Worth Any Cost by Brenna Aubrey

  Camille, our friend from high school, had recently contacted us because she'd be spending some time in OC. She wanted to see us, since we'd all parted ways after graduation, only sharing pictures and posts over social media.

  "I miss Tucson." She sighed, pushing her long, mousy brown hair over her shoulder with a perfectly manicured hand. Camille was impossibly thin and impeccably dressed in a frilly frock that would have looked right at home in Sunday school. With a silver spoon, she added honey and lemon to her cup of tea and pressed the cup to her mouth, red with lipstick. "But there are no jobs there, much as I'd have loved to stay. Still, I'm managing to keep in contact with all my sisters. I'll be going back for homecoming in a couple months."

  My brow twitched. She'd only left the University of Arizona after graduation in June--having been a year behind us in school and then on the five-year plan. During her time at college, Camille had joined a sorority. My impression was that she'd transformed from misfit, who used to hang out in high school with the likes of Heath and me, to popular Delta Delta Gamma girl.

  Heath snickered as he finished off his breakfast pastry. He seemed in good spirits, which was not usually the case, since his boyfriend had left for an indefinite stay in his homeland of Ireland. When I caught Heath's gaze and Camille wasn't looking, I blew on my tea to cool it. The frilly teahouse had been her choice and watching Heath blunder about in here was something close to comedy. He flagged down the server to ask for a second bear claw.

  "So, Mia, what have you been up to?"

  "Studying, mostly."

  Her brows shot up. "No charity events? Evening galas? Fundraisers and all that exciting stuff the one percenters do?"

  I blinked. I was a one percenter now? "Only all that stuff med school students with no social lives do."

  Camille shrugged. "I'm surprised you haven't quit med school, but obviously, you're doing what you love. That's great. I wish I were in the position to do what I loved, like run my own art gallery. I'd love that. But Mom and Dad want me to show that I'm productive, so to the job market I must bend. There's not much out there for an art history degree."

  Camille had spent the first half-hour of our get-together complaining about how her parents had refused to pay for graduate school until she could hold down a responsible job for a year. Not too long ago, I would have killed to have that problem.

  She bent forward and added milk to her tea. "I wish I could be like Heath and work for myself. Or, you know, just marry a billionaire." She giggled as she gestured to my engagement ring.

  I resisted the urge to pull my hand off the table and sit back. I was almost used to it now--almost. Adam and I had been engaged for over a year, and everyone outside my close circle saw our relationship as my winning lottery ticket. Few viewed Adam as a man beyond his staggering bank account. One acquaintance, after a few drinks to loosen him up, had even attempted to pry the value of Adam's total assets out of me.

  I'd responded with the truth--I had no idea how much he was worth in dollars. And I'd made sure to add a deliberately saccharine but he's priceless to me with a cutesy smile and the hopes that he'd soon begin gagging from the treacle.

  Nobody seemed to believe that I didn't really know. After that lovely experience, I'd come up with a list of sarcastic responses to use in the likely event that his net worth was broached again.

  It's too hard to count it all while I'm swimming around in all that gold.

  I don't know. He hides it all in the Batcave underneath our house where he parks his Batmobile.

  I don't know, but if he starts making me call him Daddy Warbucks in bed, I'm out.

  I don't know. I haven't weighed him lately, nor have I been able to discern his karat number.

  Every time I try to check out his bank balance online, the screen locks up.

  "That reminds me." She leaned toward me. "I wanted to ask you a favor."

  I leaned back, mind racing. Uh oh. Shit. Should I get up and go to the bathroom? Maybe interrupt with one of my prepared snarky rebuttals? Instead, I said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

  "Since I was elected as president of my sorority's alumni committee, I've been tasked to raise money for new front room furniture. It's been on the sisters' wish list for a few years now, and I'd love to finally get the money together. Contributions are tax deductible. I'm sure your fiance needs a ton of deductions."

  I took in a deep breath through my nose and let it out through my mouth, feeling my face burn hot with irritation. "I, uh...um..." Damn. Why was my mind blanking on the list of smart, snappy comebacks?

