Chapter Sixteen

Ultimatum

When Lark woke, she lay face down on the couch, draped by a blanket. The fire had gone out, though the lamp was still on, and the coldness seeped into her bones like someone had decreased the temperature by twenty degrees. Damn, was it chilly.

She slipped off the couch, stood, and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders for warmth. She blinked, and the ornate analog clock on the mantelpiece came into view. After midnight.

“Niall?”

She checked the temperature on her way out of the living room, looking for him. Still set at sixty-nine. A strong breeze blew into the house. She went to check if the duct tape on the broken window had come off but instead found the front door stood ajar, letting in the wind. It had stopped raining, but the wind still howled.

“Niall?” Still no answer.

Lark drew the blanket closer about her shoulders, gathered her gumption, and approached the door. Maybe he’d gone out to get something from the Explorer; he’d more or less lived out of it the last few days. She turned on the porch light and opened the door, peering out at the driveway. Neither the Explorer nor Pam’s car was there.

A terrible feeling sifted through her. She closed the door and turned the deadbolt, hoping this was another lucid dream. Her cell phone went off in the living room, making her jump. Nope, not a dream. She walked into the living room where she’d left it, fumbling as she picked it up, spotted Niall’s number on the Caller ID, and answered.

“Niall?”

“Oh good, you’re up.” She relaxed at the sound of his voice. “I’ve been trying to reach you for the last half hour.”

Relief and fear gripped her at once. “Where on earth are you? I woke up scared out of my mind.”

“Are you okay? I’m sorry to have frightened you. I’m in the waiting room at InstaCare.”

Lark rubbed her closed eyelids. “Niall, why didn’t you wake me? I could have driven you. You’re in no condition to drive.”

He hesitated before answering. “Lark, you were upset. I wanted to let you rest. I don’t know how long the wait’ll be. It’s busy tonight. Let me get checked out, and I’ll call you as soon as I’m done, okay? I’ll drive back when I’m finished.”

Lark sighed. “Okay. Hey, you left the front door open, by the way.”

“I did? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it was wide-open.”

“No, I’m sure I shut it. I didn’t know where you put the keys after we came back in. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“It’s okay. I bet the wind blew it open.”

“Hmm. Listen, Shakespeare, do me a favor and turn on the lights in the house and check the rooms. I want to stay with you on the line while you check. Has Pam come home yet?”

“No, she’s still out,” said Lark, flipping on the light to her father’s office. “Not that I can blame her. She’s been cooped up in here for at least two weeks. Hmm, everything seems clear. Maybe the wind did blow the door open. It’s been pretty strong lately, and with the broken window, air pressure might have pushed it open.” She sighed. “I’ve had about all the spooky horror-movie crap I can take for one night. I’m going to go make a cup of hot chocolate and read after this.” Someone called Niall’s name in the background on his end.

“Damn it, I’m going to have to hang up. They’re calling me. Can you text me, though, so I know you’re okay?”

Lark flipped on the light to the staircase, checking up and around it. “Of course.”

“I might be back earlier, with any luck. Enjoy your hot chocolate, love.”

“Will do. See you later.” Lark ended the call and leaned her head back against the wall. Knowing Charles would, in all likelihood, trash her stuff when he got back to London after tonight’s events, she tried to get it out of her mind. At least her options were open. Her mother did say she could have the house if she wanted. What would it be like to live here as an adult? It would mean moving and uprooting the life she’d had until now, but maybe a clean slate, possibly with Niall, was just what she needed.

The trickling, leftover rainwater dripped off the roof past the windows, stilling the house to a quiet, peaceful calm that seemed off-kilter. She glanced through the sheeted-up visiting-room window.

She rounded the hallway. Light spilled out from the kitchen. She froze. Wait, hadn’t she and Niall had left it on earlier when going into the living room? She sighed. “Get a grip.”

She entered the kitchen and jumped.

Charles stood by the sink, drying his spiky hair with a dark-blue towel. He turned and threw it at her. She caught it before it hit the floor.

