Falling in Love (Secrets of Savannah Book 5) Read online

  “I would really like for you to reconsider working with us. I promise you there will never be a repeat of the things I said to you. There’ll be no attitude, no judgement.”

  Marc rubbed his jaw with his hand. “Thank you, Charlotte. I know the situation in the past was heartbreaking. I admire your loyalty toward Case. I’ll consider taking the job.”

  Charlotte’s eyes lit up. She let out a squeal. “Seriously? Oh my goodness. That’s fantastic.” She clapped her hands together.

  Marc couldn’t resist smiling. There was something so childlike and innocent about her at the moment. It was a completely different side to Charlotte Duvall than the one he’d seen earlier. She was a beautiful woman, and based on her demeanor at this very moment, extremely likeable. Although it had annoyed him to no end to be treated with such contempt by her earlier, he had to admire a woman who was so fiercely loyal to her brother.

  What would it be like, he wondered, to be loved by such a woman as Charlotte Duvall?

  * * *

  Charlotte felt a huge sense of relief that Marc was reconsidering the assignment. Going back to Savannah House with bad news was unthinkable. At her core, Charlotte was a people pleaser. She truly didn’t want the girls to be upset with her.

  “If I take the assignment, you are not to bring up the past and throw it in my face.” Marc’s expression was gravely serious.

  “Agreed,” she said with a nod. At this point she might just agree to anything! Of course there were other investigators in the area, but Marc came with a gold seal of approval.

  “I left for two years as a penance. Trust me, Charlotte. You cannot possibly make me feel more ashamed of myself than I’ve already felt. But that’s over now. I can’t carry that weight on my shoulders anymore. I want to live my life.” He let out a ragged sigh. “My father’s life is waning. I want these days, weeks and months if we have that long to mean something. I can’t be distracted by conflict.”

  “I’ll say it again, Marc. I’m so very sorry.” She pushed the words out of her mouth before she could change her mind. The truth was she did feel sorry. All of her anger had been placed on Marc, when in reality she knew that life brought about situations that were complex and multi-faceted. Even Case had admitted he’d made mistakes in his relationship with Fancy that might have led her to seek friendship and companionship with a male friend. And she knew her own feelings toward Fancy hadn’t been completely resolved. She loved her dearly but she still harbored a degree of anger toward her.

  “I accept your apology. I admire your fierceness about your brother.” He sent her a hint of a smile. “I’d like to think my sisters would react the same exact way in similar circumstances.”

  “I hope we hear from you soon regarding taking the assignment. The other ladies shouldn’t be penalized because of my foolishness.”

  Marc studied her for a moment. He didn’t say a word for a few moments. All he did was gaze at her. It felt a little bit uncomfortable making such direct eye contact with him.

  “I’ll take the assignment.”

  Charlotte sputtered. “Y-you will?” Adrenaline coursed through her veins.

  “Yes, I will,” Marc acknowledged. The corners of his mouth appeared to be twitching with mirth.

  “I-I’m so grateful.” She stood up from her chair and stuck her hand out. Marc reached out and shook hands with her. A tingling sensation ran through her hand. She pulled her hand away, uncomfortable with the feelings he elicited.

  What was going on? Nothing, she told herself. She was merely feeling relieved. Grateful. It was nothing more than that!

  “I believe in forgiveness,” Marc said. “For all of us.”

  “Thanks again,” she murmured. “I need to be getting back to Savannah House.” With an awkward wave of her hand, Charlotte left Marc’s office and headed past his empty reception area then out into the hallway. Once she’d left his office space, Charlotte slumped against the wall and let out a deeply held breath. Although things had gone way better than she had anticipated, Charlotte felt tense. Everything was a little bit confusing to her. Earlier she had viewed Marc as a villain. This afternoon, nothing could be further from the truth. He was just a man who was trying to put the pieces of his life back together.

  Who was she to stand in his way?

  Charlotte made her way to where her car was parked in the lot beside Marc’s building. She plugged in her cell phone to the car charger and sat for a moment to gather her thoughts.

