Wishing Well(87)

Sympathy was obvious in his expression, that and the open intimacy of a man who truly cared for a woman. “I guess there’s one more mystery we haven’t yet solved, one secret I never mentioned.” His lips curled at the corners. “I never slept with you, Penelope. Not once. All those nights in my room had been my brother.”

“What?” Her eyes widened, disbelief a shadow over her thoughts. “I don’t understand.”

“Are you angry?” he asked, genuine curiosity a note on his fluid voice.

“No,” she answered. “I think I should be, but in a way, it only makes me more sad to know I’d been his all along.”

Inclining his head in agreement, Vincent explained, “From the night he stole you from the masquerade ball, I knew you were special to him. You were the first woman he felt compelled to chase after. That night was the first that he’d stepped out of his self-imposed prison. And I couldn’t take that from him. But,” he paused, the hint of a grin on his lips, “knowing how he was and knowing how rebellious you could be, I couldn’t just slap the two of you together without both of you learning how to behave. You needed to learn submission to a man such as him, and Maurice needed to learn how to control his urges. I didn’t want either of you to walk away injured, physically or emotionally. Once I felt you were both ready to know each other, I sent you down to the basement that day.”

Cocking a brow, Penelope mentioned, “Yet you let me go down on you in your office?”

Vincent’s laughter boomed through the small room, true joy in the sound and in the expression on his face. “I am but a man, Penelope. Sometimes these things cannot be helped.”

She would have laughed herself if the door hadn’t opened, if the guard hadn’t stepped through to lead her away. Vincent darted a glance in his direction and sighed. “It seems it’s time for this interview to end. Thank you for agreeing to come talk to me.”

Hating the tears that poured from her eyes, Penelope could barely speak around the lump clogging her throat. “And thank you for being honest.”

With the guard standing and listening, she couldn’t say everything else she wanted. Like how she would miss him. Like how she didn’t hate him. Like how she would mourn him when he was no longer in the world.

By the look on his face, he knew what she was thinking without her having to speak a word. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

She nodded. “Yes. I’ll be there to walk with you into whatever comes next.”

“Thank you,” he answered as she stood to leave.

And with one last glance over her shoulder, Penelope saw Vincent watching her leave, his shoulders rolled back, his face masculine and refined, his arrogance still obvious in the green of his eyes. Both he and Maurice both had been far too beautiful to be real.

“Goodbye, Vincent,” she called out.

“Goodbye, Meadow,” he answered.

Led through the gates, Penelope was escorted out of Faiville Prison, and she would return for the last time the following morning to watch Vincent Mercier die.





CHAPTER FORTY


Penny


The sun hadn’t so much as crested the horizon when I sat on my small hotel balcony the next morning, my eyes practically swollen shut by the tears that wouldn’t stop falling, my heart barely beating as my mind begged this day to never begin. If it were possible to stop time, I would have done so, remaining in permanent stasis, giving up the next rising sun, the next hour, the next second just to keep Vincent Mercier from never being executed.

Already the city was applauding his death, the media setting up their camps outside Faiville Prison, the reporters keeping in touch by delivering brief live broadcasts detailing the anxious energy of the people camped outside the prison’s gates.

And the reporters who wouldn’t be telling their tales live from on scene were busy behind their desks reminding their viewers why Vincent Mercier was being killed.

Four lives lost: Barron Billings, émilie Lapierre, Penelope Graham and another woman it had taken them months and dental records to identify. Her name was Candace Ray, an exotic dancer who had given a show at the Wishing Well on the night of their annual ball, and who had disappeared four days later never to be heard from again. At least until the cadaver dogs had sniffed out her bones. Her initial disappearance had never been connected to Wishing Well since she’d given two other performances since that night, but the media had speculated that Vincent had invited her back, had slept with her and killed her before burying her in the garden.

Her parents would be in attendance for the execution, happy for the justice their daughter would receive. It was too bad they didn’t know that justice had already been given on the night Maurice Mercier had taken his life. Barron’s parents would be there as well, with absolutely no idea that their precious son was a fucking rapist.

I didn’t believe Maurice killed Candace on purpose, and I was sure her death occurred during one of his fits, but Vincent had taken the blame for that death onto himself in order to protect his younger brother, had claimed in court that he’d enjoyed taking her life.

Anything to distract the police, the lawyers, the judges or jury from looking in Maurice’s direction. Vincent made himself a monster in their eyes so that they had no reason to suspect another man.

I wanted to slap him for his stupidity, and kiss him at the same time for the selflessness of what he’d done. When I first met that man, he was all about himself. People were nothing but pawns to be played. Nothing mattered except that which benefited him. The world revolved around Vincent Mercier and every other person’s value was worthless unless they had something they could contribute to him.