Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Isla
The Montrose café where I’m meeting my sister seems to pulse with its own rhythm—espresso machines hissing, jazz notes slinking through the air, fairy lights twinkling over scuffed wooden tables. It’s a bohemian haven, alive with the scent of roasted beans and the chatter of artists and dreamers.
Margaux’s choice of location surprises me. The last time we met up for coffee, she’d rejected my suggestion of a quaint place near my small apartment in favor of meeting at the Sterling Uptown French patisserie where she’d run into people she knew.
Things have changed.
My linen sundress in a light, creamy color is perfect for Houston’s July wilting heat and humidity. But with my heels and designer bag, I look too polished for this funky, wonderful chaos.
Part of me achingly longs for the life I left behind .
With a resolved sigh, I shove away the thought. My past is gone forever.
I catch sight of Margaux at a corner table, basking in a patch of sunlight.
Smiling, she calls my name over the music and beckons me over.
In return, I wave, making my pink diamond ring catch the light, its oval cut sparkling like a tiny star.
When she stands to greet me, I barely recognize her. She’s wearing a gauzy sundress with green and blue layers that shift like water. An anklet glints on one foot, and she has on flat, comfortable sandals.
She’s serene, like a painting, and not the one that hangs in the Tanglewood foyer of our family home. In those, we were both cold and posed. But this woman in front of me couldn’t be more different.
I make my way across the distance, my heels clicking softly, my dress hugging me. I’d applied a minimal amount of makeup, but my lips are very deliberately painted the same soft rose Brennan kissed off last night.
My collar—delicate and hidden—rests beneath my neckline, a secret I can feel more than see.
Since Dorian claimed me in front of the world, I feel controlled. Marked.
Margaux pulls me into a brief hug—warm, uncertain, trembling with all the things we haven’t said. When we pull apart, we both sit, facing each other like we’re relearning who we are.
“You look…”
“Like someone who married a billionaire instead of bolting into the sunset?” I try for lightness, but it falls flat.
She gives a faint smile. “I was going to say expensive. But yeah, that too.”
The barista stops by and highlights their specialties .
Though I don’t usually like much sugar, I’m craving it, maybe to soothe the turmoil inside me.
I order a mocha—whole milk with dark chocolate and an extra shot of rich espresso.
“Whipped cream?”
Thanks to my men, I get more than enough exercise. And after last night, I can afford a few extra calories today. “Yes. Please.”
“Chocolate drizzle?”
“I shouldn’t…”
Margaux encourages me. “You only live once.”
Since recent events have proved I can’t predict the future, I shrug. “Why not?”
The woman looks at Margaux. “Another lavender and oat-milk latte?”
“Please.”
When we’re finally alone, I raise an eyebrow. “Since when do you drink lavender?”
She shrugs. “Since I started figuring out who I am.”
That gets me. Because of the way we were raised, she’d never really had that chance.
An awkward silence wraps around us before she clutches her ceramic mug. “I miss you.”
I give her a half smile.
“I’m sorry, Isla. For everything. I had no idea…”
Looking at her, I wait.
“I couldn’t stay.” Her voice cracks. “Not after what I found.”
“You left me with a wedding gown that didn’t fit and a man I tricked into marrying me.”
She sighs and shakes her head. “I never meant for you to take my place.”
“What did you think would happen?”
“I guess…” She looks at me, her eyes wide. “I expected the wh ole damn thing to be called off. I couldn’t imagine Dad would force you to take my place.”
“With the financial troubles they have?” Surely she can’t be that naive.
She reaches for my hand, and I let her take it. Her touch is warm. Familiar. We sit in the silence for a moment, letting it stretch and settle before she speaks again. “It’s more than that. Why I left, I mean.”
“More?”
Our beverages are delivered, interrupting our conversation.
I take the first sip of the mocha, and it’s silky smooth, making me momentarily close my eyes.
“Oh my God! Are you for real?”
Confused by her question, I set down my mug and look at her. “What?”
“Your ring! A pink diamond? Pink? What the hell?”
“Uhm…”
“He could have bought another building with as much as that thing cost.”
I start to protest, but I’m sure she’s right.
“It’s much more spectacular than the one he bought me. It actually looks like you. ”
“The three of us designed it together.”
This time, she blinks. “The three of you? Like Brennan is part of…” Seemingly at a loss for words, opens her mouth, then closes it again. “Everything?”
Because this is private, between us, I don’t respond.
“Oh my God. No.”
We both smile. Just a little.
