Slightly Imperfect (14 page)

He considered how Marcus would look, smell, feel, so early in the morning. But they'd have all day together. "I'll come back for him. I'll call first." He looked to where Lizbett lurked in the kitchen door. "Lizbett, could you bring Victoria some more coffee?"

Victoria smiled, relinquishing control.

Kissing the twins' inviting, pallid cheeks, he took in their sleep smell, savoring their warmth, then lowered them. "I'll go."

Victoria followed him to the door. She held it open, leaned against it, her hands behind her back. The white lacquered finish made a perfect backdrop for her slender curves.

"The Spanish lessons carry some stipulations." He admired her ability to raise one brow perfectly. "You have to sit in."

"Why?"

"If you learn, too, Marcus will have someone to talk to. Otherwise, he'll forget between lessons. It will be good for you to be able to boss the hotel help in Spanish."

She smiled her acquiescence.

"And the twins, too."

She looked dubious. "They're too young."

"When did you learn English?"

"And the twins," she agreed. "Anything else?" She waited, tolerance softening her face.

Yeah, there was something else, but he stuffed it down, wondering what her cheek would taste like. If she would smell like sleep. "I'll call from the car later. Have Lizbett bring Marcus down to the drive."

"Perfect control."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. I like it." She closed the door.

* * *

In the marina parking lot, Zac and Marcus climbed out of the Toyota to greet Alejandro and his therapist, Randy. Convincing Alejandro he needed Randy had taken some talking, but it seemed to be working out. Zac was becoming accustomed to never seeing his father without his helpmate.

Zac and Marcus stood by the open van door, Marcus's eyes widening as he watched Alejandro struggle to get from a seat in the van into the steel chair. Zac drew Marcus back as the automatic lift lowered Alejandro to their level.

"Papa, this is Marcus Cordera." He touched Marcus's shoulder again.

He performed on cue. "
Buenos días, señor. Como está usted?
"

Curiosity took Alejandro's face before a smile erupted. "Muy bien, niño," he replied a little breathlessly. "
Yusted?
"

Marcus's head shot up, seeking Zac's face.

Zac struggled not to laugh. "
Muy bien
," he said softly, and Marcus echoed. "This is my father, Marcus. He had an accident, like your father. But God was kind and let me keep him." Too much for Marcus to comprehend, but perfect for Alejandro. "And this is Randy. He's my father's friend. He's teaching him to walk again." Zac raised his gaze to Randy, who was still in the van. "Right, Randy?"

"Right." He jumped down and wrestled Alejandro's chair out of the gravel and onto the pavement. "Do you want me to come on the boat this morning?" Short and powerful, to Zac, he appeared kind. "Looks like you might have your hands full."

"I like my hands full. You take the day off. Meet us here around five."

Randy touched Alejandro's shoulder. "Have a good day, Mr. Abriendo. Bring home a big one."

"We're only shrimping today," Zac said.

"Great. I'll get the red sauce and beer. See you at five."

* * *

In the shade of the engine house, Zac and Alejandro ate
tortilla
-wrapped
chorizos
and drank Coronas in the rhythmic pitch of the
Ramona Tres
. Josh and Marcus busied themselves raking through the latest net full of shrimp, looking for the cast offs.

"What do you think, Papa? Does he remind you of Allie?"

Alejandro brought his eyes back to Zac's. "He is not Allie,
hijo
."

"No, but he's Mexican, and he's six years old."

"What else, Zaccheus?"

"He's the adopted son of a friend of mine."

"The blonde woman." Alejandro hadn't mentioned Victoria after
Cinco de Mayo
, but there was no way their association had escaped him. "And the blond man,
niño
?"

"My friend and her husband are divorced." He watched Marcus scoot around the deck on his knees in the slimy shrimp muck, wearing his shorts and little white rubber boots they'd bought at the marina. How Zac would ever get him scrubbed and the smell off him, to take him back to Victoria, he didn't know. "Marcus doesn't have a father."

"And you don't have a son."

He smiled at the wisdom in his father's dark eyes, cowering under its power, drowning in the tender gaze.

"Would it not be simpler,
niño
, to find a
Latina
, marry her and have a house full of sons?"

