Matter of Choice Read online

  She scrubbed the good eye with a fist, and tried to pull away, but his grip was too sure, his eyes too pleading. “But it was Veronica, Triston. I want to be understanding, I want to brush it off, but she was leaning into you. That was too personal to be business.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “That was Veronica. That’s her playing her little games, or at least trying to. I don’t want her.”

  Shannon closed her eyes, no longer able to stare into the green pools of his eyes. “Maybe not, Triston. Maybe not. But right now, that’s not something I can deal with.” She lifted her lids. “Do you understand that? I can’t take the chance you’re telling me a lie. I’ve heard it from you before, remember? And then I saw her coming out of your parents’ house, that look on her face so obvious.”

  His hands dropped to the ground beneath him. “That’s it? No trust in me? No faith in what you feel?”

  A hand ran through her hair, lips sucked in. Then she laughed. “Yea, look where trust and faith and love and promises have taken me so far.” She shrugged. “I can’t do it again right now.”

  “So what do I do? Just let you walk right out of my life and not do anything about it? I can’t do that, Shannon. I fight for what I want. And I know you do too. So I guess what it comes down to is, do you want me like I want you?”

  Her head bobbed back and forth as her chest rose and fell, fingers curling up against her lips. “This is all wrong.”

  “Then make it right. Face how you feel and don’t walk away.”

  “Why wouldn’t I walk away? You’re a playboy, Triston; you’ve been a playboy since high school. I don’t need to jump into another fire. I’ve been burned enough.”

  He stepped backwards, pain flashing so fast and furious across his face Shannon fought the urge go to him, wrap her arms around his neck and apologize with hugs and kisses. That would get her no where, and she couldn’t handle being another afterthought.

  “How would you know what I am now? What? Because I haven’t settled down with just anyone?”

  She wanted to slap him, certain, somehow, the comment was directed at her. But she never settled for just anyone. Greg was never the consolation prize. She shook her head, what in the world was she thinking?

  “Seriously, Triston, don’t play me. You came here with one woman, ended up romancing me, and then began talking to Veronica. How does that look? What more proof do I need?”

  He turned to look over the landscape, smiled, and shook his head.

  “Are you laughing at me?” She felt like a cartoon character with smoke streaming from her ears.

  “Shy, I’ve told you before, I never settled down because I couldn’t find anyone good enough to replace you. These aren’t just words to me. And I know it’s only been a couple of weeks since we’ve met again, and you’ve been going through a hard place, so we’ve got a rough road ahead of us. I don’t deny that. But I’m not going to put any other woman in front of, on the side of, or in the back of, you. You are it for me. And it doesn’t matter how many times Veronica prances herself around me, or any other woman, or none at all.”

  Shannon closed her eyes and shook her head, fighting a fluttering heart. “Okay, look. I don’t want to go through this all over again. Certainly not with Greg, you, not anyone. If that means I have to be alone, I’d rather be alone than watch the man I love chase another woman. I won’t go through the abuse again.”

  Triston’s arms shot out wide around him. “Do you really think I’d be dealing with all this husband crap, Shy, if I wanted to run around on you? Why would I be putting up with the aggravation or pain?” He rushed forward, hand pointed in her direction. “You think I’d ever abuse you? Hurt you that way?” He shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we shouldn’t be together, not if that’s what you think of me. If comparing me to Greg is where your mind goes when you consider us, I don’t want this.”

  Triston stormed off into the woods, leaving Shannon behind with mouth hanging open. When he was out of sight, Shannon turned to face the river. He was right, she was almost sure of it. But, Veronica. “Nothing like pouring salt on an open wound, even if it should have been cauterized years ago,” she whispered.

