Authors: Julie Ortolon
“I see.” Just hearing his name made her gut knot with that painful tug-of-war.
“Now, before you get upset, Mr. Hendricks assured me that you have nothing to worry about. The commission hasn’t made it official, but they feel Luc doesn’t have enough evidence to support his claim, since the animated portal in his game isn’t an exact match to the pendant. Chances are good he’ll lose his case.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders sagged as anger gave way to one of those pangs of remorse she’d started feeling on Luc’s behalf, when she was in her wondering-if-she’d-overreacted frame of mind.
“You don’t seem happy.” Allison’s brow dimpled in confusion.
“I’m not,” she said in agitation. Digging past the casual clothes she wore on Pearl Island, she rummaged through the trendier designer pieces she’d bought on a shopping spree with her mother, back when they’d been on better terms. “What the Commission decides doesn’t mean anything. Am I supposed to feel good that they’re going to deny Luc’s claim? They aren’t doing it for me. They’re doing it so they can keep the necklace on display in the museum. Which is something I’ve tried to explain to Diane each time she pressures me to get a clear claim on the necklace. The State isn’t going to hand it over to anyone easily. What makes things worse in Luc’s case is he might have had a chance, until I destroyed the only real evidence he had.”
“Chloe, that was an accident.” Allison frowned at her.
“Maybe.” Grabbing a couple of tops, she laid them on the bed to start building outfits. “The thing is, I’m not sure anymore. I was so mad and hurt, maybe I did throw it in the cove.” She looked at Allison as guilt filled her. “That notebook was more than a sketchpad, it was Luc’s idea book when he was creating his game. The one thing I’m sure isn’t a lie is how Luc feels about Vortal. I destroyed a part of that. Now you tell me that without the sketchpad, he can’t get his grandmother’s necklace back? I destroyed that, too?”
“Oh honey.” Allison smoothed Chloe’s hair back behind her shoulder in a motherly gesture. “You didn’t.”
“But—”
“You didn’t,” Allison said with absolute conviction. “Jack did it.”
“What?” Chloe blinked.
“I’ve been debating whether to tell you this, but AJ told Rory what happened that day. He said Jack saw you fighting with Luc, or ‘the bugger’ as Jack apparently put it.” Allison trailed a hand through the air, laughing lightly. “I guess we should be glad our resident sea captain doesn’t use stronger language around the children, or we’d be getting notes from teachers saying our children have the vocabulary of sailors. Anyway, Marguerite saw that the sketch pad and Luc upset you, so Jack blasted the pad into the cove, then made ‘the bugger’ leave.”
“Oh my God.” Chloe remembered Luc’s shivering. “You’re saying even Luc has felt the ghosts? But not me?”
“Which is why I wasn’t going to tell you. Don’t you see, though?” Allison said. “Captain Kingsley was protecting you. You’ve wanted proof that he and Marguerite accept you, and what better proof than that?”
“Not liking Luc isn’t proof that they accept me.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.” Allison shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” she said, returning to the closet to grab some pants and skirts to go with the tops. “It shouldn’t be such a big deal to me, but it is.”
“I know. I don’t really understand why it’s important, but I know it is.”
Of course Allison didn’t understand, Chloe thought, because she’d never explained to anyone that she felt like an outsider here. Except Luc. She’d told him, and he’d seemed to get it. Had he only pretended to get it so she’d help him recover the necklace? Her head ached with confusion.
“Either way,” she sighed, “I wish Jack hadn’t destroyed Luc’s sketchpad. Whether Luc lied to me or not, I feel horrible about that.”
Allison remained silent for a while, as if contemplating whether to voice whatever she was thinking. “Have you thought about apologizing to him?”
“I have, actually.”
“And…?”
