Riches to Rags Bride (14 page)

She nodded. “Let's light a birthday candle for Angie's daughter.”

At that, he held her gaze for a moment. And then they were torn apart by duty, the press, their guests.

Lucas stepped up to a podium they had placed there. A towering, impressive figure in formal black and white, he held the visitors' rapt attention as he gave a brief all-business, all-Lucas intro to the concept of Angie's House. Then Della and the new residents—all of them had opted to participate—came out and greeted everyone, including their new neighbors. They beamed when they were greeted by a round of applause. It was probably the first time some of them had ever received this kind of adulation.

“I feel like a star,” one woman told Genevieve.

“You
are
a star, Lucy,” Genevieve whispered. She felt tears come to her eyes when Lucy gave her a hug and when she looked up, she found Lucas looking directly at her. He looked proud, intense, the best part of her world. He looked like…everything she wanted and could never have. Somehow she managed to smile back and keep her head high.

“And here's the woman who made so much of Angie's House happen,” Lucas said, catching Genevieve by surprise. She stood and smiled at the crowd, acknowledging the applause.

When all the introductions were over, there were thank-yous to all the sponsors. There was food and talk, mingling and videos and tours of the house.

Then Genevieve gave a nod to the women of Angie's House. “We have one more item on the agenda tonight. Our new residents have something they'd like to share with all of you, but particularly with Lucas, the man who envisioned a place where women who had faced tough times could be given safety, encouragement, nur
turing and a home where they could shine and receive a new life.

“These eight women you met earlier are very incredible ladies and they—the women of Angie's House—wanted to do something special to thank Lucas, something personal and unique. With that in mind, they've—no,
we've
—prepared something to tell him what Angie's House has meant to those of us who have been blessed to call this special place our home. So…without further ado, if you'll please turn your attention to the windows, we'd like to present an Angie's House art show.”

As she finished the speech, she stared into Lucas's eyes. And hoped he wouldn't be embarrassed by all the attention.

“Ladies,” she said softly. “This is your home, and you're the hostesses. It's your show now.”

At that, each of the women moved to the windows. Genevieve nodded to one of the servers, who began to raise the heavy curtains that had been concealing the eight canvasses that hung beneath. Each one had been created according to the painter's abilities. There were paintings of flowers in bright splashy reds and blues and yellows; there were more sophisticated and sedate birds and animals; there were mirror mosaics and collages. There was, in fact, only one common thread running through each work of art: a message printed or painted or otherwise meshed into the image. A message to Lucas.

The first woman stepped forward and smiled shyly. “Lucas gave me the chance to get my life back,” she read.

“Lucas gave me hope when I had none,” the next woman said.

“Lucas made me feel that I would smile again.”

On and on, each one different, each one a tribute from the heart. As the crowd turned their attention from one woman to the next, the budding artist read her message. Some of them blushed, some of them mumbled shyly, but no one faltered and all of them read directly from the heart while looking at Lucas. Every one of them smiled at him, though that hadn't been a part of the plan. Finally, there were no more.

Or so it seemed.

Genevieve looked down. She held her breath, closed her mind to the public manner she was doing this. Then, opening the small bag she was carrying that night, she removed the only thing inside, a miniature replica of Angie's House, all in blown glass.

Placing it on her palm, she rose and walked up to Lucas. Through tear-misted eyes, she looked at him. “As the first resident of Angie's House, Lucas, you gave me a home. You turned my life around and sent me in a new direction. You gave me back my art.”

She held out the small bit of glass and he took it from her, their fingers touching. For what seemed like forever, he held her gaze, his own fierce and intense. The room disappeared and all she saw was Lucas.

For one second, he leaned toward her. She leaned to meet him.

Then a whisper sounded behind them and both of them froze.

“Thank you, Genevieve. You've been a tremendous gift and I'll never forget you. Or this. I'll treasure it always,” he said softly, formally, as he held up the tiny glass house for everyone to see.

He dropped a light kiss on her cheek. The guests broke into applause. This was, Genevieve realized, probably the last time she and Lucas would ever touch. Her
cheek burned, her heart ached. Somehow she smiled as if nothing was wrong.