  Before I could shut her down, Heath deftly changed the subject, and she started talking about high school gossip. Who had seen whom, who had graduated from college, and who had dropped out. Who was still up in the Anza/Idyllwild area and who, like us, had managed to escape the high desert small-town community from which we'd all sprung.

  "Oh. You'll never guess who I ran into, Mia. Julian Kerr." My stomach turned. I didn't give two shits about any of the high school football players--who'd been worshipped as gods in our small town. I kept a straight face and hoped the subject changed again soon. "He's working at his parents' store. I guess Hollywood didn't work out for him."

  I frowned, sipping more tea. Heath's head jerked to me. Our eyes met, and mine darted away.

  "He's a loser," Heath said. He'd opened his mouth to say more--hopefully to change the subject--when Camille rode over him, obviously drooling with the opportunity to share her next tidbit.

  "Yeah, well, he might be, but he had some awesome gossip that I think might interest Mia. He told me that Zach Downs got arrested last month in Mexico." She seemed satisfied when my cup clattered loudly back on its saucer and I sat back. I could feel myself pale at the mention of the name. That jerk. The asshole I'd dated in high school. I swallowed, and Camille was already continuing with her story. "They nabbed him at the airport for possession of a whole kilo of cocaine he was trying to bring home with him. He's in prison down there, and his family is frantically trying to crowdfund legal fees in order to get him out."

  Sucking in an involuntary breath, I coughed ferociously. Blood pounded in my veins, but not because I'd accidentally tried to aspirate my own saliva. And not simply from hearing the name, either.

  I was reliving that moment last spring when I'd run into the asshole again--for the first time since high school. My attempt to suppress a shiver was unsuccessful. Heath was all too aware of it, too, frowning at me in concern. I shot a self-conscious glance at Camille. She knew that Zach had been my high school boyfriend, of course, but she didn't know everything. She didn't know why we'd broken up or why I'd spent the last few months of my sophomore year at home. Everyone thought I'd caught a bad case of the chicken pox.

  They had no idea that Zach had sexually assaulted me and beaten me up badly enough to leave marks that took months to fully heal. Or that I'd stayed home from school because even the thought of running into him on campus gave me panic attacks that prevented me from breathing.

  I begged off, leaving that annoying tea date early by feigning a splitting headache. I gathered my stuff, gave Camille a rushed goodbye, and ran to my car. Heath caught up with me there.

  "Hey. You okay?"

  I fiddled with opening my car door and throwing my bag inside. "I will be. Just a shock to hear his name, that's all."

  He reached out and put a hand on my upper arm. "That's not all. I heard you ran into him up in Anza earlier this year."

  I hesitated, nodding. There were no accusations in his tone, no demand to know why I hadn't told him. But I should have figured on my mom letting him know. I suppressed a sigh.

  "Adam and I went up to help her get the B&B ready for the season. We were in Bartons, and his mom, Beth, was there." I shuddered, and Heath rubbed my arm to reassure me.

  Retelling this story felt almost as if I was standing in the middle of that grocery aisle again, facing off with the mother of my ex. I shook my head. "She was all coos and smiles. E
veryone wants to act like they are my long-lost best friend now, even Beth. Remember how much she hated me when she thought I was going to press charges against her baby for assault? She had the nerve to act like nothing had ever happened, and even wanted to introduce him to Adam."

  Heath's jaw tightened, along with his hold on my arm. My stomach roiled at the memory as I remembered the panic, the pure fear, the heartbeat pounding in my ears at the thought of them meeting. Knowing that I would never in a thousand years be able to keep my cool around Zach and that Adam would pick up on it immediately--and ask questions--I did what I'd done just now: made my quick excuses, grabbed Adam, and bolted.

  "Zach was in the store, too?"

  I shut my eyes. "In the next aisle over. She called out to him, and I was trying to get the fuck out of there. But as soon I rounded the corner, I ran right smack into him--literally."

  In the present, my stomach sloshed with panic. I took a deep breath, forcibly reminding myself that I was safe.