“I let myself in.” The bitter smell of alcohol lingered, but he seemed sober. And angry.

“Get out of my house,” she said, clutching her cell phone and scared to death, but there was no way in hell she’d let him know. “I’m calling the police.”

Charles turned away and retrieved a clear, crystal drinking glass from a nearby cupboard. He pressed the valve on the fridge and filled the glass with water. The lack of his usual domineering stature told her all she needed to know about him being unhinged.

“Your house? That’s good. I suppose you’re planning to live here, then. This is what I get after going back to save our investments, hmm?” he asked, his tone acerbic. He took a sip of water.

Lark stood her ground. She acted brave, but fear crashed like a tsunami. This was a Charles she didn’t know. And she was alone with him. She glanced at her phone and dialed 911. She scanned around for a weapon. The knife block sat on the counter behind him.

Still facing the fridge while drinking his water, Charles spoke. “You fucked him, didn’t you?”

Lark waited until he’d turned around and met him eye to eye. What a bastard. “Yes, I did. What was the phrase you used with Gemma? Many times. And you know what? It was making love. He gave me everything you never did, and I loved every second.”

His face turned red, contorted with anger. Lark moved her finger to hit Send when Charles threw his glass across the room. It shattered on the wall right next to her face. She threw her hands up to shield herself, and her cell phone fell to the floor. Despite the false bravado she’d mustered, reality dawned on her. He came back here after what he’d done.

He could hurt her.

It wasn’t the loud shatter of glass and the jagged shards everywhere that alarmed her. The fuming mask on Charles’s perfect face, incensed and ominous, made her realize she’d never really known him. He moved toward her, glass crunching beneath his shoes. What would he do? She couldn’t move, like a paralysis dream, despite how much she wanted to. Primal fear rooted her to the spot. His face darkened, and he lifted his hand.

“You bitch.”

Before she could duck or move, Charles punched her hard to the side of her left eye.

She cried out as searing, white-hot pain blinded her. Red spots danced around in front of her while her mind spun and she tried to get a hold on reality. Dizzy and crying, Lark attempted to get away, holding the stinging side of her face as tears flowed down her cheeks. But Charles backed her against the counter. Fuck. He’d had the same countenance on his face when he kicked Niall.

She glanced at the hallway on the fat off-chance Niall had magically appeared since she’d spoken to him on the phone. Charles trapped her, putting both hands on either side of the counter as he leaned in close. He’d done the same many times in the past, except those times had been flirtatious, never menacing.

“Lark, look at me. There. Now, you believe me when I say I’m sorry, don’t you?”

She nodded, controlling the whimper that wanted to surface in her throat. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Charles glanced in the same direction she had. “What—is someone here? O’Hagan’s SUV was gone when I got here.” He turned back and studied her eyes, his handsome, elevated cheekbones tight. He considered her small frame and backed up. “Clean it up.” He headed to where a broom and dustpan leaned against the side of the fridge and closed his hand around the handles.

“Clean it up yourself,” she spat, batting his hands away.

He sighed and briskly swept the tiny shards of crystal, first around her, then farther away where stray ones had shattered on the floor. She watched him as angry tears slid down her cheeks. He’d never done something like this before. She had seen him freak out when deals didn’t go right, or someone in the company had flubbed up, but this was the first time she’d seen him physically violent. But how much time had they really spent together alone?

Charles emptied the last of the debris into the garbage and put the broom back. “I’m sorry.”

He sounded sincere, but Lark wanted to wipe the floor with him. She folded her arms, hugging herself. The area above her eye throbbed. The tender spot begged for an ice pack, but she would not play the victim.

“Can we talk now?”

“Go to hell, Charles.”

Charles sighed and stepped toward her, and she hated his light, pleasant tone. “Now, come on. Let’s talk and work this out. We all do irrational things in the heat of the moment. It was an isolated incident.”

