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Chapter Fifteen

Remington Wilde

The Wilde Townhouse, Victoria

 

I’ve not slept a wink.

All night I paced around my room in
the Governor’s Mansion, reliving every terrible word I said to Veronique,
cursing myself for being such an immature dick. A really remarkable,
vulnerable, beautiful woman just told me she was pregnant by me, and what did I
do?

I insulted her.

What the hell is wrong with me?

As soon as the sun came up, I was
out the door, jogging around the island to try to burn up this nervous energy. It
didn’t really help. So now I’m on the doorstep of my mother’s house, seeking
forgiveness.

A familiar face answers my knock.
It’s a woman – the same woman I saw in Veronique’s villa before I left for the
capital. She stares at me, this time with even more open dislike.

“Mr. Wilde,” she says. “You are a
bastard.”

And she shuts the door in my face.

Ugh.

Not again.

It’s like slamming doors in my face
is this woman’s favorite hobby. Not that I don’t deserve it. Stifling my
annoyance, I knock again. The woman has to open the door, and she knows it. She
does so grudgingly, staring at me like I’m a cockroach.

“Good morning,” I say as politely
as I can. “Bastard or not, I need to see Veronique. Is she awake?”

The woman glares at me. “You should
be ashamed of yourself. What you said to her. Doubting her at a time like this,
treating her like dirt. Why should I let you in? Would I let a rabid dog in? You’ll
only hurt her more.”

It takes me only a moment to put
two and two together and realize this person must be Veronique’s confidant, the
one who helped her get the pregnancy tests, the one who knows about the
situation.

“Please,” I beg in desperation,
sticking my foot in the door as she tries to slam it again. “Please, I know I’ve
been terrible. I know I don’t deserve another chance. But please let me talk to
her. I’m here to apologize and to make things right. Is she awake?”

The woman frowns at me. “She is not
some slut like your clubbing girls and your playboy women. You took advantage
of her. You are so blind from your own bad habits that you can’t even see a
good person when one comes into your life. And what do you do? You cut her
down. Destroy her hopes. You are a bastard.”

“I know,” I admit ruefully. “Come
on, let me in. You can yell at me all you want later, but I have to apologize
to her before I lose my chance.”

She studies me, and for a minute I
think she’s about to slam the door again, but finally she pulls it open and
steps aside, muttering curses at me in French as I pass her.

“Mademoiselle Veronique is out on
the patio,” the woman says. “With Madame Diana and Monsieur Jacques. Watch
yourself, Monsieur Remington. They do not know anything about the baby.”

The baby.

Wow.

Hearing someone say it out loud
makes my throat tighten with emotion.

I got Veronique pregnant. Yes, I
know it was me. I know it’s mine.

And I know it’s time to man up.

I find them all on the patio,
eating breakfast. Veronique sees me first. She freezes for a minute like a
terrified child, but then a cold expression crosses over her face, almost as if
she is erasing any feelings. Then she returns to her toast, ignoring me.

“Remington!” My mother waves me
over and points to a chair. “Come join us!”

Jacques turns and smiles. “Good
morning, Remington. That was quite a party last night. Great work!”

“Thank you,” I say, sliding into my
chair.

Next to Veronique.
She is buttering her toast like it’s the most fascinating, important toast in
the world, like it’s made out of plutonium and requires the most careful attention
or else it will explode. Sitting not five inches away from her, I might as well
be invisible for all the notice she pays me.

But I don’t blame her.

“Good morning, Veronique,” I try.

But she doesn’t respond, just takes
a giant bite of her toast and reaches for the pot of coffee before returning to
the American newspaper she is reading.

I might as well be mute.

But I can’t say I don’t deserve the
cold shoulder.

“We’re all a little foggy this
morning,” my Mom says, not understanding the tension between me and Veronique.
“Too much of that punch! I’m trying to catch up on opening this stack of mail. Need
something to read, Remington?”

