Now and forever, p.1
Now & Forever, page 1
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Keep Up
Now and Forever
Seven Years Ago, Part 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Seven Years Ago, Part 2
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Seven Years Ago, Part 3
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Thanks and Connect
Also Available
Now and Forever
Cynthia Dane
BARACHOU PRESS
Now and Forever
Copyright: Cynthia Dane
Published: May 14th, 2018
Publisher: Barachou Press
This is a work of fiction. Any and all similarities to any characters, settings, or situations are purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
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Now and Forever
Seven Years Ago, Part 1
James Merange dragged himself to the closest bar that was half-empty and still looked like it had a decent selection of bourbon. Never thought of myself as a bourbon man, but today is totally a bourbon day. Five hours. That’s how long his meeting with his father’s business associates had taken. Now that James was out of business school, he was expected to start carrying his weight in his family. That’s what happened when he was born the only son to the traditional Meranges, let alone was the only child.
James was not a traditional kind of guy, however. But what else was he supposed to do with his life when he had no driving need to do something great? Guy in my frat wanted to be an artist… so he became a pretty good artist. Fuck you, Feldman. Why couldn’t James have some talent? He had all this money to throw at it!
The bar was sophisticated, but none of the “top shelf” products on display screamed they were worth their weight in gold. Good. That meant James could spare himself more networking and hobnobbing with the kind of knobs his father preferred. When he left the meeting twenty minutes ago, Albert was still going on about taking his business associates to a lounge. No, no, no. The only time James went to lounges was if his friends were going along. It was the only way to assure a half-decent time.
At least there wasn’t a damn soul in the room, aside from the female bartender standing on the other side of the circular bar, cleaning glasses and facing the beer bottles on the shelf. James was so relieved to have an empty bar to himself that he courted serious fantasies of drinking his glass of bourbon and scrolling mindlessly on his iPhone. He had downloaded a new game that promised hours of mindless entertainment. Candy Crush. Yes, that was its name.
Yes, give me the booze, give me the NO BLASTED MUSIC ON SPEAKERS and give me bright colors and cartoon characters. It worked in Japan. About time America got with the program.
He had barely sat down when the female bartender rounded the corner and approached him with a smile.
The most gorgeous smile he had ever seen.
James knew he had been working too hard and too long when he swore he saw an angel descend from heaven and grace him with her presence. Booze. Give me the booze now. With any luck, James would soon be too drunk to give a shit that his brain, heart, and cock were telling him to marry the woman before him.
Years later, he would struggle to put into words what attracted him first about Gwenyth Mitchell, the only woman to knock him off his feet and step on him before he could get back up again. James had encountered his fair share of gorgeous women over the years. His undergrad years were nothing but a steady stream of pussy, most of those girls never standing a chance at dating him. Marriage? Yeah, right.
Yet why did he feel like he looked into the eyes of his future wife that night?
“What can I get you?” She spread her arms before him, fingers gripping her side of the mahogany-topped bar. “You look like you could use something strong. Long day at work?”
She asked the usual questions any good bartender looking for a tip relied on. But there was a tone to her voice that made her spunkier, more genuine than the common bartender fishing for tips. Had she felt it too? This instant connection that would end with her agreeing to go out with James? If he built up the guts to do it…
“Got any bourbon?” Amazing. His voice hadn’t squeaked like he was a pubescent idiot.
“Bourbon? Oh, we got tons.” She tossed errant strands of blond hair behind her ears. That loose bun wasn’t going to get her far that night. Or was that the plan? Part of her flirtatious game? James was already losing this game, and he wasn’t used to losing.
To anyone but the perfect opportunity, anyway.
“What brand’s your poison?”
James asked for something dark and velvety. The bartender turned around to grab it, showing off her toned ass in the black jeans she wore like they were a second skin. James gawked at both cheeks as they flexed in denim. As long as he checked himself before she turned around again…
“What’s your name?” he asked, before realizing that might have been the wrong thing to say. A woman like this? She was used to being flirted with every day.