  She gazed at the yachts going by, wondering why she and Greg never purchased one, then realized it, too, would be included in the assets about to be sold and divided. Still, a ventured guess fantasized the wonder of cruising towards New York, Jersey, and finally the open sea. Maybe escape to the Caribbean. She loved St. Lucia with its emerald peaks rising out of pristine crystal waters. Do some scuba diving, ride a bike through the trails surrounding the estate at Anse Mamin, stay in a resort between the Pitons. No one would find her, she wouldn’t hurt anyone, no one could hurt her.

  The fresh water washed through Shannon, slowly easing her mind until her eyes opened, refocused. She’d have to apologize to Triston, she knew, but first she needed time to think, head clear of the vision of Veronica leaning into him so she could talk rationally and not run away with feelings again.

  Until then, she needed to get back to dealing with the divorce.

  Chapter Thirty

  The door slammed harder than intended as Triston stormed into his room. Shannon’s words cut deep, and he blinked hard to keep their damage from spilling onto his cheeks. He threw the key on the counter, hands laced behind his head, pacing the living room. Understanding her pain was easy, but the extent of the wrath scorched his heart. Leaving, not leaving. If she thought that little of him, why stay?

  Scratching the side of his nose with a thumb, he gave the carpet a break from the circling rounds and marched into the kitchen. Blinking hard, he snatched a bottle of water from the refrigerator, guzzled the refreshing liquid. Slamming the bottle down on the counter, he leaned against the counter top, mind swirling. A good run, some weight-lifting, a tough punching bag, anything to work off the frustration. Triston drew an audible breath in and rapped the counter with his knuckles. He hadn’t been down to the exercise room yet. Now was a good time to check it out.

  *

  Shannon entered the building, heart heavy, not paying attention until someone called her name. She looked upward to see a man walking towards her, a large envelope in hand. She studied his casual attire - khakis with a button-down black cotton shirt, clipped graying hair and purposeful stride - and her gut flipped.

  “Ms. Winters. I have legal documents I need to deliver to you,” he said as he pushed the envelope forward.

  Shaking fingers took it, “Thank you.”

  “Have a nice day, ma’am.”

  She nodded without looking up. “You too,” she replied in a voice soft and distant. Now what?

  She backed into the wall, index finger slipping across the top fold, and pulled the document out, breath constricted tight within her chest.

  Reading it over once, then a second time, and then a third, her mind struggled to grasp the document’s meaning. Greg had filed for a restraining order against her, citing destruction of property within their home. Wrinkles distorted her features. Mr. Collins, please be in.

  It took three tries before she could dial the numbers with quivering fingers, Shannon’s words disjointed as she asked the receptionist to be transferred to the lawyer. The double-tone beeps drummed in her head as she waited, watching the clock tick down five minutes and then eight.

  “Ms. Winters? I apologize for the wait. What can I help you with?”

  “I’ve been served a restraining order. Something about destruction of property. I don’t even know what he’s talking about.”

  “I’ll need to review order. I have some time at four o’clock. Can you bring it in then?”

  She glimpsed at the clock. Three hours. It was going to be a long wait. “Yes.” She confirmed, breathless. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll see you then. And don’t panic. Just don’t go to the house until I have a chance to review the order.”

  She nodded, forgetting he couldn’t see her, and whispered in agreement before hanging up. Shan
non held the paper within her fingertips, staring down at it, mind paging through flashing memories for an explanation for the allegation. She hadn’t destroyed anything, knocked anything over, made any threats. He had, but she didn’t, not a single veiled suggestion.

  With the envelope tucked securely within the purse slung over her shoulder, keys in hand, Shannon hurried down the hall, nearly bumping into a sweating Triston.

  “Oh! I’m sorry.”

  He pressed a towel against the sweat dripping down his forehead, voice careful. “That’s okay, Shy. Looks like you’re in a hurry.”

  She nodded, turned her lips inward, glancing away before meeting his guarded eyes. “Listen, we need to talk. I need to say some things, but I can’t right now - I’m headed to the lawyer’s office. Can we meet in the restaurant, say, seven?”

  Triston rubbed the back of his neck with the towel, his shirt just damp enough to boast the worked carvings of his chest. “I don’t know, Shy.”