Soon after that, the guests all faded away. The women of Angie's House made their way to bed. All that remained were Lucas and Genevieve.

She didn't know how she would ever do this without breaking down. Words seemed impossible.
Movement
seemed impossible.

Yet, somehow she managed to walk with him to the door and out into the night. Just as if this were an ordinary parting.

Together they stood there. The wind lifted her curls. He brushed them back from her face. “Have a wonderful life, Gen,” he finally said. “And don't forget to lock your doors.”

She somehow smiled. “I won't. I have six locks, you know,” she said.

He returned the smile. “Good night, Gen.”

“Goodbye, Lucas.”
Goodbye forever.

And as he got into his car and drove off, her heart followed him…until the night took him away.

S
IX WEEKS.
I
T HAD BEEN
six weeks since he'd awakened to find Genevieve gone, Lucas thought. He'd wrapped up matters at Angie's House within two days and flown to France. He'd been there and traveling around Europe ever since.

Now, he was supposed to be leaving for Japan.

He glanced down at the bit of glass he was holding, pressing the cell phone to his ear. “So…Genevieve's creating a stir with her work. That's wonderful,” he told Rita. “I'm not surprised and I'm overjoyed that she's so successful.” But he didn't ask Rita to send his good wishes. He didn't intend to intrude in Gen's life in any way.

“Not half as happy as I am,” Rita said. “I'm over the moon that I have the job of representing the new up-and-coming It girl of the art world. We're starting out small, she's still a budding phenomenon, but everywhere she shows up, people go crazy, they act like kids when they see one of her miniature castles or free-form pieces. The fact that she's so likable just seems to fuel people's desire to have a piece of her, even if it's only a piece of her glass. I've seen men follow Genevieve around like lost puppies eager for attention, and Della says that Gen
has become a favorite visitor at Angie's House, giving lessons to the women there.”

“She was always amazing,” he said.
And she's got her life exactly the way she wants it, doing what she wants to do. She's her own woman, free and independent, unfettered by anyone or any man. Finally, she's getting the recognition she should have had years ago if her parents had been the kind of parents they should have been. So, don't think of doing anything to mess with all of that,
he told himself.

He wouldn't. He'd never do anything that would hurt her. Never. But he had to see her just one more time. Rita might have lost sight of the reason for this phone call, but he had not. Just a few minutes ago, when he'd first picked up the phone, she had told him that despite everything, something wasn't right with Gen. Genevieve was fretting about something. Rita didn't know what it was. He suspected that she had called, thinking that he could work some magic and get Genevieve to crank up the production. Her greatest fear seemed to be that if Genevieve was upset, she might not meet the deadlines for a show Rita had arranged.

Lucas growled. He didn't know what was wrong with Genevieve, either, and he didn't give a damn about her production. But when he'd told Rita that, she'd clammed up and—darn the distance that separated them—she'd gotten so caught up in her need to communicate her enthusiasm for her own good fortune at representing Genevieve he hadn't been able to glean any more information from her. She'd gotten very testy when he'd suggested that she stop pressing Genevieve to increase her work hours.

Now, he sat looking at the glass he held in his hand. Something was wrong with Genevieve, he thought, and
everyone seemed more interested in her work than in the woman herself. That wasn't right. And something else wasn't right, either.

It ended all wrong, McDowell. You didn't tell her the important stuff, things she needed to know. That wasn't right. At all. Fix it. Now.

Oh, yes, he knew that his motivations weren't entirely unselfish, if he was honest. He couldn't very well criticize Rita when he would kill just for the chance to look at Genevieve one more time. But she mustn't know how much he cared, how much he missed her, that he was dying here without her. Because what he had to tell her, the thing she needed to know, was far more important than he was.

If she was in any way unhappy, then…

He looked at the glass again, turning it over in his palm. It gleamed and winked. “I can give you one last gift, Gen,” he whispered. “I've discovered a secret that might make you feel a little bit better.”

And he wasn't letting anyone stop him from doing that. He called the people in Japan and told them he wouldn't be coming. He'd fix all of that later. When he cared again.

Right now the only thing he cared about was getting to Genevieve.

