Rush and Restraint

Chapter Eleven

"You'd think you can take your wife home and not check her into to some shabby hotel," I teased Oliver as we pulled up into the parkade entrance of Whitewood Hotel which was a new luxury property Oliver had built about four years ago right in the heart of Cobalt Bay. Glowing with holiday lights on the outside, the sixty-something-story structure was a mix of old-world elegance and modern steel and glass lines—definitely a sight to behold. Dad once bragged on and on about how Oliver asked him he could name the hotel after our beach house in Santa Catalina Island and even tried talking me into coming to its grand opening.

"I hope it's not too shabby," Oliver said as he rolled down his car window to tap a card on the security reader. Then he turned to smile at me. "Because this is where your husband currently lives. I designed the top penthouse suite to be completely private for family use."

"I've seen the media tour video and all the photo spreads on travel magazines and blogs," I told him as he drove us through the parkade and into another secure gate. "You've done an incredible job with this place. It's magnificent."

"I'm sure it's nothing compared to your chateau," he said as he parked the car into an empty spot right in front of elevator doors. "I couldn't believe it when I heard you bought it. I was terrified."

"Because you don't think it's a wise investment?" I asked, bewildered. "People told me to turn it into an B&B but I don't know that I want to turn it completely into a commercial property. I used it as weekend getaway and now as a private showroom for Vienne Couture. It adds to the image."

And it's also where my biggest sin is buried.

Oliver shook his head. "I was terrified because it made me think you've truly settled for a life there. That you've decided you were never coming back."

"Oh."

Oliver scratched his head. "Six years is a long time for someone to be gone and still be a hundred percent sure they're coming back. Especially when you did something so vile and appalling to them."

So maybe you'll need another six years away from me. For my own vile and appalling mistakes.

I pulled myself back from that train of thought because it only led back to the bleak, heartbreaking place I wanted to leave behind.

I struggled to change the topic as I followed Oliver into the private elevator. I reached out to trace the white tree outlined in silver that was embossed on the panel. "Tell me. Why did you decide to call it Whitewood?"

Oliver shrugged even though I could tell he wasn't cavalier about the answer. "It was my second home in a way. I had what I considered my second family there on summers that were among the best of my life. It was a family I still had. It wasn't part of a crumbling legacy or a gently fading memory. I wanted to preserve that. To build from it. To represent what I'm living for now. Because I can't bring back the dead. Nor can I keep paying for the past with the future."