“I’ll take the business section of
Veronique’s paper. If you don’t want it, sis.”

I use that nickname on purpose,
knowing Veronique hates it, in the hopes that it will get me a reaction. But
she ignores me. She juts continues to chew her toast and read, not bothering to
look up as she slides the business section out of the paper and drops it on the
floor next to me.

Yup. She’s pissed.

I can’t blame her.

“Thank you,” I mumble, reaching
down to pick it up.

“There’s a big article on your
merger,” Jacques says. “Page five.”

I appreciate that he doesn’t bother
me much, doesn’t try to force a relationship to form and just occasionally adds
something brief and relevant to the conversation. I think I may have misjudged
him at the start, and it crosses my mind that a way to help smooth things out
with Veronique might be to patch things up with her Dad.

“Great. Thank you, Jacques.”

Everyone silently returns to his or
her reading, almost like a normal family, and I feel the pressure building
inside. I have to find a way to apologize, to get Veronique alone, to make
things right. So I’m sitting there racking my brain trying to think of
something clever and nice to say to Jacques, when all of a sudden the world
turns upside down.

It starts innocuously enough.

“What’s this?” My mom mutters,
cutting into a manila envelope. I don’t even glance up from my business paper
for a few more minutes, when all of a sudden I hear my mother gasp and drop her
fist on the table, spilling her coffee.

There are some papers clutched in
her fist.

“Jacques,” she cries, “What is
this? What does this mean?”

“What’s the matter?” he asks, his
face suddenly worried.

I’m worried too. Outbursts are not
normal for my mother.

“What is this?!” She repeats,
throwing the papers at Jacques.

Puzzled, Jacques picks the papers
up from the breakfast table, piecing them together and scanning them as quickly
as he can.

“Oh no,” he murmurs after a minute.
He looks up at my mother, his face tortured. “It’s my police record. Yes, I
have a police record. I was arrested once. I never told you. Of course you must
be upset. But how? I don’t understand why this came to you. I should have
mentioned it before, but Diana, please believe me; it was just so long ago, and
such a silly story, half the time I forget it even happened. Please, darling,
believe me. I didn’t mean to hide it from you.”

“How could you?” My mother asks.
“How could you keep something like this from me? Jacques, it’s too horrible
that you wouldn’t trust me enough to tell me. I thought I’d earned your honesty
and your openness, especially about something so important. Did you think I
would judge you? Why would you hide it?”

“Please, Diana, understand –”

“No! I am too upset to understand.
You understand! You left out this story. What else have you left out? And to
find out in this cold, terrible way, in a letter over breakfast! What kind of a
cruel joke is this? Remington?”

She’s pointing a finger at me, and
I feel the blood draining from my face just the same way it did when I got in
trouble as a little kid.

When Diana Wilde gets angry, you’re
done.

“Remington, how dare you. I know
this was you. I know you didn’t trust me to choose my own husband, but to go
behind our backs like this, to send me his police record, to snoop around and
sabotage my marriage like this? You’ve broken my heart!”

Before I can respond, my mother
storms away.

I’ve never seen her storm away
before.

Not once. In my entire life.

Whoa.

“Diana!” Jacques calls. He jumps
out of his seat, staring after her in shock, and then turns to me. “Remington,
I apologize, I am sure this was some mistake. I hope you’ll learn to trust me
in time, but if you’ll both excuse me, I am going to see if I can’t talk to
her.”

With that, Jacques disappears into
the house, calling my mother’s name.

Chastened and horrified, I reach
for the manila envelope that has fallen over my mother’s plate. It’s addressed
to me, and I recognize the return address as one of the detective agencies I
had hired last month, back when I was intent on exposing Jacques as a fraud and
gold-digger. I had completely forgotten about my stupid quest to ruin him,
completely forgotten about all the information I had ordered, completely
forgotten that I had asked them to send things here to Victoria where I thought
I would be alone to intercept them.

