Forever in Love (27 page)

Catherine felt her jaw drop. “Dyslexic?”

“It just means you don’t perceive letters the way most people do, but that doesn’t make you stupid or anything. It just makes you a little bit different, and of course reading is harder. But a lot of people with dyslexia do just fine.”

“I know what it means. It’s just… I just never considered…” Catherine let out a long shuddering breath. “Do you really think that’s the problem?”

Gavin stood up. “One way to find out.” He pulled a travel magazine off the counter and opened it to a random page. “Why don’t you try reading this out loud?”

Mr. Pragmatic. Catherine hated him briefly, hated the idea that both he and Amandine were looking at her expectantly, and that she was about to be embarrassed. A hundred schoolroom memories came flooding back, making her panic. But as she looked at them she saw that they were both just concerned for her. She closed her eyes.
Stop expecting the worst of people
.

“Okay. I’ll…try.” She took the page, which had a picture of some tropical island with a double-peaked mountain rising from it. When she turned her gaze to the text the words started swimming around like they always did. “The dest…no, best tmenty…inlands to line on…” She took a breath. “Car…I…Caribbean and Sound…South Pacific…peachfront for…less than…” She looked away and shook her head. “I can’t do this.”

Amandine gently took the magazine from her and glanced at the headline. “The twenty best islands to live on. Caribbean and South Pacific beachfront for less than $150,000.”

Catherine felt like she was surfacing from a dream. So it really was true? If so, why hadn’t her mother gotten her help?

Because I would’ve been labeled
“
dyslexic
,”
and it would’ve bothered her to know her daughter wasn’t officially perfect
.

Olivia could never stand it when people criticized even the most minute thing about her or her family. Image was everything. And after her husband had lost his fortune, her pretty, trophy-wife material daughter had offered the best chance of regaining the kind of lifestyle she believed should be hers.

Catherine sat stunned. How could she not have seen how selfish her mother had been? How could she not have realized that mothers didn’t tell their children how stupid they were or how they would never amount to anything except some rich man’s possession? Olivia’s behavior had been unnatural and manipulative, hurting Catherine to get what she wanted.

“Are you all right?” Amandine asked, her voice soft.

“Yes.” Catherine nodded slowly. “I think I am. For once, I’m seeing things rather clearly.”

“So…” Gavin raised both eyebrows.

Catherine collected her thoughts. “So I’m going to do my very best with Barron’s art collection.”

* * *

Out on his new family’s deck, Blaine helped himself to another beer and stared out at the early morning sea. The brew tasted bitter. He checked the label and shook his head. Some unpronounceable—but undoubtedly expensive—German beer. So why did it taste like shit?

It was probably just his mood. Paris! Catherine might as well have said she wanted to live on Mars.

“Drinking first thing in the morning,” came Ceinlys’s frosty voice. “Typical. You may have some of the Pryce money now, but you’re not a real Pryce.”

“That’s right. I’m a Davis,” he said, still facing the ocean.

“Turn around when you talk to me.”

“Why ruin the scenery?” This was the first time since he’d “joined” the family that they were by themselves, but he had nothing to say to her. “Leave me alone.”

“You leave
us
alone. You’re nothing, just some filthy—”

“You know what happened to that locket your husband bought you? The one with rubies and sapphires and a big pearl? With a photo of you and him on your wedding day?” He felt her go still. “You ever find it?”

A short pause. “It won’t prove anything,” she said, her voice still hard.

“Pretty sure your prenup says something about staying faithful.”

“If that were the case, do you think Salazar would’ve been unfaithful to me?”

Blaine finally glanced over at Ceinlys. Dark-haired with aristocratic features, she was beautiful, not a wrinkle marring her face. But then she probably didn’t smile enough to line her skin. She wore an expensive dress in black that looked way too formal for morning wear, but then what did he know about the lifestyles of the rich? “Mark told me the prenup was your mother-in-law’s idea. So I’m guessing she put stuff in there to protect the Pryce family and Salazar, not you. Which means she wouldn’t have cared who her playboy son might be out screwing, but would’ve cared a whole lot that you might be tempted to play around with other men.”

“I’ll tell Salazar you stole the locket,” Ceinlys said, shaking with rage. “It’s the kind of thing someone like you would do.”