  When I'd smelled that same cologne he used to wear in high school--that heavy-handed stuff he practically bathed in--that was all it took. Gibbering panic had set in--my heart racing, adrenaline pumping, fight-or-flight mode kicking in. I'd almost peed my pants.

  "That fucker tried to stop me, to say hello as if nothing had ever happened." I was practically grinding my teeth as I said it.

  Heath shook his head, clearly puzzled. "I never took him for that much of an idiot."

  I ran my hand over my eyes, tried to control the shaking. "Everyone sees stars in their eyes now. I'm the girl who's about to marry a billionaire. Ever since that Forbes magazine feature article on Adam that mentioned my name. I'm supposed to forget everything about the past and help them all."

  Heath drew back, revolted. "Jesus. That's disgusting. Did Adam notice your reaction to Zach?"

  I dropped my hand from my eyes and tilted my head to look at Heath. "What do you think?"

  Heath's brow went up. "Yeah, not much gets by him."

  "I dragged him out of the store, and we drove down to Temecula to get groceries there instead." I shook my head. "I wished to hell I'd done that in the first place."

  "What did Adam say when you told him why you were so freaked out?"

  I bit my lip, but looked away without answering.

  "Mia...shit. You didn't tell him?"

  "No. I didn't want him to freak out and go back in there and punch the guy. You know he would have tried. And as for that dickhead...the way everyone sees dollar signs when they see Adam or me, I wouldn't put it past that asshole to pick a fight so he could sue Adam and his deep pockets. To say nothing of Adam going to jail. No, he doesn't need to fight my battles."

  Except there was a sinking suspicion about the timing of the news Camille had delivered to me. After all this time, Zach getting thrown in a Mexican prison mere months after that encounter...

  Had Adam somehow been involved in that? But how?

  Heath blew out a breath. "So Adam didn't say anything?"

  "He wanted to, but I never let him. I talked so much during the drive that he never got a word in edgewise. Whenever he'd try to broach it, I'd change the subject."

  Heath's brow crumpled, and he appeared at a loss. Ugh. Sometimes life was too confusing. And all the thoughts stirring around in my head like a stew? I had no idea what to make of them.

  Heath and I said our goodbyes soon after, and I got in my car.

  During the drive home, I couldn't stop thinking about that encounter in the grocery store. This new development--Zach going to jail for drugs--seemed like an eerie coincidence. I knew that Adam had dug for info after the grocery store incident. The next day, I'd caught him in my childhood bedroom at the ranch looking through my old high school yearbooks. They'd been buried in the top shelf of my closet. He'd been in there a few times before to look around, but that day in particular, he'd shown an inordinate amount of interest in the books. Had he continued to dig deeper, after that?

  When I arrived at our house at noon, Adam wasn't home yet. Since I'd had the tea date already set with Heath and Camille, he'd ducked into work for the morning to check on things. But he'd promised he wouldn't be long. While I waited for him, I finished up some work in my new study, which Adam had converted from a guest bedroom across the hall from his home office.

  I heard him come in and went down to meet him in the kitchen, where he'd grabbed a bottle of water. Throwing my arms around him from behind, I stood on tiptoes to kiss him on the neck. "What should we do today?"

  "Let's take the Duffy boat over to the Fun Zone," he answered without even a pause. "I owe you a rematch in Skee-Ball."

  I grinned cheekily, resting my chin on his shoulder. "You mean...you crave further humiliation."

  He shrugged. "Maybe I have a bit of a masochistic streak going on." He turned around and returned the hug, pulling me up against him. "How was tea? I bet Heath was about as dainty in there as a WWE wrestler."

  I blew out a breath. "Poor guy. At least it got him out of the house, though. He's been less than social since Connor went back to Ireland."

  With a smile, he took my hand, and we went out to the slip where the electric Duffy boat bobbed, dwarfed by the much larger yacht. I sat lost in thought as we motored across the back bay to the Balboa Peninsula, home of the Fun Zone. Across the inlet, the pier and boardwalk rimmed the water, gleaming in the temperate sunlight.

