Page 51 of Filthy Rich

“I know I can trust you, Caleb Blackstone.” She reached up and held my face. I wondered if she knew I was her captive when she did small things like touch her hand to my face. “So, about the birth control...” She rubbed her thumb over my lower lip, which I struggled to resist from claiming by pulling it into my mouth. “Before I left the shelter they offered testing and an exam, which I had done. The doctor gave me a prescription for pills. I never filled it because it felt like I would be putting myself out there for casual sex, and I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready emotionally for much of anything when I first returned to Boston. I needed those five months to work and take care of Nan and rediscover myself even. But that was before I met you, Caleb. I can’t deny that after meeting you, it was different for me, too. Iwantedto be with you. I knew that you would be good for me, and I could safely entrust my body and my heart to you. My point is, I can have my prescription filled now and start them. We should be protected by the time you return from Abu Dhabi.”

She gave me a look when I didn’t respond in an appropriate amount of time, and then a little squeeze to my cheek where her hand still rested.

I guess I was too busy falling more in love with her to notice.

The Black Bay Club was situated right on the rocks, overlooking the bay from its miles of manicured green fairways that were prized by golfers the world over. Golf had been my father’s game, but it wasn’t mine. I’d kept the exorbitant dues at his private golf club current after he’d died, though. You never knew when it might be useful, and tonight being a member of Black Bay wasveryuseful—affording me a private venue for taking Brooke to dinner and saying my dreaded good-bye before I took off for Abu Dhabi around midnight. She’d cooked for me and spoiled me rotten for two solid days, and now I insisted she have a break.

The thought of leaving her behind on the island was a bit easier to take than the idea of leaving her in Boston. I knew she was taking the rest of the week off from work to help her grandmother get settled after her release from physical therapy. I couldn’t deny being pleased my girl would be tucked away safely on the island for most of my business trip. I didn’t trust the media getting hold of Brooke and my relationship with her. I knew it would happen in time, and hopefully when it did, I could have her more under the shell of my protection to shield her from the worst of their scrutiny. The paparazzi were fuckers, pure and simple. They would dig up any dirt to be dug up and share it with the world just to sell a few papers. I didn’t want her hurt by their certain insensitivity to her past or anything to do with her life before I’d met her.

“I haven’t had a chance to hear about your work much. What inspired you to become an interior designer?”

“I was following in my mother’s footsteps at first I suppose.”

“How so?”

“Well, she attended Suffolk University when she was in college, and she studied design. I told you how she met my father while on a semester in London.”

“Right, I remember.” I’d seen a picture of her parents on display at the cottage. Her mother looked like a 1990s version of Brooke in the photo—the same beauty easily recognizable in their shared features. “You said ‘at first.’”

“Yes, I think I liked the idea of learning the same material as what she had studied, and even going to the same school. It gave me a way to feel close to her by having something in common.” She rubbed the back of the left side of her neck, which was a tell as clear as day from where I was sitting. I hadn’t earned my billions without learning to read people over the years. “I love my job. I really enjoy the challenge of finding the perfect design for a client’s vision,” she said.

“Why do I hear abutat the end of that statement?”

She gave me a sweet smile. “You are observant, Caleb.”

“With you, even more so than usual.” It was the truth. I wanted to know everything about her. “So, if you could do anything at all, what would you choose to be?”

She answered quickly. “I would choose to be a Marni Cole.”

I tilted my head and waited for her to explain, certain it would be an interesting story at the very least.

“When I was first at the women’s shelter in San Diego, I was probably still in shock. And I know I was grieving the loss of my baby. I named her Sophia. I didn’t even know she was a girl until after I woke up from my coma because I hadn’t had the second-trimester sonogram yet—the one where the sex of the baby can be revealed if the technician can get a good enough view between little squirmy legs.” Her eyes grew glassy, but I didn’t interrupt. I was spellbound by her story and wanted to hear more. “Even though I hadn’t wanted to be a mother at such a young age, I stillbonded with my baby, and it was...hard...to let go emotionally once I didn’t have her inside me anymore.”

I reached across the table and took her hand in mine.

“I didn’t want to socialize or do much of anything at first. Like I told you before, I just wanted to find some peace from the awful noise in my head. When you live in a state of constant turmoil, tranquility becomes a precious commodity.”

I turned her hand so her palm was facing up.

“Shelters run on volunteers who come and do a variety of jobs that need to be done. Some work in the kitchen and help with meals, some offer counseling or legal assistance, others might balance the books, or work the phones—usually the volunteer offers their time, doing whatever their regular day job is or providing a skill they have. There was this woman named Marni and her skill was gardening. I found out she was a certified master gardener during the course of knowing her. She would come to the shelter and work her magic with the flowers. Being San Diego, the growing season is nearly the entire year, and the weather rarely prevents a person from being outside, so Marni came often. As soon as I arrived at the shelter, craving the peace I hadn’t known for more than a year, I was immediately drawn to the gardens. I’d sit out there among the flowers and basically started to heal...in my coveted peaceful place. A beautiful garden surrounded with blooms, where nobody screamed in mindless rages, or toyed with my head, or got perverse pleasure from scaring me.”

I traced the letterIon her palm with my finger.

“Marni didn’t push me to talk about my past. In fact, she didn’t talk very much at all. Marni was in need of her own peaceful place, and coming to the shelter to volunteer was helping her as much as it was helping the facility. One day she just handed me a garden trowel and pointed to some weeds that needed thinning and that was when I really started myhealing journey. As I spent time in the garden with Marni, we got to know each other. I learned she had a husband who was a pediatric surgeon and lived in a lovely home in La Jolla with her dogs and a koi pond in the backyard. She told me about her son, Phillip. He had been an only child with his whole life ahead of him when killed in a car accident one week before Christmas at the age of twenty. It was the Friday school let out for winter break, so drivers were jittery when Phillip was exiting the freeway on his way to work. A delivery truck on a deadline jumped lanes without looking first, and just obliterated Marni’s only son in the blink of an eye. He was gone.”

I traced the shape of a heart three times.

“Marni told me how she lost herself for quite some time. She took drugs to silence the voices in her head and became addicted. She was found wandering the streets dressed in clothing that had been put on inside out and backward, high on pills with no memories of days and weeks that had passed. Her husband had her committed to a private clinic for recovery and rehab, and in time she improved and was able to come home. Marni was lucky in the sense that she had the monetary resources for the help she needed, and someone who loved her enough to make sure she received it.”

I wrote out the lettersY-O-U-Rslowly.

“After she came home, Marni started volunteering at the shelter in San Diego. She said that it helpedhermore than anything. Volunteering gave her a reason to get up and live the rest of her life one day at a time without Phillip, because making the world more beautiful was a good reason. I agreed with her. Because by then I’d shared with Marni how the only thing I wanted to find was a peaceful place and that her beautiful garden had been it.” Brooke lifted her golden eyes to mine. “So, I realize that was just a very long answer to your question andI hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable with my rambling. I’ve never shared that story with anyone before.”

I traced another heart in the palm of her lovely hand and saw her smile.

She gets me.

I love her.

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