Two Rivals, One Bed, page 18
“Security protocol, sir.”
“No worries. I understand.” He handed it over and watched as the guard placed a call. Victor pulled out his phone and sent Maeve a text. While waiting for a response, he idly tapped the steering wheel to the beat of Bob Marley playing in the background, looking around at what he figured was some of the priciest real estate in the Midwest. Viewing the rolling hills and tall pine, oak and maple trees, his mind drifted to his home in Costa Rica, and how proud he would be to invite Maeve’s close-knit family to his elaborate spread.
Maybe after her birthday celebration, depending on how things go...
The music continued. “Get Up, Stand Up” faded into “One Love.” Victor’s brow creased as he glanced at his watch. What was the guard doing? A background check? He looked over at the man still on the phone.
“Excuse me. Is there a problem?”
He held up a finger, finished the call and then walked back over to the window, holding out Victor’s ID.
“Sorry about the delay, sir. A text has been sent to your phone with the GPS instructions to reach Ms. Eddington’s home.” The guard gave a curt nod and tight smile. “Enjoy your evening.”
Victor wasn’t used to waiting for anything, was one of those behind-the-velvet-rope kind of brothers. The delay had dampened his mood, but he tried to shake off the chagrinned feeling as he neared Maeve’s home. He parked in the drive, right next to the walk that led to a flight of stone steps, a cobble-stoned porch and an elaborate set of double doors. After gathering his coat and the gift bag for Maeve, he trotted up the steps and rang the bell. With dinner slated to be enjoyed in bed, how would she greet him. Sexy dress? Lingerie? Birthday suit?
None of the above. Maeve opened the door wearing a pair of scruffy jeans and a tee. She ran a hand through already disheveled hair and attempted a smile.
She leaned against the door. “Hi, Victor.”
The chagrin returned. Her mood seemed reminiscent of this morning, the one she’d admitted was fueled by the return of her ex. He crossed his arms. “Am I interrupting something?”
Her eyes fell to the gift bag, now swinging beneath his arm. It was like a lightbulb went off, and she remembered inviting him to her house.
“Of course not. I’m sorry. I’ve been...preoccupied.” She gave his arm a squeeze, then stepped back. “Please, come in.”
A table was positioned a few feet inside the foyer. Victor set down the gift bag, reached for Maeve and pulled her into his arms. She stiffened at first, then melted into him, her body fitting his like it had been designed that way.
“I’ve wanted to do this all day.”
She squeezed him tighter. “I’ve wanted you to do this all day.”
Victor held her, felt her heartbeat, ran a hand through her hair. He wanted to kiss her, make love to her, but he thought of the earlier exchange with the doctor. His father’s voice taunted him, the faces of women who’d deceived him in the past parading across his mind’s eye. He needed answers. His arms dropped.
An awkward moment ensued. The first he could remember since that initial day at the club.
“Here, let me take your coat.”
Victor handed it over. While she hung it in the hall closet, he retrieved the gift bag from the table.
“For you.”
“Thanks, Victor.”
Reaching for his hand, she led them into spacious living space with a two-story ceiling, matching chandeliers and an array of contemporary furniture in neutral tones. They sat on a couch facing the fireplace. She pulled the tissue paper from the top of the bag, unveiling a bottle of vintage French cabernet.
She took a moment to read the label. “I’ve never had wine from this region.”
“It’s supposed to be one of the best crops from their vineyard.”
“And what’s this? An aerator?”
Maeve pulled out a rectangular box. “Is this kid leather?”
Victor nodded.
“The box alone is a gift. It’s beautiful.”
“I hope you like what’s inside.”
Her gasp of awe was a clear indication that she did. She held up the platinum wine stopper adorned with a bouquet of flowers made from a variety of precious jewels.
