Breaking Beauty: A Second Chance Romance Page 2

  The pain stabs me in the heart as it’s always done. I have an invisible knife that set up residency there and twists every so often reminding me of the pain I felt when I found out the truth.

  The tears burn behind my eyes as the past threatens to unravel me again but I take that pain and form it into an emotion worth hanging onto. Hatred. Seeing them today has revealed that nothing has changed. The last five years have just blurred the picture temporarily because now that picture is back in focus and sharper than ever and now - it’s payback time.

  3

  The cab pulls into the drive of the house I grew up in. As I look at the impressive façade of a house designed to impress, I feel—nothing. It surprises me because I have come to associate this house with every bad memory in my life and thought it would scare me. It doesn’t.

  The driver whistles and says with envy, “Man, some people have all the luck. What I wouldn’t give for a house like this.”

  Leaning forward, I say dully, “I wouldn’t give you a quarter for it. I’m guessing your home is richer than this one in all the ways that count. Don’t be sucked in by appearances because this house is an empty shell. Only bad memories live here and I would trade your home for mine in a heartbeat.”

  He looks concerned and I smile wryly. “Take no notice of me, I’m just a bitter shell of the woman I once was.”

  I see a genuine concern in his eyes as he says softly, “Then why don’t we just head back the way we came and save yourself the trouble?”

  “Because trouble is something I no longer fear. I’ve spent many hours dealing with trouble since I left and the woman I am now is very different to the one who walked out those doors five years ago. If you feel sorry for anyone, save your pity for the people who live here - not me. I’ve moved on and this…” I wave my hand dismissively around me. “Means nothing to me anymore.”

  He nods and turns to take a last look before starting the engine. “Well, darlin’, when you’re ready to leave just call. No charge.”

  I smile. “No charge, huh?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to mess with a woman like you, now that would be pretty foolish of me wouldn’t you say?”

  He winks and I laugh for the first time in what now seems like years. “You’re a wise man…”

  “Richie.”

  “A wise man, Richie. I doubt these people are so wise and it will be fun educating them.”

  As I step from the cab, he calls, “Hey!”

  I turn to face him and he says cheekily, “It was a pleasure darlin’ and if you need a place to stay….”

  “Thanks for the offer, honey but I think I’m fine and dandy.”

  Grinning, I turn away and refocus on the job in hand and as the car makes the steady progress back down the driveway, I head toward the past and all its bitter memories.

  Before I even raise a hand to ring the large bell, the door opens and I see a familiar face looking at me with pure emotion. Swallowing hard, I say brightly, “Martha, it’s good to see you.”

  Martha Edwards is our housekeeper and the only woman I love inside these walls. The tears splash onto her beaming face and she envelops me in a huge hug, reminding my senses what a good person smells like. Martha always smelled of cookies and lemon. Don’t ask me why but there was always that comfort in both the woman herself and the smell that surrounded her.

  Pulling back, she wipes her tears away and pulls me inside. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Angelica.”

  “I’ve lost nothing, Martha, nothing important, anyway.”

  She shakes her head and looks sad. “It’s not right. He was still your father.”

  “In name only, Martha, you know that.”

  I look around and see that nothing has changed and feel the walls closing in on me. All around are the memories crowding to the surface to weaken my resolve. I hear his loud angry voice booming through the walls and shiver a little. Martha takes my arm and says kindly, “Your old room is just how you left it, although I do make up the bed with fresh linen and clean every week. Nothing has changed there.”

  I take a look at the woman who appears to be the only one that cares and say in a kinder voice, “I’ve missed you, Martha.”

  She flushes and I can tell my words mean everything to her. “I’ve missed you too, dear. This house lost its sunshine the day you left.”

  Shrugging, I say sadly, “It was always a dark place to me, Martha.”

  The sound of cars pulling up outside concentrate our minds and Martha looks worried. “They’re back, I should get back to the kitchen.”

  She hurries away, leaving me to walk steadily up the large staircase toward the room that was both my sanctuary and prison combined—my bedroom.

  When I head inside, it strikes me that nothing has changed. Looking around the room I knew so well, I could close my eyes and remember every small detail. It surprises me that I feel nothing as I look at my past preserved so well in the present. The girl who lived here is nothing like me. She was scared, vulnerable and trusting. She believed adults when they spoke their lies and she never thought anything could hurt her.

  Walking across to the window, I run my fingers over the glass pane. It feels like yesterday that he first visited me here. Sebastian would throw stones at my window in the dead of night and then climb the trellis and I let him in. At first, we would talk and plot our next escapade. Then, as the years passed, we enjoyed a different kind of relationship.

  My heart starts beating as I remember the first time we took our relationship all the way. I had just turned eighteen and that night we both knew it was time.

  As I sit back on the bed, I remember how I felt that night. I wanted it so badly and I wanted it to be him. It was always him. Even then he was in control. Just two years older than me but so experienced.

  “Angelica, are you in here?”

