Maximum Risk, Page 20
Ruth Cardello
Maddy’s jaw dropped open. “Wait, is this an apology?”
One of Alethea’s shoulders rose and dropped beneath her silk shirt. “Tara said you think I don’t like you; that’s not true, Maddy. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care about you.”
Maddy stepped closer to a woman she understood as little as she did the workings of her car engine. Her cousin Stephan and his wife, Nicole, adored Alethea. They couldn’t say enough about her loyalty and her courage. Maddy put aside her personal feelings and tried to see what they saw. “You’ve been a good friend to my family, Alethea.” That was true, at least.
“But not to you?” Those watchful green eyes pinned Maddy down. “You and I are alike in some ways, you know. Like you, the outcome of my efforts is rarely appreciated.”
There is something beautiful in everyone. Look again, Maddy told herself. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”
“It’s simply fact.”
Although the connection between them was fragile, it was the first time Maddy had connected with Alethea on more than a sarcastic, superficial level. “People think I can’t keep a secret, but the truth is, I don’t want to. Secrets destroy people. One day you think you know someone, the next you discover everything you thought you knew was a fantasy. I see no value in hiding the unpleasant. I’d rather face an ugly truth and work through it than live a life of lies. I see that same trait in you, so maybe we are more alike than either of us wants to admit.”
Alethea reached into the bag on her shoulder and pulled out a thick and weathered notebook. “I know you were disappointed Tara couldn’t find the answers you were looking for.” She held the notebook out to Maddy. “But they’re in here. Maybe not all of them, but many of them.”
A chill ran down Maddy’s back as she accepted the notebook. “What is this?”
“It’s Patrice’s private journal.”
Maddy looked down at it without opening it. “It looks old.”
“It is. The last entry was more than twenty years ago.”
Turning it over in her hands, Maddy hesitated to do more. It was one thing to seek the truth; it was another to have it handed to you. If Alethea thought it was important enough to bring to her, Maddy had a feeling her life would never be the same after reading it. “How did you get it?”
Another light shrug. “Let’s just say your aunt’s staff is not very well paid. I may have offered one an incentive to perform a deep cleaning of her home.”
“You bribed her staff to . . .”
Alethea grabbed the book back from Maddy and flipped it open to a page she had earmarked and handed it back to her. “Oh, for God’s sake, just read this entry.”
Maddy scanned the page and felt the room spin around her as she did. “Aunt Patrice was in love with Uncle Victor?”
Alethea picked up a cotton ball and tossed it in the air, catching it absentmindedly and repeating the act as she spoke. “It seems that the Stanfields were close to the Andrades. Patrice spent time on Isola Santos when she was in her late teens and early twenties. From what I could tell, she followed Victor around like a puppy, but he considered her only a friend.”
Maddy skipped around the journal, reading little excerpts here and there that confirmed what Alethea was saying. “That’s the big secret? An old crush?”
Alethea leaned over and flipped three fourths through the book where she’d folded another page down. “You’ll want to read this part.”
Maddy did and sat down with a thud, the journal falling to her lap. “She slept with him?”
In a matter-of-fact tone, Alethea said, “She did. They were both drinking. My guess is she made advances that Victor didn’t refuse. She thought he would fall in love with her if she slept with him. She was young, a virgin. She wouldn’t be the first woman to think sex meant more than it did. Victor met his wife, Katrine, the next day on the beach, and Patrice never got over what she considered the ultimate betrayal.”
Maddy clutched the book in her hands. Her eyes misted. “She must have been heartbroken.”
Alethea shook her head with far less sympathy. “Or something. She went on to marry his older brother, George. I bet she thought it would hurt Victor, but it didn’t, as far as I can tell. Victor married Katrine and never looked back. Patrice held on to her hurt until it ruined her marriage and her relationship with her sons. Patrice thinks George read the journal; if he did, it’s not surprising he ran off to Venice. She didn’t care if he was hurt by what he’d learned. The last part of the journal reverts right back to how she blamed everything that was wrong with her life on Victor. ”
The story rocked Maddy to the core. She wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “My father must have known all of this. How could he never say anything?”
Alethea took a seat on a cushioned chair across from Maddy. “If I had to guess, Alessandro loved his brothers—both of them. If you want to cry for someone, George definitely lost out on all fronts. He married and had four sons with a woman who never loved him. He lost his sons when he sought comfort with his mistress in Venice. And finally, his death revealed his betrayal in a way that made his wife a martyr and him the villain.”
Still processing it all, Maddy said slowly, “Aunt Patrice hates Uncle Victor. Really hates him.”
Alethea leaned forward and put a hand on Maddy’s knee. “And everyone around him.”
Maddy raised a hand to her lips. “Even me.”
Alethea gave her knee a pat. “Even you.”
