BEAUTIFUL STRANGER Read online

  "Where'd you find him?" Louise asked.

  Marissa stiffened a little. Robert looked at her and said, "Denver. We looked in Albuquerque, but his mother hustled him out of there after some gangbangers nearly beat him to death." His mouth went grim. "Literally."

  "I have a few connections in Denver," Marissa supplied mildly. "They helped us find him very quickly."

  "A few connections," Robert echoed quietly, not meeting her eyes.

  Her mouth tightened. "I'm beat. Need to get home. Can you take a few minutes and drop me off?"

  He nodded. "Be right back," he said to Louise.

  On her way to the truck, Marissa paused to hug Crystal. "Come see me as soon as you can, okay?"

  Crystal caught her hand. "Will you come to dinner? Please please please? Not today. But … Saturday, maybe?"

  Marissa looked at Robert, who gave a dense little shrug. "Sure," Marissa said. "Take care, Mario."

  The boy stood to shake her hand. "Thank you, Ms. Pierce. I don't know how I'll ever repay you."

  "No need," she said. "Just take good care of them."

  "I will," he promised.

  She waved and climbed into the truck with Robert. The former ease between them, fostered by a meeting of hearts that took place away from the world, had shattered once the world intruded, but it seemed desperately unfair to her now.

  Marissa had seen the walls going up, shooting up, the whole time they were in the offices. And there had been nothing she could do to stop them.

  Now she said, "I guess I can safely assume that whatever we discovered back there in Albuquerque is going to stay there, huh?"

  He dipped his head, sighed. "Marissa, it's just ridiculous for us to even think about a real relationship. Even if it's never true, the only thing anyone's going to see when they look at me is a man using you for your money." He shot her a dark look. "And I'm not entirely convinced that you aren't slumming to some degree. It just doesn't make any sense—why would you keep dating guys like me, when the whole world is open to you?"

  "Guys like you?" she echoed. "I don't date anyone like anyone else. I've had one simple rule from the beginning—a man had to see me. Not the money, not the fat, not anything external. Me."

  That stopped him for a minute. Then he shook his head. "It doesn't matter. It's not about you, it's about me. It's too much. It makes me uncomfortable."

  She shook her head. "No," she said. "You're afraid. You're afraid that it can't be real if we're from such different worlds." She paused. "You're afraid that I'll betray you."

  He swallowed, staring hard out of the window, and she knew she'd struck the truth. And how could she possibly address that? Defeated, she said only, "Fine." As he came to a stop outside her house, she let herself out of the truck and slammed the door, stomping up the walk, wishing for the yards of hair she used to have so she could flip it haughtily.

  "Hey, princess," he called.

  She turned, eyes narrowed. "What?"

  "Thanks for your help." He lifted a hand and drove away.

  She wanted to throw something at him. "Aaargggghhh!" she cried, and Victoria came out of the house, her mouth quirked. "Told you."

  "I know," she said darkly, and raised her miserable eyes to her sister's face. "Don't you get sick of it, Victoria?"

  "Yeah, sweetie. I really do."

  * * *

  Chapter 15

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  Over the next few days, Robert kept his mind off Marissa by staying busy. He told Tyler he'd attempt the window, pay suspended until it was finished, and Tyler was gratifyingly pleased. They ordered the materials straight away, and Tyler insisted upon turning over a studio area in the Forrest Construction complex for him to work on it. He spent his evenings working out small representations at the kitchen table, a piece here and there, tiny replicas of this corner or that section.

  It gave him room to think about Mario and Crystal. After dinner the first night, the two had presented their case: hands laced together for courage, they asked Robert to help them get married. It floored him at first, and he'd not been able to give them a definitive answer. He needed to think about it. They were disappointed, but respectful. A point in their favor, actually.