Zac nodded. "Simpler, yeah. But five years ago Marcus lost his father and now he's being raised by an Anglo woman who wants him to know something about his own people. She wants me to teach him." He stopped, considering all the disclosure entailed as he watched Marcus. The present plan seemed simple enough to him. "I want to help. I feel this is a chance God's giving me.

"As you said, I could make little Mexican babies once a year forever. They could grow up in my house—in your house and Luke's—learn all there is to know about our people and pass it on to their own babies someday. But who's going to teach Marcus if I don't? He has no Anglo blood, but he'll be adrift in a sea he'll never have full command of. Am I making myself clear?"

"Very clear, Zaccheus."

"He needs a grandfather, too."

Although tightened severely, Alejandro's mouth couldn't quash a smile.

"I need your blessing, Papa. I need to know you understand and approve."

"I understand this,
hijo
." He strained to place his stiff, gnarled hand on Zac's head.

Zac closed his eyes for a moment beneath the touch, opened them to receive the wisdom.

"I approve of your reasons, but I fear for you, Zaccheus. You are pulled toward a world in which you don't belong. This child will keep pulling you into it and that world will hurt you."

"I want to make one world."

"You want that blond
gringa
."

Zac's heart skipped. "It's Marcus, Papa. Believe me."

His father shook his head, his smile wise and sad.

"Her name is Victoria. She's seen a lot of tragedy, so have I. Maybe God has something in mind for us."

"No," Alejandro said quietly, dropping his hand to Zac's shoulder, squeezing with surprising strength. "Not God, but you. Be careful,
mi hijo
. That is all I ask."

"Got it, Papa."

He would consider his father's concession a blessing.

"Jesus! This feels good, Tori." Coby looked across the candlelit table and smiled, sinking back in his chair, placing his napkin on the table with finality. "Dinner in a restaurant. It's just like the real world, the best I can remember—except for my keeper lurking in the shadows over there. You have no idea how good it feels."

Victoria's head automatically turned toward the small table by the kitchen door where the white-clad hospital attendant ate alone. "Sometimes I think I can feel what it's like for you to be... locked up. But, probably, even I can't."

"Let's be careful not to blow this trial run. Maybe the doctors will get generous and let me go home before the month is up." He spared her a familiar conspiratorial grin. "Or should I just go back to the hotel with you now and take my chances?"

She frowned, drawing his laugh. "We aren't taking any chances, Coby. Ever again."

"I know. I'm eager to be released. That's all."

"I think it's wonderful you're eager to come home."

"I want to get away from here, Tori. Coming home is a little ambiguous."

"Are you going to live in Puerto San Miguel?" Almost awkward, superficial dinner conversation, a new facet to their relationship.

"You always tell me there's no other place. You've related that from the more exotic locales around the world, actually, while I languished in Puerto San Miguel wondering why you didn't just come home."

"Either I've changed or the town has," she mused. "It's no longer the magic kingdom."

"Maybe we can transform it back."

She attempted to camouflage the tightening in her chest. "What's the first thing you're going to do when you get home?"

The day she'd arrived from London, she and the children had ridden the ferry to Port Angelo, a hot, humid excursion across the oil-streaked brown water. The trip had reaffirmed her being home and, she hoped, grounded the children.

He seemed to consider, cocking his blond head as if in concentration. "The first thing I'm going to do? Make love to a woman. Any woman."

She laughed, encouraged, hopeful, and thankful his claim conjured no resentment or jealousy on her part. No urge to counteract, as such a statement once would have. She sipped wine gingerly, mindful of sobriety, a past pitfall when she hadn't been so conscious. "Do you have
other
plans?"

He hiked a brow. "Haven't you talked to Pierce?"

"We don't talk about you."

"I plan to practice law. Even if I have to practice for free." He looked resolved. "Pierce is moving heaven and hell, trying to get my license reinstated."

"Can he do that?"

"Probably. He got me in a private hospital instead of the chair. I've been a model patient. We'll see. He's taking the issue before a state grievance committee—says he'll take it to the Supreme Court if he has to."

"He's been wonderful for you, through this... situation."