I
was
trying to sabotage
their marriage. I
did
think I knew better than my mother. I
did
cause this.

It
is
my fault.

“Shit,” I curse.

I scan over the paperwork, seeing
that Jacques was only arrested for being present at a poker game in New York
City that was being run without a license. Nothing dramatic. I myself have been
arrested for worse.

“Shit,” I say again.

I drop the papers back onto the
table and rub my face in my hands, groaning. When I look up, I see that
Veronique is staring at me.

Her angelic face is laced with
pain.

Oh god. No. Veronique.

I’ve just made a terrible situation
even worse.

“I understand your not trusting
me,” she says, her barely controlled voice like a pot of boiling water. “I
understand your not wanting me. It hurts, but I can understand it. I can also
understand your not trusting my father. That’s one thing. But to hurt your
mother like that? Even if you hate me and my father, how could you purposefully
destroy your own mother’s happiness?”

I feel shame making my cheeks hot
even as my body grows colder, her words twisting like a knife.

“I didn’t!” I stutter, knowing I
sound even guiltier. “I mean, I didn’t mean to! I swear, Veronique. I never
meant my mother to see that. I never meant her to find out this way. I was
trying to do what I thought was the responsible, smart thing.”

“I don’t believe you,” Veronique
says. “I wish I could, but I don’t. What did you do, hire somebody to dig up
all my family’s dirt?”

She jumps out of her chair, her
eyes flashing angrily.

“You want the LaRoux’s dirt,
Remington? Is that what you want? Well I can tell you all the dirt. There’s a
lot of dirt for you. You’ll love it. Ready? Here it comes.”

“Veronique –“

“Shh! Let me tell you everything!
Let’s see, what’s the dirt? Did your detectives find out that my mother’s
father was a kamikaze pilot for Japan in WWII, and that after the war my
grandmother had to hide it so she could get work as a housekeeper in the
states? Did they tell you my mom had rocks thrown at her at school because she
was Japanese? That I was called names in school too? Did they tell you my Dad
plays poker because he’s been on his own since he was fourteen? That no one
ever wanted us? Anything else you want to know about my family?”

“Veronique, I’m sorry.”

“Or – ooh! – here, how about this
one? I got a good one, I got a real juicy piece of dirt for you that I am sure
you and your mom and your detectives and all the tabloids would
love
to
get their hands on; did you know that I’m pregnant and single and unwanted, and
that the father is my billionaire stepbrother?”

“Veronique, please –”

“Just how good are your detectives,
Remington? Because I bet they couldn’t tell you this part: here’s the clincher,
the clue that will crack the case. Did they tell you that I don’t want anything
to do with someone who hurts people on purpose, someone that intentionally hurts
people I love? Did they tell you I’d be actually thankful that I got to see you
do that, so that I could know once and for all that it’s ok that you rejected
me? Did they tell you I’ve had enough?”

“Veronique…”

There’s nothing I can think of to
say.

“I’m sorry.”

There’s nothing I can think of to
do.

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

I want to hug her, to apologize to
her, to beg her to forgive me.

“Well, Remington, you really,
really did.”

I feel frozen to the chair with the
weight of my mistake.

By the time I can even try to form
words, by the time I can raise my head to try to look at her, she is gone –
back into the house, upstairs, behind locked doors, unreachable.

She is probably crying. Alone.

My mom is probably crying. Alone.

Jacques…who the hell knows what
he’s doing. But he’s probably crying. Alone.

What a mess.

I sit at the table, my head in my
hands, and I am not embarrassed to admit that I feel a tear streak down my
face.

 

 

Chapter Sixteen

Veronique LaRoux

North Island of the Seychelles

 

My Dad and I arrived back at North
Island a couple hours ago. It’s safe to say that the LaRouxs are in a sorry
state. Neither of us have been this depressed since…well…since my Mom died.

