Star Promise (22 page)

Shopping wasn’t something I was particularly good at, but neither was declining Olivia’s invitations to spend time together. The pace she set when it came to getting to know one another was unyielding. I felt obliged to take her up on her requests to meet during my lunch hour, and if I didn’t, she tended to show up at the gallery anyway.

Adam was under the false impression that I’d welcomed Olivia into my life with open arms, and from the outside looking in that’s exactly how it would’ve seemed. The view from the inside was different. My mother wasn’t remotely curious about me, or the twenty-four years of my life that she’d missed. She was self-absorbed, egotistical and conceited, even during the emotional speeches she constantly gave about loving the child she’d given up.

It made liking her difficult. I felt selfish for not trying harder. Perhaps that’s why I had trouble saying no to her.

The row of exclusive boutiques just down the road from the gallery wasn’t one of my usual haunts. As long as Fiona insisted on being my personal shopper, I didn’t need to frequent them. Olivia’s plan of a girly hour bonding over shoes and handbags was wasted on me, but I smiled politely and pretended to be happy to be there.

“I’m hosting a charity event in a few weeks,” she explained, wandering around the small store. “I need something new to wear.”

To hurry things along I pointed out several dresses that I thought would be good contenders, only to have her veto every one of them.

“I’m looking for something unique, Charli. These events are always overrun by spoiled society sows in similar dresses. Horrendous affairs.”

Her cattiness didn’t sit well with me, perhaps because one of the society sows was my mother-in-law. “Why do it then?”

Olivia turned to look at me, a graceful ballet move. “Because this one is for
my
charity,” she replied. “I’m hoping to raise a lot of money.”

I didn’t need to ask what her cause was. She barely paused before launching into a spiel about how rewarded she felt being able to provide underprivileged wannabe ballerinas with tuition that they couldn’t afford otherwise. It wasn’t exactly cancer research or feeding the homeless, but it was a start.

“We supply them with costumes and transport and anything else they need to attend class,” she continued. “I’m always looking for extra help if you’re interested.”

I wasn’t interested at all, and had far too much on my plate already. For the first time since I met her, I managed to say no.

Olivia began raking through a rack of clothes. “Pity,” she said wistfully. “Perhaps you could help out in a different capacity.”

“I’ll do what I can.” Even to my own ears, it didn’t sound believable.

“Fiona Décarie is a major player on the charity scene,” said Olivia. “Perhaps you could convince her to support our cause. If she attends, all of her underlings are likely to follow suit.”

“Do you know Fiona well?” I asked casually.

“Not well, but I’m sure that will change.” Her smile looked more like a smirk, adding to my growing unease. “My daughter is married to her son. When that becomes public lots of things will change.”

Adam couldn’t mention Olivia’s name without following up with a warning about her having a hidden agenda. Comments like that made me think he was right.

I picked up a red handbag and pretended to study the label, purely so I wouldn’t have to look at her. Terror isn’t an easy expression to hide. “This is pretty.” I held the bag out. “It matches your shoes.”

The strappy red heels in question tapped on the wooden floor as Olivia approached. “It’s lovely,” she agreed, studying the label. “You should buy it.”

“Red isn’t really me.” Nor was the three thousand dollar price tag. “It suits you, though.”

Without taking her eyes off me, Olivia rudely clicked her fingers at the sales assistant.

“Can I help you?” asked the meek girl.

“Yes.” Olivia handed her the bag but kept her focus on me. “Are you sure about this, Charli?” she asked.

I shrugged, confused by the question. “Sure. It’s a pretty bag.”

“Yes it is,” she crowed, clasping her hands together. She turned to face the sales girl, who now looked as bewildered as I felt. “I’ll take it.”

“Wonderful,” replied the girl. “Cash or credit?”

Olivia cocked her head to the side. “Charli?”

My heart began thumping as I tried to get a grip on what had just gone down. Replaying the conversation in my head was no help. I still couldn’t recall the part where I’d offered to fork out thousands of dollars on a handbag for a woman I barely knew.