"I guess I finally got his attention."

"Coby, please don't say things like that." Shuddering, she wrapped her breasts with her arms and looked across the restaurant toward the attendant. She tried not to look at her watch.

"Hey, Tori! Aren't we ever going to laugh again?" He leaned forward, his palm turned up on the table, vying for her hand. She met his petitioning gaze without compliance.

He drew his hand back. "I'm sorry. I guess laughter is down the road a piece. Tell me about you. What's going on in your life?" Azure-blue eyes shown almost translucent in his classic face, reminding her he had reshaped her destiny.

Coby had matured in the past five years. The doctors assured her he availed himself hungrily of concentrated psychiatric therapy, superb nutrition, and ultimate physical exercise. At twenty-nine he represented prime physical maleness. Beyond that, possibilities loomed frightening.

"My life is... very busy," she said quietly, letting that settle on his mind. "Even with help, the children demand the majority of my time."

Although he nodded, he couldn't possibly understand. He'd never seen her with children. She had been his once. Unencumbered.

"I've agreed to head up design for Love Victoria again."

He looked surprised. "Is this something you want to do? I'd hate to think of you saddled with a burden. I guess I unleashed a monster when I dug up a bankrupt dress company and steered you in that direction."

Love Victoria had been a ploy to detract her from Tommy, making her the object of a devious tug of war. Tommy had turned the ploy around, devised the boutiques, installing the prototype in the Valdez Hotel, making her his business partner. When Andrea entered the picture with the European venture, Coby's scheme backfired. Fuel for the fire that ultimately consumed them. Over the past five years, she'd had time to realize that selling the company to go unencumbered to Mexico with Tommy had been one more jab of rejection to Coby. Another nudge over the edge of sanity.

"Milt Cohen is still running the company," she said, hedging his question. But sales are off, and he's convinced it's the fault of design. Over the three-year period I was in India, the design staff drifted away from Love Victoria's image. The change is causing a decline in sales—according to Milt."

"Drifted away from the image you created, Tori."

Her turn to nod.

"You were the company. You took it from cheap tennis dresses to the echelon of style. You never should have sold it."

"I thought I had no choice." "At least I retained the boutiques. The two in Europe are doing well. I suppose it's taking the image change longer to have an effect there." She smiled self-deprecatingly. "Maybe the Euros think we're onto some chic trend rather than cursed by an errant designer. The only deterrent to designing is the time it will take from the children." She considered that with regret, concluding, "Actually, I don't have a choice. Milt was a wonderful partner in the beginning and kind enough to buy me out. I owe him this."

"Milt Cohen stole Love Victoria from you."

"No, I named my price. Milt held an advantageous position, but I can't focus on that. I have to concentrate on getting the image back and boosting sales. I owe
that
to Andrea. She had enough faith to invest in the boutiques."

She fell quiet, deciding to share everything with him. A hearing was scheduled between now and the end of the month, his tentative release date. She needed an accurate picture of his emotional state to relate to his doctors and the committee.

"When I divorced Christian I changed my name back to Chandler. The two years I was in Switzerland—before I went back to Christian and gave up design—I used Victoria Chandler, but I want it to be legal now, should there ever be a question concerning... Should there ever be any questions.

"The money I had when—Since Pierce's and my relationship is so strained, he no longer over sees my finances, Coby. I always took that for granted. A kind of cushion."

His brow creased, mirroring her own concern and disillusionment, the link between them ever strong.

"Before Tommy and everything that happened, when Pierce made money, he saw that I did as well. I hope he's still doing that for you. I suppose abandoning my financial gain is his way of punishing me, but I've had nothing but expenses for the past five years, except for the boutiques, and I've put that in a trust for Ari and Alex."

"Not Marcus?"

"Marcus inherited everything Tommy owned out right, and when his Mexican partner—Ernesto—died he left everything he and Tommy owned together to Marcus... his way of compensating for Tommy's death, I suppose." And because he felt responsible that Tommy, with her and Marcus in tow, had been on his way to Mexico to manage the aging Ernesto's holdings. "I was told, Tori." He smiled wryly. "I'm sane now. My memory is crystal clear."