The tropical daylight is bright,
clean, and fresh, but as beautiful as the day is, my heart is heavy. If the
only problem was my drama with Remington, I think I could handle it. But
there’s trouble in paradise all around. It’s way worse to watch my Dad going
through heartache at the same time as me. I’m depleted enough on my own, but
seeing my Dad suffer and not being able to really help him? Brutal.

Why did Remington have to do this
to us?

We came back to North Island from
the capital to look for Diana; she disappeared from the family townhouse in the
capital after the fight yesterday and then never came home last night. We looked
for her all over Victoria, even at the Governor’s Mansion, and when we couldn’t
find her we thought maybe she’d come back here.

My Dad didn’t say anything the
entire boat ride. He hasn’t said anything since last night.

It’s not just that it’s my Dad’s first
fight with his new bride; it’s that he’s terrified the first fight will be the
last if he can’t find her and have a chance to clear the air. I can feel his
tension, his fear. His loneliness.

He doesn’t want to lose her.

You know, it’s really fucking hard
to fight with a person that isn’t there. It’s hard to reconcile when someone
won’t even show up. Like Remington and me: I can’t fight for us if he isn’t
willing to fight, too. There’s no one to fight
with
.

Nothing to fight for.

I wish…ugh...

But what’s the point of wishing?

Remington doesn’t want me.

And I can’t help my Dad.

It’s the worst day ever.

But we keep looking, hoping against
hope. My driver Chip and Shereen have split up too, each headed in opposite directions
around the island’s main road to help us find Diana. They’ll be asking around
if any of the resort staff has seen her while Dad searches their shared rooms
and I scour the beach.

It’s a long, long day. And when we
all meet back at my bungalow at sunset, everyone’s faces are downcast and
tired.

No Diana.

No luck.

No hope.

“Guess I’m tapped out,” Dad says.

It’s a gambling term. It means he’s
giving up.

Sighing, I plop down next to him on
the couch. My body hurts. I haven’t had a lot of symptoms of pregnancy yet, but
I feel them starting. My feet are swollen and sore from walking all day, so I prop
them up on the couch while Shereen lights the fire pit and orders some dinner
delivered from the central resort.

As much as I want to quit, I can’t
stand to watch my Dad give up. One of us has to fight.

“Nah,” I say. “You’re not tapped
out, Dad. You’re just the dark horse up against tall odds. You’ll pull through
in the end. You’ll see.”

He grins ruefully. “This might be
the end, Kiki. Can you believe it? Something so stupid. I know better than to
hide anything from her. I didn’t mean to. I really had completely forgotten
about that time in New York, getting arrested. It feels like another life. I
was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Playing an illegal game.”

“Yeah, but, come on. There were no
legal games in the city then. That’s just how it was.”

“I know.”

“I know Diana would have understood.
I didn’t hide it from her on purpose.”

“I know Dad.”

“I just
wish
I could tell
her. I wish she could believe that I
did
trust her. That I
do
trust
her.”

“You will.”

He closes his eyes and shakes his
head. I can see the exhaustion and disappointed hopes on his face, and it
breaks my heart all over again.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“Oh, sweetie, don’t be. You haven’t
done anything wrong. You’re my angel.”

All I’ve ever wanted is my Dad to
be safe and happy, and possibly to become safe and happy myself. Instead, here
we are: both with broken hearts, out of our league, deserted by our
too-beautiful, too-good-to-be-true Wilde lovers.

Why is love always so hard?

Why are the Wildes so…wild?

Maybe that’s what we get for
playing with fire. For reaching for the stars. Normal little people like us
aren’t meant to be with stars. Maybe we were destined to crash and burn.

I lean my head against my Dad’s
shoulder and he reaches his arm to hug me from the side. We sit in silence a
moment, each of us thinking.

