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Victoria
Victoria stepped into the Literary Ladies’ Book Nook and Café, unsure how to interact with Jennifer after the previous evening’s heated exchange. “Good morning,” she called out timidly from the entrance.
Jennifer turned her attention away from her task to pierce Victoria with a suspicious glare. “Is it?” she asked.
Hearing the hostility in Jennifer’s voice, a shiver ran down her spine. “Did you make something new this morning?” Victoria asked, putting on a brave face as if nothing were wrong.
“Nope,” Jennifer answered curtly and resumed her focus back on her task.
“Well, whatever you’ve made it smells delightful,” Victoria stammered.
Bent over the pastry display’s glass top, Jennifer furiously scrubbed at its surface with a threadbare rag. “Same shit as yesterday. Of course, you’ve been so self-absorbed lately that I doubt you’ve noticed much of anything that’s gone on around here,” Jennifer said.
“That’s a rotten thing to say. Not to mention, unfair.” Victoria forked her shaking fingers through her hair, smoothing the long, thick mass over her shoulders. “You know better than anyone that I put my heart and soul into this business even though I’m stressed out to the max.”
Jennifer halted her assault on the counter. She stood up and looked at Victoria, her aqua eyes narrowing into an icy glower. “Since when do you wear high-heeled boots to work?” she asked.
“I’ve had—” Victoria was about to remind Jennifer that she’d also bought a pair of the same boots on their last shopping trip in New York.
“Never mind,” Jennifer interrupted, lifting her hand up to silence her. “I don’t want to hear any of the sordid details. I’ve already got a pretty good idea why you’ve decided to dress like a tramp.”
“Perhaps, before you throw stones, I should remind you that you’ve got a pair just like them.” Victoria folded her arms over her chest. “I guess that makes us both tramps,” she huffed. What nobody knew, not even her best friend, was that Victoria had stashed a secret wardrobe in the back of her closet, full of smart, sophisticated, and sexy apparel that she felt too self-conscious to wear—until now. Although she would never have a future with Henry, their night together had proven that she was, indeed, a desirable woman.
“You’re fucking him,” Jennifer said.
“Jenn!” Victoria gasped.
“Don’t waste your breath denying it,” Jennifer said, throwing the rag onto the counter.
She stared at Jennifer, her mouth agape. Eyes burning, they welled with tears. “How can you be so hateful? The least you could do is let me explain.”
“Explain what? That you’ve sold your soul to the devil?” Jennifer planted her hands on her hips and scowled. “Seems to me there isn’t much left to explain.”
Victoria couldn’t stomach any more of Jennifer’s animosity. Shoulders slumped, she turned from the café and started to walk away, determined to avoid any further confrontation. That was until she heard Jennifer’s scathing remark.
“I’m so disappointed in you, Vicki. I don’t even know who you are anymore,” Jennifer spat. “Thank God, Nana isn’t here to witness your selfish carelessness.”
Victoria halted, her feet rooted to the floor, and her hackles went up. Jennifer, of all people, had no right to judge her. She sucked in a deep breath and pivoted around on the ball of one foot. Hands fisted to her side, she stalked over to the pastry-filled glass case and locked her elbows on its top, bracing her torso against the large display. “Know something, Jenn? You’re right.” A wry smile crossed her lips. “I’m guilty as charged. I let Henrique Santana fuck me all night long.”
Anger flared in Jennifer’s eyes.
“And guess what?” Victoria had no idea what had come over her, but she’d never felt so bold. It could have been the boots, or maybe she’d simply become tired of being bullied. Regardless of the reason, the balance of power was about to change. This was her life. She’d be the one in command of it. Not Jennifer Jordan, not the next man she was romantically involved with, and certainly not Henrique Santana. Victoria cocked a perfectly shaped eyebrow, a perverted pleasure washing over her as she noted Jennifer’s discomfort. “I. Loved. Every. Second. Of. It.”
A knock resounded through the room.
“It’s time to open,” Jenn said through gritted teeth.
“Not yet. One late opening isn’t going to kill us. I refuse to open the door until we’ve hashed this out.”
“Why? Do you have more vulgar words you’d like to share with me to describe your twisted relationship?”
Victoria smacked her fist onto the glass countertop. “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Who are you to judge me?” Her voice cracked as her eyes filled with tears. “You make it sound so dirty. It wasn’t like that. You don’t understand.”
Jennifer laughed sarcastically. “No, Vicki, you don’t understand. You’re so wrapped up in this guy that you can’t even see that he is using you.”
Tears streamed down Victoria’s face. “You’re wrong,” she said, her lip trembling.
Jennifer sighed. “Vicki, you look amazing, and honestly, it’s about fucking time you stood up for yourself, but don’t push me away so you can hang out with that lousy bastard.”
“I’m not—”
“Listen to me.” Jennifer looked Victoria square in the eye. “Henrique Santana is not the man who is going to do right by you, regardless of how good a time you’re having between the sheets. He’s using you, Vicki. I refuse to stand by and watch him destroy you and our business without trying to talk some sense into you. Your alliance with the enemy affects me, too. Or have you forgotten that?”
Victoria sniffled, shaking her head.
Jennifer placed her palm on her chest. “I am realistic. One of us has to be.”
“So what? Now, you’re calling me stupid and irresponsible?”
“You’re acting that way. This isn’t you, Vicki. You’ve changed.”
“Yeah, maybe I have. It kills you not to be able to boss me around.” Victoria paced before the glass counter.
Jennifer frowned, concern shadowing her face. “I’m really sorry that I’ve made you feel that way. I know I can be a control freak. You’re not the first person to bring that fact to my attention.” Jennifer’s voice softened as she continued her statement. “Right now, this tension isn’t about that. It’s about the way Henrique Santana has bamboozled you. Trusting him is a huge mistake. He isn’t the man you believe he is. I just hope you realize exactly who and what he is before it’s too late.”