 

Genevieve was holding her weekly art class at Angie's House. It was her favorite time of the week. Anyone who wanted to could show up and do anything their creative energies told them to do. And they came. They drew. They painted. Almost none of the work was the kind of stuff that Rita would look at twice.

But to Genevieve, it was all beautiful. Because there was hope and love in every piece of work produced
here. Here was the one place where she could just be Genevieve and not a commercial commodity. There was only one problem, one overwhelmingly big problem. Every time she came here…the place resonated with memories of Lucas. She could barely walk through the halls without remembering his rare, beautiful laughter; she could never go into the bedroom where she had messed up the paint job and he had kissed her for the first time. And when she left Angie's House…tears threatened every single time.

A part of her wanted to stop going, because the experience was so dreadfully painful. But she couldn't. These women were her friends. She couldn't help wondering how Lucas was doing. She sometimes thought of asking Rita, because Rita seemed to know everything, but Rita had never had any qualms about discussing Lucas's relationships with women, and Gen wasn't sure she could handle hearing who Lucas was spending his time with now.

So, she dove into her lessons with the women and tried to block out the ghosts of the days she'd spent here with Lucas. She would keep doing this until her body and brain gave out, until the pain from her loss of Lucas grew dimmer or until she broke from the ache of wanting him.

“Lucy, that's a wonderful hat you've crocheted,” Genevieve said, looking at the wobbly orange thing Lucy was sticking her hook into. Lucy was into crafts. She had no skill, but she loved the process, and Gen loved her attitude. She knew that Lucy had suffered a lot in her life and still managed to smile. It gave Genevieve hope for her own future self. “It's very—”

“Big,” Lucy said, plopping the hat on her head where
it promptly drooped down over her eyebrows. “But you know what? I like it, anyway, and… Hello, Lucas.”

Hello, Lucas?
The air stalled in Genevieve's lungs, her body felt tight, her eyes felt…

Don't cry, don't cry, don't you dare cry,
she ordered herself as she slowly turned around. “Lucas?” Somehow she got the word out past the lump in her throat, even though her voice came out a bit thin and high-pitched.

He pinned her with his gaze, his eyes fierce and hot and…something else she didn't quite recognize. No, she did. He was upset about something. “I heard that you were giving lessons here.”

“Yes. I know I was supposed to be gone from here weeks ago. You don't mind that I'm doing this, do you?”

He and Lucy exchanged a look. He greeted the woman. “She wants to know if it's okay if she volunteers her time.”

Lucy giggled. “I know. She's amazing, isn't she? She even tells us that the stuff we make is beautiful.”

“Genevieve always had a kind heart and a good eye,” he said. “Nice hat.”

Lucy smiled. But she took one more look at Lucas and the expression in his eyes and said, “I think…I should go check out what's for dinner tonight.”

For the first time, Genevieve panicked around Lucas. She had barely been able to keep from crying, she could hardly speak. The risk of him seeing what had to be written in her eyes was too great.

“I'm sure it's something good,” she said, pulling on Lucy's arm to hold her still.

Lucy looked down at Gen. “Gen, you're always so brave and sure of yourself. Why are you holding my
arm? You know Lucas is our friend and he isn't going to bite you. I can tell.”

No, he's going to break my heart when he finishes whatever business he came for and leaves again,
Gen thought.
And I'm going to make a fool of myself this time. This time, knowing what the pain of losing him is like, I won't be able to smile bravely.

But she couldn't say those words, and Lucy left the room. Genevieve was alone with Lucas.

“I didn't mean to disrupt your class,” he said.

She made a pathetic attempt at a smile and shook her head. “It was almost over. I was almost ready to leave.”

“Then I'm keeping you from something.”

I would break any appointment for you,
she thought. “No. Nothing.”

“No…date? I've been told that you have a man harem that trails you around.” He smiled slightly, but the smile was fleeting.

“They're…boys. I don't date them.”

“Who do you date?” he asked. Then he swore. “Don't answer that. I was out of line asking.”

“I don't date,” she answered. “Who do
you
date?” She was afraid to know. She
needed
to know. Maybe hearing about his newest relationship would make it easier to stop loving him and she could get through this conversation without making a fool of herself.

