Beneath This Mask Read online

My eyes pricked with sneaky tears at the thought of my life in New Orleans. Part of me wished I could return and have everything be the same as it had been before I left. But then I’d still be living a lie.

  How could I go back now? The city I’d fallen in love with would never be the same for me again. Charlotte Agoston wouldn’t be allowed to have the simple life of Charlie Stone.

  “Charlotte, sweetheart. Is that really you?”

  The familiar voice chased away my warring thoughts. I turned away from the building—away from my past and the future I’d escaped.

  Juanita’s dark hair was threaded with more silver than it had been the day I’d left New York, but to me she’d never looked better. She looked happy. Tears tracked down her cheeks as she pulled me into her arms.

  “God, I’ve missed you, girl.” She squeezed me tighter before stepping back to examine me. “Look at you.”

  Unlike my mother’s inspection, Juanita’s didn’t have me ready to haul out my armor.

  “You look beautiful. Like … you’re finally comfortable in your own skin.”

  As always, she was perceptive as hell.

  “I missed you. I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch. I was afraid that if you knew where I was…”

  “Don’t even try to apologize. As far as I was concerned, no news was good news. Now, let’s get off the street and get a cup of coffee. I want to hear everything that’s happened since you walked out of my kitchen.” Juanita looped her arm through mine and pulled me across the street to the café where we had agreed to meet.

  A thought occurred to me. “How did you know where I was just now?” I should have been waiting in the café, but I’d been unwillingly drawn to the symbol of my past rising high in the Manhattan skyline.

  “You stand out like a sore thumb in this part of town, Charlotte. I saw the rubberneckers from across the street. Wasn’t hard to figure out.”

  Fair enough.

  We settled into a back booth with steaming mugs in front of us, and Juanita wasted no time getting down to business.

  “Tell me everything. But first, tell me about this Southern gentlemen you were photographed with when everything hit the papers.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut for a beat as guilt battered me. Those pictures had probably killed any possibility of Simon having a future in politics.

  But there was a chance that if I stayed away, and he decided to run after his mother was well again, the buzz around him would die down, and he’d eventually have a fighting chance of being elected. But if I went back … well, suffice it to say that between my name and my colorful appearance, Simon’s political career would stay dead.

  “Charlotte?”

  I looked up, realizing that Juanita had been waiting for me to answer her question.

  I tried levity to deflect. “Jeez. Why can’t you start with something easier? Like, why the heck I decided to cover my perfectly good arms with tattoos.”

  My attempt at deflection failed. Juanita just raised a brow. “So, he was someone important. Duchesne, was it?” I didn’t like that she was speaking in the past tense.

  “His name is Simon Duchesne.”

  She eyed me shrewdly. “And he was important?”

  I swallowed. “He is important.”

  “And you love him.”

  That one wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “Yes.”

  “So now what?”

  “I don’t know.” I stared down into the steam rising off my mug. I gave myself permission to be honest. “I want to go back, but if I were a better person, I wouldn’t even consider it. I should run as far and as fast as I can in the opposite direction. And I hate myself for not being strong enough to do it. That’s just one more reason he deserves better.”

  “So you’ve decided to be your own judge, jury, and executioner? I didn’t realize you’d become a martyr.”

  I bristled. “How is that being a martyr? Aren’t you supposed to put the people you love before yourself?

  She ignored my question and countered with another of her own. “What would your Simon have to say if he were here listening to this?”

  I pictured Simon’s strong features, flashing hazel eyes, and tousled dark hair. What would he say? I thought of the plane ticket. That was as clear of a message as he could send. “Probably something along the lines of ‘get the hell home where you belong’.”

  “Then there’s your answer.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why does it have to be complicated?”

  “Because he’s better off without me. Even if he doesn’t want to admit it.”

  Juanita covered my fidgeting hand with hers. “And you? Are you better off without him? Isn’t that the real question you should be trying to answer?”

  “I’m not worried about me—”

  “Why not? Don’t you deserve the same consideration?” Her tone was no-nonsense. “You have to stop treating yourself as somehow being less because of what your father did. I’ve told you before, but clearly it didn’t make an impression. Your father’s actions are no reflection of your character, Charlotte. You need to quit thinking they are, or you’re going to spend the rest of your life running from something you can never escape.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. Simon’s a grown man. You should let him make his own decision. If you love him, then he deserves that much. Anything else is a disservice to both of you.” Her dark eyes pinned me. “You’re not a stupid girl, Charlotte. So stop acting like you are. What other plan do you have? Keep running?”

  I bowed my head, letting my hair fall into my face. “I’m still figuring that out.”

  “My advice would be not to take too long to decide. Life only gives us so many chances at happiness. You’d do well not to waste this one.”

  I watched the same two pieces of unclaimed luggage go around and around the baggage carousel. One was a hard case of golf clubs, and other was a tapestry-patterned bag that looked like something a grandmother would carry. My suspicion was confirmed when an airport employee loaded the flower-covered bag on a cart pushed by an older woman in tan orthopedic shoes. A man on a cell phone hauled the golf clubs away.