“What’s your name, stranger?” That smile was still the size of her golden aura when she turned around with a blessed bottle of booze. A glass popped onto the counter. “Haven’t seen you around here before.”
“James,” was all he said. He didn’t want to risk her recognizing his unique last name. Not in those parts.
“Better than Dylan or Ryder or whatever guys our age are named these days.”
“It’s a family name.” James snorted to think of his great-grandfather, a man he had never met. “Ryder? Where the hell did you get that?”
“There were two of them in my bartending school alone. I think they were doing it on purpose.”
James had his bourbon. He held it up and with a waggle of his eyebrows, offered his cheers to a friendly bartender.
“You still haven’t told me your name,” he said after taking a sip.
“Gwen.”
“Wow.”
“Wow?”
James almost blushed. He hadn’t realized he said that out loud. “Haven’t heard that name in a while. Is it so old it’s new again?”
Gwen leaned against the bar with one hand, the other cocked on her hip. If she poses like that anymore, I’m going to pop. Maybe he should have more alcohol and go for the ol’ whisky dick to prevent any embarrassing events in his pants.
“Go on,” she said. “Guess what it’s short for. I know you want to.”
“Gwen…eth Paltrow?”
“Close.” Gwen almost seemed impressed. “She spells it differently. I haven’t met many girls who spell my name the way I do.”
“Your choice or your parents’?”
She grinned. “Why can’t I agree with them on something for once?”
A tap on the bar meant she had other things to take care of. James pulled out his phone, but couldn’t bring himself to open the apps he wanted to play. He’d rather gaze longingly at Gwen, a vivacious woman who moved like she owned this bar. Maybe she did. Hell, James knew nothing about this joint. For all he knew, Gwen was a hospitality whizz who would one day own half the bars in town.
Almost made him feel like a pig to instantly wonder how she’d be in bed.
When he woke up that morning, he hadn’t planned on trying to get laid. His brain was swarmed with business, family, and bullshit. That long-ass meeting more than guaranteed that he would go to bed early as soon as he got something to eat and took a shower. Now? He may be willing to make other plans, if the mood called for it.
Women like Gwen, though? They weren’t easy. Usually. Not that James would want her to be. Couldn’t half the fun be the seduction?
“How long have you been working here?” he called after her.
Gwen glanced at him over her shoulder. A mini-fridge door closed. Lemon slices were put away. “Long enough to know that you’re not a regular here, and have no reason to be asking me that other than to flirt.”
“Am I that transparent?”
She stood in the circular groove of the bar. “Kind of. But you’re cute, so I’ll let it slide.”
“Knew it. You ladies already let us cute ones get away with everything.”
“Just don’t let it go to your head. I don’t want to have to call the bouncer to deal with you.”
“Who’s the bouncer?”
Gwen cocked her head, a mischievous grin that only someone like James could appreciate catching his attention once more. “Me.”
“No way.”
“Care to find out?”
“No way.”
Laughing, Gwen asked him how his drink was and insisted that she had other things to do.
That’s how it went for the next few weeks, when James came up with any excuse to swing by that bar and see his favorite bartender. He never asked Gwen out, because he was afraid of ruining what they tentatively had: friendly banter and friendlier conversation. The
He often wondered if she looked forward to his visits – and if she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
Chapter 1
Gwen
There wasn’t enough wine in the world to get Gwen through this dinner.
She was on her second glass already, and it was only the first course of Albert Merange’s birthday dinner. So many better ways to spend a Sunday night. Sunday nights were Gwen’s favorite times to put on her pajamas and stare at the TV until bedtime. Preferably while in the arms of her partner, James. Not that they had indulged in much cuddling in the past year.
