Beneath This Mask (Beneath, #1)(68)

I tried levity to deflect. “Jeez. Why can’t you start with something easier? Like, why the heck I decided to cover my perfectly good arms with tattoos.”

My attempt at deflection failed. Juanita just raised a brow. “So, he was someone important. Duchesne, was it?” I didn’t like that she was speaking in the past tense.


“His name is Simon Duchesne.”

She eyed me shrewdly. “And he was important?”

I swallowed. “He is important.”

“And you love him.”

That one wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “Yes.”

“So now what?”

“I don’t know.” I stared down into the steam rising off my mug. I gave myself permission to be honest. “I want to go back, but if I were a better person, I wouldn’t even consider it. I should run as far and as fast as I can in the opposite direction. And I hate myself for not being strong enough to do it. That’s just one more reason he deserves better.”

“So you’ve decided to be your own judge, jury, and executioner? I didn’t realize you’d become a martyr.”

I bristled. “How is that being a martyr? Aren’t you supposed to put the people you love before yourself?

She ignored my question and countered with another of her own. “What would your Simon have to say if he were here listening to this?”

I pictured Simon’s strong features, flashing hazel eyes, and tousled dark hair. What would he say? I thought of the plane ticket. That was as clear of a message as he could send. “Probably something along the lines of ‘get the hell home where you belong’.”

“Then there’s your answer.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why does it have to be complicated?”

“Because he’s better off without me. Even if he doesn’t want to admit it.”

Juanita covered my fidgeting hand with hers. “And you? Are you better off without him? Isn’t that the real question you should be trying to answer?”

“I’m not worried about me—”

“Why not? Don’t you deserve the same consideration?” Her tone was no-nonsense. “You have to stop treating yourself as somehow being less because of what your father did. I’ve told you before, but clearly it didn’t make an impression. Your father’s actions are no reflection of your character, Charlotte. You need to quit thinking they are, or you’re going to spend the rest of your life running from something you can never escape.”

“But—”

“But nothing. Simon’s a grown man. You should let him make his own decision. If you love him, then he deserves that much. Anything else is a disservice to both of you.” Her dark eyes pinned me. “You’re not a stupid girl, Charlotte. So stop acting like you are. What other plan do you have? Keep running?”

I bowed my head, letting my hair fall into my face. “I’m still figuring that out.”

“My advice would be not to take too long to decide. Life only gives us so many chances at happiness. You’d do well not to waste this one.”





I watched the same two pieces of unclaimed luggage go around and around the baggage carousel. One was a hard case of golf clubs, and other was a tapestry-patterned bag that looked like something a grandmother would carry. My suspicion was confirmed when an airport employee loaded the flower-covered bag on a cart pushed by an older woman in tan orthopedic shoes. A man on a cell phone hauled the golf clubs away.

My hopes were sinking, but I refused to give up on her. She traveled light. No luggage didn’t mean no Charlie. But from my bench, I had a perfect view of all of the arriving travelers, and she hadn’t been among them. The gate agent had been able to confirm that the flight out of New York had been delayed, but the passengers aboard probably had enough time to make the New Orleans connection. Even at my most charming, the woman had refused to tell me one way or another whether Charlie had boarded either flight. Her murmured apologies about policies and data privacy didn’t calm the knots in my stomach. My call to Ivers didn’t give me anything either. He had no idea what Charlie had done after he’d left her at the U.S. Attorney’s Office. When I’d booked the flight, I’d once again debated whether to include a message for Ivers to pass along. But something had held me back. The conversation Charlie and I needed to have couldn’t take place through an intermediary. I was banking on the fact that the plane ticket would speak for itself.

How much clearer could I make it that I wanted her to come home? That I didn’t care who she was?

But I did care that she hadn’t trusted me. I hated knowing that she’d made a conscious decision to withhold the truth, even though I’d made it pretty damn clear that it didn’t matter what she was hiding. Well, as long as it wasn’t three husbands and a string of serial murders. I tried to put myself in her position, but even then, it sucked to know she hadn’t felt like she could trust me.


So I sat on my bench and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

When I finally rose, feeling like the metal slats had imprinted themselves on my ass, I had to face facts: I’d been waiting for a lot longer than four hours. I’d been waiting for months—even before she’d run. All I’d wanted from her was a sign that she was in this with me. A sign that we had a chance at something real together. And I’d gotten nothing.