White Lies (A Twisted Fate Series) (Volume 1) (10 page)

“I love you, too.”

Fingers trailed up my back. “One day, I’m going to make you the mother of my children.”

I wanted to be with Gabe forever and have his children.

“Hey, angel.”

Leaving the bittersweet thoughts, I smiled at the term of endearment Carson had used since we were younger. One time in the tree house, the light shone behind me, and he swore I looked like an angel. Plus, I’d helped bail him out of more than one situation throughout our childhood, earning me the name.

Opening my eyes, I responded. “Hey, you. Is your conference all done? I thought it would be longer. Eva is still looking at my paintings.”

Wearing athletic shorts with a T-shirt, Carson squatted, bringing him eye level with me. Those blue eyes were gorgeous—they always had been. “It is. I have an idea.”

I quirked a brow. “That sounds dangerous. You’ve gotten us into a lot of trouble throughout the years with your ideas.”

A hand went to his chest in mock surprise. “When?”

“The time we played hooky from school and got caught drag racing your father’s car along the shoreline.”

His eyes lit up as a hand raked down the stubble on his face. “You may have a point. Are you in the mood to be daring?”

“I could be, depending…”

He gave me a mischievous wink. “Good. I need you to pack a bag.”

“A bag?”

“I need your help.”

Standing, I watched Carson. He was serious. “Help?”

He chuckled. “Are you going to answer everything I say with a question?”

“Hey, Willow. Am I interrupting?”

I turned to see the brunette art gallery manager approaching. Her attire was not appropriate for the shore at all as her heels sank into the sand. Carson stood beside me as the familiar artistic nerves took over while I waited for her verdict. Ultimately, I never had to sell a painting and I would be financially secure. But I loved it and wanted to be successful on my own.

“Of course not, Eva.”

Since I let them observe my art by themselves, I was never able to ask what gallery managers thought about my work after they looked at it. I was fine with criticism, but asking felt like it forced people to give disingenuous compliments if they didn’t like it.

Bringing her fingers to her mouth, she kissed them before moving them away in an exploding motion. “Willow. My word. I must have all of them for a show. You can’t say no. I have to have them.”

Eva was my favorite art gallery manager because of her energy and passion for art. The gallery on Madison Avenue in Manhattan drew huge crowds any time she hosted an event and generally sold out within hours. “Wow! Are you serious?”

I was stunned. Eva rarely took entire collections. She was very selective.

She waved her hand. “Of course I’m serious. They’re fabulous! I’m going to showcase them as soon as possible.”

Nearly hugging Eva, I remembered myself before exclaiming, “Yes, yes you can have them! This is amazing!”

She gave a quick clap. Needless to say, she was… eccentric. “Oh, you’ve made my day! I’m going to get to work on this immediately. We’ll go through any you want to keep and all the specifics later this week, if that works.”

In all the excitement, she leaned in to kiss both my cheeks, like in Europe.

“That sounds great. I don’t want to keep any.”

Squeals erupted from her, and I took a step back at the unexpected screech. Eva was oblivious to the scene she was causing. “This is your best work yet, Willow. They are so raw and emotional. Oh, I love them. Okay, I need to get back to the gallery. Can I send someone to get all the paintings tomorrow?”

“Yes. Thank you, Eva!” I remembered Carson asked for my help and told me to pack a bag. He knew he’d be able to get me to say yes. “I may be out of town. Mildred and Chris can let them into my studio.”

Carson beamed, knowing I basically agreed to go.

“Perfect. Let me know. I have their numbers from the last show, in case you do decide to leave town. I’ve got to go plan this fab event.” Eva waved as she walked to her car, completely ignoring Carson.

I hadn’t spoken to Eva since I got married. I wasn’t even sure if she knew I’d been married. Alex stayed out of the public eye with me. And with all his issues, I’d only told a few close friends about us. It shamed me that I allowed him to control so much of my life.

My own show… it was unbelievable. Astounding. Surreal. Normally, I’d share the showcase with several artists. This was the perfect timing for something positive to happen, giving me a glimpse that hope existed. I was truly achieving my dreams regarding my career.

A hand patted my shoulder. “I’m so proud of you, Willow. Your dad would be proud, too.”

A lumped formed in my throat. “That means a lot, Carson.”

I often wondered what Dad would think of my life now with all the mistakes I’d made. Mom, too. At least they were together now. Their deaths were sudden, and I was missing so many words of wisdom. Nonno had many for me, but it wasn’t the same.

Carson walked toward the house and called over his shoulder. “We’re leaving in one hour.”

“Where?”

No answer. Half the time, I thought he aggravated me on purpose.

Four hours later, we pulled up the drive of a gorgeous two-story house located on a private beach in Newport, Rhode Island. I wasn’t a fan of flying, especially in small private planes like the one Carson owned. Heights made me nervous. Carson knew this, of course, and drove instead.