She blinked. He was deranged. He truly believed he was in the right, so handsome and crazy in his black polo shirt and trousers.

“Lark, what is going on with you? What in the hell happened while I left? You’ve become soft as a one-minute egg. Where is the woman who, a few months ago, took charge in the conference rooms and turned the eye of all the blokes? You’re buying whatever rubbish he’s shoveling at you? You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re an educated woman. He says a couple of poems in his damned Irish brogue,” he enunciated, “and he has you eating out of his hand in the space of two short weeks. What the hell has gotten into you that you’d piss away your life and go off with him?”

“I might ask you the same question.” He narrowed his eyes at her tone, incensed. Perhaps trying a different tactic to keep him from hitting her again might work. “You never dance with me!”

“What?” Charles fired back, bemused. “We’ve danced loads of times. What the hell are you on about?”

“In public, sure,” she said, wiping her cheeks as her eye burned. “But when did you ever put your arms around me when we were alone and—”

“Whenever we’ve been together. I can’t count the times, Lark—”

“No,” she yelled and stamped her foot. “Name one time, if ever, you put your arms around me when we were alone, no one else in the room, and told me you loved me or danced with me barefoot on the carpet? Never. Not once, Charles. In six years of being together.”

He laughed at her. “Is that all you want? We can do it right now. Come on, darling.” To her horror, he crouched down to move her feet, but she kicked at him and pushed his broad shoulders away.

“You’re a crazy asshole.”

Charles sat back on his haunches, still kneeling. “Well, then help me to understand here because I’m lost. What is so damned amazing about O’Hagan you’d throw away what we had?” He shrugged. “I thought we were fine. Sure, I shagged Gemma and other birds, but we weren’t married at the time. You should let it go so we can move on.”

“We were together!”

He raised an eyebrow at her as if to say, Oh, please. “Where’s the Lark I used to know? Where’s the self-confident, take-charge woman? It’s like you’ve gone away and been replaced by Miss Wishy-Washy.”

Lark turned away from him and looked out the kitchen window onto the patio deck, to the same spot she had danced with Niall. She drew a breath to calm down. Niall might be getting his ribs x-rayed right now with no idea Charles had returned. They did have a special connection. Did he feel her distress? “She never left, Charles. She came out from under her shell.”

Charles stood behind her. “Lark, let’s dissect the practical facts here, shall we? Take a step out of la-la land and think. We’re closing upon a multimillion-pound merger with a prominent corporation, and you have a personal emergency that needs attending to. I hop on a plane to give you a shoulder to cry on, and instead of wrapping up your life business like you should have done, you—”

Lark turned around, and a rhythm of blood throbbed beneath her temples. She shut her eyes. She didn’t need a headache right now. She held up a hand, tired and fed up. She opened her eyes. “Charles, wait a minute. Please. I hear what you’re saying to me, yes. But give me a break. I’m a human being.” Charles stood still as he listened, and it gave her the courage to continue.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Thunder rolled outside. It had begun to rain again. “I can’t keep living like a damn machine, saying the right words, acting the right way, being picture-perfect every day of my life. I need a break. I have a heart, and it beats as much as anyone’s. I’m not made of stone. I need to be free to think and feel.”

Charles cocked his to the side and gave her a calculating glare. “What in the bloody hell are you on about? You’re a perpetual free spirit, Lark. You’ve had nothing but freedom with me. It seems like with him you should be so lucky.”

“Have I been free?” she asked in earnest. “Have I? Dressing as you wanted me to so you could impress your mates and other directors of sister corporations at parties, telling me not to laugh too much if someone made a joke, feeling tight and bitter, a-and cold—” Lark twisted her face in disgust, recoiling from the pain his fist had inflicted as well as her ambivalence in staying in a relationship with an egomaniac when, as Niall had said, she deserved better. It wasn’t emotionally honest, and in a lot of ways, she’d been living the life of a different person.

Charles took a step toward her, and she clutched the edge of the counter behind her, staring him down. If he tried to hurt her again, she’d fight back.

