Magnificent Bastard (24 page)

“Cheyenne should have kept her mouth shut. And if my lawyer has anything to say about it, she’s going to be sorry that she didn’t.”

Anastasia’s eyes narrow. “Right. I understand that you have a nondisclosure agreement. Cheyenne knew she was taking a risk, telling me who you really were, but she’s been my interior decorator for almost a year. She cares about the girls and me. When she saw the pictures from the luncheon on my profile page, she felt she had no choice but to warn me that you might be here to cause trouble.”

“I’m not,” I assure her. “Like I said, this is about being here for Penny. Nothing more.”

She tilts her chin, silently taking my measure. “So you aren’t planning to ruin Phillip? You don’t have a skeleton to pull out of his closet before the wedding on Saturday? Or maybe something for me, some punishment for stealing my daughter’s boyfriend?”

“She asked me not to,” I say, a sour taste filling my mouth. I curse myself for listening to Penny. I should have made sure I had something on both Anastasia and Phillip, just in case. It would be nice to have leverage at a moment like this.

Anastasia nods. “She’s kind. It’s one of the best, and worst, things about her.”

“I don’t see anything bad about being kind.”

“It makes her weak,” Anastasia says calmly. “She tries so hard to make everyone happy that she ends up turning her anger in on herself. If she doesn’t learn to fight back soon, she’ll spend the rest of her life getting shit on by the entire world.”

“Including the people who should have her back the most,” I counter, unable to hold my tongue. “You know who teaches us we’re worth standing up for, Anastasia? Our parents. By loving us and fighting for us before we’re capable of fighting for ourselves.”

She laughs, an uglier sound than her movie-star laugh from a few moments before. “You think I had parents like that? My father was a drunk, my mother was a coward, and both of them couldn’t wait to get rid of me. The second I started to show with Penny, they put my suitcase at the end of the driveway and changed the locks.” She taps two elegant fingers to the center of her chest. “I was seventeen and I had no one. Nothing. I had to fight for everything I have. No one handed me happiness or safety or a career or anything else. I had to fight for it all, all by myself.”

“But I’m assuming your mother didn’t fuck your boyfriend. Did she?” This woman needs a wake-up call and it looks like I’m the only one around willing to give her one. “But you did. You did that to Penny, and then you insisted that she be in the wedding or you would cut her off from her sisters: two little girls she loves more than anything else in the world.”

Anastasia shakes her head. “You don’t—”

“What kind of mother does that?” I insist, cutting her off. “Hell, I wouldn’t do half the things you’ve done to my worst enemy, let alone someone I’m supposed to care about. You aren’t the victim anymore, Anastasia, your daughter is. And you’re the one who’s hurt her the most.”

She crosses her arms, blinking fast as her eyes begin to shine. “I know I’ve hurt her. I never said I was going to win mother of the year.”

“No, no one would ever make that mistake.” I step closer, adding in a softer voice. “But you can show that you give a shit about her. Don’t let on that you know about my consulting business or what I do for my clients. And don’t tell Phillip. Let this play out the way it should. Let Penny have her victory and walk away with her head held high. You and Phillip still get your dream wedding, Penny gets to put this nightmare behind her—everyone wins and no one gets hurt more than they’ve been hurt already.”

Her breath rushes out. “It’s not that simple.”

“Please,” I say, ready to beg if that’s the only way to keep her from ruining this for Penny. “Just do the right thing. For her. She deserves that much. She’s not weak; she’s a good person. One of the best I’ve ever met.”

For a moment, Anastasia’s mask slips and I see the woman beneath, the scared mother who knows that she’s already lost her daughter in all the ways that matter. “But she can’t forgive me, can she?” she asks in a small voice. “Not really. Not even Penny can forgive the things I’ve done.”

I press my lips together. “I don’t know. But if anyone—”

Before I can finish, the door opens and Nanny Helms sticks her head into the room. “Miss Ana, I—” She breaks off when she sees me, her gaze cooling as her eyes track back and forth between the two of us. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company.”

“Oh Bash isn’t company, he’s practically family.” Anastasia laughs, that same, cozy fireside laugh from when I first stepped into the library, as if we haven’t spent the past twenty minutes locked in verbal combat. “What is it, Nanny?”

“It’s Miss Penny,” Helms says, her tone still cautious and controlled. “I found her asleep on the bathroom floor upstairs.”

“Is she okay?” I ask, pulse speeding.

“She’s fine. I helped her into her bedroom and tucked her in.” Nanny Helms holds up a calming hand, but I don’t feel calmed. Somewhere up there Penny is passed out with no one watching over her.

“I’ll go get her.” I take a few steps toward the door, but stop when I realize I don’t know where I’m going. I didn’t get a tour of the upstairs rooms. I glance from Anastasia to Nanny Helms. “She shouldn’t be alone. She’s going to need someone to watch her while she sleeps and make sure she doesn’t get sick.”

“I’m going to sit with her,” Nanny Helms says. “I just wanted to let Miss Ana know that Penny will be staying the night and that I’ll be in her room instead of my own. I’ve left a note for the twins in case they wake up and need me for any reason.”

“That sounds perfect. Thank you, Nanny,” Anastasia says before I can say thanks, but no thanks, I would rather carry Penny to the car and take her back to the cottage with me. I know she doesn’t want to stay here, but I can’t very well tell Anastasia that, not when I’m trying to get her to play nice for Penny’s sake.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of her.” Anastasia moves toward the door as Nanny Helms disappears back into the hall outside. “I’m sure she’ll call you in the morning as soon as she’s awake.”

“I’d like to see her now,” I say, hands curling into fists at my sides, not liking this feeling, like Penny is slipping through my fingers. “I want to make sure she’s okay.”

