what her parents had told her. She’d believed them even though much of what their relationship had been was more mist than substance. The fact that she’d survived at all was a miracle, the doctors said, and memory loss was the price that she paid for her survival. She’d done years of physical therapy, rounds of plastic surgery, seen countless specialists, but most of her life prior to that day was hazy at best. Except for Rafe Lawson. He was the only constant.
She longingly studied his picture before closing the cover of the computer. Much of what her life could have been was ripped from her, her body altered, her memory stolen. For years she’d been at the mercy of doctors and therapists and her parents, and bit by bit she began to create a new life. But she had to go back into the past. She owed it to herself and to Rafe. He loved her first and seeing her again would make him remember.
Rafe returned to his Louisiana home, soothed somewhat by his aunt’s calming words. She’d pulled him to the side shortly before he left to remind him that Dominique was his reflection and could have been his twin instead of Desiree’s. Dom lived for excitement, upsetting the status quo and making a splash. Add in the fact that she adored her big brother and it was no surprise that she wanted the world to share her joy. Not to mention that Dominique Lawson thrived on attention, even if the attention was vicarious. He grabbed his go-bag from the trunk and carried it inside, thankful that he didn’t have to use it. He shut the house door behind him, picked up the pile of mail he’d left on the table and turned on the lights against the overhanging gray of a new day. His aunt J was right. He and Dom were two sides of the same coin. He tugged off his jacket, tossed it on a side chair in the living room and dropped the mail on the couch, before turning on some music. Truth be told, the announcements and the pictures didn’t really bother him, but they bothered Avery. So, somehow, he was going to have to get Dom to put a halt to her personal public-relations campaign, and for his sisters Lee Ann and Desiree to loosen the reins of wedding planning. And he had to do all that without starting WWIII. Lucky me.
He crossed the living room to the bar and fixed a shot of bourbon and then flopped back on the couch. He took a deep swallow, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. On Sunday he would get with Dominique and straighten things out. End of that story. But he still had plenty of other business to handle now that he was home, and he intended to make a quick pit stop to New York to get with Q, since it was unlikely that he’d bring Muhammad to the mountain, before returning to Virginia.
A lot had been put on hold since Avery’s and his father’s injuries from the bombing in Paris. Even though his nightclub and his foundation had good people at the helm, he kept his hand in. Lack of oversight was the downfall of too many businesses, and he had no intention of letting his become a statistic.
He finished off his drink and went through a mental checklist of everything he needed to take care of in the next few days. One thing that nagged at him, and something that he and Avery never really discussed, was where they would live. His businesses were in Louisiana, but her job was in DC. He supposed it was an unspoken understanding that he would be the one to relocate. It was easier for him, of course. Didn’t mean he had to like it.
He blew out a breath and stretched his arm to gather up the mail he’d dumped on the other end of the couch, flipped through the envelopes and relegated each to either take care of or ignore. He stopped halfway, tossed everything else aside as he stared for a moment at the embossed return address of which he was very familiar with—the family attorney. Or rather his father’s attorney that the family used. How had he missed this?
Frowning, he turned the envelope over, ripped it open and pulled out the thick sheaf of folded papers. His head jerked back as he read the first page for the second time.
“What the hell...” His eyes ran over the words in utter disbelief and rising fury.
His father had always tried to control the lives of his children no matter how old they were or how far away they moved. But this! He hurled a string of expletives, picked up his phone to call his father but stopped. This conversation deserved a stare-you-in-the-eye sit down.
He shoved the pages back in the envelope, got up and put it in his go-bag. After he took care of his business here at home and in New York, his father’s office in DC would be his next stop. He pulled out his cell from his back pocket and swiped to his phone calls. He pressed the phone icon, leaned back and waited.
“Hey, darlin’.”
“Hi! I’m just walking in the door.”
“Oh. Okay. Go get settled. We can talk another time.”
“No. It’s fine.”
He heard a door close. “Everything good?”
“Yes. Kerry and I went to Baldwin’s tonight.”
He chuckled. “Love that place. Who was on set tonight?”
“House band. What about you? How was your visit?”
“Went well.” His gaze drifted to his bag and the envelope that stuck out. “Anyway, cher, you get yourself together. We’ll talk tomorrow. I’m kinda beat.”
“Okay. Tomorrow, then.” She paused. “I love you.”
“Love you, too, cher. No matter what. Rest well.”
“I will.”
Rafe pressed the icon to end the call and tossed the phone toward the far end of the couch.
Generally, after talking with Rafe, she always felt better, secure, uplifted, everything but what she felt now. She slipped out of her robe, turned back the sheets and crawled under the covers. Something was wrong. She felt it in the tone of Rafe’s voice. It wasn’t what he said, but what he didn’t.
Had he brought up her concerns about the wedding and it didn’t go well? Had he gotten into it with his sisters? She should have told him not to say anything. She was a big girl and didn’t need her husband-to-be running to her rescue. She was skilled in dealing with insurmountable obstacles. How difficult could three sisters be?
She turned on her side and switched off the nightstand lamp, but it was hours before she finally fell into an exhausted sleep.
* * *
Alice was busy in the kitchen when Avery wandered in close to noon.
“Well, well, there you are.” She wiped down the counter with a damp cloth. “You were up late.”
Avery plopped down on a counter chair. “Couldn’t sleep after I got in last night. Thought watching television would help. Sorry if I kept you up.”
“Not at all. I’m a night owl. Came down to make some warm milk and I saw the television light on under your door.” She came to stand beside Avery’s hunched form. “Are you feeling okay? You don’t look like yourself.”
Avery forced a smile. “Who do I look like?” she teased.
Alice placed a comforting hand on Avery’s stiff shoulder. “Like a woman who needs to talk.” She sat down.
Avery blinked rapidly. She lowered her head and then glanced briefly at Alice. The only female in her life that she’d confided in was Kerry. Growing into womanhood without her mom, there was a reluctance inside that kept her from forming any female bonds for fear that the bond would be broken, taken from her like her mother was. She had no frame of reference for mothering, even as she desperately craved it.
Tears, unbidden, slid from her eyes. Instinctively, Alice gathered Avery in her arms and held her close, let her cry. Tenderly she stroked her back and cooed soft words into Avery’s hair. “Let it out,” she soothed. “It’s all right.”
“I’m s-orry,” Avery