“This is absolutely stunning, Victor. And so thoughtful.” She leaned in for a light kiss on the lips. Despite his tangled emotions, Victor had other plans. He placed his hand at the back of her neck and pulled her in for a deeper exchange. She moaned, her hand slid across the soft sweater covering his toned torso and around his neck as she scooted closer and intensified the tongue dance. Soon, her hand slid down to his thigh, and over to his crotch. Victor felt himself expanding and knew that if the snake was let out of the cage, the night would go in a predictable direction and he may never get answers to the atmosphere he’d walked into when Maeve opened the door.
He ended the kiss.
“Wait.” He looked into her lidded, startled eyes, and gave her swollen lips another quick peck before settling against the couch. “We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“Your ex.”
Maeve’s flared nostril was the only indication of her surprise. “What about him?”
“Did you see him?”
She didn’t answer. Victor braced himself for the lie that if his father were right about women would surely come out of her mouth.
“Is that why it took so long to get buzzed in, or why your greeting seemed tempered, your mind somewhere else?”
“He was my noon meeting.”
“The doctor?” Maeve nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me at the courthouse?”
“Because I didn’t know it then.”
His face conveyed his disbelief.
She sighed, reached for the wine bottle. “Have you tried this?”
He shook his head. “It came with high recommendations.”
“Let’s have a glass.”
Without waiting for an answer, she stood and left the room. Victor leaned forward, elbows on knees, chin in hands, looking around Maeve’s perfectly appointed space. It very much suited the woman he knew, especially the hodgepodge of colorful abstract artwork that emitted energies of discord but somehow matched. On one wall was a high-rise console table that held beautifully framed pictures of her family—Maeve and her siblings, her parents, all of them together. In another frame, an older couple beamed at each other. Grandparents, he presumed. There were pictures of young children, and one of her dressed to the nines and holding an award plaque. He was about to get up for a closer inspection when Maeve returned with an opened bottle and two wineglasses. He was immediately transported back to a similar scene, snowed in on top of a mountain, alone in their own magical world.
Maeve sat back down beside him and poured a small amount in the glass nearest her. She swirled around the liquid, closed her eyes and inhaled deeply before taking a sip.
“Um, that’s amazing.”
Victor simply nodded. She filled their glasses. He lifted his and clinked the one she held midair.
“Cheers,” she said simply.
We’ll see, he thought.
For the next few seconds, each of them thoughtfully sipped the excellent vintage. Victor watched Maeve. Maeve stared at the fire. After another deep sip, she sat down the glass but continued looking straight ahead.
“When Lionel made the appointment, he tricked my assistant by using a fake name. I went to the club to meet who I thought was a new client. He knew if he’d told the truth, I would have never gone. When I realized it was him, I almost left right away.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I knew we’d have to talk eventually. It seemed silly to run. He’s not only an ex but a friend to my family, a man whom I’ve known practically my whole life.”
Victor shifted to see Maeve’s whole face and better gauge her emotions. “How’d that go?”
“Not good, actually. Seeing him again, hearing his side of things, it was all very draining. It stirred up a lot of emotions long buried, ones I thought I’d worked through and, I don’t know, thought could no longer affect me.”
“Seeing your state of mind when you opened the door, they obviously did.”
Another sigh, deeper this time. A bigger sip of wine.
“What was his story, his excuse for dumping you?”
“Thanks for putting it so bluntly.”
“Isn’t that what happened?”
“Yes.” Maeve set down the glass, slowly paced the room as she shared the earlier exchange.
“He was tricked into marrying her,” she began.
“Right...”
“I know. I didn’t believe it, either. Not at first. She got pregnant.”
“Oldest trick in the book.”
Maeve relayed how Lionel claimed the night they slept together was a drunken blur with no memory of doing the act. “She miscarried, which caused Lionel to question if she’d even been pregnant. Her grieving seemed real, though, and led to depression, which brought them closer. Their son was born a year later and a daughter not long after that.”
“Sounds like the trick worked out for him, at least for a while.”
Maeve came back to the couch. “The children aren’t his, Victor.”
“What does that mean?”
“Turns out Hazel had a longtime boyfriend much as Lionel and I had been, one of which her parents would never approve. From the wrong side of the tracks, so to speak. She married Lionel to satisfy her parents but never stopped seeing her boyfriend. He, not Lionel, is the father of her children.”
