Barefoot in Lace (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 2)

  So she would not give them the power. She’d give it to her father, and if he didn’t want her after she turned up at his front door, then…then…then she’d kill herself and be with Momma.

  She turned one more time, this time glancing at passersby, trying to find someone who would help her. But the French never looked right at anyone, and the tourists ignored her, so like always, she felt completely alone.

  Not always. Not with Momma. And not with Gussie, but…

  She hadn’t even talked to him about it! Biting back Gussie’s betrayal, Alex made a decision and charged across the street with the crowd, her bag clunking on cobblestones until it tipped over, off its wheels.

  “Oh, shoot! Come on!” she cried, trying to right the bag in the middle of the street.

  “You need help?” a man asked.

  She looked up and met the gaze of an older man, maybe a little older than her uncle.

  Nearly thirteen years of stranger-danger lessons bubbled up. “No,” she said quickly, shaking her head.

  “Looking for the bus station?” he asked in French-accented English.

  Maybe she shouldn’t ignore a stranger. After all, her very own father would be one when she knocked on his door. “Um, yeah, actually, I am.”

  He gave a slight nod in the other direction. “Right over there and around the next corner.”

  “Oh, thank you!” She gushed gratitude because she was headed in exactly the wrong direction. She pivoted, bungled the bag, then gave up and scooped it up by the regular handle, hauling it across the next street.

  Her sneakers pounded on the pavement—her white sneakers that screamed American tourist—but she didn’t care. She had to get to the gare routière.

  She finally reached the corner, turned it, and—

  A park? “Come on!” she moaned. Instinctively, she turned back the way she’d come and saw the same man not fifty feet behind her, walking slowly in her direction.

  Fear clutched at her, freezing her for a minute before she turned again, the fear quickly icing into panic. Now what? Cross the street! She had to cross the street.

  She looked again, and he was on a phone.

  Oh my God, what if he was calling in more men? They would surround her and kidnap her. Things like that happened in foreign countries.

  She darted toward the street, barely slowing to look one way then the other, trying to find a break in the traffic.

  It looked like she could make it, so she started to cross the street, getting a loud honk from a car that had to swerve around her, the surprise making her almost drop her bag.

  She glanced again, and the man was still coming! Hoisting the suitcase, she darted to the next corner, hoping for a better chance to cross the street.

  At the curb, she tried to get next to some other people for safety, but they gave her dirty looks. Should she tell them? A man is after me! Who would believe her? Who spoke English?

  Another horn honked, and a bus rumbled by and—

  “Alex!”

  Did someone call her name? Did the man know her? Refusing to look, she stepped to the very edge of the high curb. She sneaked one more peek, through the crowd, getting a direct shot of the man who walked calmly in her direction. What if he wanted to get her into that park alone and do…bad things?

  Oh, God, Momma had told her about stuff like this.

  He was so close.

  She looked up and down the street, and there were cars, but far away. She could make it without a light. And he’d be stuck on the corner. Yes, this was perfect.

  “Alex!”

  Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the suitcase and stepped off the curb, just as a bus the size of a country came barreling around the corner and someone screamed—

  “Alexandra Whitman!”

  She turned at the sound of her name, so fast her foot slipped on the curb, her ankle popping as she fell, her whole body tumbling toward the street. She dropped in slow motion, the suitcase rolling out of her hand. Only thing she could see was the bright green grille of the bus as it rolled right over her suitcase, making it explode clothes everywhere.

  Her shoulder hit the concrete with a thud, and then suddenly, she was yanked up with lightning speed. The bus’s deafening horn was drowned out by the screams of people everywhere and a man—no, not a man, Uncle Tommy—saying her name over and over again as he dragged her back to the sidewalk.

  * * *

  She’d almost died. Right in front of him, inches from his fingertips, so close.

  He’d almost lost someone…again.

  The realization slammed Tom with the same force as the bus that nearly took Alex’s life.

