Two Weeks in Geneva: Book Three (2 page)

Anger clapped through him with a flash, and the threads of his self-control started to unravel, but he held it together long enough to whisper, “You were never that, Quinn. Not ever.”

Still, she looked at him with such scorn, such burning fury, that he wanted to scream until she understood, shake the rafters down until she listened. But after a quick glance at Ethan, some of the anger that crawled along his skin like an electric shock dissipated.

“No. This isn’t about him, so don’t you dare try to use him.”

His control snapped. “Use him? You’re a fine one to talk. And how dare you sit on your high horse and judge me? You wronged me, too, Quinn,” he said, voice full of repressed anger demanding to come out.

“I guess we’re even now,” she said as she looked away, the defeated certainty in her voice making his blood run cold.

Chapter Two

Alexander hadn’t asked where his parents were staying, but then again, he hadn’t needed to. He was certain their assistant had booked the most expensive hotel in nearby Charlotte. “Most expensive” being equivalent to “best” in his mother’s mind, to make no mention of Magda. So that was where he headed, hoping that the trip would clear his mind but doubtful that would happen.

As he drove, he couldn’t get Quinn’s face out of his mind. That image, the pain, the shock, the horror, and finally the resignation that he’d seen there, was seared into his soul and would be for the rest of his life.

“Agh!” he screamed his frustration and punched the steering wheel when he stopped at a red light. The stares of curious onlookers in surrounding cars fell on him, but he didn’t care. His life, or what he’d hoped would become his life, was over, his family gone, and all because of a stupid mistake and his mother’s meddling.

But in the end, he only had himself to blame. A thousand times the words had been on the tip of his tongue, but then Ethan would smile or Quinn would start chattering or she’d stretch up on her tiptoes and kiss him, and the words would scatter like gossamer threads in the wind. And late into the night as they held each other close after sharing their bodies, and he exposed the deepest parts of himself, parts that he never thought he’d share with anyone, hadn’t been the right time either.

So, unbeknownst to Quinn, the truth had hung between them, an invisible specter silently waiting to make its appearance. It was so ironic, though the admittedly gallows humor was lost on him at the moment. During those nighttime conversations, Quinn had spoken of how she’d compartmentalized, had convinced herself that her deception about Ethan would never be uncovered, buried the idea so deep that she’d eventually come to believe it. The same was true of him. He’d so thoroughly separated himself from his past—from Magda and their sham of a marriage—that it never occurred to him that he was doing the very thing Quinn had described.

The exposure, the harsh, rough, unceremonious reveal, had been worse than he could have dreamed, but in a way he was, if not happy, then relieved. That little voice that sometimes whispered at the back of his mind was silenced. And most importantly, they could move past this; he knew they could, and he’d do everything in power to make that happen.

Once Quinn started speaking to him again.

His GPS guided him to the hotel, and he pulled into the valet lane, put the car in park, and walked toward the front desk feeling weakened, his energy sapped by what had transpired and by what was still to come. He heaved a deep breath and considered just checking in for the night and dealing with them in the morning before dismissing the idea. Nothing would be solved by hiding, and at the very least, he might feel better if he released some of the rage that lingered just beneath the surface.

“Mr. Montague, I presume?” The icily professional-looking front-desk attendant greeted him before he could speak.

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Here’s a key to your suite. Your family has already checked in.”

A bitter scoff escaped him at the other man’s words. His family had just been ripped apart. Right now, the people in this hotel meant nothing to him.

“Thank you. Please have their car pulled around,” Alexander said and walked toward the elevator and then got on, taking it to the top floor.

He hadn’t called ahead, but when he opened the door with no preamble, Magda, his mother, and his father sat primly, seemingly waiting for him. Magda stood and walked toward him, arms extended.

“
Mon
ami
, what delayed you? Certainly not that…woman?”

A wave of revulsion washed over him, and he couldn’t remember why he’d ever agreed to share air with her, let alone marry her.

“Magda,” the sharply spoken word stopped her short, and then he looked at his parents, “you, all of you, are leaving. Today. Right now.”

“Alexander, be reasonable,” his mother said, “we’ve only just arrived.”

His tenuous grip on his control again slipped. “Reasonable? You do this to me, and I should be reasonable?”

“We did what is best. You can’t possibly think this…dalliance can last.”

“And what of my son?” he asked, attention focused fully on his mother now.

“It would be…unfortunate
if
the boy is yours. But you don’t have a life here. You belong at home in Geneva with your family, handling your responsibilities. With your wife.”

If she knew that each word she said was a chisel breaking away, bit by bit, at a lifetime of affection, he had to believe that she would stop speaking. He looked over at his father, and much to his surprise, the other man seemed to understand the damage his mother was inflicting, however thoughtlessly.

His father gave a small nod of understanding and solidarity, a rare gesture, and then said, “Yes, we leave now.”

“But…”

“No! This has gone far enough. We’re going home,” Pierre yelled, voice as stern as Alexander had ever heard.

His mother gaped, and Magda stood silent, clearly preoccupied with figuring out where this left her. In this, at least, he had certainty.

“Magda, my lawyer will meet you at the airport. You’d be wise to sign whatever she asks,” Alexander said, voice ice-cold.

“And what will I receive if I do as you say?” she responded.

He grimaced, but wasn’t in the least bit surprised. Magda would not be content unless she got the best possible deal.

“Nothing. All you have you may keep, but you get nothing else from me”—he gave his mother a hard stare—“and nothing else from anyone in my family ever again. I hope you enjoyed it.”

“Damn it, Alexander!” Magda screeched. “We had a good thing between us. We can have it again.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Magda. You and my mother may have had a good thing, but whatever there was between us was always bad. And it’s done. Accept it, and I suggest you not challenge me on this. I’m not feeling very charitable at the moment.”