“I play it out in my head, and every time it ends badly.” Opening the top drawer of her dresser, she considered jewelry options to pull the outfits together. “In one version, he’s just as furious as he was when it happened and repeats that he’ll never forgive me. That would be bad enough, but then there’s a worse possibility. He says he forgives me, and we get back together, but it turns out he’s lying about forgiving me so that he can have revenge sex. Then there’s the scenario where, after he pretends to forgive me, I ask him if our two days meant anything to him, and he says, ‘Of course they did, baby.’” She mimicked the tone of a man who’s obviously lying. “It’s like Ralph telling my mother, ‘Of course I love you, baby,’ right up until the day he finally admitted he’d been cheating for months and wanted a divorce. Or my father saying, ‘I’m sorry I missed your birthday-slash-school-game-slash-whatever, but I promise I’ll make the next one.’ Men lie.”
“Not all men.” Allison gave her a sympathetic look. “Some men have amazing honor and can be trusted.”
“But how can you tell the difference?” she asked, turning to Allison, desperately wanting to know.
“Your gut, for one thing,” Allison said.
“Well, my gut told me Luc was the real deal, so I’m not sure I’m trusting it these days.”
“Then time is the only answer.” Allison came to stand beside her by the dresser. “People can lie with words, but not with actions. At least, not for long.”
“Except, by the time you figure out whether or not they can be trusted, you’ve let them in far enough for them to destroy your heart.”
“Oh, Chloe.” Allison squeezed Chloe’s hand. “You, my dear, have major trust issues.”
“Now, there’s a news flash.” A humorless laugh escaped.
Allison cupped her face. “When it comes to love, at some point, we all have to take a leap of faith.”
Chloe looked into Allison’s serene blue eyes, longing to believe, but afraid to try. “What happens when you land on your face at the bottom of a deep ravine?”
“Maybe the question you should be asking is, what happens when you don’t?” When Chloe just frowned, Allison smiled. “You fly, Chloe. You fly.”
Chapter 14
A weight as heavy as the New Orleans humidity descended over Chloe the instant she stepped out of the cab and looked up at the LeRoche mansion. To her, the white Greek revival with black shutters looked like a beautiful beast lurking behind the massive oak trees. How appropriate that a wrought-iron fence enclosed the pristine grounds around the mansion, like a cage.
It won’t be that bad
, she told herself for the hundredth time.
It’s only for a few days.
The trunk of the taxi slammed behind her.
“Here you go, miss,” the taxi driver said as he set her suitcase on the sidewalk.
“Thank you.” She fished in her purse for a tip.
When he’d gone, she squared her shoulders, took a firm grip on the case’s handle, and rolled it through the ornate, wrought-iron gate that admitted only a privileged few. The case’s wheels clattered on the red brick walkway that led up to the wide front steps. White wicker furniture made the elegant porch look ready for a
Southern Living
photo shoot.
As she dug out her key, she thought of how the place must look to others. How many times had people expressed awe and even envy when they learned she was part of the family who had owned this impressive mansion since before the Civil War.
Yeah, lucky me,
she thought. She rarely said anything to change people’s perception. Keeping up appearances, even in the midst of scandal, was practically the LeRoche family motto. The LeRoches, after all, had been a part of New Orleans society since before Andrew Jackson defeated the British in the War of Eighteen Twelve. They had a grand appearance to maintain.
Of all the things Marguerite had written in her diary, her description of the LeRoche mansion struck the deepest chord with Chloe. Unlike most outsiders viewing the house, Marguerite hadn’t focused on the grandeur. She’d seen a home for a family that spanned generations and had yearned to be part of something so enduring and secure. After Henri, a younger son in the LeRoche family, had come knocking at her dressing room door, Marguerite disguised herself and slipped away to the Garden District to see his world for herself. She’d stood across the street from the mansion and imagined how it would feel to be welcomed into such a house.
Being the unwanted daughter of a prostitute, Marguerite had craved everything she imagined the LeRoche mansion represented. Not just respectability, but belonging and love. No wonder she’d said yes when Henri took her to Pearl Island and promised to build her a house as grand as this one. Marguerite had yearned to fill the mansion on Pearl Island with all the warmth and welcome she’d imagined filled this residence in New Orleans.