“You,” he said. “In my dreams.”

Her heart began to pound; she couldn't catch her breath. Surely he was joking. Lucas had made it clear that he couldn't be a forever man. He never came back once he was gone. Whirling, trying to regain some composure, she tried to think of something light to say, something that wouldn't reveal how much he affected
her. “Those must be nightmares of my first days here when I didn't know what I was doing.” She aimed for light and teasing, but her throat closed up. Tears threatened. She started to gather up the containers of paint on the table, hoping that her busy hands would project a composure that her voice belied.

Then his hands were on her shoulders. “I shouldn't have said that. I know it's not what you'd want to hear.” His touch…she leaned back slightly. It had been so long since she'd felt his touch, but…he was apologizing to her and—

“No,” she said, turning so that she was facing him now and almost right up against him. She breathed in his scent and felt her heart helplessly going into a fast free fall. “Don't apologize to me. You were just teasing and I'm a strong woman. Right? You helped me learn to be strong.”

“You were always strong. Deep inside. You'd simply buried it.” His hands crept up to frame her face. “I admired you from the first and I… What if I wasn't teasing, Gen?”

A tiny glimmer of hope came to life deep in her heart, but she tried to sidestep it. If Lucas
was
dreaming of her, then he wouldn't see that as a good thing. Love had always been a hurtful thing in his world. If he had dreams of her…maybe he was here for one last look. Because reality often killed dreams.

She looked up into his eyes, afraid to hope, afraid of everything. She hated that. “Are they good or bad dreams?” she asked.

He closed his eyes and pulled her to him. “How can you ask that?”

“I…I don't know. I guess I asked because…” She faltered.
Because I love you but I can't tell you. Because
I don't want to be one of those women you'll regret forever.

“Maybe you asked because I'm such an idiot. Because I've kept the truth from you. I've always walled myself off. But, Gen…being with you…being
away
from you, I realize that a life walled off from everyone is no life at all. When you smiled, my world came alive. When you laughed with me, the world was a thousand times better just because you were there.

“I hid my heart to shield it, but…Gen, you make me want to risk everything.”

Genevieve's whole body felt like one big teardrop. She opened her mouth, hoping she could find her voice, but all that came out was one half-sobbed “Lucas.”

He held up his hand. “You don't
have
to say anything if you don't want to. You don't ever have to love me. It's okay if you don't, but I love
you,
and I can never go back to living behind my walls again. You did that. You opened that door for me.”

Tears threatened to drop from her lashes. She dashed them away and stood tall. She frowned. “So…it's okay if I don't love you.”

He took a deep visible breath and something she couldn't quite decipher flashed in his eyes. He turned to the side and opened his mouth. In half a second flat, Genevieve placed her fingertips over his lips. “Don't lie,” she whispered. “I love you so much it's killing me being apart from you. You don't have to lie.”

He closed his eyes, he pulled her to him, so close she could barely breathe. “Good, because I love you so much that I can't even function. Staying away from you all this time has been torture.”

“Worse than torture,” she said.

“I didn't mean to come spoil things for you. I know how important it is for you to be able to stand alone.”

She pulled back slightly and looked into his eyes. “Yes, but being with you, loving you changed everything. You gave my life back to me, but I'd rather
share
my life. With you, I can still be independent and strong and…yours, too.”

A smile like she'd never seen lit up Lucas's gorgeous face. He dropped a kiss on her lips, hard and fast, and then another slower, simmering one. “You are delicious, wonderful…and…I can't believe that you love me.”

“I can't believe I can finally say it. I can shout it from the rooftops. I love Lucas McDowell, world!” She rose on her toes and kissed the side of his mouth.

“Does this mean that…Genevieve, will you marry me?”

“I'll marry you this minute. As long as you love me.”

“I'll never give you reason to doubt it. In fact…” He dropped to one knee. “I'm afraid I don't have a ring. I came here, promising myself that I wouldn't try to tie you to me by spilling my heart.”

Genevieve put her hands on her hips. “I would have hated it if you hadn't spilled your heart.” Although, of course, she would never have known. “Lucas, Lucas, I'm so glad you told me.”