“You know,” Dad says after a
minute, “Life gets difficult sometimes, sweetheart. I’ve had so many
experiences now, so many stories, that I sometimes forget to keep track of them
all. But your experiences, your stories – they’re important. They help shape
the person you are. And when you love someone, it’s very important to share who
you are with them. Your stories. Your truth. That’s the mistake I made with
Diana. I left some important things out. True love needs the truth. I didn’t
give her enough of the truth. I was too afraid my bad luck would follow me, and
now it has. That’s why it’s important to be brave, to give it everything you’ve
got all the time and never hold back.”

I process this.

“But Dad, you didn’t lie or omit
anything on purpose. It was an accident.”

Like my pregnancy.

Which, by the way, I haven’t told
him about. Or anyone, besides Shereen, the doctor, and Remington.

“Accidents still count,” Dad
grunts. “Accidents can change everything.”

I feel tears start to prick my eyes
and swallow them down. God, he’s right. I know all about accidents changing
everything.

Suddenly I sit up, inspired.

“Accidents aren’t the problem,” I
say. “It’s how we handle them.”

I’m having a freaking epiphany.

I feel like a genius.

This is an opportunity; not just
for Dad to make things right with Diana, but for me to make some big, good
decisions about the rest of my life. My story doesn’t have to be that I’m
pregnant and abandoned and alone.

My story can be whatever I make it.

Eyes clear, I turn to my Dad.

“Dad,” I say, “I want you to know
no matter what happens, I’m proud of you. I’m proud of the fact that you loved
someone enough to take a chance at a new life. And I’m proud of the fact that
even when things go wrong, you’re trying to fix them.”

“Thanks Kiki.”

“I mean it. You should keep fighting
for Diana, and I just want to say: if you’re afraid of sharing certain things
with her because you’re worried about hurting me or disrespecting my Mom’s
memory or anything like that – don’t worry.”

My Dad’s eyes fill with tears. I
take his hands.

“I want you to be happy, Dad. And
Mom would too. I think you and Diana are great together, and this is just a
little bump in the road. You’ll find her, and work things out. I have faith in
you guys.”

Dad’s tears fall quietly down his
cheeks as his face cracks into a smile. He pulls me into a bear hug.

“You’re the best kid in the world,”
he says, kissing my hair. “Thank you, Kiki. You’re right. I won’t give up yet.”

“Good. Because it’s not over until
it’s over.”

Dad sighs and stands up. “You know
what? You’re right. But I’m exhausted. I think I’ll go back to my rooms and see
if Diana’s turned up, and if not, I’ll just crash for the night. Sleep solves a
lot of problems. Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you.”

“Goodnight Daddy. Love you too.”

I watch him go, feeling both
hopeful and sad. God damn it, it isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that Remington
should mess up BOTH our love lives.

Who the hell does he think he is?

Most sexy eligible stepbrother in
the world or not, he doesn’t have the right to hurt my Dad like this.

Suddenly angry, I pick up my phone
and type out a text:

 

Your Mom is missing. Can’t find
her anywhere. Worried. Please do something. My Dad is waiting at for her on
North Island. Least you could do is try to fix the fucking mess you made.

 

It’s the first message I’ve typed to Remington since before
the Governor’s Ball, and I hesitate a good long moment debating whether or not
I should send it. I stare at the words on the screen.

Should I even bother asking him for
help? Is it worth a try? Will he give a damn?

It makes me feel even lonelier,
knowing how quickly I could send him a message, how technology makes people so
reachable – and how that only makes it worse when you don’t hear back.

Will I hear back from Remington?

Or will my message just echo through space, unanswered?

You know what - it doesn’t matter. Right now it’s not about
me. It’s about making my own story and taking some god damn action to take care
of the people I love: myself, my Dad, Diana. Even Remington. They all need to
deal with this problem and see it resolved.

I send the message, hoping it will
help to make things right with Dad and Diana.

And then I get a little emo and throw the phone into the
fire.