With a sad smile, Maddy said, “That’s why she couldn’t let her sons be with us. Does this explain everything? Even why she can’t stand to see her sons get along? Max looks like Victor. Nick looks like my father when he was younger. Do you think she hates her sons, too? Could a mother feel that way about her own children?”
“I don’t know. She stopped keeping a journal shortly after George started spending time in Venice. But I’d say Patrice is a woman who is so consumed by her bitterness she is incapable of loving anyone.”
Maddy stood and held out the journal toward Alethea. “What do I do with this now? Do I give it to her sons?”
Alethea also stood. “How committed are you to the truth, Maddy? How far would you go to learn the rest of the story?”
Maddy frowned in confusion. “I thought you said Patrice stopped writing in her journal.”
“She did, but email is a funny thing. People believe it’s gone if they delete it. It’s not. Not to the right person.”
“Someone like you.”
“And my friends.”
“What more do you think there is to know?”
“I’m not sure yet. My gut tells me your aunt has a few skeletons in her closet. There are parts of this puzzle that seem connected, although I have no proof of how yet.”
The hair on the back of Maddy’s neck rose. “Like?”
“Like Victor losing his company soon after George died, and he reached out to Patrice’s sons. It could be completely unrelated, or a well-funded act of spite.”
Maddy sat back down again, shaking her head back and forth in denial. “No. Even Aunt Patrice isn’t capable of that.”
Alethea picked up a perfume bottle and sniffed it casually. “People are capable of much worse. What do you know about Patrice’s doctor?”
Maddy’s eyes rounded. “Not much. He’s been her doctor for as long as I can remember. Why?”
Alethea put the perfume bottle down softly. “I don’t like him, and when I don’t like someone, they’re guilty of something.” Alethea turned and met Maddy’s eyes. “It’s up to you, Maddy. But this time I’m in. Do you want the truth?”
THE END
Read on for an excerpt from Twelve Days of Temptation (A Hot Holiday Novella)
Acknowledgements
I am so grateful to everyone who was part of the process of creating Maximum Risk.
Thank you to:
Nicole Sanders at Trevino Creative Graphic Design for my cover. You are amazing!
My very patient
beta readers. You know who you are. Thank you for kicking my butt when I need it.
My editors: Karen Lawson, Janet Hitchcock, and Marla Garfield
Melanie Hanna and her amazing husband, for helping me organize the business side of publishing.
My Roadies for both their friendship and their feedback.
Thank you to my husband, Tony. Couldn't do this without you.
To my niece, Danielle Stewart, and my sister, Jeannette Winters, for joining me in self-publishing and brainstorming with me along the way. Always better together.
Read on for an excerpt from Twelve Days of Temptation (A Hot Holiday Novella)
Other Books by Ruth Cardello
The Legacy Collection:
*Also available in audiobook format
Book 1: Maid for the Billionaire (available at all major eBook stores for FREE!)
Book 2: For Love or Legacy
Book 3: Bedding the Billionaire
Book 4: Saving the Sheikh
Book 5: Rise of the Billionaire
Book 6: Breaching the Billionaire: Alethea’s Redemption
Recipe For Love, An Andrade Christmas Novella
The Andrades
*Also available in audiobook format
Book 1: Come Away With Me (available at all major eBook stores for FREE!)
Book 2: Home to Me
Book 3: Maximum Risk
Book 4: Somewhere Along the Way (Available 05/26/15)
The Temptations
Book 1: Twelve Days of Temptation
Book 2: Be My Temptation
Read on for an excerpt from Twelve Days of Temptation (A Hot Holiday Novella)
About the Author
Ruth Cardello was born the youngest of 11 children in a small city in northern Rhode Island. She spent her young adult years moving as far away as she could from her large extended family. She lived in Boston, Paris, Orlando, New York—then came full circle and moved back to Rhode Island. She now happily lives one town over from the one she was born in. For her, family trumped the warmer weather and international scene.
She was an educator for 20 years, the last 11 as a kindergarten teacher. When her school district began cutting jobs, Ruth turned a serious eye toward her second love– writing and has never been happier. When she’s not writing, you can find her chasing her children around her small farm, riding her horses, or connecting with her readers online.
Contact Ruth:
Website: RuthCardello.com
Email: [email protected]
FaceBook: Author Ruth Cardello
Twitter: @RuthieCardello
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Read on for an excerpt from Twelve Days of Temptation (A Hot Holiday Novella)
Looking for a spicy novella?
Try my holiday series. Love and laughter are never out of season.
Twelve Days of Temptation (A Hot Holiday Novella)
Book 1: Brock & Kate
How far would you go if you were offered a chance to fulfill your secret fantasies?
What would you ask someone to do, if you knew they’d do anything?
After the death of her mother and the abrupt end of her marriage, Kate is desperately unhappy to be spending the upcoming holiday season alone. She vents her frustration in a letter to the one man her mother raised her to believe in—Santa Claus. This year she is rebelliously requesting something guaranteed to raise his eyebrows.