He held up his hands, appeasing her. “Whoa, now. I’m not going to hit you. If you felt cold, it’s not my fault, Lark. Don’t put that on my doorstep. I don’t commandeer what you feel, and I don’t know why you think I should.”

She didn’t shy away from the weight of his dark eyes. “Fair enough. But you don’t treat me like he does. I’ve known you six years now, Charles. But in the short time I’ve come to know Niall, I’ve learned what happiness, respect, and personal freedom mean. Charles, Niall makes me feel warm and cared for. He’s thrilled if he makes me smile. It matters to him if I’m happy. I see it. I can relax and be myself, and not worry about what I look like or how I act with him. It’s not down to what other people think of us, but what we think about each other. He completes me.”

What scared her next was not so much what Charles said, but the sharp, quiet way in which he said it.

“Are you listening to yourself? You want me to play along with this while you sugarcoat it. You want me to stand here and pretend this is a blasted fairy tale and be the better man and step aside with the amount involved? You’re doing a huge disservice here. Not to me, but to yourself.”

She narrowed her eyes. The bastard wanted the money. “Wait a minute. That’s what this is about? The money?”

He hesitated. “What are you— No. You’re twisting my words.”

“You said the amount involved, and I know you’re not referring to the number of years we were together. Are you trying to secure a payoff here?”

He appraised her scathingly. “Of course not. It’s clear O’Hagan doesn’t have any plans for you. It’s obvious. How many times do you think he’s done this, Lark? Come on, think about it. You’re an intelligent woman; you know how these things go. I’ll bet he seduces every aggrieved widow’s daughter he comes into contact with, shags them, then dumps them the second he gets some action. You might as well get a tattoo that says O’Hagan’s fiddle and be done with it. He’s playing you. Think of Ivan from marketing a few years ago. How many of his assistants did he go through before they fired him?”

“You’re a fine one to talk,” she pressed. “I don’t ever recall you having to kick someone in the stomach like a gang member, throw a glass across the room, or hit me to prove a point! And Niall is nothing like that, Charles. You don’t know his past, and you don’t know him.”

He scoffed at her. “Oh, and you do? In the meager space of a few weeks as opposed to six years with me?”

“Do I know you, Charles? Do I?” Charles glared at her and then toned it down a notch. On one level he might regret hitting her, but it didn’t excuse him by a long shot. “Because Niall seems pretty damn good from where I’m standing. He would never lay a hand on me, and I know it deep down.”

“I said I was sorry. You have to let it go. It was a one-off. I may have my faults, Lark, but at least you know without a question where I stand. I make it clear. What makes you so sure he cares and isn’t stringing you along for a purpose?”

She stood her ground, familiar with his intimidation techniques. “Niall wants me for me and doesn’t want me any other way. You need to accept it.” The odd, hurt expression on his face sent a cold dagger of fear through her.

“He ‘wants you for you,’” he scoffed.

“Yes.”

“Did he say that?”

“Yes, he did.”

Charles folded his arms. “Hmm. It’s obvious you believed it. And let me guess…”

Lark glanced at the floor, then looked straight into his eyes. She didn’t say it, but she might as well have. She never was good at masking her expressions. Still, it wouldn’t do to goad him on, as volatile as he was.

Charles stood there for several moments, brooding. “So, what we have…” He pursed his lips with a glower.

“You threw it away when you cheated on me. You made your decision.”

Tears formed in his eyes, something she’d never seen happen. Guilt flowed through her and then evaporated when she noted his pursed lips and clenched fist. Letting him go was the right thing to do.

“So, what, this is it? Without another word?”

Lark shut her eyes. “I’m sorry. But that’s how it’s got to be.”

Charles nodded. “Fine.” His tone became vindictive. “Fine,” he snarled.

Lark opened her eyes, and her heart sped up. He was about to play hardball. This was the tone from hard-edged meetings back in London, right before he lay out his cards in the cold, calculating way a CEO is capable of.

