I had fallen desperately in love with an enchanting little witch, a radiant girl with emerald eyes and a wild mane of hair as untamed as she. Kira, my fiery little wife with a spirit as bright as the sun, and a heart as tender as a newborn lamb. She owned my heart and my soul—I would be hers until I drew my final breath. And I was ready now. I was ready to surrender my all, every last bit, come what may. I just hoped I wasn't too late. Please don't let me be too late.
**********
The woman who answered the door was wearing a housekeeping uniform. She led me into the formal living room and told me she'd see if Jessica was available. I nodded grimly, choosing not to sit on the pristine white sofa.
A few minutes later, my stepmother came gliding into the room, as perfectly coiffed as I remembered her, every piece of dark blonde hair in place. "Grayson," she greeted, standing awkwardly by the door. After a short pause, she moved toward the bar on the far wall. "Would you like a cocktail? It's five o'clock somewhere, right? My, but corruption in politics is quite the talk of the town, isn't it?" There was the confirmation she'd been a part of whatever had happened with Cooper Stratton.
"You were there," I said, cutting right to the chase.
She poured herself a glass of wine, turned, and held it up to me in question. I shook my head. She swallowed one large sip before answering. "Yes, I was there. Who did you think paid the twenty-five-hundred-dollar-a-plate cost?"
I eyed her warily. "You paid for whom? Harley and Priscilla?"
She took another sip of wine. "And myself. I decided it was a good cause. So you really didn't know about it?"
"No."
She nodded her head. "Your wife came to me last week. Apparently this Cooper fellow was involved in something causing you strife. She said she knew his weakness and she planned to have pictures taken to blackmail him, and therefore her father."
I let out a loud whoosh of air. Kira. I was going to kiss her senseless and then I was going to strangle her. She'd been planning on blackmailing him by taking lewd photos. Of all the crazy, hair-brained schemes!
"From what I can see, they got more than they bargained for. Even Washington is all aflutter over this. Crooked government is the talk of every town in America today."
I let that sink in. "So the plan was only to take pictures?"
Jessica shrugged. "Unless they didn't mention it to me. She just asked if I'd fund it."
"And why did you?" I asked, thinking of all the times she'd said cruel things to me, all the times she'd watched as my father punished me simply for existing.
She turned away and looked out her window, sipping on the wine. "I've had time to consider things since Ford's been gone." She turned toward me, placing the wine glass on a side table. "I . . . could have done better when it came to you. I was bitter and hurt and . . ." She waved her hand around. "Well, I'm sure you're not interested in hearing about it, and frankly, I'm not that interested in talking about it. But when I was asked to help, I figured I owed you that much at least. Your wife, she obviously loves you very much, Grayson." She looked at me almost as if seeing me for the very first time.
I was stunned. As I gawked at her silently, she moved toward a small writing desk in the corner and took something out of the top drawer. "I was going to send this to you, but since you're here . . ." She held it out to me and I took it from her, looking down to see she'd given me a check written out for two hundred fifty thousand dollars.
"What is this?" I demanded, holding it back out to her.
"It's part of your father's estate. Hopefully that covers at least some of the damage he did to the vineyard before he died." She knew. She knew what he'd done.
"What if I don't want his money?"
"Then you'd be a misguided fool just like he was. Take it and make a life for yourself, Grayson, wherever that may be. Take it and be happy."
"I—"
"Are the roses and hawthorn flowers still blooming?" she asked.
"I . . . what? Yes."
She nodded, something moving across her expression that looked like sadness, or perhaps regret. She moved toward the door. "Good, I'm glad to hear that," she said. "I assume you can show yourself out?"
"Yes," I said, confusion and surprise and hope and a hundred other emotions I couldn't identify in that moment moving through my chest. I folded the check and put it in my wallet, and then let myself out of my stepmother's home.
I was reeling. Only Kira could soften a heart like Jessica's. Only Kira. God, only her.
I had a wife to find and some groveling to do. I was going to grovel so hard they might need to find a new word for it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Kira
"That, right there, is the definition of pitiful," Kimberly said, peeking out the window next to me.
The rain drummed against the glass pane of Sharon's apartment where I'd been staying for the past couple weeks. The man sitting on the stoop below—the man who was currently my husband—was soaked to the bone, his dark hair plastered to his skull. And he was wearing dragon wings.
"Are you going to take pity on him, or what?" Kimberly asked, turning to me, her arms crossed. Knowing Sharon was at the drop-in center and I was alone, she had rushed over here after Grayson had shown up at her apartment begging her to tell him where I was. She'd caved, but I wasn't so sure I could. Grayson had spent twenty minutes pounding at the front door, calling for me. When it had begun to rain, I was sure he'd leave, but instead he'd sat down and taken up residence on the steps.