  Now that he'd had a chance to observe them, it was plain they were more than teenage lovers who'd grown infatuated with each other and thought it was the real thing. No Romeo and Juliet here. They talked all the time, about all kinds of things. He heard them murmuring, laughingly arguing, planning, dreaming. They watched movies together, took short walks when Mario discovered Crystal needed to build up her strength. He helped her with her homework, and together they designed and carried out a science experiment in the kitchen so that she could pass her class.

  But Robert remained torn. Crystal was only sixteen. Mario was eighteen and a high school graduate, and he'd been working to help support his mother while he saved money toward college. If they got married now, chances were very good neither one could afford to go to college, and that would be a tragedy.

  But how much worse a tragedy if the family was torn asunder? He wanted to talk about it. Wanted, specifically to talk to Marissa about it. She'd have good insights. He trusted her judgment.

  He did not, however, trust his will to be aloof with her. Not yet. In time he'd get over this hormonal overload, forget about her and find someone appropriate. Whatever shook out with Crystal and Mario, it was plain to Robert that he was taking on more of a family than he'd ever anticipated. It gave him a wild, stunned sense of happiness, but Marissa had so much more going for her. She could do anything, go anywhere. Why would she even want to be here with them?

  * * *

  Louise was just heartsick. All her planning and scheming had come to nothing—and just when she was so close. There was a small victory in getting Mario back to his Crystal. As devoted a pair of young lovers as she'd ever seen, and they had plenty of good sense to see what they had, unlike some adults she knew. If more adults had that kind of sense, Louise would not be required to meddle nearly as much.

  But Crystal told her that Robert and Marissa had not even spoken on the telephone since they'd returned last week, and in fact, Marissa had called at the last minute to cancel dinner plans Saturday night, saying she had a cold.

  Too much pride. Both of them.

  She'd just see about that.

  * * *

  Marissa did have a cold. A miserable, headachy, dismal virus that kept her in bed for three days. It was almost welcome, since it reflected her internal misery so well. She took an almost gleeful satisfaction in it, and let Victoria take care of her with chicken soup made from scratch and endless cups of herb tea. The two of them hibernated together in her bedroom, safe from the outside world, in a way they hadn't done in years and years. Victoria spilled the tale of her disastrous love affair with an actor whose name was very familiar. Marissa spilled her woes over Robert. They shared the little things that had formed the past couple of years—Marissa's crusades for programs to benefit the poor, her drive to get into the high school as a teacher, the excitement of owning her first home. Victoria shared her travels, her process of creation and the possibility of one of her screenplays being directed by a very hot director.

  It was soothing and peaceful. "Why don't we do this more often?" Marissa asked late Sunday evening. "Just plan a retreat and meet every few months, so we can heal and rejuvenate? There's no one in the world who understands me the way you do."

  "We should," Victoria said. "It's true for me, too. Maybe that's part of what makes it so hard to find the right guy. It's hard to measure up to a twin."

  Marissa nodded, but her heart yelped. She'd found the right guy. He just wouldn't let himself be that man.

  The phone rang—Louise calling to invite them both to a dinner at the country club, in honor of Crystal and Mario's reunion. "I have a couple of real nice fellas lined up for you both to meet."

  "Louise," Marissa warned, "don't do it. You know better. I'll tell Alonzo."

 
; "Pish," she said dismissively. "He only minds when I do it in an underhanded way, and I'm not. I'm being very upfront with you. There are two nice, young, single men with excellent credentials and I'm hoping one or the other of you will hit it off with one or another of them."

  Marissa grinned. "All right. I guess that's legal."

  "Tuesday, seven o'clock. Black tie."

  "Black tie?" Marissa said. "What are you going to do about Crystal and Mario and Robert?"

  "Don't you worry about that. I've got them covered."

  "Okay." She put the receiver down and fell back on the bed. "We are summoned," she said to Victoria. The phone rang again and a stab of knowledge, awareness, heat blistered through her. She picked up the phone. "Robert!" she said, and then tried to smooth it, but her voice just dropped to a smoky register. "Hi."

  "How did you know it was me? Caller ID?"