  Charlotte felt ashamed. Marc had seemed so real. And human. Vulnerable. Shame threatened to eat her up. In trying to protect Case she’d acted in an unkind manner toward Marc. It had been stupid. And childish. Marc was right. Why should he have to bear the weight of it all? She’d forgiven Fancy. Or so she’d thought. Why couldn’t she give Marc a break?

  Why hadn’t she listened to Fancy? Sweet, beautiful Fancy who always led with her heart. Once upon a time that had been Charlotte’s goal—to lead with kindness. When had all of that changed? She winced and shut her eyes tightly. Charlotte knew exactly when all of it had changed. When she arrived at Marc’s office earlier she’d been struck by the fact that it was so close to the place that haunted her dreams. Approximately two streets away. It had been years since Charlotte had gone anywhere near that terrible place. Being so close to the site of her nightmares made her uneasy.

  She shut her eyes tightly. Charlotte didn’t want to think about that terrible place. She didn’t want those memories to bury her. She let out a wild cry and pressed her face against the steering wheel. Memories sharp and strong flooded her. The strong spicy smell of aftershave. The click of a door being locked. Her hands being held behind her back. Her screams being ignored. Case finding her and wrapping her up in his strong, protective arms.

  “No. No. I don’t want to remember,” she cried out, shaking her head to rid herself of the painful images. The sound of her sobbing filled the car.

  A rapping sound alerted her to someone knocking on her window. Through a fog she heard her name being called. She turned toward her window and saw Marc standing there, a look of concern etched on his face.

  With trembling fingers, she pushed the button that allowed the window to roll down. She was filled with mortification. Marc had seen her in the middle of a mini breakdown.

  “Are you all right?” Marc asked. His eyes and his voice radiated concern.

  “I-I’m fine,” she said. She knew he didn’t believe it, judging by the expression on his face. Her breathing sounded choppy to her own ears and she knew her face was stained with tears. Charlotte suspected she looked a mess. No doubt her makeup had smudged due to her tears.

  “You don’t seem fine. Would you like me to call somebody for you? Fancy? Your brother?” Marc asked with a frown.

  “No!” she cried out. “I-I really don’t want to upset anyone. I’m fine.”

  Marc’s brown eyes seemed to see right down to the things she wanted to hide from the world. “Okay. But I’d like to get you a bottle of water. I’ll be right back. Please don’t leave, Charlotte. I think you need a few minutes before you get on the road.”

  She nodded, feeling a bit overwhelmed by Marc’s generosity. Considering the way she had treated him, it was fairly miraculous. She sat back in the driver’s seat, taking shallow breaths to calm herself. She drew down the rearview mirror and inspected her face.

  Charlotte burst out laughing. She looked utterly ridiculous. Her hair was askew and her mascara was smudged underneath her eyes. She barely looked human. Ugh. Marc probably thought she was an alien visiting from another planet.

  She took a napkin from her purse and began to gently wipe her face. Not that it changed much. She still looked a wreck.

  A few minutes passed until Marc returned with a huge bottle of water in his hand.

  He handed it over to Charlotte, who accepted it with a weak smile. “Thank you. You really didn’t have to get me a water. I feel a lot better now.”

  He squinted at her. “You sure abou
t that? I’d feel pretty guilty if you got into a wreck on your way back to Tybee Island.”

  “I’ve never had an accident in my life,” Charlotte said in a light tone. “Seriously, I’m fine. I just didn’t feel well for a few minutes there. Thankfully it passed. Thanks for agreeing to talk to me. I can’t wait to tell the girls you’ve agreed to work with us.”

  “Thanks again for eating a slice of humble pie and coming to make peace with me. I know it couldn’t have been easy. Sometimes the past can be a barrier to the future.”

  “If I hadn’t made amends with you, my name would have been mud at Savannah House. I can’t have my five best friends in the world angry at me.” Charlotte sent Marc a weak smile. She was trying desperately to appear as it everything was all right. In her mind all she could think of were ways to avoid heading towards a certain area of town.