  My mind is brought back to the present as my mother stares at me from the doorway, looking concerned. Nodding, I sit back against the pillows as she ventures in, looking as if she’d rather be anywhere than here.

  “It’s good to see you where you belong.”

  “Is it?” I shrug off her comment and face her with a frozen expression.

  Sighing, she sits beside me and, as the bed dips, it reminds me of the last time she sat here. That night - the night my world collapsed forever.

  Clearing her throat, she says tentatively, “I’m glad you came. It’s what he would have wanted.”

  I feel my chest constrict as she mentions my father. “I expect he would.”

  Either she doesn’t notice the coolness to my tone, or she chooses not to acknowledge it because she laughs softly. “You know, he never gave up wishing you would return. I know he hired many private investigators to find you but they never did. Why is that?”

  I shrug. “Because I didn’t want to be found.”

  “But why, Angelica? Surely we could have talked it through.”

  “You think?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Feeling the bitterness return, I snap, “Because nobody in this family ever listened to me, so why should that be an exception? What I wanted didn’t matter. It was always what he wanted for the good of the family. He was prepared to sacrifice his own daughter’s happiness for self-gain and I will never forgive him for that.”

  She takes a deep breath and says in a cold voice, “You’re emotional, there’s no talking to you when you’re like this.”

  I say nothing because what’s the point? We’ve been over this a million times before and she will never understand me.

  She takes my silence as her cue to carry on right where we left off and smiles brightly. “Anyway, none of that matters because you’re home now. I’m sure over the weeks we will learn what happened when you left but now, we must send your father off in style.”

  She stands and holds out her hand which I pointedly ignore. Looking slightly put out she hisses, “Don’t be difficult, Angelica, you owe it to your father to honor
his memory. Now, join me downstairs and do your duty. If anyone asks, we’ll tell them you’ve been traveling around Europe to educate your mind.”

  She looks at me critically and shakes her head. “Maybe you should change. Your clothes are still in your closet and I don’t think the length of your skirt is strictly appropriate for a funeral. Shall we say downstairs in ten?”

  She doesn’t even wait for my answer before she heads off, the door clicking shut behind her.

  As I stare at the wall, I feel the frustration building as I realize I’m right back where I started. She will never change and it’s obvious she wants to brush off the last five years and shut it away in a box never to be opened. Maybe the old Angelica would do just that but Angel is a very different person, and I didn’t come here to pick up where I left off. No, they are about to see that their little girl grew up and when she did, she grew sharp teeth to bite them with.

  4

  I don’t change. I don’t even fix my hair or make-up. Instead, I take one last look at my room and bid it a silent farewell. I won’t be back, not willingly, anyway.

  As I click the door shut on the past, I walk toward the present. I hear the hum of voices below me as I descend the large, impressive staircase. I pass the family portraits that sneer at me and I battle against the scent of polish as I hold the wooden handrail.

  Feeling my heart thump with every step I take, I move toward the door to freedom.

  I recognize a few faces, mainly associates of my fathers and don’t acknowledge their curious looks and insincere smiles. Luckily, my mother and hated sister are nowhere to be seen, so I walk with purpose to the door and almost make it before a hand grasps my arm and a quivering voice says, “Miss. Angelica, may I have a private word?”

  Looking in the direction of the voice, I see a small, ancient looking man, wearing a black suit with a white shirt and black tie. His hair is combed to disguise the bald patch on his head and his eyes shine behind a small pair of spectacles. He clears his throat. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Mr. Featherstone, your father’s attorney, God rest his soul.”

  I say nothing and he says rather firmly, “May I have a word before you leave?”

  Feeling a little curious, I nod and follow him into my father’s den, which leads off from the entrance hall. As the door closes, I look around and feel the pain return as memories of my father surround me. Dark wood paneling clings to the walls and a large antique looking desk dominates the room. Bookcases stand proudly to attention, crowded with ancient looking books that I swear he never once read. You see, everything in this room was chosen for appearances. Maximum effect to make it look as if he was an educated man - he wasn’t. He was just lucky and spent the rest of his miserable life trying to appear more respectable than the crook he really was.

  Taking a deep breath, I try to hold it together a little longer and face Mr. Featherstone. “How may I help you?”

  He looks a little worried and shakes his head. “This is most unusual, Miss. Johnson but by the looks of it, you were about to leave and I couldn’t let you go without telling you.”

  “Telling me what?”

  He clears his throat and fiddles with his tie as he whispers, “That you have been named in your father’s last will and testament.”

  I feel a little surprised because my father never gave me anything other than the roof over my head and his sharp tongue. The attorney shifts uncomfortably. “This is most unorthodox but I implore you to attend the reading of the will.”

  “When is it?”

  My tone is sharp but I can’t help that. I’m struggling and need some fresh air because it feels as if my father is here in this very room.

  “Monday, 9am sharp, in this room.”

  “Here?”

  I can’t believe my luck. So much for a fast getaway. “Yes, it’s a delicate matter but I need you to be present because it concerns you, among others, of course.”

  Sighing, I nod. “Ok, I’ll be there.”