Arms crossed over her chest, Victoria tapped her toe on the linoleum. “And what if you’re wrong?”
“I’d gladly admit my mistake. Nothing would make me happier than seeing you with a man that is worthy of you.”
Victoria swiped a tear with the back of her hand. “I know you want me to be happy, but you haven’t even given Henry a chance. You might be pleasantly surprised if you did.”
Jennifer blew out an exasperated breath. “I’ve seen his kind before. He’s a first-class con-artist. It didn’t take him long to get you to alienate me.”
“I’m not alienating you.” Victoria’s voice rose in protest. “If you’d just let me explain.”
“Fine...explain.” Jennifer shrugged her shoulders. “I’m listening.”
The rapping increased at the entrance door. Mrs. Burton stared through the glass and pointed to her wristwatch.
“Can we grab a bite to eat after work?” Victoria asked.
“I’m supposed to meet Andre,” Jennifer said.
“You can still meet Andre. Just tell him you’ll be late.” Victoria rushed around the counter and grasped Jennifer by the arm. “Please,” she begged.
“I hate when you give me that look,” Jennifer sighed. “All right. I’ll go. Now, go unlock the door and let the old bat in. Mrs. Burton may be a pain in the ass, but she’s our best customer. It’s not good to leave her standing outside in the cold.”
“Thank you, Jenn.” Victoria placed a quick kiss on Jennifer’s cheek. With renewed energy, she rushed to the entrance and unlocked the door, apologizing profusely while Mrs. Burton sputtered as she stepped across the threshold.
Henry
The Lamborghini coasted down the cobblestone street, its engine roaring to the delight of many appreciative onlookers. Many pointed and smiled. Some even waved when the flashy sports car drove by. Their behavior was ridiculous. Did they believe him to be a VIP? To think, he used to be flattered by the superficial attention. Funny how meeting Victoria Hathaway had changed all that. A few months ago, he’d have laughed if anyone had suggested he’d be contemplating a permanent move to Newport, Rhode Island. Yet here he was considering it.
The throng of pedestrians clamored around the sidewalks. The Christmas season now in full swing, many of the storefronts contained signage boasting of holiday sales. Shopping bags dangling at their sides, swarms of people darted in and out of traffic impeding Henry’s trek down the narrow street. Appreciatively, he scanned row upon row of historic buildings, each adorned with traditional Christmas décor, looking for one shop in particular.
Ah...there it is, Henry thought and searched for a place to park. Fate must have been on his side. At that very moment, a man in his mid-thirties gestured toward him. Slowing to a stop, Henry waited as the man strolled over to the car and informed him that he and his wife were about to leave. A few moments later, Henry pulled into the now vacant parking spot and stepped onto the crowded street.
Two at a time, he jaunted up the front steps of the pink and white painted building. A large gold bell dangled from the archway, chiming as Henry entered Ms. Margaret’s Doll House.
“Good evening, sir,” a faint voice called from the corner of the room.
Henry smiled when he saw the pleasant-looking woman who’d greeted him. “Good evening,” he answered, impressed with the vast selection that not only featured dolls, but included an ample amount of teddy bears, toy soldiers, and miniature cars that were available for sale.
Seated behind the cash register with a half-completed knit sweater draped across her lap, the woman inquired, “Are you in search of the perfect gift?”
“As a matter of fact, I am,” Henry said, stepping further into the shop.
“I’m Ms. Margaret, proprietor of this establishment since 1983.” She placed her knitting needles on top of the counter, gripping it with her wrinkled fingers. Seeing her struggle to stand, Henry rushed across the room to assist the elderly woman as she hoisted her round body from the chair. “Such a gentleman,” Ms. Margaret said, patting Henry’s hand. “Are you shopping for a little boy or girl today?”
“Actually, I’m shopping for an extraordinary lady. I’d like to acquire something extra special for her to add to her collection.”
Ms. Margaret clasped her hands together. “Oh, how lovely. I’m sure she’ll be tickled pink. Do you know of the type of dolls that she collects?”
“Madame Alexander dolls. Have you heard of them?” Henry asked.
“Why, of course. Madame Alexander dolls have been a staple of beauty for generations. Your lady friend has exquisite taste.” A friendly smile graced her lips as she peered up at Henry, her shoulders barely reaching his chest. “I, too, am an avid collector. In fact, I’d amassed so many dolls that my late husband, Ernest, encouraged me to open this business.” Ms. Margaret lowered her voice as if she were about to reveal a deep, dark secret. “I suspect he felt that I not clutter our home with my treasures.”
“Is your personal collection housed here, as well?” Henry asked.
“Oh, no, dear,” she answered, a twinkle in her eye. “But it was a good thought. It just gave me more space to add to my collection.”
Henry laughed and kept his focus on Ms. Margaret. As they meandered through the rows of display cases, her hand shook while clutching the handle of her cane. He imagined she must have been quite the spitfire in her youth, and no doubt, she had had Ernest wrapped around her little finger.
Almost an hour later, Henry exited Ms. Margaret’s Doll House, a pink and blue box tucked beneath his arm. He looked at his Rolex, stunned when he’d realized the time. He’d spent far more time with the enchanting Ms. Margaret than he’d planned for, and now he was going to be late for his dinner engagement with Helen Carrington and Senator Murdoch.
If Santana Construction received their backing and then the community’s approval at the town council meeting, Victoria would never speak to him again. She’d never be able to forgive him for being responsible for the loss of her home and, possibly, her business. But if Santana Construction’s proposal were to be declined, Henry would have relocated to Newport for naught. Then he’d have lived up to his reputation as the prodigal son. Either way, he’d lose.