  Marissa closed her eyes, focusing everything on that voice, touching her ear, and felt the purest, most pointed longing she'd ever experienced in her life just to be standing next to him for five minutes.

  And then she realized what he'd said, and her gaze flew to Victoria in alarm. "Uh, yeah," she said, distracted by the sorrow in her sister's face. But even that couldn't pull her away from the sound of Robert on the phone. Him. The one. "How are you?"

  "All right. You?"

  "Bad. I have a terrible cold. It only seems fair that you should have it, too."

  He laughed, the sound coming out before he could stop himself, she was sure. "Sturdy stock, I guess." A pause. "Listen, I don't want to intrude, but I'd really like to talk to you about Crystal and Mario. Friend to friend."

  Liar, she thought. But she said, "Sure. When?"

  "Whenever is convenient for you."

  "Now is good." She heard Victoria sigh heavily behind her. "Want to get a latte or something?"

  "That'd be great."

  When she hung up after arranging the details, Victoria was standing by the window, her back to Marissa. "Your heart is going to be shattered in this, Reesy." The childhood nickname only came out at dire moments. "I feel it."

  "You feel the danger of that possibility," Marissa said, getting out of bed. "And I won't deny that exists. But I'm not willing to throw away the possibility of joy because there also exists a possibility of pain."

  Victoria still didn't turn. "You knew it was him."

  Marissa paused, thinking of the night he'd come to her house and she'd run down the stairs thinking that Victoria had come. "I know." And in spite of herself, she felt a flutter of terror. "It happened before, too."

  "The first day, when I called you and you had just talked to him at school, I was scared enough that I knew I needed to come visit." At last, Victoria turned, her arms crossed over her belly. "I'm scared I'll lose you to him," she said, and a tear shone in her eyes. "And then I won't find anyone to match you."

  Marissa flew across the room and threw her arms around her sister. "Oh, honey! This is different from what you and I have. It feels really good. You'll see, I promise."

  "If he hurts you, I'll kill him," she said.

  "No, you won't," Marissa said with a smile. "You'll be too busy feeding me chicken soup."

  * * *

  Robert waited for her at the café they'd agreed upon. It was a bright spring afternoon, the ground sloppy and wet from recent snow, but promising verdant green any second. He ordered his latte and sat by the window, tapping a spoon against the table, peering out anxiously for a glimpse of her. The woman in front of him turned around at the noise he was making, and he put the spoon down. "Sorry."

  At last she arrived, one minute not there, the next standing in the doorway, slightly windblown, looking for him. Her cheeks were flushed, as if she'd hurried, and she wore a simple white shirt with jeans—an outfit that doomed him as she caught sight of him and waved, then started toward him, her breasts moving seductively beneath—

  He winced and wiped his face. Not that it helped all that much. He smelled her before she sat down, a soft greeny note that made him think of pines and margaritas and sex. It was earthy, he realized, not the rich-cosmetic smell he'd always thought. Not perfume and lotions and potions, just the essence of Marissa—charismatic, quirky, sexy, strong.

  His heart ached.

  "Hi," he said, and there was roughness at the edges.

  "Hi," She sat down and folded her hands in front of her, those bottle-blue eyes bright. Her nose was red and she was stopped up, her voice a little croaky. "What did you order?"

  "I got you a real latte, not-skinny, since you've been sick. Do you mind?"

  She smiled, flashing those perfect rich-girl teeth. "Thank you." She sipped it. "So, what's going on with Crystal and Mario?"

  He took a breath and just said it straight out. "They want to get married."

  "Ah. I see." Her face sobered, taking in all the implications. "And what do you think?"

  "I don't know. I can't make up my mind. They're so young—they hardly know anything about themselves yet. How can they know they'll still love each other twenty, thirty years down the line?"

  She nodded seriously.

  "On the other hand, people used to do it all the time, didn't they? Love, make the commitment and then stick with it, through thick and thin. They have a baby coming."

  "That's true."