Blaine laughed. “That’s a great explanation. How are you going to explain the fact that I know what that birthmark on your left butt cheek looks like? A crimson anvil…I still remember. I don’t suppose you’re going to tell him you were mooning me just for the hell of it. I’ve also seen that little star-shaped mole on your left breast. You gonna explain that one away too?”

“You bastard,” she said between clenched teeth.

He raised the dregs of his beer in a salute. “I
am
a bastard…and you’re a cheater, one who’s afraid to get caught because you like the benefits that come with being Salazar’s wife. You want to keep it that way, stay out of my business.”

“I’ll tell him you tried to rape me.”

“Rape an old prune like you?” Blaine laughed again. “Yeah, that’ll sell. And if I did rape you, why didn’t you tell Salazar when it allegedly happened?” When Ceinlys didn’t answer, he nodded. “You might want to think things through a little better.”

He downed the rest of his beer and rose. Suddenly he was tired of the scenery. “Don’t fuck with me, Ceinlys. Like you said, I didn’t grow up genteel.”

As he headed inside, he ran into Vanessa. She was the youngest of the Pryces and a lawyer, he recalled. Sweat was beaded on her skin, and she made a face as she wiped off her shoulders. “Hey, Blaine.”

“Been out jogging?”

“Yup. It’s pretty nice out now. After nine it gets too hot for a run. I have no idea why Barron picked Thailand for a spring wedding.”

“Doesn’t make much sense, does it? Hey, you know when everyone’s going back to the States?”

She shrugged. “Whenever they feel like it, of course. Why? You don’t like it here?”

“Too many people in the house.” He needed to get out before he did something stupid like grabbing Catherine and locking her away so she couldn’t fly off to some fancy schmancy place where he didn’t fit in.

Vanessa chuckled. “I hear you. If you’re dying to get out of here, I’m flying to L.A. tonight on Dad’s jet.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Catherine sped along the highway in Tennessee. Her Aston Martin purred like a large and happy feline, and she’d missed driving it. A smile curved her lips. In the two weeks since her return from Thailand, everything with her first job—her first job!—had been taken care of. She’d even gone to Barron’s office in Houston and confessed that she had problems reading and writing.

He’d stared at her and then burst out laughing. It wasn’t the reaction she’d expected.

When he’d regained control enough to speak, he said, “Oh my…Catherine. If I wanted somebody who could read and write well, I would’ve hired an English major from Oxford. You’re fine.”

“Are you sure? I’m probably dyslexic or something.”

“My dear, I’m always sure. Dyslexia or no, it’s obviously never interfered with your picking a winner. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll make sure your assistant is an English major from one of the East Coast colleges.”

“But you shouldn’t have to do that!”

He waved away her objection. “I was going to hire you an assistant anyway. Don’t worry about it.”

That had taken a big load off her mind. She’d been so sure he’d fire her even before she’d started. But apparently her poor reading and writing skills weren’t the terrible character flaws her mother had made them out to be.

She pulled into the driveway in front of the Blue House. Salazar had rented it to her again, this time billing Barron. She needed to check up on Dusty…and maybe see Blaine too.

The familiar white Ford sedan sat in the driveway. Catherine went in and Irene appeared in the hall, her outfit as poorly coordinated as before. “Well shut my front door,” the older woman said. “You look fabulous.”

“Thank you,” Catherine said, a bit startled by the effusive greeting.

“I got some yogurt and salad and stuff in the fridge. That’s what I was told you liked the last time.”

“Oh.” Catherine pulled her lips in. “Actually…I prefer bacon and hamburgers and steak.”

Irene shook her head. “Shoulda known better than to listen to Sean.”

Catherine frowned. “Sean?”

“Told me you don’t like anything except yogurt and fruit and veggies.”

“Oh… Well, I was on a diet before.”

“For what?”

“You know…I have no idea. Which is why I stopped.”

“Well then. I’ll get some more stuff for the fridge. And if you want, I guess I could put together a steak burrito or two.”

“That’d be lovely.”

Irene cleared her throat. “Hope there’s no hard feelings about what happened before. I honestly thought maybe you were somebody suspicious, but then when I heard about how I mucked things up with my nosiness…” She wrung her hands. “I just felt awful.”

