Secrets of You (2 page)

“What are you thinking? Just say it?” Did he think they were going to have a verbal showdown? Pete might be the older brother, but he did not run Ash’s life and from what he’d said a few minutes ago about marriage, Pete had his own problems.
Lots of them.

Pete gave him one of his “Why do I have to show you fire is hot for you to believe it” looks and said, “I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this.” He opened the desk drawer, pulled out a manila envelope, and slid it toward Ash. “Arianna Sorensen is not who she says she is.”

“You did a background check on her?”
Damn him.

“I’m not going to let anybody take advantage of you.”

Ash snatched the envelope and held it against his chest. “You had no right to do this.”

Pete pushed back his chair and made his way toward Ash. “I’ve been responsible for you since the day Mom and Dad died. I was
nineteen years
old.”

“If I was such a hardship, you should have shipped me off to Aunt Elizabeth. She would have welcomed a kid.”

“Aunt Elizabeth?” Pete leaned against the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. He had eyes like their father—what Ash remembered of him anyway. They were amber with gold flecks that turned the color of bourbon when he was in a good mood and darkened to sludge when he was not. At the moment, the sludge prevailed.

“She would have welcomed you and enjoyed dressing you up like her favorite toy poodle. As I recall, there was a cat who sat at the dinner table and she swore that animal spoke French.
Hmm. Maybe I
should
have sent you there.”

Okay, maybe selecting the crazy one in the family hadn’t been such a stellar idea. “You’ve got to let me live my life, Pete.” His brother pinched the bridge of his nose and didn’t speak. Not a good sign. The sermon was coming, stuffed with words like
right, wrong,
and
responsibility
. Ash began counting—the longer the dead space, the heftier the lecture. After a minute, he’d had enough. “Pete. Let me live my life.”

“You think I don’t want to? You think I like having you followed all over the country? Checking out your supposed friends and girlfriends, most of
whom ask for money and don’t even have the common decency to call it a loan?” He sighed. “I hate it. But it’s my job. The day that boat sank, we became orphans and it was my duty to protect you and give you what scraps of a childhood I could.”

“I get it and I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Thank you.
Really. But I’m thirty-two years old and it’s time to make my own choices, and I choose Arianna.” Who was certainly
not
a mistake.

“Why don’t you check out the file and then see if you still want to marry her?”

Ash stood and threw the manila envelope on Pete’s desk. “This conversation is over. Nothing in that damn envelope is going to keep me from marrying Arianna.”

Pete
nodded, his expression bland, his eyes darker than sludge. “Maybe so.” He pushed the envelope toward Ash. “Read it anyway. And if you don’t break off the wedding in the next two hours, I’ll spill the whole sordid story to the press. And then I’ll make sure she never sells another piece of jewelry in Philly. Or anywhere.”

***

Two hours later

Arianna unscrewed the cap on the whiskey bottle and poured two fingers in her glass. She sipped slowly, let the whiskey burn her throat, spiral to her belly in a ball of fire. Not that different from the way Ash’s note had scorched her heart ten minutes ago.

She eyed the note in front of her, plain white stationery, delivered by the local courier. No return receipt requested. Four short sentences that crushed all hope of a future with Ash Revelin.

Arianna—I know this won’t make any sense to you, but it’s over. I can’t marry you. Maybe one day you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me. I will never forget you.

Always,

Ash

Always.
Always what?
Always thinking of you ? Always in my heart? Always the fool? She finished her whiskey, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and poured another. She was the fool. Ash had seemed so different from her usual choice in men. He’d made her laugh—at him and herself. Of course, he was handsome—lean, muscled, dark eyes, dark hair, cleft in the chin. But it was more than that. He so obviously loved life, loved
his
life, who he was, what he wanted, and his lack of money didn’t stop him from dreaming and going after those dreams. How many people could say that in today’s society? Most were chasing wads of cash, not following their passion as Ash Revelin had been. Who would take a five-week, cross-country motorcycle trip with nothing but a camera and two saddlebags stuffed with jeans and T-shirts? She’d seen the photographs from that trip—the rugged landscape, the people, the small towns. And when he pointed out the weathered rancher standing next to a split-rail fence that had to be as old as he was, there was excitement in his voice and awe on his face.

He’d promised Arianna they’d share that excitement together, build their dreams,
follow their passions.

And now he was gone.

“Hey, drinking alone?” Quinn Burnes stood in the doorway of her studio, looking his usual intense self. They’d been friends since the day he walked into Arianna’s boutique and bought his sister an opal necklace and matching bracelet.
I’m on her bad side again, he’d said. And I don’t mind being on anybody’s bad side but Annie’s.
His sister’s anger hadn’t lasted long. A flash of smile, a heartfelt apology, and a plea from those silver eyes and any woman, sister or not, would forgive him.

“Some occasions are meant to be dealt with in solitude.”
Damn Ash Revelin for breaking her heart.

“Such as?”

When she didn’t answer, he grabbed a glass from the cabinet and poured two fingers of whiskey into it. Then he refilled hers. At this rate, everything would fade away for a little while…she’d forget the note…forget what it meant…forget everything.

“Did your interview get bumped to the last page of the Arts & Life section? Or did Ferdinand cancel the photo shoot?”

She shook her head. If only it were that simple. Four months ago, she’d thought features in newspapers and magazines would bring her limitless joy.
The exposure, the commissions for unique designs, the money that would follow. What could be greater than that? She thought the answer was nothing, until she met Ash Revelin. He’d changed everything.

“So what then?
Did that boyfriend of yours try to talk you into ditching the wedding gown for jeans and a Rolling Stones T-shirt?”

