Given (Give &Take) (2 page)

I
woke with a start, blurry-eyed, to the shrill ringtone of my cell phone on the nightstand. I glanced at the clock. Three a.m. Who the hell was calling at this hour?

Rachael mumbled in her sleep and rolled over. Sometimes, I swore a bomb could go off and she wouldn’t wake. I chalked it up to being overly worn out from our earlier activities.

Grabbing my phone, I answered it quickly, not recognizing the number, eager to silence the ear-numbing ring. “Hello?”

There was a moment of silence before a tentative female voice said, “It’s Nadia.”

“Where are you?” I asked, instantly awake and alert.

“Paris. I’m sorry.”

I sat up, throwing my legs over the side of the bed and rubbing my eyes with my free hand. “Where in Paris?”

Because she’d come into my life under the influence of my father’s betrayal, I didn’t want to care about her, but Jesus, she was my flesh and blood, just like MJ. I had to care. I couldn’t make myself
not
care.

I felt Rachael’s hand on my back and looked over my shoulder at her.
Nadia
, I mouthed. Her eyes went wide.

“Rue Lincoln in the Golden Triangle. I can’t talk, they’re waking up. I’ll call tomorrow,” Nadia said and hung up.

I let my hand drop, holding my phone in my lap. “Paris.” I blew out a hard breath and turned to face Rachael. “She said, ‘They’re waking up.’ She’s with Enzo and her mom. We’re going to Paris. I’m bringing her back.”

Rachael sat up. “We’re going to Paris? Why?”

Her eyes were sleepy and her hair tangled in the back. I reached up and smoothed it down.

How could I explain why I had to go to Nadia in a way that would make sense when Nadia had come to us—to Turtle Tear—so underhandedly, working for my father. She’d been motivated to reveal herself as my daughter by his promises and then found out that Enzo Rocha wasn’t a man who kept his promises.

Nadia
was
my daughter, though, and I couldn’t believe she’d hurt me without the coercion of her grandfather and her mother, whom I’d believed had died during childbirth twenty years ago.

“I know,” I said. “The situation is crazy, but I can’t let her stay with them.”

“Merrick…” Rachael dropped her eyes to her lap. “You don’t think this is just another one of Enzo’s games?”

“No. I heard desperation in Nadia’s voice. She doesn’t want to be there with them.”

Rachael looked up at me from under her lashes. “She’s helped him before. That’s all I’m saying.”

I clenched the sheet, willing myself to stay calm. Rachael had her reasons for wanting me to stay away from Nadia, but she had to understand why I couldn’t. The girl was my daughter. “You don’t trust her?” I knew she didn’t, so it came out as a statement more than a question.

“No.”

My back stiffened, but I wouldn’t let this come between us. I’d figure out how to make Rachael see that this time with Nadia was different. “Then trust me.”

She pressed her lips together and nodded. “Always.”

I glanced toward the hotel. Still no sign of Rachael. She’d run back inside to grab something she’d forgotten and it was taking her forever to come back out. I was trying not to get impatient as Beck stowed our luggage in the helicopter and got it ready for takeoff.

It was time to have the conversation with him I’d been dreading. I wanted everything off my plate before leaving for Paris so I could concentrate completely on getting Nadia away from my father.

“I need to talk to you,” I said to him, taking another glance toward the hotel. Still no Rachael. I gave Joan a sly nod.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Beck said, laughing it off. “I didn’t do it.”

I gestured for Beck to follow me a few yards away by
the tree line, then turned to face my best friend. “What are you doing here?”

Beck’s forehead creased. “What are you talking about?”

“The project’s done. Rocha Enterprises is gone. What are you doing here?” The only way around this situation was to plow straight through it. Not allowing Beck time to respond, I crossed my arms and continued. “You’re a cellist, not a foreman. That’s where you came from and where you need to go back to.”

Beck ran a hand over his head and back along the ponytail at the base of his neck. “I’m not a cellist and I can’t leave—”

“You can. You will, and you are a cellist. You used to play in an orchestra back in Nebraska, right? Isn’t that what you told me when I interviewed you? I have no clue why you stopped playing and I’d love to hear the story someday, but there’s no time right now. I’m leaving and so are you. I don’t want you here when I get back.”

At Beck’s narrowed eyes and fists coming up to his hips, I swallowed hard, knowing Rachael would be back any second and I couldn’t back down now. “Beck, you’re fired. I no longer require a foreman. Go back to Nebraska and take that cello with you.”

Beck spit on the ground. “You’re a fucking bastard.”

