Practically.” She nodded. “Next day she gave me her baguette because I looked ‘too skinny to live.’”
“She insulted you and fed you?”
“It became our thing after that. She’d insult me, then slide me an extra croissant. She actually became one of the few friends I had.” Her smile softened. “I admired her, in a way. She didn’t care about being liked. She just was. ”
But just as she moved to pass one painting, a quick flash of movement caught my eye.
“Wait. Go back,” I said, already stepping closer.
She froze, then slowly lifted the canvas.
It was a portrait of me.
The brushstrokes were raw, intense. My eyes in the painting were sharp, focused, like I was looking at you.
“Why didn’t you finish it?”
“I—” Her gaze dropped to the floor. “I didn’t know how to finish it. Or if I should.”
“Why?”
“Every time I tried to complete it, I kept thinking about us. It was like finishing it would mean we were really done. That everything was over.”
“And now? Do you still think about us?”
Her eyes met mine, a storm of emotions swirling within them. “Every day. But I’m scared. Scared that finishing this painting means accepting that we’re over. Or maybe now that we’re not.”
“Finish it. ”
Her brows furrowed, but she turned back to the canvas and grabbed her palette and brush. I stepped back, and she shook her head. “Sit there, near the light.”
I moved to the chair she’d pointed to.
“Take off your shirt.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Is that necessary?”
“The lighting on your shoulders will help capture the contrast better.”
“Just looking for an excuse to see me shirtless again?”
Her cheeks flushed. “Just take it off and shut up.”
“Anything for the art.” I tugged my shirt over my head and tossed it onto my jacket. “I know I’m sexy, but show restraint, okay?”
“Hush, fool.”
Her brushstrokes were precise. Her lips parted slightly as she concentrated, and her hand paused before each stroke and her eyes darted between me and the canvas.
“What’s going on in your head right now?” My voice was low, breaking the silence.
She paused, her brush hovering midair. “I’m trying to get this right.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Her eyes flicked up to meet mine. “You make it hard to stay focused.”
“Hard to focus, huh? I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She shook her head, biting her lip. “You’re impossible.”
I inched closer, almost touching, but still keeping some distance.
“I think you’re the one making this impossible,” I murmured.
Her brush stilled in her hand, her gaze darting to the canvas like it held all the answers. “It’s not that simple.”
“What’s not simple? Finishing a painting, or us?” I tilted my head, studying her.
“Both,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Then tell me how to make it simple. ”
She set the brush down, her hands trembling for a moment before she hid them behind her back. “That’s the thing. You can’t make it simple, Reese. You just…make it harder to ignore. I have to make a decision.”
“And what do you want?”
She stepped closer, closing the space between us, her hand pressed over my heart.
“I’ve spent my whole life being what everyone needed me to be. What my family needed me to be . When I tried to stand up, I failed. Choosing something for myself… It still feels selfish, even though I have every right.”
“It’s not selfish to want something for yourself, Laurene. It’s human.”
She shook her head. “I need to finish this.”
I didn’t know if she meant me, the blackmail, or the painting.
“You always have a choice. You just have to decide if it’s worth it.”
Her jaw clenched, but she didn’t back away. “And what if it’s too late?”
I reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “Then finish it. The painting, us—whatever you’re so afraid of. Just don’t leave it undone.”
Not being able to resist, my lips found hers, and I didn’t even try to deny it.
I broke the kiss for a moment, my forehead resting against hers, breath coming in short gasps. “I’m not leaving.”
She pulled me in and kissed me deeply—exactly what I needed. I just wanted to touch her, any excuse to close the gap that always felt too wide.
My hands moved on instinct, drawn to her like gravity. One traced the curve of her waist, the other dipping lower, grazing the edge of her jeans. Her breath hitched, her stomach tensing beneath my touch, but she didn’t stop me. She pulled me closer.
I slipped my hand beneath the waistband, finding her.
Heat. Wet. My pulse slammed in response .
