Wicked Knight (8 page)

Tristan thought about his friend, Edmund. The two had met last Christmas. On Christmas Eve, Edmund declared he was in love, although he didn't say with whom. Was Edmund who Julie was referring to as
someone he knew
? Something invisible hit him in the gut. The pain made him release his breath through clenched teeth.
God damn it.
So what if Julie married someone he knew or not? She wasn't his.

A short night with her in his arms didn't give him right to claim her. They weren't going out or anything. Julie was free to date, marry, whomever she chose, but why did the idea hurt?

The fuck!

He stared at the small dot of water stain on the ceiling. The spot had been there since he was in sixth grade. He always stared at it until sleep came. This time though, it didn't help him. Julie's words nagged at him like a suppurating sore.

Damn it, Tristan. Kill the infatuation. Nothing will come of it.

Punching his pillow a couple times, he lay on his stomach and buried his face, shutting out Julie's image as she reached her orgasm.

* * * *

“What do you mean
you have to leave
? It's four-thirty in the morning, Julie.” Kirsten plopped down on the couch with her eyes half-closed.

Julie picked up her overnight bag and hitched it on her right shoulder. She felt terrible. Kirsten looked half-dead with her arms listless on her sides. “Sorry I dragged you out of bed this early, but I didn't want to take off without telling you.” She paused. “Kirsten, are you listening to me?

Kirsten nodded. “My ears are open, not my brain. Don't expect me to remember anything you say tomorrow.”

She could believe that. She'd known Kirsten long enough to know her friend wasn't a morning person. Her brain, Kirsten told her on many occasions, was slow in switching from sleep to alert mode.

Unlike her.
Sometimes she believed she was part rooster. Awake before the sunrise, ready to cock-a-doodle-doo to announce the newborn day. Her addiction to watching the sunrise started when her mother took her to Rome for her birthday present. They went to the top of Gianicolo Hill to watch the sunrise. It was a memory she would treasure forever.

There was nothing more satisfying than watching the color of the dark sky turn into different shades of purple and orange, followed by the yellow sun coming up behind the Olympic Mountains. It was like watching a new day being born. So invigorating and awe-inspiring. And it fueled her mind like grease to an engine. It helped her write better and come up with a new premise.

Like this morning. She was wide-awake and raring to go. Sadly, not to write and watch the sun, but to face another horrible accusation her stepmother threw at her. “I don't think I'll be a good company after hearing Weatherholt on the phone. The old man called at this hour and sounded too worried. I can't ignore him.”

“Your lawyer was born worried. Let's go back to bed.” Kirsten let out a long yawn that sounded more like a groan.

“I wish, but there's no way I can go back to bed and sleep. I have to go home, Kirsten. Weatherholt said Marla mentioned something about me using a different name, a
shameful
name. I think she found out that I am a writer. You know a lot of people are opposed to erotic romance.”

“They are bigots. There is nothing wrong with contemporary romance spiked with hot sex scenes.”

“Right. Still, Mom was a very religious woman. Marla knew about it. So if my books are the reason why she's coming again, then I am in trouble. You know the will's stipulation.”

“I know. If your father can prove you have done something stupid that is an embarrassment to the family name, he will then have the right to claim the remaining three quarters of your mother's fortune. The whole thing is obtuse.”

She wanted to agree with Kirsten, but she couldn't. The stipulation was her mother's way of teaching her to be an obedient child, a
good
child. And she would keep the promise she gave to her mother that she could be the Julie Parrish she wanted her to be.

“You know why Mom added the condition in her last will.”

“Still... Anyway, you've fended off Marla's whacko made-up accusations before and you didn't even see them coming. You can do it again. You. Shouldn't. Worry.”

Julie thought for a moment. If she followed her heart, she'd stay. She'd been looking forward to spending a week here. Yesterday was an example of how much fun she would have if she stayed.

Nevertheless, Marla was the epitome of an evil stepmother who would do anything to get her hands on Julie's inheritance. Thanks to her wino father, Marla learned about the stipulation and was now on a personal quest to prove that she broke it. According to Weatherholt, Marla found just the reason to make her evil dream come true. His tone hinted that he strongly believed whatever bullshit Marla had told him.