  I turn to leave and he says sharply, “Miss. Johnson...”

  He smiles. “It will be worth your while; I can promise you that at least.”

  I say nothing and leave him standing there because I don’t trust myself to speak. Whatever my father has planned in death will not be to my advantage, that I’m sure of. Maybe I should just get out now while I still can because if I know my father, I will regret coming back.

  The hallway is empty as I head toward the door and I almost make it before I hear, “You’ve got a nerve.”

  I freeze on the spot and dig deep inside myself because I’d know that hideous drawl anywhere. Turning, I return the cool look she shoots me tenfold and sneer, “Look what the cat dragged in.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I never left, what’s the matter, sis, you talking about yourself again?”

  Just for a moment, we stare at each other with a hatred neither one of us can disguise. After a few tense seconds she snarls, “Don’t let me stop you from leaving, I just wanted to make sure you did.”

  “And why is that exactly? I have nothing you want and neither do you.”

  “Are you sure about that? I mean, last time we met, I had something you very much wanted. Shame he didn’t want you but that’s the luck of the draw.”

  I feel the rage overpowering my reasoning but don’t give her the benefit of seeing it. Instead, I laugh softly, “From what I saw, he doesn’t want you either. Shame really, all that scheming and plotting for nothing. I mean, surely yours must be the longest engagement in history, what’s the matter, are you losing your touch?”

  I see I’ve hit a nerve when she hisses, “How dare you come back here and say such vicious lies. Sebastian loves me and can’t wait to marry me. You’re just jealous because he chose me over you.”

  Advancing toward her, I snarl, “Are you sure about that? I mean, did he really choose you, or was he made to choose you. I think there’s a difference and we both know which one really happened.”

  She raises her hand and I catch it as she makes to slap me hard across the face. As I twist her arm, I relish the pain in her eyes as I sneer, “Look at how pathetic you are. So afraid for her failed relationship you’re worried that I’ll destroy the last shred of it now I’m back. Well, relax sis because I’m not staying and even if I was, I wouldn’t want him.”

  Pushing her roughly back, I spin on my heels and head purposefully to the door and her bitter words follow me. “Keep walking, Angelica because nobody wants you here, they never did.”

  Slamming the door behind me, I almost run down the steps and then as I reach the bottom, I could kick myself. I left my purse inside along with my cell. Great, now what?

  5

  I just can’t face going back inside. Coming here at all was a huge test in itself and I need to leave before the shell I’ve protected myself in proves it’s not as hard as I thought it was.

  Instead, I make my way around the side of the house to where I know I’ll be safe, the kitchen.

  As I walk, I note that nothing has changed since I left. The flower borders are still weed free and manicured to the point of ugliness. I’ve grown to hate the perfection that man deems beautiful, to me it’s ugly and false. True beauty is in the most barren of landscapes. A lone plant clinging to life against the elements. Beauty can flourish in the hardest of places and that is, as its name suggests, the purest form of beauty. This contrived perfection sickens rather than pleases and I feel the stench of the past returning to suffocate me as I try not to look as I pass. By the time I reach the kitchen, I feel nauseous and just pray that Martha is the sole occupant.

  Peering through the window, I see her working away as she’s always done. God only knows why she stays because surely, she would have a better life anywhere but here, but she’s loyal and I know would never leave my family. I tap gently on the window and she looks up sharply. A smile breaks across her face as she sees me peering in and she looks around her before heading across to the door. “Angelica, what are you doing
out there?”

  “Listen Martha, I need your help.”

  She smiles and I don’t miss the curiosity in her eyes as I say quickly, “I’ve left my purse on my bed and wondered if you could fetch it. I’m sorry to ask but I won’t go back inside because I can’t risk seeing anyone.”

  I know she feels bad because her face clouds with a pained expression and she shakes her head. “It’s not right, Miss. Angelica. You shouldn’t be afraid to go into your own home. Come inside and I’ll make you a hot drink and we can talk it through.”

  I feel a little panicked because I need to leave before my resolve crumbles, so I say rather cruelly, “Don’t question me, Martha, I just need this one favor - please!”

  I try not to feel bad as I see the hurt expression in her eyes. I can’t possibly take her up on her kind offer because a bit of kindness goes a long way with me at the moment and I don’t want to reveal that I’m way out of my depth here because the thing that scares me the most, is running into him, which is sure to happen if I went back inside. In fact, I think I’ve got off lightly so far and don’t want to push my luck, so I plead, “Please, Martha, I’m begging you.”

  Nodding, she whispers, “Of course. Stay right where you are and I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “No, I’ll meet you out the front. I need to be able to make a swift getaway if anyone sees me.”

  Looking unhappy, she turns away and I breathe a sigh of relief. Thank god, I knew she would understand, she always did.

  I make my way around the side of the house, retracing my steps and feel grateful that it’s starting to rain. Hopefully, the weather will keep the guests inside, giving me time to get the hell out of here. I don’t register that I’m getting wet and I don’t care that I’m shivering because it’s a small price to pay for freedom.