  “Alex, oh my God, Alex!” Gussie swooped in on them, wrapping Alex in an embrace, the two of them pulling away from the melee on the sidewalk.

  But Tom stood, utterly frozen in shock.

  It was him. He was a curse, or he was cursed. Didn’t matter if that was real or not, it happened again and again and again to people he loved.

  And he did love Alex. He didn’t know how it happened, or when, or why, but she was family and blood and the child of his little sister. Who was probably up in heaven, watching this in total disgust.

  What kind of guardian was he? The worst of all kinds. The kind that loses people.

  But he loved her and—

  “Over here.” Gussie was guiding a thoroughly shaken Alex away from the crowd, thanking people as they gathered the busted-up suitcase and bits of clothes, soothing Gussie to a bistro table.

  “Tom, come here,” Gussie called. “Don’t worry about the clothes.”

  His legs like lead, he walked to the table, the waterfall of adrenaline through his system like a shot of whiskey.

  “Please don’t yell at me,” Alex cried. “Don’t be mad. It was dumb. A dumb idea.”

  “Shh.” Gussie stroked her cheek and hair. “No one is yelling.”

  Alex looked up at him, no doubt expecting a reprimand. But he was so damn relieved she was alive because…he loved her.

  And that was why there was only one thing he could do, without a moment to waste.

  He gripped the backrest of a wrought iron chair, more for support than anything. “I’m not going to yell at you, Alex,” he said. “I’m simply going to do the right thing.”

  Both of them stared up at him.

  “You belong with Gussie. With her family, in her life.”

  “But she won’t—”

  “Oh, yes, I will!” Gussie instantly put both arms around Alex, looking up at Tom with a mix of confusion and relief, and some hurt, too. “I will take care of her. I will raise her. I will love her. I already do.”

  “Oh my God,” Alex whispered, her fingers covering her mouth. “Could you, Gussie? Would you?”

  No hesitation, not so much as a shadow of doubt flickered in Gussie’s eyes. “You always have a home with me.”

  Alex dropped her hands into her face and cried silently, a bittersweet sound of rejoicing mixed with anguish. Gussie held her and lifted her eyes to meet Tom’s gaze. Did she see the anguish in his eyes? Or did she just think that he was doing what he wanted to do all along?

  It didn’t matter. They were both happy, and they belonged together.

  And him?

  All he knew was if he had to feel this empty for the rest of his life, he might throw himself under the next bus. But he had to do the right thing for these two whom he loved. He had to step aside and let them have each other.

  And he could go back to always alone.

  * * *

  The Air France terminal at the Nice Côte d’Azur Airport was empty before the late-evening flight to Paris, so they lingered before heading through security, making a strange group.

  Mom and Dad huddled close to Luke—and each other—talking in hushed tones. Lizzie and Eddie flanked Alex, neither one happy their new friend was leaving for the States. Annie stayed a few steps away, taking pictures.

  And Gussie stood near Tom, trying to still the steady pou
nding of her pulse as their good-bye grew closer.

  “We’re going to get something to read,” Luke said, indicating that he was taking Mom and Dad with him.

  “And I’ll take the kids to get snacks,” Annie offered.

  In other words, they were all leaving so Tom and Gussie could have a private moment.

  A moment Gussie really didn’t want to have, but clearly, he did. They’d barely talked all day after getting Alex home. Everyone was consumed with packing and preparations, and Tom had gone out and gotten dinner for the entire gang. The one thing about having family around, Gussie remembered, there’s little time for one-on-one conversations.

  But they had time now.

  “C’mere,” Tom said, his voice low as he reached for her hand. They walked in silence to a quiet corner of the airport. Standing close, Tom took her hand, and her heart nearly stopped.

  “I guess it would be stupid to ask if you’re certain about taking this trip.” The statement surprised her, but not as much as the pain in his voice.