  She reached out with tentative fingers to graze his hand. “Please? Really, it would mean a lot to me.”

  Triston looked above her head, dabbing his jaw line, then sighed. “All right. You sure you want to do this in public? Don’t want everyone to see us together, you know.”

  “They can see us, I don’t care anymore. I’ll see you then?”

  “Sure.” He narrowed his eyes, opened his mouth to say more, then brushed past her.

  Dropping her head to a shoulder, looking out the corner of the healthy eye, Shannon made out the shadow of Triston’s silhouette standing at the elevator. She didn’t think he was looking in her direction, and couldn’t bear to turn around to see for sure. Her pace quickened and she headed for the back parking lot. She’d hurt him, and wasn’t sure an apology would be enough, but it would have to wait until that night. There was no choice.

  Shannon strode into Richards and Collins law office, hoping she looked a lot more confident than she felt. After informing the receptionist she’d arrived, she took a seat in the waiting area. Though most everything - the receptionist desk, the counter top, the wall behind the desk holding the massive signage, the trim- were all oak, there was no mistaking the contemporary flare of sharp edges, clean lines and chic lighting. Everything raved success, money and even a bit of power. New York grandeur, she knew, but there wasn’t a better office, or better lawyers, than Mr. Richards and Mr. Collins. Not in her price range.

  She glanced down at the watch. About ten minutes early. Drawing in a breath, she picked up a copy of Architectural Digest and flipped through the pages, not seeing the beautiful designs featured among its articles. Trying again, she started at the beginning, slowly turning each page. New York penthouses, countryside estates and even an old Southern Plantation slid past her eyes. Nothing caught her interest, nothing distracting enough.

  “Ms. Winters?”

  “Yes?” The magazine plunged to her feet against the tan carpeting. She smiled softly, bent to pick it up, righted the pages, and laid it on the coffee table. “Sorry. A little preoccupied, I guess. And high strung.”

  Mr. Collins held out a hand. “That’s quite alright. Come to my office and we’ll talk.”

  Shannon nodded, gathered the purse and followed him past frosted glass doors and planted palms. Four offices down, he stopped and held a hand out in welcoming gesture as she slipped past him and sat in one of the charcoal chairs.

  After closing the door, he sat across the desk and clapped his hands together. “So let’s see what you’ve been served with.”

  Fumbling fingers pulled the envelope from her purse and passed it to the attorney’s waiting aged hands. She watched as he pulled the document out and scanned the words silently before placing it on his desk. Folded hands hovered above it, and he spoke with a voice hoarsened with age and too many years spent smoking. “Yes, you are correct. This is a restraining order. You may not go back to the home you shared with Greg without escort, and that includes retrieving any belongings.”

  “But I don’t understand. What grounds does he have for this?”

  Mr. Collins waved his hands open and reclined in the chair. “It doesn’t specify. Have you ever, even in a fit of rage, broken anything within the home? Thrown something at Greg? Shredded bed sheets? Anything?”

  A nervous giggle passed through Shannon’s lips. “Shredded bed sheets?”

  “You’d be surprised the things I’ve heard over the years, Ms. Winters.”

  Her lips curled upward in a soft smile. She supposed he had heard a lot. “No, nothing.” The same nervous giggle repeated itself. “Except once, a couple of weeks ago, before I filed for divorce. Greg wasn’t even home yet. But there was this wine glass in the sink, lipstick on the rim, and I felt so sick. I threw it against the wall, along with all the other wine glasses. But I cleaned them all up before he got home, and his memory wasn’t back yet …” Her voice broke off. “Oh.”

  The attorney nodded. “That is the probably the incident he’s using. Were they his wine glasses? A present from his parents?”

  She shook her head, eyes wide as they focused on the order. “No. They were gifts from someone when we got married. I don’t even remember who. I never drank, and before the accident, Greg didn’t - at least not in front of me. We never used them.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter. It’s spite, pure and simple. But you’ll still need to abide by this restraining order,” a middle finger prodded the paper with a dull thump, “which means no going near the house, or Greg.”