Well, you know: pregnant. Hormones.
Feelings.

The plastic bubbles and curls, a
bad smell puffing into the air and then disappearing on a tropical breeze. My
phone blackens and cracks. I mean, it wasn’t even really my phone: Diana gave
it to me to use on the island. But I am done with it. This way, I have control
over whether or not I hear back from a stupid boy, and he doesn’t have the
power to torture me by ghosting me. This way, it will be impossible for me to
worry about getting a response from Remington.

There probably won’t be one, anyway.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck aghghhhhhhhhhh!

I stare at the fire, the flames twirling and sparking in the
tropical night like dancers. It’s like watching my own feelings on display:
twisting, burning, exhausting themselves, disappearing into ash.

Just like my feelings for Remington: burning so brightly,
and coming to nothing.

I slump back onto the couch and let myself cry.

So my love affair with Remington
Wilde, playboy and billionaire, has come to an end. Here I am, pregnant. But I
refuse to let this be a sad ending for me. Even if I can’t have my man, I can
still fight to have a good life. I can still make something good come out of
this. I can still be a positive force.

I just have to decide what to do.

Thinking hurts, but it’s time to face all the facts. My
staying here in this luxury resort in Africa isn’t a plan. It’s not going in
any direction now that Remington is out of my imaginary future picture. If I
stayed here in The Seychelles with Dad and Diana, revealing my pregnancy would
only create more drama in the family, and that seems like the last thing they
need. They need peace and calm if they’re going to have a chance at
reconciliation.

Because what if they don’t patch
things up? What if they split up?

My Dad would need my help again.

And even if Dad and Diana can get
things straightened out between them, they’ll still have a lot of healing and
building to do together as newlyweds. They don’t need my shit, my crisis, and my
pregnancy on top of it.

If they were to find out about my
pregnancy, that would destroy them. Especially if they found out that the
father was Remington.

UGH!

There just isn’t a good time to
tell your family you’re carrying your stepbrother’s baby.

Drama drama drama ALL AROUND.

I really, really hate drama.

So, I think the best thing to do is…

Leave.

That’s it!
I have to leave.

I can go finish school. I can get back before classes and
petition for accelerated study. I can follow up with Signore Amato and ask if
he’ll put in a word for me with any orchestras, help me get a real music job. I
can travel or something. Dad and Diana won’t even have to know about the baby
until after I figure everything out.

I can do this.

I can totally do this. It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve
dealt with a problem on my own.

On my own…sounds so sad. But it’s kinda true. I’m basically
alone.

“Shereen?”

Ok, maybe not completely alone. At least now I have some
friends.

And money.

Oh yeah, the money! Oh thank god.
That will so help. That solves so many problems already.

“Oui, mon petite sirene?”

Shereen, my assistant, my friend, my Seychelles guardian
angel, appears in the doorway, holding a tray of cold lemonade and fruit and a
couple of ice packs.

God, she’s the best.

“Shereen, is that little private jet busy tomorrow? The one
that brought me here from the States?”

Shereen raises her eyebrow skeptically. “I can find out. But
why?”

I take a glass of lemonade from her, thankful for the cool
refreshment. It clears my head and makes me feel even more determined to make
something good out of this bad situation.

“Because I’m going back to Philadelphia,” I announce. “Back
to school and networking and getting myself set up to be a real classical
musician.”

“Philadelphia?”

Shereen sets the ice packs on my
swollen ankles.

Wow, I mean, I’m barely pregnant,
and already I feel like a whale. The ice sure helps. Playing the cello will get
very, very interesting very, very soon. Which is all the more reason I need to
hurry up and do something useful.

Now.

Shereen sinks down to a chair, her
eyes concerned. “Are you sure, Mademoiselle Veronique? But what about the baby?
Will you keep it?”

I sigh.

I hadn’t actually decided for sure yet,
but hearing Shereen’s question, I know without a doubt what I want to do.

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