Her eyes scan me, thoughtful. “You’re different, Isla. Stronger. Like you’re…stepping into who you really are.”
Margaux’s words catch me off guard. Stronger? I’m not sure about that. But the warmth in her voice melts some of the awkwardness between us.
Wanting to shift the conversation away from my private life, I lean forward. “Tell me about Jace.” In an earlier text, I’d learned the name of the man she’d run away with. “You really did get married?”
“Yeah.” Margaux shows me a plain, simple band. “I met him about a year ago. He was in the band at an event I was at. I was at the bar getting a wine, and he was in line behind me. Offered to buy my drink.” She laughs. “They were free. So I let him.”
I take a drink and wait for her to go on.
“Anyway, I found reasons to be places where he was entertaining. It was innocent.”
“Until you fell in love.”
“I was still going to go through with the wedding. He asked me not to, but…”
“Duty,” I supply.
“Yeah. But… When I told him I was running away, he suggested an elopement. I think he wanted to be sure I didn’t end up with anyone but him.”
Now that I’ve met Dorian, I can understand that kind of possessiveness.
“I could spend my whole life listening to Jace play sax.” Her face lights up. “And I plan to. He also teaches lessons to kids after school for extra money. Anyway, we have a really small place, not far from your old place. And I’ve been looking for a job.”
“You’ve been what?” My jaw drops open. The only thing she’s been prepared for is to be a socialite, leading to the ultimate goal of becoming a society wife.
“I even applied here before you arrived.”
Oddly I can see that. The new version of my sister might thrive on the energy and atmosphere .
“May seem strange, but I’m happier than I ever remember being.” She looks away for a second, wistfully, then back at me again. Her eyes are wide and sincere. “But I hate that it comes at a cost to you. I’m so sorry.”
“Look, Margaux, it’s?—”
“Let’s talk about that rooftop kiss that was in Scandalicious . Dorian looked like he wanted to eat you alive.”
I flush.
Suddenly my mocha tastes like the most fascinating thing in the world. “That was…” I should say staged or something like that. But it had been so real, so sexy.
Suddenly she sits back, her eyes wide. “You’re falling for them.”
Stunned, I grip my mug and tug it closer, as if it can protect me from the sudden blossom of emotion.
That can’t be possible.
We have an arrangement. Nothing more.
Right?
Gently she squeezes my hand again. “You deserve to be happy.”
Happy.
That’s not the first time that word has occurred to me. And after last night, I don’t know that I am.
There are parts of my life that are wonderful, like when I’m alone with my men, dining, making love—if that’s what it can be called—enjoying a drink together on the patio at the end of the day.
And I will never forget that Dorian married me without knowing who I was. Clearly it didn’t matter who his bride was. If it did, he would have exposed my lie while we were standing in front of the minister.
Instead, Dorian went through with the wedding. I was nothing more than a means to an end. The potential senatorial candidate wanted the respect that came along with being married to Houston royalty. No matter how destitute.
Which brings my mind full circle back to my father and the conversation that was interrupted by the arrival of the barista. “You mentioned something about the reason you left.”
“There’s something you need to know.” Margaux quickly glances around us, then pulls out an envelope and places it between us. Instantly cold dread streaks through my stomach.
She angles her chair and comes in a little closer. “The night of the rehearsal dinner, I found photos in Dad’s study.”
The jazz fades, and a buzzing in my head replaces it. “If this is about the escort ring?—”
“How do you know about it?”
I wave off the question. “It’s complicated.”
“Well, it’s more than that.”
More? My mouth dries.
“He’s in a lot of the pictures with the women.”
I’m suddenly woozy, fighting nausea.
Everett’s words from the gala hammer the inside of my head. “ Davenport’s mess needs cleaning up. The escort ring’s unraveling .”
“Everything about our lives was a lie, and…”
I barely hear her.
Instead, I think of Dad’s slick smile, late-night visitors he received, the way he sold his daughters to Dorian as if we were livestock.
“Some of the women are so young, I wonder if they’ve graduated college.”
Dear God. No.
She slides the envelope closer.
Part of me doesn’t want to know. But I have to.
With shaking hands, I break the seal .
The first image makes me gasp.
Then there’s another and another.
After seeing the women, I have no doubt my father is involved in something not just illegal but horrifically grotesque.
“I grabbed them,” Margaux whispers. “For leverage. For safety. I couldn’t stay knowing that.”
Suddenly afraid that someone might see what we’re looking at, I shove the photos back into place. “What are you going to do?
