Page 27 of Letters From Victor

“I threw myself into work,” I continued. “The hours were long and relentless. I wasn’t around much. Dorothy resented me for it, accused me of abandoning her and Margaret all over again.” I rolled my shoulders as if that could shake off theweight. “And I’m man enough to admit there was some truth to that.”

We crested a hill, and there it was—the vast Pacific, unfurling before us in shades of slate and sapphire, shimmering under the late afternoon sun. I was quiet for a moment, drinking in the sight. This view never failed to soothe me.

“It’s beautiful,” Barbara said softly.

“It is,” I agreed. “This is my favorite drive. Clears my head.”

We drove in easy silence. Barbara seemed content to let me keep company with my thoughts.

“Dorothy and I keep up appearances,” I said after a while. “But we lead separate lives. She has the house in Pasadena, and I keep an apartment downtown near the office.”

“And a beach house, apparently.”

I grinned. “An indulgence.”

Barbara furrowed her brow, looking troubled. “What about your daughter?”

“Margaret stays with her mother mostly. I get to see her on holidays and such, but Dorothy keeps her from me more often than not.” I paused, uncertain how much more to divulge.

Something about this woman inexplicably loosened my tongue and melted my guard like butter under a hot blade. A part of me wanted to tell her everything—the dark secrets, the ruthless deeds, the steep sacrifices I made for power. But the larger, wiser part of me held back. She was still innocent in so many ways—still beautifully sheltered from the grittier truths of the world she lived in. I wouldn’t be the one to tarnish that. Not yet, anyway.

“It’s complicated,” I finally said. “My work keeps me busy, and Dorothy and I have never seen eye to eye on things. She thinks I’m a bad influence.” I gave a rueful chuckle. “She may be right about that.”

Barbara gazed thoughtfully out at the ocean as we continued down the coastal highway. My words were clearly troubling to her, though she was too polite to pry further.

“Don’t fret about it, doll,” I said gently. “It’s ancient history now.”

She turned to me, concern shadowing her blue eyes. “I just hate to be a homewrecker.”

A hearty laugh rumbled from my chest. I reached over, grabbed her hand, and kissed the inside of her wrist. “First of all, you have absolutely nothing to worry about on that score. My home is already well and truly broken. But the concern should be mine, not yours.” I pressed another kiss to her silky skin and inhaled the soft trace of her floral perfume. “I don’t want to ruin your life.” I placed her hand back in her lap with a sigh. “I just…”

“You just what?”

It took me a moment to find the words. “I just wish I’d met you first.”

Barbara turned toward the passenger window, silent for a beat. “Do you really mean that?”

I glanced over briefly. Her gaze lingered on the horizon, but a quiet, vulnerable hope in her voice hit me square in the chest.

“Of course I do,” I said gently. “From the moment we met, I felt something—a spark—that I’ve never known with anyone else.”

I kept my eyes on the road, but I could feel her gaze slide over to me, lingering. “Do you say this to all your girls?” she asked, her tone breezy but just a beat too slow to sell it.

I let out a heavy sigh as I steered through an intersection. This was not an easy subject for me. “I’m not going to lie. I’ve had other women over the years,” I admitted. “But they were just dalliances—a good time and nothing more. Maybe some flowers or jewelry as a parting gift, but it never went further than that.” I paused to gather my thoughts. “I know men say this sort of thingwhen chasing a beautiful young woman—which, of course, you are. But if all I wanted was to take you to bed, I would have done it.”

Barbara was quiet. I snuck a glance at her lovely profile, simultaneously fearing and longing for her reaction.

“Why are you telling me all this?” she asked, so softly I almost didn’t hear her.

“Because you deserve the truth.” I reached over and took her hand in mine. “With you, everything’s different. I’m different. When we’re together, I don’t feel like I have to put on a mask or pretend. It’s…liberating.”

“I feel the same way,” she said in a hushed voice. “When I’m with you, it’s like I can finally breathe. I don’t have to keep up the act or pretend to be someone I’m not.” She let out a soft, nervous laugh. “It’s crazy, isn’t it? We barely know each other.” I heard the faint rustle of fabric against leather as she shifted beside me. “But it’s true. At home, I feel like I’m playing a part, being the perfect wife. I’d like to say that Frank tries, but he doesn’t. He just wants the perfect wife, the storybook life. He doesn’t understand me. Doesn’t even see me.” Her voice caught. “Not like you do.”

“Idosee you, and you’re extraordinary.” I turned into the office parking garage. “Where are you parked?”

“Second level, by the stairs.”

I maneuvered the Jaguar around the curves and up the ramp.

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