The front porch lights were on, and the sun was setting behind the house, creating a cascade of orange and red. “Who owns this place?”

“Potentially me.”

I spun around. “Carson, this is gorgeous.”

We walked around as I took it all in. The place was amazing—definitely Carson’s taste. There were cobblestone paths surrounded by plants. I meandered about as Carson stayed near the car. It was as if I’d entered another place—truly mystical.

Birds chirped in the distance, bringing a smile to my face as I touched a red petal from a rose bush. I plucked it and smelled it, appreciating the beauty.

I emerged back onto the driveway and found Carson leaning against his car, waiting for me.

Looking up, I saw a glass deck that disappeared around the back of the house on the second story. The view must be amazing from up there, creating an artist’s paradise. If Carson bought it, no doubt I would be over here to draw.

“How did you find this place?”

The house was modern with metal trimmings and windows. It was impressively large. I lived on the beach, but this was a dream vacation home. I stepped up onto the front porch to keep looking.

Carson joined me. “I’ve been looking for a place to relax and unwind away from the Hamptons. This came on the market, and they’re holding it for me.”

I quirked a brow. “Holding it for you?”

“Yes, for a price. They’re giving me a few days to make an offer without entertaining any other bids. It’s why they staged it for us to spend a couple of days here. After we leave someone will come to clean.”

Carson had expanded the family business internationally. Whitmore Hotels was a chain of five-star hotels that put all others to shame. With Carson being an only child, he was inheriting a multi-billion dollar business. The plan was in five years his father would step down as CEO. Until then, Carson learned every aspect he could. "Workaholic" was an understatement when it came to him.

Turning, I gave him an incredulous look. “Well, hopefully they’ll put whatever money you put down toward the purchase price. This is amazing. It’ll be good for you to unwind. You work too much.”

The slate entrance led to the massive metal doors. He entered a code, the door clicked open, and we walked inside. Someone had been here to stage the lighting. The interior decorating was phenomenal. It was modern, edgy, and comfortable. As I walked toward the glass windows, I wished I’d brought my paints.

“I brought you a sketch pad in case you get inspired while you’re here. I know I sprung it on you last minute.”

I gave him a quick hug. “You’re the best. I think a change of scenery was just what I needed.”

Thunder rumbled, interrupting the slice of heaven before me. A storm brewed in the distance, dimming the bright colors of the sunset. I loved when the sea was choppy. It was beautiful watching the waves thrash about, creating sprays of color when they crashed into each other. Right now it mirrored me, internally.

“Let me get our stuff. The fridge is stocked. I figured it would be nice to stay in, relax, and roast marshmallows in the fireplace like we did as kids.”

Our parents let us have sleepovers as children. I missed those times. “That sounds heavenly. It’s been a while since we’ve done that.”

“I know. I think we’re overdue.”

“O
h my gosh! These are so good!” I popped another perfectly browned marshmallow into my mouth. The rain beat against the house, which—given the amount of glass—echoed throughout, creating a cozy feel. I loved rain storms.

The air conditioner worked to keep up with the heat from the fire. Pillows and blankets were sprawled beneath us as I put another marshmallow onto my roasting stick. It was late… nearly midnight. We couldn’t stop laughing as we reminisced about our childhood.

Carson’s marshmallow burst into flames, and I snickered. He never had the patience to hold it at a proper distance to get the perfect golden color. Moving his stick rapidly, he tried to extinguish the flame, but that released his marshmallow right into the fire. “Damn it. Such a fucking pain. Why the hell can’t I get this right? I run a fucking empire of hotels and can’t roast a damn marshmallow.”

Whistling, I twirled mine in slow motion, not saying a word. A minute later, perfection was achieved again. I brought the stick toward my mouth when Carson snatched it. “Carson! That’s mine.”

He shoved the marshmallow in his mouth and smiled around it in victory. Smacking his lips together, he nodded his head. “That was good.”

I put down my roasting stick and picked up a nearby throw pillow. “You stole my marshmallow. You must pay!”

“You’ve had like six of them. I’ve only gotten two.” Carson backed away a few inches, bringing him closer to another pillow.

I giggled. “Then stop trying to incinerate them.”

As he turned his attention to reach for his pillow, I launched mine at him, landing a direct hit to his head. “Hey, you’re firing at an unarmed man.”

The bag of marshmallows was closer, and he abandoned his reach for the pillow. He grabbed the handful of the sugary goodness, instead. “Carson, you’re going to make a mess!”

He shrugged. “Are you scared, Willow?”

“Never!” Another laugh escaped before the marshmallow hit me smack in the face. That meant war. My skewer still had some gooey stuff on it. I picked it up and swiped it across his cheek.

Carson’s eyes grew big, and he snatched my foot and began to tickle it. I was going to pee my pants. He knew my weaknesses. “Are you ready to call
uncle
?”

I thrashed, trying to fight him off. “No!”