“Charles,” she cautioned.

He reached into his back pocket and withdrew an envelope. His lips whitened with rage as he spoke, articulating each word in his clear English accent. He held the envelope up.

“This is your ticket for the eleven o’clock in the morning to Heathrow. You’ll be on it. A car will come pick you up to take you to the airport at half past eight. I suggest you pack tonight.”

“Excuse me?” Lark asked in a shrill voice, ready to fight tooth and nail if she had to. “Charles, what did I just say? I am going to stay here for the time being and be with Niall. I’ll be back at work next—”

“You can’t.”

Lark blinked. “What are you talking about? Yes, I can, and I will.”

Charles took a deep breath. “I didn’t want it to have come to this, Lark. But you leave me with no choice. I know things.” He glared. “I hacked into your father’s computer. What I found would shock you. I know things about your father and his dealings with the company, how he acquired everything, that would ruin your family’s name and all he’s built.” He reached into the inner pocket of his coat spread across the dining-room table and took out a blue jump drive the size of a small vial. “It’s all here. I sent the electronic files to my office a week ago, and I have more copies of these. Feel free to take a look. This jump drive contains your father’s bookkeeping, computerized journal entries, and pictures of meetings with certain elected officials. It will bring everything your family has crashing down, and don’t think I won’t do it.”

Lark crossed her arms. “Say this is true, Charles. You still can’t do anything. He’s dead now, so what’s done is done. And everyone knows about his affair with Susan Grant if that’s what you’re referring to.”

“I’m not referring to his affair, which I found out about ages ago before you’d told me. See, I dug up information on you, sweetheart. I had you investigated. What, you didn’t think I would do something like that?” he patronized her. “And incidentally, it might interest you to know he had many more affairs—a long line of secretaries for a span of about twenty years. Susan Grant was just the tip of the iceberg. Your mum might not like what’s here.”

He continued as if encouraged by the blatant dismay on her face. “Your father gambled and embezzled the majority of the company’s stock. He gambled it with known criminals who are behind bars and would no doubt testify if it meant shorter sentences. I have photographs of him with them, written and signed testimonies from the people he dealt with on the side, and witnesses they can call in a heartbeat. If I bring this out in the open, your family won’t just lose all this and the legacy he built.” He spread his arms to indicate the property. “You and Pam and Aaron will be in severe debt for the rest of your lives.”

He came dangerously close. “We’re talking about millions, Lark. I bet I could get a jail sentence for your mum if I pressed for one without too much effort.” Lark glanced at him in disbelief. “Oh,” he said, feigning remorse. “Didn’t you know? Your mother was in on it too. She knew what was going on, minus the affairs, and she was privy to the extent of the illegality. She is as much to blame for not having done anything about it.”

“And in your twisted mind, what,” Lark seethed, “am I supposed to do to make you stop extorting my family?”

“Marry me.”

She gave him a withering look. “Please. If I’m not happy with you now, what in the world makes you think I’m going to be happy with you after this? I hate you now.”

“Hate me all you want. But you’ll marry me. You’ll come back to London with me, and we’ll get married. You’ll get your share of the inheritance when it sells, and we’ll use the money. Everything will go back to normal, and you’ll do your part as my wife and colleague.”

Despite his earlier evasion about it not being related to her money, Lark had to laugh. “You’re such a liar, and you’re insane! I’m not surprised what it boils down to is the inheritance, but this BS you’re slinging about I’ll do my part as your wife?” He was delusional if he assumed she’d lie down and take it. “Let’s get one thing straight. I will never sleep with you, ever again, for as long as I live. You couldn’t drug me enough to do it! I regret having ever done so in the first place. Hell, you were a different man back then.”

He chuckled. “You’re going to look back on this and laugh,” he mused. “Lark, listen. I still want you. You belong to me. But do you think I find this country-hick phase attractive? You’re a sexy, powerful woman, and you were fated for me. I need that woman, not this whole cotton-dress-wearing, big-haired, Tammy-Wynette’s-love-child person you’ve become. I’ll give you points for your figure, love, but your mind has taken a hiatus.”