She would not cry. Tears served no purpose other than to make a person look weak and out of control. She was neither. “Actually, there won’t be a wedding,” she said in a perfect imitation of one who could care less if there was a wedding or not.

“What are you talking about?”

Quinn leaned forward, leaving her no choice but to look at him. Why couldn’t they have fallen for each other? It would have been so easy then—best friends becoming lovers. Of course, if it hadn’t worked out, she’d have lost her best friend, and she’d never had one of those.

“Arianna,” his voice dipped, “tell me.”

She almost relented on her vow against tears and let them come. But what if once started they wouldn’t stop? What if they poured out years of grief and sorrow and pain until there was nothing left of her but shriveled bits of disappointment and regret? “
Here.” She pushed the note toward him. “Read this.”

Quinn snatched the note and scanned it. “What the hell does this mean?” He tossed it onto the table and cursed again. “He dumped you.”

Sad but true. “He dumped me.”

“This is crazy.
The guy’s nuts about you. He wanted to marry you a month ago.”

She should have run off with him then instead of worrying about a silly wedding dress—a dress that would never be worn now. “Obviously, he’s changed his mind.”

Quinn poured another drink, took a healthy swallow. “He’s not going to get away with this. I’ll have a talk with him and find out what’s going on.”

“No, don’t.” What would Quinn do? Say,
Would you please reconsider and marry Arianna?

“There’s got to be an explanation. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that would bail on something like this.”

Poor Quinn. He always wanted to take charge and control the outcome. Maybe he’d fall in love one day and realize some things could not be controlled. Like who you loved or who loved you back. She worked up a small smile and said, “I thought you didn’t even like him.”

He shrugged. “I know we didn’t hit it off at first, but I had to be cautious about a guy who walks into your life on a Tuesday and proposes on a Friday. That says player to me. But I saw how he looked at you, how he treated you. The guy loves you, which is why this makes no sense.”

She really didn’t want to talk about it anymore. There would be enough questions from her clients who were all excited about the upcoming wedding, and Quinn’s sister, Annie, who insisted on making a photo collage from the pictures Ash gave her. It would have been a small, intimate wedding, which in some ways made the breakup even more painful.

“I’ve got a guy who specializes in ferreting out the truth.” Quinn covered her hand with his and said in the gentlest of voices, “He’s very discreet and very thorough.”

“A private investigator?”

Quinn nodded.
“Exactly.”

“No.” She couldn’t bear to learn Ash
Revelin was a lie; maybe he had another family, a child, a wife…another fiancée. It was better not to know. She had secrets she’d never told him because they didn’t matter. But maybe they did. Maybe they always would.

Two and a half years later

There was an urgency in Pete’s voice that stayed with Ash from Illinois to Pennsylvania. His brother had never been one for idle chitchat. He liked to get to the point and cut out the bullshittery, as he called it. Ash appreciated that about Pete, though there were times when a little tact went a long way. But when Pete called the other night, there had been an unfamiliar cautiousness in his voice when he asked where Ash was and when he planned to return home.

Home.
Interesting word. Ash hadn’t had a home from the second he sent Arianna the note that changed their lives forever. He’d stopped off at his place long enough to stuff two saddlebags with clothes and camera equipment and then he was on his Harley and on the road. He’d made it back to Philly exactly eight times; for the boys’ birthdays, two Christmases, and the big Fourth of July bash Pete held every year. Aside from that, the road and his bike were his home.

Not what he’d planned, certainly not what he’d hoped for, but he’d finally learned that you didn’t always get everything you wanted. Hell, you didn’t even get what you needed. But aside from the pain in his heart that would never quite heal, Ash had found a semblance of peace.
And acceptance. Two and a half years ago he’d been selfish, spoiled, and caught up in his own hubris. He’d played cat-and-mouse games with women for years and when he finally slowed down enough for a woman to catch him, he discovered she was the one playing the game. It was all in Pete’s file, but the hell of it was, Ash hadn’t cared. He’d still wanted to marry Arianna despite her lies—how pathetic was that? It didn’t really matter though, because Pete had put an end to those delusions.

And now his brother needed to see him.
Immediately. What could he possibly want?

When Ash entered the building an hour later, he wished he’d asked to meet at Pete’s house. He didn’t like remembering the last time he’d been in this building and the fact that it bore his name on it—his real name, not the one Arianna had believed was his—made it that much worse.

“May I help you?” Then, “Ash!” The young woman’s full lips broke into a wide smile as she hurried around the desk and threw herself into his arms. “It’s wonderful to see you!”

“Megan.” Ash gave her a quick hug and released her. “Still dating that big Texan?” Megan Toller had been Pete’s assistant since she graduated from Rutgers six years ago. Intelligent,
capable, and blue-eyed-brunette gorgeous, Pete said she knew almost as much about him as his wife, which was probably not something he should admit.

She shook her head and shrugged. “He wouldn’t leave his daddy’s ranch and I wasn’t moving to Texas. It’s okay; he was too possessive anyway.”

Megan didn’t seem too torn up about the breakup. Smart girl. Caring too much had its own baggage. Ash smiled at her and lowered his voice, “What’s with the urgent powwow? Is everything okay?”

The blueness of her eyes paled. “Not really,” she whispered.
And then, “Poor Pete.”

No one had ever used
poor
and Pete in the same sentence. This wasn’t good. Before he could ask more, the door to the executive office opened and the man himself appeared. Ash’s assumption of not good turned to terribly wrong. Pete’s usually perfect hair was mussed, his shirt wrinkled, his expression drawn. Ash moved toward him, gave him a big hug and said, “You look like crap.”