“She’s fine, Bash. She’s sleeping.” Anastasia pauses with her hand on the door handle and turns back to me. “But thank you for caring so much about her. And for the things you said. I think you’re right. It’s best to let this go, let things take their natural course and move on. I’ll sign a nondisclosure agreement if you’d like, but I give you my word that I’ll keep your secret and advise Cheyenne to do the same.”

“Thank you.” My shoulders relax away from my ears. “I appreciate it.”

“I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for Penny,” she says standing up straighter. “I assume you can show yourself out. Unless you’re interested in returning to the bachelor party?”

I shake my head. “Not even a little bit interested. But tell the douchebag you’re marrying goodbye for me.”

She smiles, a sad, tired smile that makes me think her life isn’t as picture perfect as she would like people to believe. “I’ll give Phillip the message.”

Lifting one elegant arm, she points toward the wall filled with photographs. “Be sure to take a look at the pictures on the bottom left before you go. When she was little, Penny was Miss July for a baby calendar. I show the pictures to all her friends when they come over. She’ll assume something is wrong if she finds out we were in the library and I didn’t do my best to embarrass her.”

“I’ll take a look,” I say. “And please call me if she wakes up and needs anything tonight. Sprite or aspirin or something for her stomach. Anything at all.”

This time, her smile is warm. “I will. Good night, Sebastian.”

“Good night.” When she’s gone, I turn, ambling past the framed photographs, scanning them until I find the ones Ana was talking about. When I do, I smile.

There, dressed in a lobster costume, is a cherub-faced baby with dark curls and a toothless smile who can only be baby Penny. In one, she’s lying on the sand, caught mid-giggle as a wave crashes onto the shore. In another, she’s sitting in a pot, brown eyes wide, as if contemplating her own mortality. And in the last, she’s making her escape from the pot, claws reaching for the ground as the costume falls down around her legs, revealing her bare little bottom.

“Penny for your lobster pot,” I whisper aloud, finally understanding her e-mail address. It’s another piece of the Penny puzzle.

Another something to love about her
, I think, my chest going tight.

This isn’t how I wanted this night to end, with Penny out cold and me going home alone without having said any of the things I need to say. But I should know by now that life rarely works out as planned. If it did, there wouldn’t be a need for Magnificent Bastard Consulting in the first place.

I stand staring at the pictures of the beautiful baby my beautiful girl used to be, foolishly hoping that Penny will wake up and come downstairs to look for me. But the house remains quiet and finally, I’m forced to admit defeat.

I let myself out the mammoth front doors and walk down the path leading to the circle drive where Penny and I parked just a few hours ago.

I pause, checking my watch. No, not even three hours.

Just a little over two, in fact.

My forehead bunches. How the hell did she get passed out drunk that fast?

I turn, gazing back up at the house, scanning the windows on the second floor. But there are no lights on and no movement behind the gauzy white curtains. Finally, after a long, tense moment in which my gut does its best to convince me I’m being watched, I shake my head and hurry toward the car.

I’m getting paranoid. Penny isn’t trying to avoid me. We didn’t have time to grab dinner before the party and now she’s paying the price for drinking too much champagne on an empty stomach. That’s all.

But as I start the car and drive away, I can’t shake the feeling that I shouldn’t be. I should be storming the castle and fighting for the princess asleep in her tower, not taking my sorry ass back to our romantic cottage alone.

But then, I don’t have much experience playing Prince Charming.

“Prince Charming is a crock of shit,” I whisper to the dash lights. “He doesn’t exist.”

But maybe he should. Maybe he fucking should.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

And now something from

Penny Elizabeth Pickett…

I’m watching him walk away, admiring how damned beautiful he is and the way he walks like he’s never known what it feels like to be anything be perfectly at home in his own skin, when he turns and looks up, scanning the second-floor windows.

I freeze, terrified he’s going to see me hiding behind the curtains and terrified that he won’t.

God, I don’t want him to leave without me.

I don’t want to spend the night alone in my childhood bedroom, haunted by the ghost of the girl I was back when I believed that the people I loved would never hurt me—at least, not on purpose. At least, not on purpose and then come back for seconds, blackmailing me into being the maid of honor at this nightmare wedding when I proved that I could take the “you’re sleeping with my boyfriend” punch without hitting the mat.

I want to go back to the cottage with Bash and pretend we belong there. Pretend he’s mine and I’m his and he’s never going to run from me again.

Please, see me,
I silently beg.
See me and come back and make me stop pushing you away.

Don’t go. Please don’t go.

But after a moment, Bash tilts his head down, casting his eyes in shadow, and starts toward the car. He walks faster than he did before as if he can’t wait to get away from this house and all the crazy inside of it. The crazy fading movie star, the crazy douchebag ex-boyfriend, and the crazy client/assistant/friend he made the mistake of letting get too close.

I press my lips together, fighting the tears filling my eyes, blurring the taillights of the rental car as Bash drives away.

Too close.
I knew better than to get too close. He always runs when he starts to feel something real. Every single time.

But I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t help falling in love with him.

Looking back, I realize I’ve been falling in love with him a little bit every day for years. It wasn’t watching him kiss my horrible, awful, very bad tattoo or the way he looked at me after we made love yesterday that started this; it was what sealed the deal. Sealed my fate. Sealed the slow, painful death of our friendship because there’s no way I can go back to the way things used to be now that I know what it’s like to make love to him.

To wake up next to him. To share meals and conversations and silly jokes and watch him get his fingernails painted because he knows it’s making two little girls I love happy.

Today almost killed me—pretending I wasn’t hurting, that I didn’t miss him already. Fighting the urge to grab his big, stupid, beautiful shoulders and shake him until he realizes that when you find something like this you should run
toward
it, not away.

But shaking him wouldn’t do any good and it wouldn’t be fair.