  He looked at her across the table, at the light falling over her poreless skin, casting white crescents over her glossy hair, and his entire world narrowed. He didn't hear the other patrons or the noise of the espresso machines, couldn't smell the rich aromas of chocolate and coffee, only Marissa. Only her eyes, burning blue like a bottle he'd found at a Salvation Army store and put on a window for some tiny touch of beauty in his life. "I don't know what to do," he said, and wasn't sure which dilemma he was talking about.

  She placed her hand over his. "Do you want me to just listen, or do you want my opinion?"

  "I want—I trust—your opinion, your insight."

  A flicker of sadness there in her eyes, quickly doused. She leaned forward, meeting his eyes earnestly. "I keep thinking about the way they greeted each other. It was—" she looked around, as if the word she sought was in the air above them "—like everything you ever dream about romance, but also about love. They weren't seeing the flaws. They were seeing each other, totally, and they were so grateful to have that one thing in their lives that was right."

  He felt a tightness in his throat and he nodded.

  "They are young. But their innocence was stolen a long time ago, and I think they're always going to be each other's helpmates, married or not. So you might as well let them make that public commitment, let their baby be born to parents who are married and love each other and have said they're going to stay together forever."

  He ducked his head, hiding emotions that just roared out from somewhere. Her hand was still over his, and he moved his thumb to touch her fingers, seeking the refuge, the strength he'd found with her that cold, sad night in Albuquerque. And somehow it gave him the space he needed to take a breath, raise his head and smile. "Very wise." He hesitated, then let the rest come out. He didn't talk about his mother, not ever, but it seemed germane here. Important. "When my mother was pregnant with me, she was madly in love with a guy who just left her to fend for herself. What kind of difference would there have been in her life, in my life, in Alicia's and Crystal's lives if there'd been a kid like Mario, standing there—" He cleared his throat, looked out the window, continued. "Just standing there, loving them?"

  She didn't reply. Knew even that—knew that he needed the moment of her silence to reassemble his control. Her hand stayed steady on his own.

  "Thanks," he said at last.

  She smiled gently. "Sure."

  For one long, aching moment, he looked at her across the table and wanted to just put everything right. All he would have to do was lean over the table and kiss that precious, sweetly flavored mouth. He felt his mouth parting, felt the yearning for it like a grasping hand, b
ut he didn't have the courage to do it. In his imagination, he saw Jake Forrest standing on a cliff and the land giving way beneath it. He saw the promise of order and honor in the army disintegrate under the force of a war that punished the innocent. He saw his mother—

  "I'm sure," he said quietly, "that Crystal will want to tell you herself."

  "Okay."

  He drained the rest of his latte in a single gulp and put the cup down, realizing she was just gravely looking at him, a sad smile on her face.

  "What?" he said.

  "You just don't get it, do you?" she said, and stood. "Never mind. Don't answer that." And she left, swinging those bodacious hips as naturally as some siren. More than one male head turned to watch, and Robert wanted to sock every last one of them with a solid right to the jaw. They didn't know her. They had no right.

  Sadly, neither did he.

  * * *

  Chapter 16

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  Tuesday evening, Marissa and Victoria dressed separately—Marissa at home, Victoria in the ski lodge—and arranged to meet at the doors of the country club a little before seven. Marissa, in a last-ditch bid to convince Robert Martinez that he was the stupidest man in the world if he let her get away, was wearing the blue dress—altered a little to avoid the gaping problem—that had slain him that night he first kissed her.

  To both of their amusement, Victoria showed up in exactly the same dress in red. "No way!" Victoria cried. "I just bought this dress a few weeks ago!"

  "So did I." Marissa laughed. At least the accessories were different. Victoria had flung a huge, antique piano scarf with fringe around her shoulders, while Marissa had on a little black jacket. The gifts they carried for Crystal and Mario were suspiciously close to the same size. "Maybe we need to compare notes," Marissa said as they walked in. "I bought a layette, in green."

  "Movie scripts," Victoria said, grinning. "The girl's a natural. I want to start priming her to be my successor now."