If only she’d known the truth before it was too late.
With a sigh, Chloe unlocked the black door and stepped inside, into a world of calculated elegance. The formal living and dining rooms lay to either side of a long hall. DeeDee LeRoche had a love for white that showed in the miles of damask draping the windows. While John had forbidden his wife to replace any of the family’s heirloom furniture, DeeDee had reupholstered the ornate Robert Adams sofa in white, along with the two Louis XIV armchairs that flanked the fireplace. In the dining room, a crystal chandelier sparkled over the nineteenth-century dining table that gleamed with polish.
Everything looked so perfect and peaceful, but in the hush, she could almost hear echoes from the past. John’s low, authoritative voice commanding,
You will do as you’re told, or by God, I’ll take that little red Miata I gave you back to the dealer.
Diane screaming back,
You can’t order me around! I’m not your puppet!
As long as I’m paying for everything you have, you will do as I say.
Sometimes the fights ended there, after a few more screams and tears from Diane. Other times they continued with,
I don’t need you! I have a husband who has plenty of money.
You have a husband who will find himself bankrupt and blackballed if the two of you cause so much as one more breath of scandal with your behavior. Do I make myself clear?
You can’t do that. Even you don’t have that much power.
You want to test me?
I hate you!
The irony of those fights was John’s own string of affairs that had led to him and DeeDee divorcing for a time. Chloe knew, though, that to a powerful and respected businessman like her grandfather, there was a world of difference in him appearing in public with a plaything on his arm, and his daughter behaving like a plaything.
In the end, John LeRoche had always used money as a leash and knew exactly when to give a quick jerk to keep control. This time, Chloe might have found the courage to call him on his threat if Diane hadn’t tipped the scale by bothering Scott and Allison. Chloe couldn’t allow her presence on Pearl Island to cause turmoil for them.
The memories faded, leaving nothing but silence in the air. She suspected the family was in the back garden, having drinks and waiting for her to arrive. Her mother’s fiancé would presumably be there since, according to Diane, he was eager to meet her. That puzzled her. Diane’s men normally acted as if she didn’t exist. Except for Ralph, who’d noticed her a bit too much as her body had bloomed into that of a young woman.
Well, she’d find out what the new man was like soon enough. First, she needed to drop her suitcase in her room and freshen up from the trip. Carrying the case upstairs, she headed toward the room she’d always used when staying with her grandparents, the one that had been her mother’s childhood bedroom.
Sadly, there was nothing of Diane’s vibrant personality in it. Diane might be self-absorbed and irresponsible, but she also exuded a love for fun that many people found infectious. DeeDee, however, preferred absolute order. With Diane no longer living at home, the bedroom looked as pristine as a showroom, where Chloe always feared moving something out of place.
Approaching it now, she wondered if Diane’s attraction to frivolous décor was a rebellion against growing up in a sterile environment, the way Chloe herself had rebelled against her mother’s fussy taste by becoming a tomboy.
Were all families like that?
she wondered.
Like a pendulum swinging wildly with each generation?
Reaching the room, she drew up short.
An explosion of colorful clothes lay strewn over the bed, with lingerie hanging off the wingback chair by the window, and shoes spilling from the closet.
“What in the world?” she muttered.
This mess was classic Diane and looked as if her mother had been staying in the room for quite a while. Had Diane moved back home to live with her parents? Chloe couldn’t imagine her mother doing that with anything less than a gun to her head.
Since she obviously couldn’t stay in her usual room, she picked the one across the hall. She unpacked enough to brush her hair and touch up her make-up. Stepping back from the mirror, she checked her outfit, a green silk top with short, split sleeves and a flared hem that she wore with designer pants. She wanted to be sure she looked presentable. Or rather, presentable by DeeDee’s standards. Nerves swam in her belly and she thought about changing into something dressier. Checking her watch told her she didn’t have time. Besides, she looked fine.