Lark wanted to slap him, to punch him the way he’d punched her, but she feared what he might do. She balled her fists tight. “If you think I’m going to—”

“You’ll act your part in public. You’re too well-respected and revered at UY for me to let you go. I need you, and there’s a lot I can do with your timeshares when you get your payout. Otherwise, I wouldn’t bother with any of this. I investigated it, and eight percent of Oregon tax, plus four percent sales tax and inheritance tax, would make your share somewhere around one million five hundred when everything’s gone through. It might take up to a year as you’ll be overseas, but we can wait. As soon as we’re married, you can sign the forms, and we’ll be in business. It’ll belong to both of us.”

A choking sound escaped her throat. So that’s why he wanted to get married so badly. “You bastard. You total, unimaginable bastard.”

He shrugged, unbothered. “This is strictly business, babe. Think of it as a chess move. I have the forms ready, and my attorney will handle it. I mean, consider what we’ve accomplished, merging with Osaka-Nayaweni because of how much Mr. Osaka took to you first off. You’re too valuable an asset to walk away from, Lark, and you’re a damned good business partner. I’ve invested six years of my life and time in you,” he said through his teeth, “and I expect to be paid on all my investments. We’ll get married, and you’ll come around and want me again. I’m a patient man, and if I must, I’ll find someone who can…take care of my needs in the meantime.”

“You’re sick,” she yelled. “Who are you?”

He grimaced. “I may be sick, but like it or hate it, you’re stuck with me. Deal with it, or make your family deal with it. I’ll go through with it. You should know better than anyone else that I don’t bluff.”

He didn’t, and the possible repercussions her family would face terrified her. Her mother was a soft, sensitive soul. No way would she last a day in prison. “Hold on, here. If you’re going to dangle this over my head, I want the information you have on my dad, and I mean everything. I also want my own place to live, and your guarantee you won’t use what you know.” She wouldn’t put it past him to be vindictive if things didn’t go his way.

He pursed his lips. “And how do you propose I do so?”

“I don’t know, but you figure it out, or I’m not doing anything but staying right here, even if it means giving up my job and you extorting us.”

Charles nodded. “All right. When you get back to London, I’ll turn over everything I have on your dad to you.”

“Not good enough. I want a written statement too,” she pressed. “Word it however you want to, but it has to say you won’t use what you have as long as I uphold my end of the bargain, and you’ll leave my family alone for good.” If he was going to do this to her, she wanted leverage. Screw wanting it—she needed it.

“No,” he frowned. “It could land me in legal trouble.”

“Yeah? So could blackmail.”

He stared her down, his eyes moving about as he weighed his options. “Very well. We’ll draft up an agreement when we get back, just between us. Everything I have on your father is on that jump drive. Have a look if you don’t believe me. After we return to London, if you do your part, I’ll give you the additional documents and hard copies.”

“No. I want them the second we get in, or I don’t go at all.”

“Done.” He flattened the travel pouch containing the airline ticket against her chest and smashed his lips against her cheek. “Get packing.”

Lark turned to the side, sickened and violated, wanting to scrub the places he’d touched her with a harsh loofah.

“You best say your good-byes to your lover before you go,” he said close to her ear. “Because he’s not welcome at our house anytime, day or night. You don’t breathe a word of this to him. Let him know it’s over for good unless you want me to go after him too, which I’ll be more than happy to do. I expect you to be in the car at half past eight.” He left her standing there. “Don’t forget your passport,” He barked over his shoulder.

“I hate you!” she yelled at his back, infuriated. She threw the envelope containing the ticket at his retreating back and let out a primal scream. Papers scattered over the floor.

Once the front door closed loudly, she hurried over and locked the deadbolt, shaking. She then went back into the kitchen, put her hand on the back of a kitchen table chair, and slid it out. She sank into it with a heavy heart. The tears she’d been holding back trickled out, and she laid her forehead on her arms, cringing as she hit the sore spot above her eye.