  We strolled along the boardwalk, stopping, of course, to play our rematch game--which I duly won in defense of my champion Skee-Baller status.

  And I taunted him with the childhood chant "Brick Wall Waterfall."

  "Peanut butter, Captain Crunch. I got something you can't touch." I danced in front of him, doing the little girl's taunt while he laughed at me. "Reese's Pieces, 7 Up. Mess with me, I'll mess you up." I held out one hand to stop him in his tracks, while putting the other thumb and forefinger in the shape of an L on my forehead. "Loser, loser. Double loser. Whatever. As if. Kiss this. You just got dissed!"

  He took it like a champ, appearing happy that I was talking again. But we fell into easy silence when we grabbed a quick meal, and on the way back to the boat, I munched on a Balboa Bar--the famous sprinkled dipped ice cream on a stick, reliving my childhood in so many ways.

  "Don't you drip that ice cream all over my boat," he muttered as we climbed in.

  It was definitely time for more taunting. I turned to him, mouthing the thing suggestively--pulling it in and out of my mouth, giving it long licks while I moaned my enjoyment of the sweet dairy treat. He watched me, eyes widening in disbelief before he nearly fell to the floor in laughter.

  "Wow, I never thought I'd say this, but I'm almost getting turned on watching you give your ice cream a blowjob."

  I responded by smacking my lips and finishing up the ice cream as we took the long way home all the way around Balboa Island, which wasn't that big. But since the Duffy was slow, it took some time.

  "You've been quiet this afternoon," he finally said when we were halfway around.

  I shrugged, looking out over the water, studying the play of late afternoon light sparkling off the surface. "Not much to say. I'm not really in a talking mood. Just happy you're home.."

  He frowned, steering around some moored boats, complete with decks full of sleeping sea lions lazing in the sun. "Any particular reason?"

  I darted a look at him before turning back to the scenery, admiring the lavish homes that equaled the one in which we lived, and others on the level of ostentation. "When I was at tea, my friend from high school, Camille, shared some hometown gossip with me."

  His brows rose. "Ah. Has there been some excitement up in good ol' Anza?"

  I turned back to him and shifted on my bench. "Yeah. Someone I knew in high school got arrested in Mexico and thrown into prison for drug possession."

  I tried to gauge his reaction. Did I notice a brief, stony glaze cover those dark eyes? A slight flexing of his jaw? Or was that all my imagination?

  "Hu
h. Was it a friend?"

  "No, definitely not," I said. "It was that jerk I dated my sophomore year."

  His eyebrow twitched, and there was a long pause. I turned to see that we approached Bay Island, headed right toward our slip. The water slapped up on the sides of the yacht off our private beach.

  Adam deftly maneuvered in, and I hopped out of the boat before he could respond. Bring this up? Or push it aside? What should I do?

  Was it really essential that he even know? These questions swirled round and round, and I wasn't ure how I felt about hearing the answers. Did I care whether he was involved or that the guy was getting his comeuppance?

  Once inside, I went to the fridge and pulled out the bottle of red wine we'd opened last night with dinner. When he entered the kitchen, I held it up to him and he shook his head, so I pulled out the cork with a thunk and poured a glass for myself.

  Adam observed this silently, eyes narrowing slightly as I immediately scooped up the glass and sipped at it. The air between us grew a little thicker, a little heavier. I swallowed and waited.

  "Wanna talk about it? You're not upset about that news, are you?"

  I took a breath and let it go. "No." I sipped again. "I'm fucking overjoyed by it and struggling with how guilty that makes me feel."

  He put a hand on the smooth granite counter and leaned against his arm, never taking his eyes from me. I couldn't return his gaze, looking at the muscles bulge in his strong forearm instead. "Why would you feel guilty, Emilia? I guarantee that shit-stain never spent a day in his life feeling guilty about what he did to you."

  I nodded, still avoiding his eyes and the question burning on the tip of my tongue. The space between us filled with those unasked questions, those unvoiced answers. My heartbeat flooded the silence with relentless thumps. Then I downed the rest of the glass in one gulp. "My brain is mush. Can we veg out with a movie?"