  Marc chuckled. “Safe travels,” he said with a wave.

  “Bye,” she said, noticing how very handsome Marc was—way more attractive than she’d ever noticed.

  As Charlotte drove off, she took a look in her rearview mirror. Marc was still standing in the exact spot where she’d left him. Charlotte couldn’t explain why she felt the need to drag her gaze away from the sight of him. It was uncanny how in a short period of time she’d gone from despising Marc to admitting he wasn’t quite the monster of her nightmares. Sometimes in life you blamed a person for all the ills of the world. And then suddenly it hit you that you’d been completely and utterly wrong.

  She reached for the water bottle and took a swig from it. The gesture from Marc had been thoughtful. And kind.

  Thank the Lord for small blessings.

  She was now free to return to Savannah House with her head held up high. As she made the drive back to Tybee Island, thoughts of Marc continued to float in and out of her mind. It was a little bit annoying that he’d taken up residence in her thoughts.

  Charlotte wished Marc would disappear from her mind. It unsettled her. It was baffling. And she couldn’t seem to shake him. His handsome face kept flashing before her eyes.

  Most of all, it worried her. Because Charlotte knew that Marc was off-limits. He couldn’t be a friend. Not really. And he certainly couldn’t be a romantic possibility—not that he was interested in her in that way. Men like Marc flocked to women who looked like Fancy. And Charlotte knew she couldn’t hold a candle to Fancy’s alluring beauty.

  Marc’s role in her life would be limited to a client of Savannah House, one who could hopefully show that Grayson Holloway was nothing more than a fraud.

  “I believe in forgiveness. It’s a healing balm that allows us to move forward in our lives. Without it, I don’t know where I’d be in this world.”

  Fancy Tolliver

  Chapter Three

  It had been three days since Charlotte had come to Marc’s office full of contrition and apologies. Since that time Marc had busied himself trying to find out anything he could about Grayson Holloway. Although Marc liked a challenge, he wasn’t certain that he’d been prepared for this particular one. Grayson Holloway was a very hard person to pin down. His public image was mysterious. So far, all Marc had been able to determine was his profession. Cartoonist and illustrator. His place of residence was all over the map. Paris. Oslo. Washington. Atlanta. Martha’s Vineyard.

  But so far he was hitting a wall regarding any other details of his life. Marc’s gut told him Grayson had carefully constructed this wall of privacy around his image. Why then would he place himself in the eye of a possible media storm by making a claim for Savannah House? He shook his head. It made no sense to him at all.

  Marc rid himself of thoughts pertaining to business. He needed to quickly shift his brain away from the investigation and focus on his father. He had just arrived at the family home. He let himself in to the modest ranch-style home, knowing his parents never locked their front door. He shook his head. No matter how many times he warned them about the foolishness of doing so, they continued to have an open-door policy. He could almost hear his mother’s voice now saying, “We’ve lived in this neighborhood for thirty-five years. If we can’t trust our neighbors, who can we trust?”

  Marc stood in the entryway of the living room, watching his father from a distance. Marc didn’t have any illusions about his father’s illness. He was fading fast. He could almost feel it hanging in the air like a deflating balloon. A fierce burst of love for the man who’d raised him flared through him. It was so strong Marc felt as if he might crack wide open.

  “Hey, Pop. How are you making out?” It was the same question Marc asked whenever he visited his father. His physical condition spoke volumes, but Marc had decided that he would ask the question anyway. Lucien Cabron was an incredibly proud man. Of Cuban and French ancestry, Lucien had arrived in the United States as a young man with a brand new wife by his side, searching for new opportunities. He was Marc’s hero. When he discussed his humble origins growing up in Cuba, Marc always felt proud of his father’s pluck and grit. He had persevered despite daunting odds stacked against him.

  “I can’t complain,” Lucien said in a raspy voice. He began to chuckle. “But then again who’d listen if I did?”