“How’d he find out?”
“The daughter began having difficulty breathing. The doctor initially chalked it up to allergies, then bronchitis. When neither of those diagnoses proved correct, and unbeknownst to either of them, he conducted a DNA test for further analysis and concluded she had asthma, something that doesn’t run in either of their families. Lionel, suspicious once again, took a DNA test of his own. It was conclusive proof that he is not the father to either child.”
“That had to be tough.”
“He was devastated. Angry. The lie almost ruined their fathers’ thirty-plus year friendship. Even after learning the truth, his wife and her parents tried to convince him to stay married. For the sake of appearances is what he thought, but they insisted it was because of the children. His senator father wanted them to stay married, too, but his mother encouraged him to follow his heart.”
“Let me guess. His heart leads back to you.”
“He tried several times to contact me after the initial breakup. Desmond blocked him.”
“Good man.”
Conversation stilled. Only now did Victor hear the subtle sounds of jazz playing in the background.
“You can’t be thinking of going back with him.”
“It’s complicated.”
“He was engaged to you but married someone else. What don’t you understand?”
Maeve reached for his hand. “I have deep feelings for you, Victor, deeper than I’ve felt for anyone, even Lionel. But...”
“But what?”
“We dated for many years and would have married except for Hazel’s deception.”
Victor pulled his hand away. “What exactly are you saying?”
“He wants a chance to make it right. He asked me to give him thirty days...”
Victor stood. “Then clearly we’re done here.”
“Please, Victor, wait!” Maeve stood to catch up with Victor’s long strides toward the front door. “I didn’t give him an answer. I’m sorry but I’ve been blindsided. Him coming back was totally unexpected. I’m in shock, confused...”
“My coat, please.”
Maeve pulled the leather trench from the hall closet. “I understand why you’re angry but please, I just need to work this out.”
“And what am I to do in the meantime?”
He waited. Maeve didn’t seem to have an answer for that.
“Do you love him?”
“No! I don’t think so. I don’t know.”
“Goodbye, Maeve.”
Maeve stepped up to hug him. He held up a halting hand, then continued down the hallway, opened the door and stepped out on the porch. Small flakes swirled around him. He didn’t feel a thing.
“Victor.”
He felt her hand on his back and stopped. “I... This weekend was amazing. The wine stopper is exquisite. I don’t want us to be enemies, or this to be over. I’ll... I’ll call you, okay?”
Victor had heard enough. He took the steps and strode toward his car. His father’s voice trailed him. Mocking, laughing. Looks like Arly had been right, after all.
Twenty-Five
“I’ve ruined everything.”
It was Tuesday morning, following Maeve’s disastrous start to the week. She’d called her siblings for an emergency meeting. They were all there—Desmond, Jake and Reign—enjoying one of Chef’s Southern-style breakfasts while hearing Maeve’s woes. She’d come clean about her feelings for Victor, told them the details of her lunch with Lionel and ended with how Victor had walked out on her last night without a backward glance.
“That’s a lot to handle in twenty-four hours,” Reign said, a head full of waist-length braids twisting with the shake of her head. “I can’t believe Lionel’s nerve.”
“Did you not get what happened to the brother?” Desmond asked. “He was tricked into leaving Maeve and marrying Hazel.”
“Correction. He may have been tricked into the marriage, but he left me on his own.”
“Via a breakup text,” Reign added, as though Maeve needed more salt on that wound. “Let’s not forget that.”
Jake shook his head. “How could she with you continuing to bring it up?”
“Thanks, brother. Although you’re right, Reign.”
“He had his reasons,” Desmond said.
“Whose side are you on?”
“Your side, sis, always. But I always thought you and Lionel were the perfect combination. And while I was extremely upset at what happened, especially how he handled your breakup, I never doubted his sincere love for you.”
“So I heard.” Maeve worked to keep a growing anger out of her voice.