Lark got back up and retrieved an ice pack from the freezer, pressing it tenderly to her forehead. She bent to retrieve the ticket from the floor when her cell phone rang. She answered the call on the fourth ring. It was Niall.

“Hello?” It came out a whisper.

“Hey, you. I planned to leave you a voice mail, but I’m glad you’re still up. I finished with the doctor.” He sounded cheerful.

“What did he say?” she asked nasally.

“He— Are you all right? You’re upset.”

Lark shut her eyes, wincing at the developing bruise on her face. It would be a shiner. “I’m fine,” she lied. “I’ve been worried about you, and I haven’t had much sleep over the last couple of days. What did the doctor say?”

“Well, first of all, I’m going to live, so you can stop worrying. I do have a couple fractured ribs, but they’re superficial. They gave me pain medicine and a cooling adhesive pad to put on my chest for it. Beyond that, a few cuts ‘n scrapes. I’ll be okay.”

“Good,” she breathed, grateful. She pressed the ice pack to her eye.

“Love, I want to come back out there, but it’s raining a lot, and it’s ridiculously late. I’m dying to lie down and hold you, but would you mind if I go back to my condo and come round in the morning?”

“No, no, I want you to go home and rest,” she said in a high voice, trying to steady herself.

“Lark, I know I asked this, but what’s wrong? You sound off.”

“I’m fine,” she replied. “I’m tired, and it’s been draining.”

“I know it has. I’m sorry about that. But we made it, didn’t we?”

“We did,” she agreed, glancing with a sinking heart at the plane ticket in her hand. He would hate her. Hell, she’d hate herself.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Shakespeare. We’ll work out where we go from here. Get lots of rest.”

“You too,” she said. “Good night.” Lark disconnected and set the phone on the table.

Charles would be on his way to his hotel, or wherever it was, he was staying. She scowled at the ticket. She hated him. Lark opened the freezer and put the ice pack in to refreeze it.

A few minutes later, the front door opened. Lark rearranged her hair to hang in her face, covering the reddish area that would soon darken.

“Hon, what the hell happened to the window?” her mom asked, shocked.

“Charles,” she replied in a flat voice.

Pam gasped and hurried over to her. “What? Did he— Oh Lark, did he hurt you?”

Lark turned to the side to hide her developing bruise. “No. He came back, and he and Niall got into a fight. I’m sorry about the window, Mom. Niall said he’ll pay to have it replaced.”

Pam put down her purse. “What on earth is Charles doing here?” She looked around. “Is he still here?”

Lark shook her head. “No. He left. He was upset I’d cancelled my flight, so he flew back because he wanted to make sure things were okay between us.”

Not buying it, her mother gave her The Look. “Lark, what’s going on?” Pam took her by the arm into the living room, sitting her on the couch. “Why did he come back? I thought you and Niall—”

“What about me and Niall?” Lark feigned, acting unbothered.

“I know when sparks fly around this house. You’re in a real mess.”

Lark buried her face in her hands, not wanting to think. “I know. I know, Mom.” She clasped her fingers together and brought them to her mouth, blinking back tears.

Pam rubbed her mouth. “What are you going to do? Do you have any idea?”

Lark shook her head, still pressing her lips against her clasped fingers. She’d get on the plane in the morning; she had no choice.

“Well, you’d better come up with something soon.”

“I know.”

Pam stood. “Let me know what you decide, okay?”

“I will.”

Pam paused in the doorway, fiddling with her keys. “And Lark, with the house… We can still go back if you want to keep it in your name. It’s not too late. You may want a place of your own in the future; who knows? And for what it’s worth, I’ve known Niall for years, and I know that you can travel to Timbuktu and not find anyone half as wonderful. And he pretends to like my cinnamon cookies, although I know they’re awful. Don’t stay with someone violent. Please. I love you.”

She left Lark sitting there, miserable.