  My hopes were sinking, but I refused to give up on her. She traveled light. No luggage didn’t mean no Charlie. But from my bench, I had a perfect view of all of the arriving travelers, and she hadn’t been among them. The gate agent had been able to confirm that the flight out of New York had been delayed, but the passengers aboard probably had enough time to make the New Orleans connection. Even at my most charming, the woman had refused to tell me one way or another whether Charlie had boarded either flight. Her murmured apologies about policies and data privacy didn’t calm the knots in my stomach. My call to Ivers didn’t give me anything either. He had no idea what Charlie had done after he’d left her at the U.S. Attorney’s Office. When I’d booked the flight, I’d once again debated whether to include a message for Ivers to pass along. But something had held me back. The conversation Charlie and I needed to have couldn’t take place through an intermediary. I was banking on the fact that the plane ticket would speak for itself.

  How much clearer could I make it that I wanted her to come home? That I didn’t care who she was?

  But I did care that she hadn’t trusted me. I hated knowing that she’d made a conscious decision to withhold the truth, even though I’d made it pretty damn clear that it didn’t matter what she was hiding. Well, as long as it wasn’t three husbands and a string of serial murders. I tried to put myself in her position, but even then, it sucked to know she hadn’t felt like she could trust me.

  So I sat on my bench and waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  When I finally rose, feeling like the metal slats had imprinted themselves on my ass, I had to face facts: I’d been waiting for a lot longer than four hours. I’d been waiting for months—even before she’d run. All I’d wanted from her was a sign that she was in this with me. A
sign that we had a chance at something real together. And I’d gotten nothing.

  I’d waited for nothing.

  I left the airport wondering how much longer I could wait for this woman.

  Derek met me at the bar.

  “I take it she wasn’t on the plane.”

  “No.” My tone was clipped. I really didn’t want to talk about it. About her. I wanted to get drunk. “Maker’s. Neat,” I told the bartender.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So what are you going to do? You going up there?”

  I turned to Derek. “Can we just drink?”

  “Come on, man. You gotta have a plan. I know you. You always have a plan.”

  He was right. Except, for the first time in my life, I didn’t. “Charlie has a habit of blowing all of my fucking plans to pieces.” The bartender set the bourbon in front of me, and I picked it up and took a healthy swig. “You want to know what my plan was for today? I was going to pick her up at the airport, and it was going to be romantic as hell. Instead, I watched luggage go round and round the baggage claim for four fucking hours, and she never came. Killed my sense of romance.” I tipped back the rest of my drink and smacked the glass down on the bar. “So now, I just want to get drunk enough so I can stop thinking about everything for a few hours. How’s that sound?”

  Derek studied me with all too knowing eyes. “How long are you going to chase this girl before you finally give up on her?”

  The thing that sucked about having a best friend who’d known you since childhood was that he wasn’t afraid to ask a question you weren’t ready to answer. I wasn’t ready to give up on Charlie yet, but I was nearing the edge of my fortitude.

  I gestured to the bartender to pour me another. Derek stayed silent, clearly waiting for a response. Refilled drink in hand, I turned back to him. “What? How the fuck do you expect me to answer that?”

  He shrugged and sipped his drink. “With the truth, I guess.”

  “The truth is, I don’t know. If you were in my shoes, would you have stopped chasing Mandy?”

  He swirled the liquor in his glass. “No. But still, there comes a point when she’s gotta push all her chips into the middle too. You’ve both gotta be all in.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” My frustration ratcheted up a few more notches.

  “I don’t know what to say, man. I guess, if I were you, I’d give it a few more days, and then I’d start asking myself some tough questions. Because with her history of running, you might have to face the possibility that she might never be coming back.”

  I downed the rest of my bourbon. I waved the bartender over. “Can you just leave us the bottle?”

  Derek looked sideways at me. “Getting hammered ain’t exactly gonna help.”

  I sloshed liquor into my glass. “Sure ain’t gonna hurt.”

  After one delayed flight due to mechanical problems, one missed connection because I’d misread my boarding pass, and one uncomfortable night of no sleep on a bench in the Atlanta airport, the plane touched down in New Orleans at eleven AM. I waited impatiently for the passengers ahead of me to grab their luggage and disembark. The saying, ‘a day late and a dollar short’ kept running through my head.

  As the cab approached the familiar iron gates, topped with intricate fleur de lis, I struggled to piece together what the hell I was going to say.

  I’m sorry seemed so … inadequate.

  I paid the driver and climbed out. I faced the fence that separated me from Simon. The irony wasn’t lost on me. Just like before, there was more than metal between us. There were the lies, the truth, and everything else. I wondered if we could really overcome it. I reached for the button on the intercom, but paused when I spotted Simon through the vine-covered bars.

  He was holding a leash.

  Connected to my big mutt.

  Huck’s head jerked up, and a series of deep barks ripped through the stillness of the late morning. His huge body lunged forward, tugging the leash from Simon’s hand.

  Simon turned and froze.