“Doesn’t mean I was always for you two getting back together. When it first happened, I dared him to contact you. I had witnessed firsthand how devastated you were about it. He was married. End of story. I didn’t see anything good coming out of him reaching out.”
“And now you’re his biggest fan.”
“Sis, I just believe that in his heart, Lionel’s a good man. I also know how devious women can be, how someone can end up in a relationship with a woman because of a child when he had absolutely no say in the matter.”
The table quieted as all remembered Desmond’s drama with an ex-girlfriend before marrying Ivy, the true love of his life.
“When did you and Victor get so serious?” Jake asked. “I didn’t even know y’all were dating.”
“They were together over the holidays,” Desmond replied with a look of consternation in Maeve’s direction. “Must not be dating too seriously since she felt the need to hide.”
“First of all—” Maeve reached for another helping of fresh fruit for her pancakes “—I’m grown. Secondly, my father’s name is Derrick, not Desmond. I don’t owe you an itinerary or an explanation.”
She softened her tone. “To answer your question, Jake, Desmond’s right. Victor invited me to his home over the holidays. We had a great time together in Costa Rica, but things really got serious this past weekend when Victor and I ended up snowed in together.”
“I knew it!” Desmond tossed down his napkin. “He’s got you sneaking around right under our noses?”
“She’s not sneaking,” Reign interjected. “I knew all about it.”
“And didn’t tell me?” Jake stabbed a piece of meat on Reign’s plate and ate it. “Traitor.”
“Do Mom and Dad know?” Desmond’s look still judged her.
“Look, Victor isn’t why I’m having problems right now. It’s Lionel and his rather nervy and inconsiderate attempt to guilt trip me into giving him another chance.”
“Love doesn’t make you feel guilty,” Reign said.
“I think you should do it,” Desmond countered. “What’s a month in the grand scheme of things? Given the circumstances and the length of time the two of you were together, I think you owe him that.”
Jake scooted his chair away from the table and stood. “I think I’m going to get to work and mind my business.” He leaned over and kissed the top of Maeve’s head. “It’s your life, sis. Nobody can live it but you.”
By the weekend, Maeve was no closer to making a decision about Lionel but she had decided on one thing—to stop asking others for their opinions. Even without them, the past, like quicksand, was pulling her back into her old life. A group of friends had invited her to a party. She had no doubt Lionel would be there. Wouldn’t put it past him to have orchestrated the gathering. But you only turned thirty once and she and Joycelyn had been on the same debate team in high school. They used to be close. Maeve hadn’t seen her in forever. A lot of old friends would more than likely be there. Plenty of people to act as buffers between her and her ex. If only there was something to block her constant thoughts of Victor. She’d reached out to him several times—both professionally, regarding an email from the judge that he’d also received and personally, saying she missed and was thinking of him. Even ended the last text with x’s and o’s. He hadn’t responded. Not. Once. She told herself it didn’t matter. It did matter. A lot.
That night as Maeve dressed for the party, her heart wasn’t in it. She would have been fine in jeans and a sweatshirt, but knowing the importance of dressing the part of a successful professional, she dug through her wardrobe for a form-fitting burgundy sweaterdress maxi with matching leather boots. Her fluffed curls bounced around her shoulders as she got into her car and headed to Homer Glen, a tony suburb of Chicago where the private mansion Joycelyn had rented out was located. She played reggae and thought about Victor the whole ride over. By the time she pulled up to the valets dressed in red jackets and black slacks, her stomach roiled. Tonight would be the first time seeing Lionel since the lunchtime invasion and the asinine give-me-thirty-days request from the man who’d shattered her heart into a trillion pieces and reentered her life at the exact moment when she’d met another man able to put it back together again. Even in this social setting—with trusted friends who had her back, including some who knew what happened—Maeve felt vulnerable, almost nauseous. She told herself that she was overthinking the situation, that Lionel was her ex not the big bad wolf, and that Victor wasn’t the only whale in the ocean. He was probably the finest, smartest and sexiest one swimming around, but there were others.