  “Not stupid. It’s a reasonable question,” she replied. “And I’m only okay if you’re okay. I mean, with me taking Alex back to the US.” And we have no idea when we’ll see you again.

  “I meant”—he closed his eyes and sighed—“leaving me.”

  “It had to happen eventually,” she said, fighting to keep it light and to resist touching him.

  But she lost both fights. She heard the sadness in her own voice and reached for his hand, grazing his forearm. “After all, you warned me.” She lifted his hand to see the Greek tattoo. “I’ve always said there should be an expiration date stamped on you.”

  He twisted out of her touch, wrapping both arms around her. “Stop joking.”

  “It’s all I can do, Tom.”

  He kissed her, hard on the lips, trapping his name in her mouth.

  When he ended the kiss, his eyes were as fierce and intense. And Gussie was confused. “You want this, don’t you?” she asked.

  Because, if she hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn he was as torn up about this as she was.

  “I don’t know what I want,” he admitted. “Except for you and Alex to be happy.”

  Then stay with us. “I know what I want.”

  He closed his eyes, as if he didn’t want to hear it. But that wasn’t going to stop her.

  “I want to be the one who finds the space in your heart that you are so determined to fill with…nothing,” she whispered. “I want to be the one who makes you hate being alone. I want to be the person who is so important that you are willing to take a chance to lose again because that bet is worth making.”

  He was silent, except for the pain in his eyes. She could read that loud and clear.

  “I feel like this is best,” he said.

  “Of course you do,” Gussie fired back. “Best for you. But you know what, Mr. TJ DeMille? Until you take off your own mask, the only thing true about your life is the phrase you stamped on your arm. Always alone.” She shook her head. “Fact is, you’re hiding worse scars than I was.”

  “I’m not hiding scars, Gussie. I’m trying to avoid…inflicting any more.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I hate to break it to you, but life is scars. Life is one long series of little cuts and bruises and burns that leave marks on your heart, but when you are surrounded by the people who matter, those wounds heal. Those scars make you who you are, Tom. Hiding them is like trying to hide from the world.”

  The realization was so wonderful and liberating, she almost laughed. “Thanks for helping me figure that out,” she added.

  It was his turn to look away, the impact of her words making him clench his jaw and fight for composure.

  “Gussie, I have lost two parents, a sister, a wife, and a child.”

  She let out a shuddering sigh, the full impact of those five deaths hitting her hard.

  “And I almost lost one more this morning.”

  She couldn’t deny that, the moment that they’d almost lost Alex still fresh in her brain.

  “This ‘family’ you want so bad? It scares the crap out of me,” he admitted. “I don’t think I’m cut out for it.”

  “Gussie! Augusta!” Her mother came hustling toward them. “They’re boarding our plane soon. We better go.” She smiled up at Tom. “Thanks for being the one to bring our whole family back together, Tom.” She leaned up and gave him an impulsive kiss. “You keep in touch, now.”

  Mom grabbed Gussie’s arm and pulled her. “Come on, honey. Let’s go.”

  She let herself be led, turning to Tom as she walked away. “Bye,” she mouthed.

  “Gussie. I…I…”

  “Come on.” Mom tugged, taking her back to the cocoon of her family. But Tom’s eyes locked on her and held her and finished the sentence he was having so much trouble saying.

  “You know where to find me,” she called. “To find us!”

  She kept walking with her mom, crossing the aisle, looking for Luke and Alex because they were her family now. With each step, she half-expected Tom’s hand to land on her shoulder, to spin her around…and…tell her…

  No. No, that was crazy. She had her family now, so all her dreams had come true. She had to remember that every time her heart ached for him. Which was now and possibly…always.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  On a good day, when the impetuous meltemi winds cooperated and no goats decided to linger in the middle of the pine-lined road that led to the rugged northern tip of Karpathos, it took an hour for a Jeep to reach the sugar-cube, white-washed home of the Karras family. It had taken Tom much longer, though, because he’d done everything to delay his arrival.