“I don’t know.” She brushes her hair back from her face. “For now, I guess, keep it quiet. I’m not sure Mom couldn’t survive the shame.”
And yet… Can our mother possibly be as clueless as we were? Or is she pretending so her world doesn’t crash down around her?
“I need to think about it.” The world is spinning, and the atmosphere is suddenly so thick that I can hardly breathe.
“Give me some time to talk to—” I almost say my men, but I stop myself.
“Dorian and Brennan.” After all, I’m very much aware that any scandal my dad is involved with could ruin my husband’s political aspirations.
Stalling for time while I gather my thoughts, I smooth my dress.
When I feel somewhat composed, I look at my sister. “How about we talk again tomorrow?”
She nods. “It feels wrong to keep this quiet. But…”
All too well, I know what Margaux means, even though she doesn’t finish her sentence. “I’ll give you a call.”
The barista swings by, and I ask for the check.
“I can get it.” Margaux blushes furiously. “Or at least pay for my own. Let’s split the bill.”
“My treat.” My men have given me a credit card with a ridiculous limit on it, and I know what it’s like to live on a severe budget. I’m sure my parents have cut her off from her trust fund. Those are only for good girls who follow their rules.
We chat for a few more minutes, and then we head for the door.
Outside, beneath the sail-shaped canopy that casts some much needed shade over the patio, we give each other a heartfelt hug.
No matter what happens, we’re still sisters, and there’s a bond there, even if it is a little shaky.
Finally she steps back. “Take care of yourself.”
“You too.” Unable to resist, I hug her again.
We both linger for a few seconds before going our separate ways.
I’ve only taken a few steps when a wiry man with a video camera jumps in front of me, blocking my path.
My stomach plunges, and I frantically look around for an escape. Why had I so stubbornly refused to have a driver?
Heart pounding, I ignore the man and move off the sidewalk to get around him.
“Mrs. Vale! Mrs. Vale!”
I walk as fast as my stupid heels will allow, brushing the sides of cars to stay out of oncoming traffic as I ignore him.
But he jogs ahead and steps out from between two parked vehicles making me stop.
“Any comment on the death of Lena Ludwig?”
My spine locks. I don’t know what to say, what to do. The video is rolling, and I’m frozen in place, my eyes wide and shocked.
I’m aware of a crowd gathering round us, and other people raising their phones to take pictures.
“What about your husband’s involvement in the whole mess? Any comment, Mrs. Vale?”
Suddenly Brennan’s there .
One moment I’m blinking into the sunlight, and the next, his hand slams down over the camera, smashing it to the sidewalk. Glass splinters and pieces scatter beneath vehicles.
After protectively moving in front of me, Brennan looms close to the man, voice low and menacing, fist curled into an unmistakable threat. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get the fuck away from her while you still can.”
The reporter stumbles back, muttering.
Then, seemingly regretting the show of that much bravado, he dashes to the sidewalk and breaks into a sprint, leaving behind the sound of retreating footsteps that I barely hear over the pulse pounding in my ears.
Brennan wraps me in his arms, and moments later, an oversize SUV stops next to us. Brennan opens the back door and ushers me inside. He instantly follows and closes us in.
The driver guns the engine, leaving behind the gathered crowd.
I don’t look at them.
Instead, I collapse against the seat back, trying to drag my breathing back under control.
“Are you okay?”
Even though I try to answer, I can’t. Maybe I should have expected things like that to happen, but I still think of myself as a teacher that no one could possibly be interested in.
But now I’m married to a man who wants to rule the world. And my other lover is a known criminal.
“Isla?” Brennan uncaps a fizzy water and hands the cold glass bottle to me, pressing it between my palms. “Talk to me.”
For a few moments, as we drive back to the penthouse, I just sit there, dazed.
“Isla?”
After a few deep breaths, I look at him. His brows are drawn together, and he’s staring at me without moving .
Since that second text, my life has been out of control. I hate the feeling, and I don’t want to live this way.
“Are you okay? For fuck’s sake. Please say something.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Dorian’s going to goddamn-well kill me.”
Finally I look at him. “What was that man talking about?”
“Isla… Look?—”
“Don’t.” My voice is sharper than I intended, edged with resolution. “You’ve gotten away with your distractions and half answers for the last time.”
“It’s part of the past. Nothing important.”
I cross my arms. “Nothings don’t get cameras broken, and we both know it.”
Drawing a breath, I look him in the eyes. “Who is Lena Ludwig?”