“Credit.” I choked out the word.

The smile Olivia directed me was unwavering, even when I frowned in return.

The girl disappeared to the counter with my credit card, the outrageously expensive bag, and any respect I’d ever felt for my mother.

The only person beside my father who ever stormed my office without knocking was Grayson Daniels. It usually pissed me off, but when I linked the excited expression on his face with the folder in his hand I decided to keep my mouth shut.

“You’re never going to guess,” he announced.

In the time it took him to walk to my desk and sit, I tried. I’d been so hell-bent on shutting the hateful ballerina down that I hadn’t put much thought into what I might be exposing by doing it. If Grayson had dug up something really incriminating, there was no telling how that might affect Charli, or how she’d handle me bringing it to her attention. I made a deal with myself. If he’d found anything too wretched, I’d say nothing and find another way to oust Olivia from our lives.

“Hit me with it,” I demanded, sounding far surer than I felt.

He slapped the folder down on my desk. “Her name isn’t Kara,” he began. “It’s Karabelas. She’s Sam Karabelas’ ex-wife.”

I shrugged, none the wiser.

“Oh, dude. Come on.”

Grayson was the only grown man I knew who used the word ‘dude’ on a regular basis. It was a quirk that actually suited him, much like the cartoon character ties and ridiculous bright socks he wore to individualise his stock standard suits.

“Karabelas was a prominent Greek shipping magnate,” he explained.

“
Was
?” I asked. “Is he dead?”

“No.” He threw his head back and laughed. “Although he’s getting on a bit. He’s pushing sixty – much older than his ex.”

“My dad is fifty-four, Grayson,” I said dryly. “Knock on his door and tell him he’s old.”

“Yeah,” he scoffed. “Not likely.”

“So what happened to him?” I asked.

“He lost his fortune in the GFC.” He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “The ballerina’s charmed life hit the skids when his money disappeared in 2008.”

“She’s broke?”

“Stone, motherless broke,” he confirmed. “All she got out of the divorce was a building over on –”

“I know where it is. I’ve been there. It’s a dance studio.”

Grayson cocked an eyebrow. It was a move as annoying as the bright green sock he flashed when he crossed his ankle on his knee. “Do you frequent dance studios often, Adam?”

“Yeah, we like to shop around.” I grinned at him. “Especially since your wife booted my kid out of her class.”

“From what I heard, your daughter is a little French menace,” he replied with a laugh. “Ran rings around every other kid in the class.”

Including the teacher
, I didn’t reply. “What else did you find?” I asked, getting back on subject.

Grayson motioned to the folder on my desk with a nod. “That résumé is nothing more than a fairy-tale,” he told me. “None of it’s true.”

I hadn’t paid much attention to it when her receptionist first gave it to me. Once I connected the dots and realised Olivia’s connection to Charlotte, none of it mattered.

I snatched the folder up and pulled out the résumé. “The Imperial French Ballet Troupe?” I asked, reading off the page.

“Never worked for them.”

I thumbed to the previous page. “The Australian International Dance Company?”

“She’s originally from Sydney, but was never affiliated with that company.” Grayson picked at an invisible piece of lint on his knee. “She made it through two months of a ballet scholarship after high school, but that’s it.”

I couldn’t begin to imagine why, and was probably never going to know. I closed the folder. “Does she have any formal qualifications at all?”

“Amateur certificates and a few years in B-grade theatre productions.”

I might’ve felt pity for a person who’d spent years concocting such an intricate façade, but this was Olivia. The only person I had to feel sorry for was my wife. The woman who’d pushed her way into Charli’s life had done nothing but fill her head with lies from day one.

The fake résumé had nothing to do with duping Charli. Olivia had been peddling that crock long before it was handed to me. Clearly the woman was an opportunist. She likely married for money and social standing, and bailed when it ran out. I didn’t even hold that against her. It wasn’t a world I cared to know but she wasn’t the first to do it, and would most certainly not be the last.

My concern was that she was searching for a new opportunity to bring her back into the fold of the Manhattan elite, and it didn’t take a genius to work out that Charli was it.