  He’d lingered on the stone streets full of carts and olive oil and women wearing insanely bright scarves and vests. He’d taken time to drink in the baskets of fruit and spices, and listen to the odd mix of Greek and English that filled the air.

  But he was delaying the inevitable—he’d done it successfully for several weeks now. Oh, who was he kidding? He’d delayed for five years, but it wasn’t until a few weeks ago in the Nice airport when he’d actually decided he’d make the trip when the LaVie shoot was over.

  As always, he finished a job and headed to the airport. But this time, he wasn’t jetting off to the next assignment. This time, he was going to see the Karras family.

  Eventually, he made his way around the hamlet, taking the Jeep to the old farm where each crop was stacked in the terraced fields, inhaling the briny smell olives and the sea on his way.

  He shouldn’t have waited, he realized within minutes of arriving and greeting some of Sophia’s sisters and then her mother, Christa. There were tears, of course, and hugs, and long sighs of missed years, but Nico was out in the fields, and somehow, talking to the women was easy. Their English was broken, but far better than Tom’s Greek, and they were too classy to demand to know where he’d been all these years.

  But the rumbling of cart wheels on the drive outside told him that explanation was about to end.

  He glanced at Christa, who cast her dark eyes down and nodded as her husband arrived. “Go to him,” she whispered.

  Tom walked outside into the late-afternoon sun and knew immediately that Nico had been told they had a visitor. The older man didn’t look surprised as he climbed out of his farm cart, his broad shoulders stooped as though the weight of the world pressed on him. And despite his picturesque island home, large and loving family, and his simple life, that weight never left his heart.

  For a moment, the two of them stared at each other, sizing up what time and mourning had done, and before Tom had a chance to say a word, he was folded into Papa Nico’s massive arms.

  “I’ve missed you, son.”

  That was it. No other words were necessary. Tom closed his eyes and hugged the bear of a man, wondering why on earth he thought Nico would be any different today than he’d been at the noisy Greek wedding that took place right on this spot all those years ago.


  Nico gestured for Tom to follow him out to the back terrace, up a dirt path to an olive orchard, mostly silent until Nico slowed and looked at him. “It was very, very fast.”

  Sophia’s death. It was like Nico not to hem and haw, or try to pretend they didn’t all know the reason Tom had stayed away for so long. The funeral had been brief and sad, with almost no words exchanged at the time.

  “We tried, we moved so quick, but…”

  Tom swallowed, waiting for a wave of blame that blessedly didn’t rise up. This was where Sophia had wanted to be, more than their apartment in Athens, more than on the road with Tom. She had known the risks of being in her home village. She had not been the first to die here for lack of modern health care.

  Nico waited, his eyes as dark as the olives hanging from a branch behind him, lines of worry and grief engraved on his sun-weathered face. “I need you to forgive me,” Nico said gruffly. “I need that.”

  “So do I,” Tom admitted. “I’ve been gone too long.”

  The older man reached out, and Tom did the same, both of them patting each other’s backs for a long embrace. He could feel Nico’s full-body sigh, as if one of the many weights he carried had been taken away.

  They continued to walk, higher into the hills, leaving Tom no doubt where they were going. But the walk was slow, and the air warm and redolent with the smells of earth and sky.

  “Yiati?” Nico asked after they’d walked for a few minutes.

  Why? Tom didn’t answer the question because Nico could have been referring to so many things. “Yiati?” Tom said, making his confusion known.

  Nico reached up and grabbed a handful of Tom’s hair. “Why all this hair?”

  He almost laughed. “I haven’t cut it since…” He flicked the hair, which, to be fair, he’d trimmed himself to keep it from going past his shoulders, and sometimes, he’d had someone on a photo set clip off an inch or two, but the short cut he had worn when he was with Sophia? Gone.

  “And why?” Nico lifted his arm and pointed to some new tattoos. “Because of Sophia?”