I took a step forward. “A fucking bastard who knows when a friend needs to hear the hard truth. Whatever you’re afraid of in your past needs to be dealt with. You have serious talent. Don’t waste it.”

Beck shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No? Go back there, get your ass back in that orchestra, and prove me wrong.” I gritted my teeth. I didn’t want Beck to leave, but it was time for him to find his own life and not get waylaid at Turtle Tear, bogged down with my issues.

“Whatever.” Beck reached out and punched my shoulder. “Get the fuck out of here and find your daughter.”

I knew my words hurt him, but also knew they struck a chord. I hoped this wouldn’t create a rift between us any more than the distance between Florida and Nebraska would.

Rachael finally arrived with the whine of a golf cart, parked it, and hopped out. Joan gave me a tight-lipped smile and I gave one back. “Take care of him,” I told her.

“If he’ll let me,” she said, gazing past me to the tree line, where Beck still stood with his arms folded, lost in thought.

I took a tote bag from Rachael. “You finally ready?” I twirled a lock of her hair that had fallen from the messy bun she’d wound up on top of her head. I liked it when she wore her hair like that and I could see the graceful lines of her neck.

“Ready.” She waved to Beck, exchanged a handshake with Joan that wasn’t unfriendly—the secrets of the Weston Plantation had created some strange bond between the two of them—and hooked her arm through mine. “Fly me to Paris, my love.”

A
fter a three-hour flight from Miami to New York, a two-hour layover, and a seven-hour overnight flight to Paris, we finally made it to Hotel Montalembert at 7 a.m. the next day. I was exhausted and never wanted to fly again. I was contemplating what I could do to convince Merrick to buy an apartment there and never leave just to avoid airports and the crimp in my neck that trying to sleep on a plane gave me.

Once in our room, I crashed onto the bed and announced, “I’m starving!”

“Twenty-four-hour room service,” Merrick said, sitting on the side of the bed and opening the menu. “What would you like?”

“Anything. I’m going to spend some time in the bathroom making myself feel human again.” I got up and pranced into the bathroom, blowing him a kiss before closing the door.

Then I sank back against it and closed my eyes. I was trying my best to keep a brave face for him, to not let any of this get to me. He was suffering enough as it was without
my emotions piling on and causing him to worry. But Enzo Rocha was an entity all his own, and I didn’t know what to expect from him. He’d proved through his lies, manipulation, and most recently, physical assault, that he was capable of anything at all. And he hated Merrick.

I’d never been so afraid in my life, even waking up tied to a bed in a strange hotel with a man I didn’t realize I knew—yes, Merrick and I had come far. More than far. It seemed we’d spanned lifetimes in the space of several months together. I trusted and loved him absolutely. If this thing with Enzo went badly…

I couldn’t even bring myself to think about it. I was probably being overdramatic.

Splashing water on my face, I prayed silently that we would get Nadia and return quickly to Turtle Tear. Until we did, our future seemed like a very distant place. This new transition in Merrick’s life needed to end before we could find our peace and happiness together.

I took my hair down and brushed it, got rid of my blouse and pants, and squared my shoulders before walking back out into the room and facing Merrick. I’d be strong for him.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looked me over from head to toe and smirked. “You know I want to take that bra and those panties off of you and make you scream my name, but right now I’m so tired I can’t even think straight.”

I stepped between his knees and kissed the tip of his nose. “I’m just changing into something more comfortable.
No pressure tonight—today—whenever it is. I’ve lost all track of time.”

“Me, too.” He glanced at his cell phone lying on the bed beside him.

“Still nothing from her?” Nadia hadn’t contacted Merrick again, and I knew it was making him crazy to be this close and have no contact.

“No. Nothing.” He scratched his head and lay back against the plush pillows.

“How long are you going to wait before you call her?”

“Can’t.” He sighed. “It’s a new number. If I know it, it’ll tip Enzo off that she’s contacted me, and it seemed like she wanted to keep that a secret.”

I sat down beside him and ran my hand up his stomach over his chest. “So we wait?”

“We wait.” He closed his eyes and I stroked his hair. Some things were worth waiting for.

There would be a day when this was all behind us. I just hoped I didn’t have to wait too long for that day to arrive. Merrick would stop at no length to make up the lost time between him and his kids, but I didn’t understand why Nadia, at almost twenty-one, couldn’t just leave her grandfather and find her way to Turtle Tear. What was she afraid of? Or was it something else? Did she know something that Enzo was keeping under wraps, so he was keeping her close?