He left without another word. As he rode the elevator back to the lobby, it hit him that he had nowhere to go. Every fiber of his being urged him to go back to Quinn.

To go back home.

He quickly dialed her number, but there was, unsurprisingly, no response. He tried the same with her cell and achieved the same result. Then, as if possessed, he retried her home phone before dialing Lily.

Give her some time
.

Lily’s text message flashed across his screen and he knew, no matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise, he’d have to give her space. He reserved another suite at the hotel, reluctant to stay, even though he knew the interlopers would soon leave, but lacking the energy to secure other lodging.

Defeated now and so very weary, he moved through the suite, his surroundings making only the vaguest impression.

When he’d arrived here, anger had burned like acid in his blood, and he was ready for the confrontation he’d had no doubt was on the horizon. But if anything, his second encounter with them hadn’t been explosive, anticlimactic really. He couldn’t undo what they’d done, couldn’t restore the fragile sapling that had been his new family. All the rage in the world wouldn’t fix it. And in the end, it was probably best to save the energy.

Knowing his stubborn little Quinn, he’d need every bit of it if he had a prayer of winning her back.

Chapter Three

The first rays of sun filtered through Quinn’s window, alerting her to the fact that morning had come. She blinked rapidly and sat up, realizing that she hadn’t moved in hours. It seemed like time had stopped, the previous night having passed in a disorienting mix of slowness and speed. She didn’t recall sleeping, but much of the evening and night had been a blur. After much cajoling and reassurance, she’d finally convinced her mother to leave. She’d held it together long enough to settle Ethan, and then she’d been free to fall apart.

Instead of the rush of pain she’d anticipated, had tried to brace herself for, she’d been gripped with a bone-deep numbness. It started at her heart, which despite how she felt, continued to beat, and spread through her body until she felt nothing at all.

The small part of her that was conscious had prayed that morning would give lie to last night, prayed that it was all a dream, but that wasn’t to be.

Alexander has a wife
.

The words flitted through her mind and shattered the numbness. Pain flooded her as real and as sharp as a gunshot, and she fell back into her pillows at the sensation. Of its own volition, her hand crept up to touch the pillow next to her, the image of him lying there, that easy smile on his lips, passion burning in his eyes, filling her mind.

She felt her heart break all over again, and she closed her eyes to ward off the renewed pain. It didn’t help, so she lay there, torn between facing the reality that awaited her and shrinking back, curling up inside herself until the storm passed. Another image floated behind her closed eyelids, this one of Alexander and Ethan lying on the couch asleep, Alexander’s legs hanging off the edge, Ethan tucked securely in his arm. Despite the initial stab of pain at the knowledge that what was in that image could never again be, she smiled and that smile broke the hold of the numbness that gripped her. If nothing else, she had to take care of Ethan and she couldn’t do that if she lay here and wallowed in emotion.

Damn him!

The spark of anger flared unexpectedly, but it gave her the final push she needed.
He’d
done this to her, but she’d be damned if she’d let it break her. Driven by the anger that now filled the gaping hole where her heart had been, she got out of bed and went about her routine, vacillating between the numbing comfort of the familiar activity and the burning anger that hit her in increments. Ethan’s smile softened her, but by the time she’d left him with her mother and started the drive to work, it had all come back.

Staying home today hadn’t occurred to her, though as she rode the elevator up to her office, she wondered if coming in had been a mistake. The wild swing of emotion had left her wrung out, and she couldn’t foresee any possibility of her being productive today. But when she considered the alternative, she was consoled. With nothing to do but stew, she’d probably lose her mind. And besides, she’d been slacking,
a lot
, since Alexander had moved in. So now that life with him, all that it could have been, was over, why not use today to start getting back on track?

Resolved, or rather, resolved again for what felt like the thousandth time, she settled in her office and started the day. About fifteen minutes after she’d arrived, a tentative knock at her door grabbed her attention.

Alexander!

She was reluctant to look up, though whether it was because she was afraid it would be him or afraid that it wouldn’t, she couldn’t quite decide.

“Uh, I’m sorry. I can come back later.”

At the sound of Nola Bailey’s
tentative words, Quinn looked up and pointedly ignored the slight sting of disappointment.

“No, Nola, please, come in and have a seat.”

She gestured toward the chair opposite her desk, indicating that Nola should sit, her emotional turmoil receding to the background, at least temporarily.

“What can I do for you this morning?” she asked.

“First things first. Here’s your coffee.” Nola held up a large mug with steam rising from it. “I know you like a cup before you do anything else.”

Quinn frowned. “Nola, I’ve told you a thousand times, don’t get coffee for me and definitely don’t get it for anyone else.”

Nola’s eyes widened and she looked stunned at the reprimand, though that wasn’t an uncommon sight. Nola was what Quinn’s mother would call a gentle soul, but Quinn dispensed with the euphemism and acknowledged that she was just timid. Very timid as was clear from her wide eyes and the slight tremble of her lips.

Quinn softened her tone and gave the other woman what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’m sorry, Nola. I don’t mean to snap at you, but I’m just trying to help.”

Nola leaned back, her features relaxing just a bit. “I know, and I appreciate you looking out for me, but I don’t mind really; it’s not a problem.”

“I know you don’t mind; you’re a nice, considerate person, but in business, people will take advantage of that. It’ll start out small, a coffee here, typing up something there, and the next thing you know, you’re back in support services again and not a junior designer and you won’t get the respect you deserve. Unless you want to go back to admin?” Quinn said, offering the woman an out that she sincerely hoped Nola would refuse.