Did Marla find out about my books? God, I hope not

Depleted, Julie adjusted the strap of the overnight bag on her shoulder. “Maybe you're right, Kirsten, but for the sake of my own sanity, I think it would be best if I go home. I am not sure if my books are Marla's reason for coming after me this time, or something else.”

“Whatever...but if you stay here, we could think of a solution together. You shouldn't be alone in that humongous house anyway. What if
Cruella
shows up with her asshole son? Who would help you? Sebastian's a pervert. So stay and we'll talk about this, let's say, after five hours?”

“Sorry, Kirsten. I have a bad feeling about this.”

“God, Julie. Surely, Weatherholt and Marla's lawyer wouldn't consider writing romance books besmirching your family name. Your characters are wild and horny as sluts, but you don't
act
like them. Although, I believe the horny part is based on you.”

“I'm not horny,” said Julie in defense.

“Yeah? Then how do you write your hot bed scenes if you're
not
horny? You've got to be horny to write something like
...and with his expert fingers he stoked the fire that was slowly burning in the pit of her stomach. Heat melted her desire, turning into a sweet juice to pool in between her thighs. He suckled her—"

“Stop. Very funny, Kirsten. I'm a writer with a very good imagination. Being able to write a bed scene doesn't mean I'm horny.”

“And I'm not a Knight. Come on, Julie. Stay. I'll vouch for you. Don't worry about it.”

“Okay, maybe my books are not the reason Marla is coming, but what about the evidence Weatherholt is talking about? I don't know what it is—and not knowing is tough on my nerves. I...I have to go and think about what this evidence could be.”

“Maybe your pus-ugly stepbrother made it up. He and his mother have been trying hard to ruin your name since your dad let them in on the will's condition. Meaning, whatever evidence they have against you could be fake. You should sue them for harassment.”

And let people know how dysfunctional her family was? Drag her dead mother's name to court, have the lawyers dig into her past and show how she had lived her pitiful life? No way would she let that happen.

“You know I can't do that. Suing them would only create another problem. Marla could turn things against me. I don't want to take a probable chance.”

“I know. You have a bad rap with the law. And if it weren't for your mother's influence, you would have ended in the juvie, blah, blah.” Kirsten yawned again.

Julie cringed at the word
juvie
. The word she didn't want to hear for the rest of her life. The word she wished unattached to her past. She regretted giving her mother grief and shame by accumulated petty crimes, including a staged burglary to get her parents’ attention.

At the time, she thought it funny, but when her mother cried from frustration, the extent of what she had done came crashing down on her—big time.

Through tears, she explained to her mother why she turned from an altar girl to a pain in the ass. That she misbehaved on purpose to turn the attention back to her. Her mother was too upset to accept her apologies. That same month, Laura Parrish was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and given only a few months left to live. Laura had spent her remaining months tying up loose ends, arranging her own funeral and added that condition on her last will,
Julie Parrish must stay out of trouble
. Any action that could be construed as embarrassing, shameful, a stain on the family's name, would be reason enough for her inheritance, including the house in Edmonds where she grew up, to go to Paul Parrish.

One might question how the condition would help Julie change her ways. Well, those who knew her father would understand why she was bent on keeping her slate clean to keep Paul away from her inheritance. The man was more disgusting than any animal's dirty ass.

Laura's funeral had been as somber as the guests’ dark suits worn. Powerful businessmen and women, government officials, Paul, and Julie, sat on the cushioned chairs as they listened to the priest read prayers off his worn Bible. Julie cried her heart out that day, wishing for the clock to turn back. As she stared at the brass-colored coffin, she pinched her arm until she started bleeding, hoping she was just asleep and would wake up to find her mother in her home office or in the kitchen making sandwiches—nut it never happened.

At the first sign of the coffin lowering into the ground, she screamed her mother's name, begging her to come back until her throat became sore. Even after everyone was gone, she remained standing over the mound of dirt, whispering her mother's name. She distinctly remembered the loud thunder followed by a flash of lightning, the Seattle sky grayer than she had ever seen, as if it, too, was mourning. The whole atmosphere was a deep melancholy mood, but not deep enough compared to what she had felt that day.