  He looked like hell. Tired. Ragged around the edges. He was barefoot, wearing khaki cargo shorts and a black T-shirt. His hair was shaggy, curling around his ears in a way that suggested he’d had more important things to worry about than making time for a barber. Several days’ worth of beard covered his jaw. He was still gorgeous, but once again, I was faced with a different Simon than I’d ever seen before. His expression gave nothing away. And it certainly didn’t fill me with hope.

  Huck trotted—without limping—toward the fence. He whined and pawed and licked my hand through the bars.

  I scratched behind his ear, and he leaned into my touch. “Missed you, too, baby,” I whispered.

  Simon took his time crossing the lawn. When he finally came close enough, I could see the dark circles under his eyes.

  “Hi.” It was the lamest opening line, but I didn’t know what else to say.

  Simon stopped in front of the gate and watched me. He didn’t reply.

  I’m not sure how long we stood, just staring and trying to guess what the other was thinking. The seconds ticked by in almost painful silence.

  I remembered the last time we’d played emotional chicken. It seemed I’d have to swerve first this time, too. “I—”

  He spoke at the exact same moment. “I waited at the airport yesterday. For four hours. When you didn’t show up, I thought you’d decided to keep running.”

  I swallowed. The time had finally come for absolute honesty. “I thought about it.” A flash of anguish arced across his features, but I pushed on. “I probably should have. It probably would have been better for you in the long run never to see me again.”

  He laughed humorlessly and gripped the back of his neck with one hand. He looked skyward. “Don’t do me any favors, Charlie.”

  “Trust me, I’m not. I don’t see the upside for you in this. I pretty much see nothing but downsides on your end. Being with me is a bad deal. The secret’s out, and unless I run and hide and become someone else again, everyone will know who I am—the daughter of a thief, and a liar in my own right. That’s who I’m going to be for the rest of my life. Anyone who stands by me is going to be ruined by it.” I took a deep breath and cut to the heart of the matter. “But it turns out I’m not strong enough to walk away from you again. This time, you’re going to have to tell me to go. Because otherwise, I’m not leaving.”

  At some point during my speech, Simon had moved closer to the gate. He gripped one bar in a white-knuckle hold. The muscle in his jaw ticked, and I braced myself, hoping like hell I hadn’t said too much. Hoping like hell I hadn’t finally convinced him that I wasn’t worth it.

  “I’ve spent all day trying to figure out what I was going to do if you’d decided to run. How I was going to deal with the fact you might not be coming back.”

  A shaft of pain lanced through me. Had he already started trying to figure out how to cut me out of his life? “Simon—”

  “No. You’ve said your piece. It’s my turn.” He reached a hand through the fence and toyed with a lock of my hair. “Because there’s still one thing you don’t seem to get: I don’t care who you are. I don’t care if you’re Charlie or Charlotte or Lee, or anyone else. Because all that matters is that you’re mine. I wasn’t going to let you go without a fight. If you’d run, I would’ve chased you. Just like I have since the beginning.”

  “But—”

  He cupped my face with his hand and ran his thumb over my lips to silence me. “If you’re going to tell me one more time how bad you are for me, I don’t want to hear it. The only thing I want to hear coming out of your mouth is you telling me that you love me.”

  His thumb moved away from my lips, and the words tumbled out. “I love you.”

  Simon leaned against the fence and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. A smile stretched across his face, and his eyes met mine.

  “Welcome home, Charlie. I missed you.”

  He pulled his hand
back through the bars and reached for a button to open the gate. As soon as there was enough room, I left my bags on the sidewalk, slid through the gap, and launched myself at him.

  Simon’s strong arms caught me and lifted me off my feet. I wrapped myself around him. This man was mine, and I was never letting him go again. He pressed his lips to my hair, and whispered, “Missed you so fucking much. Not letting you out of my sight for a goddamn year.” My only response was to hold on tighter.

  When he finally set me down, the lightheartedness left me, and my expression turned serious. “How’s your mom? Is she going to be okay?”

  Simon’s smile didn’t fade. “She’s going to be fine. A lot of therapy, but she’s going to be just fine.”

  “And your decision not to campaign … was that because of me? Because I—”

  Simon cut me off. “No. I’d already decided that before the Fourth of July. You just didn’t stick around long enough for me to tell you about it.”

  Heat flared up my cheeks. “I knew if I wanted a chance with you, I had to make things right.” I looked down at the ground and the toes of my ratty Chucks. “It just didn’t exactly work out like I’d planned.”

  “If Ivers had gotten to you before—”

  This time I cut him off. “It wouldn’t have made a difference. It needed to happen this way. I definitely could have lived without setting foot in Rikers, but at least people are getting back what they lost.”

  Simon scowled. “Like I said. Not letting you out of my sight.”

  The front door swung open, and we both turned toward the sound.

  Simon’s father stood behind his mother’s wheelchair. She smiled, her face still slightly askew, but she lifted a hand and waved. Mr. Duchesne called out, “Welcome home, Charlie. Maggie would like to invite you to lunch. Nothing fancy. Just family.”

  I smiled as a lump rose in my throat. Just family. Their easy acceptance humbled me. And I knew I was truly home.

  “I’d love to.”

  Simon pressed another kiss to my hair, and whispered, “I love you.”

  I threaded my fingers through his, and we walked hand in hand toward the house.