The officer who helped Juliette promised Josiah would be sent away, though it didn’t sound like he’d be gone all that long. Juliette was okay with that though. The crumbling of his gilded reputation and the promise of a protective order was enough retribution for her.
It’s an hour and a half to Provo, and I follow her in my truck. Her sister lives in a quaint little subdivision with a waterfall at the entrance and one of those generic names like “Maple Valley.”
Her house is big, with a sweeping two-story entrance visible from the outside. It’s dusk now. Most people are eating dinner and settled in for the night. Her sister, Charlotte, isn’t expecting us, but I dare her to try to turn away her mangled sister.
“You ready?” I take Juliette’s hand as we walk up the windy, landscaped sidewalk to her sister’s front door. We pause for a moment before ringing the doorbell. A yippy dog barks and rushed footsteps pad closer. The lock clicks and the door swings open. A woman, the spitting image of Juliette—only with darker hair and a much flatter chest—stands before us.
“Charlotte?” Juliette’s voice is a timid squeak.
Juliette’s hand cups over her mouth, her eyes dart between both of us. “My God, Juliette. What happened to you?”
Juliette breaks down into tears before she has a chance to speak a single word, and I place my hand on her lower back, gently nudging her closer to her sister. She doesn’t need me anymore, she needs Charlotte. And Charlotte should be the one comforting her this time. It always should’ve been Charlotte.
“Come in, come in,” Charlotte squints at her sister, as if it’s painful for her to see her in such poor condition.
Good. It should be.
“You okay or do you still need me?” I whisper into her ear. “I’ll come with you, if you want.”
Juliette looks at her sister and then back at me, her lips inch up. “I think everything’s going to be fine, Jensen. Thank you.”
She kisses my cheek, and I let her go.
This time, it’s forever.
***
I pull into Kath’s driveway a little after eight. The house is dark, save for a small light coming from the living room. I do my best to enter quietly, since the twins are in bed by now.
“Jensen.” Kath stops me by the stairs, appearing out of nowhere. “Where’ve you been?”
“Had to help a friend.” I’m not sure how she’d feel, knowing I left without telling anyone where I was going and spent most of the day with Juliette. She wouldn’t understand, so I won’t bother explaining anything.
“Next time, tell me if you’re going to be gone.”
“Were you worried about me, or something?” I laugh, mostly because the idea of her worrying about me is hilarious.
She folds her hands and then crosses her arms, shifting her weight between both feet. Her eyes scan mine. “With everything that happened today, I just need to know where you are at all times.”
“I’m tired,” I say, pointing to the stairs. “Mind if I head on up?”
She brings a nail to her mouth and nibbles. “Don’t wake your brother.”
Kath’s acting squirrelly; then again, it’s nothing new for her. All I want to do is go to bed, wake up in the morning, and see Waverly at school. Until then, everything is in limbo and nothing else matters.
CHAPTER 30
WAVERLY
Bellamy takes the exit toward downtown Salt Lake City. We are most definitely not driving to South Dakota.
Maybe this is where Harold is picking me up? Maybe I’m getting on a plane and flying there? They wouldn’t take me to an airport, though. Too obvious. Too many opportunities to run, and you can’t force someone onto a commercial airplane without making a scene.
My palms sweat. I rub them against the front of my jeans. I’m sitting up now, paying attention to every detail, every turn. We drive another five minutes before Bellamy gets off on an exit, veers right, and pulls into and underground garage and into a reserved parking space.
I’m afraid to ask what happens next. This feels like a transaction, and of course it would happen underground. I’m being taken against my will and handed off, forced to marry someone I’ve never met.
“Get out.” Bellamy says lightly. She pops her trunk revealing two suitcases, though I only recalled Mom packing the one.
My nose wrinkles, and maybe the question is irrelevant, but I have to ask. “Why are there two?”
A man dressed in a black suit climbs out of a dark limo parked next to us, and I’m not sure how I hadn’t noticed it before. The windows are tinted and obscure, and I’m not sure who’s inside. For all I know, it could be Harold and his wives.
The well-dressed man walks around the car, opening the passenger door, and out emerges another man. With a fitted, navy suit and a long, skinny tie, he checks the chrome watch on his left wrist and flashes Bellamy a dazzling smile. This man, who looks nothing at all like a guy who’d be named Harold from South Dakota, steps toward my sister and grazes her cheek with his lips. “You’re on time. Very good.”
The driver of the limo grabs both of our bags and places them gently in his trunk.
My feet remain planted, digging into the concrete floor as best they can. “Bellamy, you going to tell me what’s going on now?”
She faces the man who greeted her. His dark hair is slicked into place with product, combed neatly and parted on the side. His rich cologne subtly fills the muggy garage air. He could easily fill the pages of a men’s fashion magazine if he wanted to, and he’s looking at my sister like she’s the center of his universe.
Bellamy inhales softly, her eyes lighting as they dance between the man and myself. “Waverly, this is my boss, Dane Townsend. He’s going to save us.”
***
The limo takes us across town to a sweeping estate on the outskirts of town. A guarded, eight-foot-tall gate protects this fortress, which from what I can see seems to be modeled after an eighteenth century French chateau. It’s mostly white with baroque ornamentals that I recognize from my Art History class.
A tree-lined drive sweeps us up toward a two-story porte-cochere.
The driver comes around to our side and pulls the door. “Welcome to Golden Oak, the estate of Mr. Dane Townsend.”
He takes our hands one-by-one, gently guiding us out to where a blanket of intricately laid herringbone marble directs us toward a staffed entrance.
“Welcome.” A man dressed in a butler’s suit holds the door open for us. “We’ve been expecting you.”
I try not to ogle too much, as I know it’s rude, but every square inch of this place is outfitted in marble, gold, and the most fabulous look-but-don’t-sit furniture I’ve ever seen. A Renoir painting rests above a marble buffet table in the entry, and there must be a hundred white roses sitting pretty in an extra-wide, crystal vase below it.
Dane walks up behind Bellamy, placing his hand gently on her middle back. She fights a half-smile, pretending his touch doesn’t affect her.
I know better.
“Mathilde,” Dane calls out. A middle-aged woman with gray hair pulled into a ballerina bun walks out into the foyer, her hands folded neatly at her hips.
“Oui, Monsieur Townsend?” Her accent is French, her tone pleasing.
“Please show our newest guest to her room.” Dane hasn’t left Bellamy’s side.
Newest guest?
I follow Mathilde up a sweeping, winding staircase and down a long corridor, passing door after door until we reach one on the end. I swear we’ve walked at least a quarter of a mile just to get here.
“This will be your suite,” Mathilde says. “Bronson will bring your luggage from the car. Feel free to wash up, and then meet us in the dining hall for dinner by six o’clock sharp.”
Mathilde leads me into the room, which is fit for a princess. A king-sized bed with a million fluffy pillows anchors the room. Five floor-to-ceiling windows cover the far wall, and an en-suite bathroom is tucked away through another door.