Healing Kiss, page 21
Since she’d been home, she’d kept herself away from social media and the local news, afraid she’d stumble upon news of Tristan. But maybe that had been the wrong tactic to take. Maybe Hannah was right. Maybe if she heard about and saw Tristan again, she could move past her feelings for him and get on with her life.
She pulled her phone from the pocket of her jeans and opened the browser. Before she changed her mind, she typed “Tristan King” in the window and the date and hit go. Almost immediately, a news article popped up with Tristan’s picture.
Her hands trembled as she clicked on the headline, which read, “Software Mogul King Participates in Annual Gates Mills Parade of Homes Tonight.” The article indicated Tristan’s house would be the star attraction of the event. Those who paid the price could enjoy a tour of the mansion followed by a garden party under the stars.
The article didn’t mention Angelina. Most likely, she’d be there, though.
Lillian swallowed hard. A counter on the website indicated there were still thirty-two tickets remaining. If Lillian saw Tristan again and how happy he was with Angelina, maybe she could gain some closure. She owed him a thank you for saving her life. Maybe this would be the best opportunity, and she wouldn’t feel so awkward? Since she no longer faced a life-or-death situation, more than likely the bond between them wouldn’t be as strong, and it would be freeing to see him again.
Her fingers hovered over the buy button. Her pulse sped up, and her chest tightened, but she couldn’t bring herself to click. Who was she kidding? Wouldn’t Tristan resent the intrusion again into his personal life? Wasn’t that how he’d reacted when Angelina said she wanted him back after she hurt him? Lillian had already caused him enough trouble. He was soon to be a married man and happy with his choice. Her appearance would only cause stress and make him unhappy.
She closed the browser and shoved her phone back in her pocket before she could change her mind. Tristan deserved his happy-ever-after with Angelina, and Lillian had no business disrupting it. She would just walk around the duck pond and then make her way home to help Hannah with dinner.
She strolled toward a group of ducks, who were taking turns dunking themselves upside down in the water to search for food. Maybe tomorrow she would see about getting her nursing license back. Maybe tomorrow she could forget about Tristan for a little while. Maybe tomorrow she could think about her future without feeling this never-ending heartache.
She counted one, two, three, four, five, six, seven ducks. Their little bottoms looked white and fluffy, while their orange feet paddled furiously to keep them afloat.
She pulled out her phone and snapped a picture. It took several failed shots before she managed to capture one where all seven ducks had their bottoms up at the same time.
She smiled at their antics, and for the first time in a long while, she felt a glimmer of something other than overwhelming sorrow. It was a start.
Tomorrow, she would take another step toward getting her life back in order.
Chapter Twenty-six
“You did what?” Lillian choked, her fork poised in the air.
Hannah remained unfazed by Lillian’s reaction. She, Lillian, and their dad were sitting around the dinner table, eating pork chops and stuffing Hannah had made with no help from Lillian. She’d offered, but Hannah was wiser and had Lillian set the table instead.
“I ordered two tickets to the Parade of Homes tonight—Dad’s not up for it, but I am.” Hannah ignored Lillian’s shocked gaze, her tone unapologetic.
“You had no right.”
“If I left it up to you, nothing would happen.”
“I told you I’m not ready to see him again.”
“You’re never going to be suddenly ready to face him, Lil. But you’re carrying around a terrific burden—a heck of a lot of guilt and an irrational fear Tristan hates you. It’s crippling you emotionally and preventing you from moving forward. I can’t stand to watch your suffering any longer. It’s time you release these feelings, don’t you think?”
The trouble with having an empathic sister? Lillian couldn’t argue with Hannah’s assessment of her emotional state. And staring into her sister’s auburn eyes, a fragile barrier inside Lillian crumbled, and she understood with clarity how important it was to see Tristan again, to be able to let go and move on, to reclaim her inner peace.
Lillian glanced at her dad, who raised his eyebrows to let her know he agreed with Hannah, but wisely said nothing. She stabbed at the pork chop with her fork and knife, cutting off a small piece and shoving it into her mouth. Hannah’s talent made it impossible for Lillian not to see the truth of her own emotional state, but she didn’t have to like it.
“Fine,” she said around the bite of pork chop. “What time did you say it was?”
“I didn’t, but it runs from seven to nine and there are around a dozen homes to see. Tristan’s is the last one on the list, but we can skip the rest and just stop there if you want.”
No, Lillian didn’t want to stop there. Just the thought of seeing Tristan again made her stomach queasy and her legs shake and her palms sweat. She grabbed her glass of water to give herself time to formulate an answer, and in her haste, ended up tipping it over. Water and ice splashed across the table, spilling onto the floor and nearly landing in her dad’s lap. He moved his chair out from the table in the nick of time.
“Oh, geez. I’m sorry, Dad.”
“It’s okay…a little water never hurt anyone,” he said.
Lillian went to fetch a paper towel, but Hannah beat her to it, dabbing at the spill while her dad refilled her water glass.
“Thanks,” Lillian said, feeling like a child.
“I take it you’d rather not be first to Tristan’s house?” Hannah asked with an arch of her brows, referring to their earlier conversation.