Before she let her father lead her away from the grave, she repeated the promise she gave her mother while she lay dying in her hospital bed. A promise she kept to this day.

Julie adjusted her overnight bag. She shouldn't bother Kirsten about her problems. Her friend was conversant, but still seemed half-awake.

“I have to go. Thanks for everything. I'll call you when I get a chance. And please don't worry about me.”

“I won't—wait! How about using your way out, Julie? It's about time you draw your ace.”

“Jeez, you look half-dead, but you still want to chat?”

“No, I just thought about your out.”

“You know where I stand on that.”

Honestly, she thought about using her out. She could end the agreement and Marla's ridiculous attempt to get her money, too. The will didn't say anything about courtship or anything. Just get married and the stipulation would be over.
But marry who?
She wasn't in a relationship right now. Hiring someone to marry her in exchange for money was out of the question, although the idea of entering a loveless marriage would be better than facing her wicked stepmother.

A paradigm of her mother's life was enough for her not to follow suit. Besides, if she hired a groom, Marla would definitely find out about it.
Damn Marla
.

“How about your friend, Armand? He's been drooling over you since you met him at the
Microsoft Corporate Office
. If you marry him, it wouldn't be a totally loveless marriage. And you could always divorce him after, uhm, say a month.”

“Do you think he'd agree if I tell him I just want to be married for a month?”

“Don't tell him then. Who knows, maybe after a month you'd learn to love him.”

“While I wait for my heart to beat for him, what should I tell him?
Armand, I can't sleep with you yet because I don't love you.
I don't think that'll fly.”

“He's in love with you. It might.”

“I don't know, Kirsten. He's a good man. I can't just use him or his affection. That's just downright wrong.”

“What about Mr. Scowl? He smiles at you all the time, but scowls and ignores me.”

“Mr. Scowl. Are you talking about Tristan's business partner, Edmund?”

“Yeah. Didn't you notice how he scowls when I am around? As a pediatrician, he should smile all the time so he doesn't scare his patients. “

“Ah. No, I didn't notice.”

“I think he's got the hots for you. Whenever he's here, he only talks to you, even if I am sitting next to him. It's as if I don't exist.”

“And you think he scowls because...why again?”

“I think because my brothers tease you all the time. Maybe ask him to do you a favor. Pay him if you have to.”

Julie smiled. Her friend might be one of the great thinkers and fashion designers in all of Washington, but she could be dense when it came to something simple and obvious. She supposed the difference between a designer and a romance author was the designer could see what
was missing
in the picture, whereas an author like her was good at spotting what
was
there, what was going on between characters. And she'd bet her Cadbury candies there was definitely something in Edmund's eyes whenever he stared at Kirsten, when he thought no one was looking.

“Edmund is just like one of your brothers. A teaser, though I highly doubt that he has the hots for me.”

“You don't think so?”

“No. And I will not pay him to marry me. I'll think about Armand, Kirsten. Is that fine enough for you to let me leave?”

“Yeah. Fine. Okay, let me make a pot of coffee. Have a cup before you go,” Kirsten offered, but didn't attempt to get up. Instead, she let out a long yawn that reminded Julie of a lioness basking under the afternoon sun at the Woodland Park Zoo one time.

Julie felt horrible. Her friend should be back in bed dreaming about gowns and dresses. “Don't worry about it. Starbucks are everywhere. I'll grab a cup at the ferry terminal. Sorry, Kirsten. I hate to disrupt our weekend plan, but it's important that I go home.”

“I'm sorry, too. My brothers will be disappointed. Percival wanted a chess rematch. Bors was still upset about losing his handcuffs in a poker game and wanted them back. Gawain saved two bags of Oreos thinking he could beat you in an Oreo eating contest he planned for this afternoon, and Tristan...hmm...I don't know what he's planning on doing this afternoon. Whatever. They won't be happy when they find you gone and I'm sure they'll all give me a hard time for letting you go.”