Page 70 of Ardently Yours

Heat rises into my face.

She allows me to regain my composure, then continues. “You say you won’t be back. Is that true?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Probably.”

Her lips press together. “You don’t strike me as a woman who would be unkind without provocation.”

“I try not to be,” I say.

She nods. “I believe you. But sometimes people become so caught in personal strife that they’re oblivious to their own selfish cruelty. My son has waited for you. He doesn’t see other women socially. His sons have no one to call stepmother. And they won’t as long as you remain in the background. You’re an invisible chain, trapping him, alone and in limbo.”

I take a shuddering breath, my chest tight, my throat full.

“I don’t know what your reservations are. If you’re concerned you wouldn’t fit in here, you’re right. You’d always be an outlier and a bit of a spectacle.” She lifts a shoulder. “But Arden doesn’t need you for political games, and he’s no longer interested in using his relationships for their business advantages.”

“It’s more complicated than that. I can’t explain it.”

She shakes her head. “As long as you trust Arden enough to share your reasons with him, that’s the only thing that matters.”

I dab the tissue to my wet face. I don’t know when I started leaking, only that I am.

“I suppose you find me stiff and formal. I’m aware that neither you, nor Arden, agree with the way I raised him. We’re not a . . . demonstrative family. But I do . . . love . . . my son. If you care for him at all, then enter his life in truth, or set him free to find someone else. Either way, I’m asking you to stop torturing him with hope.”

She glances at the diamond watch on her wrist and rises from her chair. “It’s midnight.” She indicates a door to our far right. “Inside the ladies’ retiring room, you’ll find street clotheswaiting for you. Scrub your face. Put your hair under the hat. Stuff your beautiful gown and jewelry into the suitcase, and allow my people to assist you from the hotel through a side exit. Or”—she indicates the door where her guard stands—“leave the mask off and claim your place beside him.”

Somebody to Love

Arden

November 1, 1998

Islam the cardoor closed behind me so I can speak with Reese in privacy. “How did she leave here without anyone seeing her? Why?”

Worst case scenarios play in my mind. Kidnapping. Revenge. She could still be inside this hotel, held captive in a room upstairs.

“I just got a call that her car is missing from the parking garage where she left it when she came into the city,” Reese says.

“What?” I explode.

The phone in my hand rings. I flip it open and lift it to my ear. “Charlotte. Where are you?”

“On my way home. Your mom was supposed to tell you. My phone battery was dead. It’s only charged enough to make callsnow. I’m going to hit some big dead zones soon. You know how bad coverage is on this drive.”

“My mother said nothing except that she left you in one of the lounges,” I grate. “Why did you take off?”

“Rose kept us separated until after midnight. Then she gave me the choice to leave incognito without you or go back into the party with my mask off. She wanted me to choose you or let you go, and she was right. What I’ve been doing is cruel to both of us.”

Something near panic rises inside me. “Charlotte, no. Ignore her.”

Charlotte says something, but the words break up.

“I didn’t hear that,” I say.

“Can you hear me now?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“I couldn’t traipse into the ballroom without my mask. I had to talk to you first, and that step had to come after other ones. Bronnie is at Mom and Dad’s. Could you imagine them waking up to reporters in the pasture? I don’t think your mom has any concept of what it’s like to be a peasant. She must think we’ve all got guards and cameras.”

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