Lillian sighed. “Last is better, I think.”
Hannah smiled, her gaze sympathetic, and tossed the paper towel into the trash, brushing her hands together. “Well, then, let’s leave at six thirty, so we’ll have plenty of time to tour the other homes before we get to Tristan’s, and you’ll have plenty of time to think about what you’ll say to him.”
Lillian swallowed the piece of pork chop and tried not to think about what the next few hours would bring. While she did not expect Tristan to forgive her, she did hope seeing him with Angelina would provide the closure she needed. She could wish them well and put an end to dwelling on the situation.
Her dad offered to load the dishwasher, so all too soon, she and Hannah had changed their clothes and were on their way to the first stop on the Parade of Homes, a 1920s brick Tudor–style home with a round turret on one side.
Lillian glanced down at her brown skirt, flowered blouse, and wedges. She’d carefully chosen an outfit that was both casual and chic and cool enough for the warm June evening.
Hannah pulled behind a line of parked cars on the street—apparently, the tours were popular, as the line stretched around the block.
The first home on the list was both beautiful and practical. Its elegant bow window in the living room housed a window seat, and when they had made their way inside, Lillian eyed the books lining the built-in bookshelves.
The hosts were gracious, inviting their visitors to look around. The sisters passed through a gleaming kitchen and formal dining room and cozy bedrooms to make even the pickiest homeowner envious. The tour ended in the postage-stamp-size backyard, and they were moving on to the next house.
And so it continued, each house they visited both bigger and more expensive than the one before. With each stop, Lillian’s stomach squeezed tighter, her mouth grew dryer, and every sentence she rehearsed in her mind for the coming meeting with Tristan seemed to be the wrong thing to say.
Should she simply say, “Thank you?” The words didn’t seem grateful enough for the risk he’d taken to save her life. If she said, “Congratulations on your engagement,” it would be insincere since she certainly didn’t feel like celebrating the occasion. “I lied and am in love with you,” was much too direct.
“This is it,” Hannah said as they left the sixth house, a Frank Lloyd Wright–style ranch with a sunroom that seemed to bring the great outdoors inside. “Our last stop is Tristan’s. Are you ready?”
Lillian cleared her throat, but it didn’t seem to open her vocal cords. Maybe she was fretting for no reason? Maybe he wouldn’t even be at home? Not all the owners were present to show guests around. Maybe Tristan had better things to do tonight than entertaining a bunch of ordinary citizens like herself?
“Lillian?”
“Er…yes, I’m ready…or I will be by the time we get there.”
“It’ll be fine. I promise. Just be honest and speak from the heart. The rest will take care of itself.”
“What if…”
“He tells you to scram? He won’t. I told you he cares for you. Be courageous.”
Lillian hesitated. “Maybe I’m making a mistake? He’s engaged to be married. He’s obviously moved on.”
“Seeing him again will help you move on. This is your chance to gain closure, remember? Telling him how you feel is the first stop on the road to recovery.”
Lillian sighed and tried to calm her racing heart. Her sister was right. No matter what Tristan’s reaction was to her arrival, what ultimately mattered was the chance for Lillian to talk to him one last time—to see for herself that he was happy with Angelina and moving forward with his life. Maybe then Lillian could move forward with hers.
“Are you ready?” Hannah asked a few minutes later when they pulled through the gate and into the familiar, long, winding driveway. They followed the signs, which pointed to a parking lot Tristan had on the grounds. A shuttle bus was parked there, and people were boarding it, probably to be driven to the house.
Lillian nodded, but she couldn’t stem her anxious thoughts. What was she doing here, tonight, invading Tristan’s home? Why did she think this visit would accomplish anything?
“Lil, you’ve got this.” Her sister must have sensed her fear and doubt because as soon as they parked and exited the car, she linked her arm with Lillian’s, and they walked together to the nearest shuttle bus.
The short walk felt a little like Lillian was being led to her doom.
“What’s the worst he could say?” Hannah asked when the silence between them stretched a little too long.
“Get lost?” Lillian offered.
Hannah smiled, and if Lillian weren’t so shaken up at the prospect of seeing Tristan again, she might have seen the humor in the situation and responded in kind. However, her brain had turned to mush, and her stomach was doing somersaults and backflips. Lillian was pretty certain the blood in her veins wasn’t circulating because her legs were so damn weak.
“Buckle up, buttercup. You’ve got this. Be brave.”
They were dropped off at the entrance to the house, where a lady with long dark hair and high cheekbones—a Cher lookalike—greeted everyone.
Not Angelina, thank God. Maybe Lillian had worried for no reason. Maybe Tristan wasn’t even home. Maybe he was on a hot date with his fiancée.
“My name is Jasmine, and I’ll be your tour guide this evening.”
Three months ago, Lillian had stepped into the same foyer, as nervous and fearful as she was tonight. Now, she gazed up at the same chandelier and noticed the same security camera pointed her direction. She had the insane desire to wave.
“Follow me,” Jasmine motioned.