Several minutes later, the knock on the door from room service came as I lounged on the balcony taking in the
view of the Eiffel Tower and the back of Notre Dame while Merrick showered. He stepped out of the bathroom clad in pajama bottoms as I opened the door and the waiter rolled our order in on a cart.

“Thank you,” Merrick said, tipping the man while I took inventory of the tray. “Fruit, a baguette, cheese, wine.”

“I didn’t order wine.” Merrick strode over and picked up the bottle. A tag hung from the neck by a string. He picked it up and read it, frowning. “Welcome to Paris.” He glanced at the waiter. “Is this complimentary?”

“
Non, monsieur.
It was added to your room service order.”

“By who?” He set the bottle down, lines forming across his forehead.

“Je ne sais pas, monsieur.”

Merrick nodded, accepting the waiter’s answer that he didn’t know who’d sent the wine. “Thank you. That’s all we’ll be needing right now.”

“Bien.”

Merrick closed and locked the door. I lifted the tag and read the slanted, masculine writing. “What do you think?” I asked.

Merrick shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Enzo? Nadia?”

“Could be anyone. Could be MJ or Beck and Joan, for all we know.” He gazed at me and shrugged.

I knew he didn’t believe that. “It says, ‘Welcome to Paris.’ That implies whoever sent it is already here, welcoming us.”

“There’s no way to know who it came from. Let’s just eat and get some rest.” He pulled a chair out for me at the round glass table.

I sat and plucked a ripe strawberry from one of the dishes on the tray. My stomach hurt so badly, even though I was starving, I had no appetite. Damn Enzo Rocha. I knew that bottle of wine was from him.

Although exhausted, I didn’t sleep. While Merrick napped, I got online and looked up as many apartments on Rue Lincoln that rented weekly as I could find. I called the phone numbers listed on the rentals, pretending to be Enzo’s daughter in-law, hoping to find Nadia, but wasn’t having any luck.

I was so focused on my search, I didn’t hear Merrick come up behind me. “You’ll never find them,” he whispered in my ear, making me jump and grasp the arms of the chair.

“God, you scared me.”

He swept my hair to the side and kissed my neck. “If Enzo doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be.”

I closed my laptop. “Then why are we here?”

He traced my earlobe with the tip of his nose. “Nadia will contact me. She’ll tell us where to find her.”

I wanted to believe that. I heard the desperation in his voice. He didn’t want to believe his daughter would betray him and be loyal to Enzo. I hoped for his sake—for all of their sakes—Nadia would get in touch.

Merrick took my hands and pulled me up out of my chair, wrapping his arms around me and holding me against him. “Let’s get out of here and go look around.”

He kissed me. I remembered our first kiss and how I’d been so hesitant, so nervous, but my raw lust for Merrick took over and I couldn’t hold myself back. Now my lust and desire pooled with comfort and love. His kisses made me feel cherished and treasured as well as physically wanted.

It was so clear to me, even though neither one of us had actually spoken the word
marriage
, that he was my husband. He would be—it was meant to be. I felt the white, hot truth of it in every cell of my body. We were one soul, torn in half and put on earth to find each other.

And there he was, right in front of me. He’d made it happen. He must’ve somehow known deep inside that I belonged with him.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” he asked, a cocky grin forming on his lips.

I rose up on my toes to kiss him again. “Like what?”

“Like you have some dangerous secret.” He pinned my hands behind my back and pressed me into the wall. “Are you keeping something from me, Ms. DeSalvo?”

“Nothing you don’t already know,” I said, smiling.

“And what’s that?” He nuzzled my neck. It tickled and I leaned my head against his, laughing.

“You’ll figure it out sooner or later,” I said, nipping his earlobe. “I’m just giving you time.”

Merrick chuckled and rested his forehead against mine. “Is that so? How much time do you think I need?”

I shrugged playfully, wondering if he knew what I was referring to.

“Maybe you’re the one who needs time.” He winked.

Caught off guard, my pulse quickened. Were we talking about the same thing? Marriage? Why was he giving
me
time? I was waiting on
him
. “Maybe I don’t.”

He stepped back and turned me toward the big suitcase, still packed and sitting beside the bed. “Maybe you should change out of that robe and get dressed so we can get out of here.” He smacked me on the bottom to get me moving.

Padding across the plush carpet, I felt my heart sink a little at his dismissal of the conversation we’d been circling so closely. His giving me time sounded like a poor excuse.

I knelt on the floor and began to dig through the clothes I’d brought.

I was so certain we were on the same page, just not verbalizing it yet. But… maybe we weren’t on the same page?