Brock Foster has wanted Kate since they were in high school. When he finds her letter, her Christmas wish becomes his obsession. Winning her will require skill and deception. Brock initiates a game that will bring them together and tear them apart.
Join Kate and Brock as they discover what happens when Santa puts you on The Naughty List.
Chapter One
“Hey, you dropped something,” Brock Foster called to the tall blonde who’d just walked past, after giving him the same polite smile she’d been flashing him since their teens. A moment earlier, she’d stopped near a mailbox, paused as if debating whether or not to mail a letter, then fumbled with her purse and kept walking. Brock had noticed that, instead of ending up back in her purse, the letter had fallen beside the mailbox. He’d picked it up and was about to chase after her when he saw the letter was addressed to Santa Claus.
It wasn’t surprising Kate hadn’t heard him when he’d called out to her. Even though Brock was a well-known businessman in Misty Falls, having expanded his father’s home construction company into a much more lucrative mill renovation business, he was, as he always had been, invisible to Kate.
Well, perhaps not always. About twenty years earlier, back when there’d been talk of Boston’s commuter rail expanding down into Rhode Island, Kate’s mother had purchased a large Victorian home in the north end of Misty Falls. That section of town had always been one of Brock’s favorites. Hundred-year-old elms lined streets where wealthy factory owners had once built elaborate turn-of-the-century homes. Kate’s mother had purchased one of those houses and had hired his father to bring it back to its old glory.
The first time Brock met Kate he’d been ten and she’d been eight. His father had dragged him to work sites whenever Brock was home from school, and Kate’s mother had commuted to Boston and left her under the supervision of an inattentive teenage babysitter. They had been two children with nothing to do but get to know each other while his father worked on her mother’s house.
She’d asked him why he always looked dirty. Didn’t he bathe?
He’d asked her why she always wore a dress. Where was the fun in that?
For her, he’d started brushing his hair.
For him, she’d worn jeans.
The two of them had spent that one summer climbing every tree in the neighborhood and getting thrown out of almost everyone’s yard. They’d had a picnic in Old Man Mabry’s shed that he’d built to look like a log cabin. They’d made themselves sick eating too many half-ripened cherries out of Mrs. Landry’s cherry tree. They had even visited with old Miss Jacobs—a woman so lonely she opened her door every morning and invited in all of the loose neighborhood dogs for tea and biscuits. They’d dared each other to stroll in as if they’d belonged there and to sit right down beside canines of all sizes and breeds. Although neither had been brave enough to sample the treats, they’d enjoyed themselves enough to return two more times that summer.
Summer had ended and so had his father’s work on the Hale home—bringing a swift end to his and Kate’s friendship. Kate went on to attend exclusive private schools. Brock attended public schools and worked for his father in his spare time. Their paths had crossed now and then, but over time her smiles had become less warm until he began to doubt she saw him, even when she voiced a polite greeting. As she grew from a shy child into a beautiful woman, it became more and more obvious that Kate didn’t belong in that town.
She was tall and graceful, like a ballerina, with classically delicate features, dark blue eyes, and long blonde hair that was always neatly styled. Even back in high school, she’d dressed with casual sophistication. He heard she’d taken figure skating, music, and language lessons. No one knew her very well. Her mother had kept her separate from the local children, as if none of them were good enough to play with her little girl.
After high school, Kate had gone off to study music in Boston, then married a wealthy attorney there. No one had expected to see her again. When her mother had died four months ago, Brock had been one of the few who had attended the wake. He doubted Kate remembered seeing him there, but he’d thought about her almost every day since. She’d stood beside her mother’s casket, still strikingly beautiful, but alone. He hadn’t been surprised to hear she’d left her husband soon after
that.
He turned the envelope over in his hand, studying it. Kate didn’t have a child. As far as he knew, she lived alone in her mother’s old Victorian.
Why would a woman like Untouchable Kate write to a mythical childhood character?
The answer was none of his business. He told himself to post it, then remembered how she’d wavered and changed her mind. What could she have written in that letter that would give her second thoughts about sending it?
He knew he should return it to her unopened and explain he’d seen her drop it. That would be the right thing to do. Instead, he placed the envelope in the inside breast pocket of his suit and walked inside Molly’s Cafe. His father was seated in his usual booth in the far corner of the restaurant, already sipping a coffee. Brock slid into the seat across from him.
“You’ll have a wait, Brock. The waitresses are still huddled over there twittering on their phones about that Hale woman being back in town.”
“Tweeting, Dad. It’s called tweeting.”
“Call it whatever you want, they apparently consider it more important than refilling my cup. I don’t understand their fascination with someone who doesn’t give one whit about this town. She was just in here, and do you know who she spoke to? No one. Probably thinks she’s too good to lower herself to our level. No wonder her husband left her. I can’t imagine spending much time with a woman that cold.”