The sisters trailed Jasmine into the same large room Tristan had held his fundraiser the night Lillian first met him. She looked around the room, but she didn’t see Tristan. There was no live band or waiters with food and liquor, either. There was no party in progress. Her heart sank, but she wasn’t sure if it was because the prospect of seeing him again had dimmed or because she had trouble dealing with the memories the room generated.
As Lillian and Hannah soon discovered, Jasmine was one of at least a dozen tour guides gathered with groups of twenty or thirty guests surrounding them. She beckoned to one corner of the room, and Lillian and Hannah followed along with the others in their circle.
Jasmine turned and flashed her entourage a welcoming smile. “Thanks for stopping by tonight and supporting our Parade of Homes, which raises money for scientific research. The tour should take approximately thirty minutes to complete, followed by a garden party for those who paid for that option. Before we get started, I’d like to remind you no pictures are permitted of the inside of the home to protect the privacy of the homeowner.”
Lillian, who had pulled out her cell, thinking to snap a photo for memory’s sake, shoved the device back in her purse.
Jasmine smiled and gestured around the room. “You are standing in the living room of the Hickory Farms estate, currently owned by software guru and local philanthropist Tristan King. The home has a long history, dating back to the 1920s. Located on over thirteen acres, as you will soon see, it includes twelve thousand, eight hundred square feet of living space, and is valued at two point nine million dollars.”
The group oohed and aahed—everyone except Lillian, who searched for Tristan’s tall form among the crowd with no success.
Jasmine went on to describe details of the architecture, including the marble in the grand foyer, the ornate crystal chandelier, and the white-washed brick walls, embellished with paintings by several well-known artists.
A few minutes later, they were heading up the winding staircase, which Lillian remembered led to the long hallway and Tristan’s office, where she had pleaded with him to save her sister’s life, and later, destroyed any affection he might have felt with her lies.
“Notice how every space flows effortlessly to the next and the tones are pleasing and warm. Each room contains plank hardwood floors, brick accents, and neutral walls, all lending to the home’s understated elegance.”
Jasmine continued, opening doors and leading the group through room after room, but Lillian was only half-listening. Memories haunted her…Tristan carrying her up the stairs and laying her on the bed in the ultra-feminine guest bedroom. She hadn’t thought about it at the time, but now she wondered if he’d decorated the room for Angelina. Or worse, maybe Angelina had selected the furnishings.
“This is where the owner conducts his business,” Jasmine continued, opening the door to Tristan’s office. “The windows overlook the estate’s backyard and the incredible garden, designed by renowned British landscape designer, Stu Wellington.”
More oohs and ahhs followed.
“Notice the painting over the desk. It is called ‘Cleveland by Night,’ an original produced by local artist Henri Roberts.”
Lillian paused at the window, recalling how haunted Tristan’s eyes were the evening he’d revealed his hopelessness in the face of his mother’s illness. The stray tree branch, which had insisted on tapping against the window that night so long ago, was silent, echoing the last couple months of Lillian’s life.
“Lil?”
She turned to look at Hannah, who stood in the doorway, her brow creased. Where had all the guests disappeared to?
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Lillian moved toward Hannah. “I didn’t realize the tour had continued, that’s all.”
“It’s okay if you want to cry, Lil. Tristan isn’t here to see, and you know I won’t tell anyone. It’s not good to keep all that hurt inside. Let it out.”
“No, no, that’s not…I don’t need to cry.” She swiped at the tears at the corners of her eyes, and her sister wisely said nothing. “I’m just feeling sentimental, that’s all. Let’s catch up to the others.”
She continued moving forward, and Hannah followed, but the next room was not one Lillian cared to see.
“This is the master bedroom,” Jasmine was saying. “It was recently renovated to reflect the taste of its owner.”
The tears were coming faster now, gushing from some unknown fount of sadness, spilling from Lillian’s eyes in heavy rivulets. She couldn’t do this…couldn’t look at the spot where they’d first made love, where she had marveled at the glorious perfection of his body and fantasized about a future together. Couldn’t hear again the whispered words, “You’re mine.” Couldn’t remember the way his body had pressed against hers, filled her up, stamping out years of loneliness.
“I need some air,” she whispered to Hannah.
“I’ll come with you.”
“Stay, enjoy the tour.” Her voice sounded more forceful than she’d intended. Sometimes she needed a break from her sister’s uncanny emotional antenna. “I’ve seen most of the rooms up here already, but you haven’t. They’re worth seeing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’ll meet you downstairs.” She didn’t wait for her sister to respond, but turned and left the room, hoping Hannah wouldn’t follow. She needed time to be alone, to release the feelings she’d been hanging onto, feelings which would never be reciprocated.
She moved down the grand staircase and into the open foyer. The double doors leading outside had been closed.
She gripped the railing to avoid falling down the stairs in case her trembling knees gave out. She must find a way to let Tristan—or at least the memory of him etched in her heart—go.
Chapter Twenty-seven
A gentleman standing near the door turned to look at Lillian with a small frown.
“Can I help you?” he rasped, his cool gaze not without a tinge of suspicion.
He was handsome in a rugged sort of way, broad-shouldered and muscular. His golden-blond hair looked like it could use a comb, but his beard was neatly trimmed, and his silver eyes seemed to pin her in place.