  “I’d listen, Pops. We all wound,” he said, feeling a burst of nostalgia hit him squarely in the chest. How many more moments would he share like this with his father? It killed him to know that he’d squandered so much time in the last two years. There was nothing more impactful than a medical crisis. It hit you over the head with a huge dose of reality. He’d learned that lesson years ago with Gretchen. When faced with the possibility of losing a loved one, everything came into sharp focus.

  Marc’s father reached out and gripped his hand. It felt good to be in such close contact with his father, although the major changes in his physical condition continued to alarm Marc. His grip wasn’t very firm as he clutched his son’s hand. His weight had seemed to plummet even further even in the space of a few days. Hollow indentations were imprinted on his cheeks. The thick black head of hair was now almost completely gone, ravaged by cancer and chemo treatments. Little by little, Marc knew he was slipping away from him.

  “You’re a good son. The best,” Lucien said. His brown eyes twinkled. Marc blinked back tears. He wasn’t sure he deserved any accolades. He’d been MIA for way too long.

  “I wish I’d come back sooner.” Marc pushed the words out of his mouth. It was a way of apologizing to his father for being absent.

  Lucien waved a hand at him. “No use wishing for things that we can’t change. You came back as soon as you knew I was sick. For a few days I kicked myself for not going to the doctor sooner, but I quickly realized it’s a waste of time to fill my mind with those regrets.”

  This was the reason he admired his father so much. He didn’t dwell on things. He was strong. And loving. And he forgave himself as heartily as he forgave others.

  “Pop. You’re one in a million. How did you get so brave?” he asked, emotion clogging his throat. These conversations with his dad were like gold. Someday he would look back on these moments as cherished memories. Marc didn’t want to leave a single thing unsaid.

  “Honestly, I never had a choice. Growing up in Cuba I was poor and hungry and different due to my French roots. I was bullied and looked down upon and scared of living the rest of my life like that. The two things I had were my family and God’s eternal love. Those were my foundations. So my advice to you, son, is to love your children. Raise them to know they are a blessing from God. And the best gift you can ever bestow on them is to show them that you love their mother.”

  “You always showed us that,” Marc said. “And it is a true gift. I have so many memories of the two of you dancing cheek to cheek in the kitchen or fighting over Scrabble words. Love flowed like a river in our home. I couldn’t have asked for a better road map.”

  “It truly did.” The feminine voice came from behind Marc. He turned to see his mother, Marisol, walking into the room with a tray full of drinks an
d a pitcher of ice tea. She placed the tray down on the coffee table then leaned down and pressed a kiss on her husband’s lips. “From the day I met your father he treated me like a queen. I never had to question for a single solitary moment if he loved me. He showed me in all of the important ways.”

  “We showed each other the way,” Lucien said, taking his wife’s hand and pressing a kiss on the knuckles. “I have been blessed beyond measure to have you as my wife, my partner in crime, my everything.”

  Marc watched as his parents rested in each other’s arms. This was what it looked like to be loved in abundance! It made his heart soar to see this, to sear it to his heart like a tattoo that would be imprinted there for the rest of his days. Marc wanted this for himself. This tried and true love that withstood anything that life threw at it. Heartache. Depression. Despair. Grief. His parents just kept on loving each other and staying true to the vows they had exchanged forty-one years ago. The verse from John ran through his mind. Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth.

  His parents had walked the walk. They had lived in love every day of their married lives.

  His father swung his gaze toward him. “Son, we want this for you. Marital love. A partner to be at your side through good times and bad. I won’t say bliss because it hasn’t always been blissful. We’ve been tested a time or two. But along the way we’ve found joy and moments of sheer perfection. Raising you kids was probably the most wonderful part. To see yourself and the woman you love reflected in a child’s eyes is the greatest gift of all.”

  “I hoped to find that with Gretchen,” Marc murmured, suddenly thrust into the past. Sweet, pretty Gretchen. She had been so optimistic about their future and so filled with love for him. Her life had been cut short by a ruthless disease that didn’t discriminate. It struck out at people of every race, color, creed, national origin and age. Cancer.