  She shrugged. “I’m not interested in either. But is this going to look bad at the hearing? Give him favor with the judge?”

  Mr. Collins leaned against the desk and curled a corner of his lip, wrinkles radiating to frame his eyes. “It shouldn’t, as long as you don’t break the order. Bailing you out of jail will not help your case. Otherwise, as long as you’re telling me everything, I think we can explain this away to make Greg look bad, and you good.”

  She shook her head again. “I’m not interested in bad or good. I just want out. I want to be free of all of it.” She paused. “And to keep my hotel. That’s it. That’s all I care about.”

  “I will do my best. Do you have the financial reports for me to begin reviewing yet?”

  “No. My accountant just compiled the information this afternoon, and I was going to put it all into a spreadsheet for you, then this happened.”

  He nodded. “Understood. Can you get it to me by Friday?”

  “Yes.”

  He stood. “Okay then. Don’t worry about this, Ms. Winters. It’s a flex of muscle, nothing more. Don’t break the order and you’ll be fine.”

  She rose to her feet, a little steadier now, insides less tumultuous. “Thank you, Mr. Collins. I think you’ve set my mind at ease.”

  Outside, Shannon settled into the driver’s seat, mind immediately turned to the next meeting, the one with Triston. Judging from his attitude at the hotel, it wasn’t going to go as smoothly as the one she’d just left. Pulling out into traffic, she wondered if, this time, it was just too late for them.

  Chapter Thirty One

  The restaurant was a busy place that evening as rain raged outside for the first time in more than two weeks. Shannon sat with butterflies fluttering in her stomach, listening to the angry droplets of water pound at the window panes, and took an anxious sip of her Sprite. Triston was five minutes late, and she was beginning to wonder if he was coming at all.

  She lifted her eyes to watch couple after couple after family pass by, happily enjoying one another’s company with laughs, conversations and familiar subtle touches. Shannon glanced over a shoulder to the entryway, and her heart stopped. Triston passed through the entryway, motioning in her direction to the maître d’, and continued with barely a pause. His head remained high as he wove through the crowd, turning more than one woman’s head.

  Shannon swallowed hard. Jeans and a fitted t-shirt flattered him well.

  “Hi, Shy.” He eased into the chair across from her
and leaned back. The friendliness in his voice didn’t disguise a tightened face or guarded posture.

  Her voice trembled as she said his name, eyes moistening. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, but she had. Insecurity was such an ugly monster. “I’m … I’m so sorry.”

  He glanced downward, then leaned forward with elbows leaning against his knees. “Do you really think I’m like Greg?”

  Slowly, she shook her head in deliberate motion, unable to find the words.

  “Listen. I’ll fight for you, whatever it takes. But not if you honestly think I’m going to treat you like Greg has. If you think that little of me –"

  “Oh, isn’t this cozy?”

  Shannon and Triston both looked upward, so intent on their conversation they never saw or heard Veronica approach.

  Triston stood.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me to join you, Triston? It’ll be a chance for us all to catch up.” She glanced at Shannon. “It’ll bring back so many memories, don’t you think, Shannon?”

  Shannon shook her head with slitted eyes. “I’m not interested in taking a walk down memory lane with you, Veronica. Seems pretty obvious, don’t you think?”

  Veronica giggled as she turned to face Triston. “Jealously is such an ugly thing on her, isn’t it?”

  “Veronica, this is bordering on harassment. If this continues, I’m going to need to pull the contract.”

  She tapped his shoulder. “Don’t be silly, Triston. At the size of that contract, you’d be shooting Keyes Associates in the foot. You’re too smart for that.”

  Shannon shifted the gaze from Veronica to Triston. He had been telling her the truth. Of course he was. How could she doubt him?

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you out of my personal life. Please leave us alone.”