Her body trembled, and when my fingers teased, parting her, she gasped—soft, breathy, so fucking sweet I nearly lost control.
“Tell me,” I rasped against her skin. My lips brushed her jaw, her throat, tasting the warmth of her. “Is it good when I touch you here?” My fingers stroked, slow, deliberate, pressing into her in a way that had her thighs tightening, her hips rocking forward. “Or maybe here?”
I pushed deeper, drinking in the way she clenched around me, the way her breath came in short, uneven pants. She was burning up, her body practically begging for more, for me to lose control right along with her.
Fuck, I wanted to.
A choked moan escaped her lips as she leaned into me, her breath warm against my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. I moaned as I hear the ridiculously wet sounds of her cunt. I watched the slickness build on my knuckles.
“Reese.”
“You’re so wet,” I murmured, my voice rough even to my own ears. It wasn’t just desire that thickened my tone—it was everything else. The years of waiting, of wanting, of never being able to forget her, no matter how hard I tried.
She trembled. I was making her give me everything she had. She said my name again while I increased the pressure on her clit with my thumb. Her beautiful lips, smooth thighs, and dark skin all seemed perfect to me, and the best part was that she was all mine.
She was my wife.
Not Conrad’s. Not anyone else’s.
My woman, forever. Everyone would know. Her face was a whirlwind of emotions. I pressed a kiss to her temple as her thighs clamped around my hand, trying to slow me down.
“Stop—I’m about to?—”
“You don’t want me to stop.” I knew her terribly well. “Baby, pay attention and look at me. ”
My fingers found her sweet spot. Her shocked gasp echoed as I pressed on the fleshy pad, causing her to writhe in my grasp.
“Don’t you get it? We were always supposed to be together. Just me and you against the world, princess. That’s what you told me years ago, right?”
A beat of silence hung in the air before I rapidly increased the speed of my fingers, compelling her to meet my gaze.
“Isn’t that right?”
“Yes!” Her eyes rolled back, and with a small growl, she buried her face in my arm, her teeth sinking into my flesh.
“Are you watching me?”
I leaned in closer, sucking firmly on her neck and teasingly nibbling on the delicate skin. My fingers moved in and out of her, exploring every inch. Hotter. Faster. Her hand gripped my wrist, digging her nails in. And then—she shouted.
It wasn’t just a cry of release. It was a breaking point.
Her body went rigid, her pussy clamping down on my fingers. When she opened her eyes again, they weren’t just full of the pleasure of the moment, they were full of something more.
I withdrew my fingers from her, a sticky string of her wetness stretched between them, making us both gasp. Slowly and deliberately, I tasted her on my fingers, never once looking away from her eyes. I moved closer and kissed her slowly, letting her taste herself on my tongue.
“Laurene,” I whispered, my voice steady even as my chest burned. “If you don’t want this, if you don’t want me, tell me now. But if you do, don’t make me fight for you alone.”
I couldn’t help but admire the way she fought to steady herself, the way she tried so damn hard to control the things that were breaking inside her.
A sharp knock on the door followed.
“Miss Laurene, a gift has arrived for you,” her butler said through the door.
I didn’t want to move, didn’t want to break the fragile moment. Quickly fixing herself, she let me put my shirt back on, then called for him to enter. The butler placed a small black box on the table beside her.
He quietly exited, leaving us alone again. Laurene didn’t immediately reach for the box.
“Who is it from?” I asked.
“No name.”
I swallowed, and our eyes connected.
“You think it’s from—” I started as she picked up the box. The lid clicked open, and there was silence, except for the faint sound of her breath catching.
There was no note, no letter. Just a small tattered piece of rope, stained dark brown, almost black.
I felt my blood run cold.
The rope was thick, jagged at the ends, frayed like it had been ripped away from something—or someone. It looked familiar. Too familiar. It was the same kind of rope used to tie down boats, the kind I’d seen on the docks before.
And worse, it looked as though it had been cut loose from the wreckage of the boat where Conrad had died.