“So long as you don’t do it again, it’s all right.” Catherine lowered her voice. “You read the report on Blaine, didn’t you?”

Irene blushed, biting her lower lip. “I did. Just couldn’t help it.”

“You should keep that to yourself. His father owns this place, you know.”

“We all know,” Irene said. “Everyone in town knows about the money and the rich family connection.”

“Huh. Guess nothing stays secret.”

“Not in this town.” Irene sighed. “Poor guy. The second he came back, everyone jumped on him.”

“Oh? For what?”

“For money. Most folks around here could use some. They were hounding him so bad he had to close The Line.”

Catherine put a hand over her mouth. “No way. He loves running that place.”

“Hard to run a bar when you got more people wanting to get money than give it to you. Customers like me had no place to sit down. Couldn’t hardly reach the bar to get a beer, either. It was a mess.”

“That’s terrible.” But she shouldn’t be surprised something like this had happened. Hadn’t she experienced first-hand how money affected those around her?

Troubled by the news, Catherine went upstairs to the master bedroom. She wished there was something she could do to help Blaine, but there was nothing she could do except keep treating him the way she’d always treated him. Her phone buzzed, and she pulled it out. A text from her assistant popped up with a phone number—Dusty’s mobile.

Catherine dialed and waited. He picked it up. “Hello?”

“Hi, Dusty. This is Catherine Fairchild.”

“Hey, Catherine! Wow, I been tryin’ to find you. How did you get this number?”

“My assistant got it for me. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I been wantin’ to give you that ring back, so it’s all good.”

“Oh no.” Catherine sank down into the high-backed armchair near the window. “Have you painted anything since I left?”

“Yeah, but with my own money. I don’t wanna take anythin’ from you. Like I said, it ain’t right. I never gave you a thing.”

“Well, maybe we can change that.”

“Yeah? Like how?”

“I want to see all the artwork you currently have. Paintings, drawings, everything. I need to cull a few pieces.”

“Huh?”

“I need to choose some for a collection. Would that be all right?”

“Well, sure.” She could sense a blush in his tone. He was such a sweet guy. “Whatever you want.”

“How about we meet tomorrow morning? Send your address to my phone.” It was now linked to the GPS in her car. Barron’s techie guys had taken care of that.

They exchanged a few more words and hung up. She heard the door downstairs close, which she assumed was Irene leaving to get some
real
food.

The last two weeks had been hectic, but oddly enough the thought of Blaine lingered in the back of her mind. She’d told herself she didn’t want a relationship until she was ready. She’d told him that too.

So why did she keep thinking about him?

Somebody knocked on the door, and she frowned. Who could it be? Probably everyone in the town knew she was back—people here gossiped worse than high school girls in a bathroom. But she didn’t know anyone who’d want to visit, and Blaine hadn’t contacted her since their dance at the wedding, so…

Shrugging she went downstairs. Maybe it was a package from Barron or Salazar. She opened the door and almost gasped at the sight of Blaine standing on the other side with a brown grocery bag.

“Welcome back to Cooter’s Bluff,” he said.

“Hi.” She stared at him and the grocery bag. Despite the smile on his face, there were lines of tension and fatigue around his eyes. She wanted to reach up and soothe them. But instead she curled her hands by her sides. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d come by. See how you’re doing.”

“Well, I just got here, but…” She gestured for him to come in.

He went to the kitchen and set the bag on the counter. “I was surprised when I heard from Irene that you were coming back. I thought you said you wanted to go to Paris.”

“I said Paris was an option.”

“Oh. Okay.” He seemed to think that over for a moment, then started pulling groceries from the bag. “So where are you living now?”

“Don’t know yet. I haven’t had a chance to look at anything.” She crossed her arms as ground meat, potatoes and various vegetables appeared on the counter. A bottle of rosé joined the food. “What are you doing?”

“Looks to me like I’m making you dinner. Why?”

“I heard you closed The Line.”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Something like that.”

She waited for him to say something more, and frowned when he didn’t. But what claim did she have over him? She’d said she needed to be sure she was ready, and he was respecting her wishes. She didn’t have the right to pry. “Irene’s going to make me steak burritos.”