Grayson’s morning of snooping hadn’t come cheap. In return, I agreed to complete a mountain of his mundane crap that should’ve been dealt with weeks ago. In fairness, he did stop by to thank me – on his way out the door at six o’clock. The next time I checked my watch was just after nine. I looked down, groaning at the sight of two more hours of work in front of me.

Any distraction would’ve been welcome at that point, but none more than the one I got when I looked up again. Charli was a vision, leaning against the doorframe, smiling as if I was truly the best thing she’d seen all day.

“Mrs Décarie,” I drawled, leaning back in my chair. “Long time no see.”

“I was just in the area,” she teased. “Thought I’d stop by and say hi.”

I knew this woman implicitly. Her smile was strong and her words were light, but something was going on. Her eyes gave her away.

“Everything okay?”

“Yep.” She almost nodded before amending her answer. “No. Not really.”

I tried to work out where the conversation was headed. Chances were, whatever was troubling her was nothing compared with what I planned to burden her with. My eyes drifted to the bogus prospectus on my desk. “Anything I can help you with?”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Just come over here, take me far away, and make me forget everything.”

As I stood, I dropped the file into my drawer. This wasn’t the night for sharing what I knew. It was a night for remembering all the good we had going on before the bad crept in.

I felt Adam’s touch long before he reached me – it was that familiar. And the only thing better than the comfort of having his arms around me was the fact that he didn’t press me to talk.

There was no immediate need to explain why I’d teed up Bente and Ryan to come over and watch our kid so I could trek downtown to see him so late at night. I didn’t have to tell him why I felt totally duped by my so-called mother, or why I cared enough to be hurt by it.

My hands moved to his face, determined to hold his kiss as long as I could. Adam’s hands moved everywhere, and when he gathered me up and carried me to the couch near the window, I really did forget everything.

An office on the forty-third floor of a high-rise building is an extraordinarily quiet place to be late at night. I lay completely still with my cheek against Adam’s chest, concentrating on the sound of his heart.

“Far enough away, Charlotte?” he whispered, displacing me slightly as he shifted to kiss the top of my head.

I wriggled, forcing him back into the position I wanted him in. “Yes, but I’m back now.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I picked up his hand and laced my fingers through his. “I don’t really know where to start,” I mumbled.

“The beginning is always good.”

The ending was probably more relevant at that point. In a long and emotionless monologue, I explained the saga of the designer bag. Adam never said a word, but I could feel the tension in his body as the tale progressed.

I straightened out our fingers, pressing my palm flat against his. “She’s never going to love me,” I told him. “I could try and try and give and give, and still, Olivia will never love me.”

I felt him groan, deep within his chest. “Is that what you were hoping for, Charli?” He sounded appalled, and rightfully so.

I hadn’t explained myself well. What I should’ve told him was that I’d come to an important realisation. Olivia didn’t have a maternal bone in her body. That meant she’d never feel guilty about screwing me over to get ahead. She was never going sound believable when telling me of her regret at giving me up. And I was never going to like her because of it.

“I don’t care that she doesn’t love me, Adam,” I explained. “What I care about is that she probably never did.”

“What do you mean?”

I exhaled. “When my baby was born, I took one look at her and knew that I’d feel her in my bones until the day I die,” I explained. “I loved her that much.”

Adam kissed my fingers. “Me too.”

“Alex once told me that Olivia never even looked at me when I was born,” I continued. “Never even held me. I can’t fathom that.” When said out loud, it didn’t sound like a reason to be resentful. She’d made the decision to adopt me out months before I was born. Having no contact with me was probably a logical choice.

“Do you feel like you missed something because of it?” asked Adam.

“No,” I replied strongly. “She did, and there’s nothing she can do from here that’s going to get it back.” I wasn’t convinced that she was trying to. From the day I met her, I’d had the sinking feeling that she was acting – merely playing the part she thought I wanted to see. I still had no clear picture of who Olivia was or what she wanted, and after the stunt she pulled that day, my interest in finding out was gone.