Gwen stared at the bottom of her empty wineglass while a servant took away the bits of her salad she would rather not put into her mouth. Suppose I should hold off on drinking more until I’ve had something more substantial to eat. She looked up and met Albert’s eyes from the end of the dining table. He quickly looked away. Gwen wanted more wine. Or a cocktail, preferably. Maybe some straight vodka.
James’s father always maintained a tenuous respect for the woman who might one day be his daughter-in-law, but Gwen had often suspected that he only tolerated her because he thought her a fancy, flash-in-the-pan love affair that might last three years at the most. James and Gwen had been in their early twenties when they first got together. The Meranges had told their only child that he could sow all the wild oats he wanted – as long as he sterilized those oats, first.
But Gwen hadn’t been a temporary girlfriend. She graduated to James’s domestic partner and was now as synonymous with his name as he was with hers. Over seven years, Gwen Mitchell had integrated herself into her boyfriend’s high-society life. She had heiresses for friends. Memberships at invitation-only clubs. (Perhaps not all of them, but the ones she had been invited to were satisfactory enough for her commoner background.) A contract that said, should she and James break up, she would receive whatever she required to start her life over again elsewhere. Many out-of-towners were shocked to find out that Gwen wasn’t an heiress. Blending in with the lot of neurotic, spoiled assholes had been easy enough.
One of her closest friends was Charlotte Williams, one such heiress who had been the first to take Gwen by the hand and show her how to make the most of her station if she insisted on falling in love with a multimillionaire (in his own right) like James Merange. Charlotte, whose family was close friends with the Meranges, had come to tonight’s birthday dinner at Gwen’s request. I don’t want to be alone with these people. Bad enough Gwen had to sit next to James’s mother. At least she could see Charlotte across from her, helping her ailing father with his uncut potatoes as the main course came out for them to enjoy.
“Is this roasted goose?” Mr. Williams asked the birthday boy, a sparkle in his eye. “How did you manage to snag some at this time of year?”
“You know I have my connections.” Albert accepted his second glass of wine as the sommelier made the rounds of the table. Gwen exhibited great decorum when she turned down a third glass and instead sucked on her ice water. Dessert. I will have a third glass at dessert. She would really need it if the birthday dessert was Albert’s favorite cherry pie. Blech.
Mrs. Ophelia Merange had her wineglass topped up before leaning in toward the Williamses. “My husband humbles himself on his birthday, you see. He managed to catch not one, but two geese last hunting season. Really was a magnificent bit of skill, wasn’t it, darling?”
Albert did not blush, but he propped himself up in his seat and said, “Skill and luck often go hand-in-hand. We had the first goose for Christmas, and the second for tonight. Hopefully, my grandson will be old enough this year to enjoy it for the first time. A love for well-roasted fowl is built into our bloodline.” He turned to his son, sitting between himself and Gwen. “Isn’t it, James?”
He, like his girlfriend Gwen, had been quiet for most of the dinner. But when his own father asked him a question, he couldn’t simply sit in silence. Even when one of those words had made a shudder go down both his and Gwen’s spines.
“Don’t have much of a taste for duck anymore,” he attempted to say with humor. “But I do love a good turkey.”
The goose had been carved in the kitchen, unlike the mess back at Christmas when Albert insisted on cutting open the bird at the table in front of everyone, including his infant grandson. Patrick had wailed to see the golden goose split open like one of his stuffed toys. His mother had ushered him out of the room and didn’t come back to eat until the child had been put down for a nap.
“You should see the boy,” Albert continued, speaking to his friend Mr. Williams. “Still a bit on the small side, but so was his father when he was his age.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “I remember telling his mother that we would have to find him a wet nurse to make sure he was good and fed.”
“Albert, dear…” Mrs. Ophelia Merange held in her exasperation with considerable taste. “Mr. Williams and his daughter don’t want to hear about that.”
“Look! Right here!” Albert showed a picture on his phone to his friend. “Have you ever seen such an adorable little boy? Gives me hope that the best of our genes are really plowing through the generations.”
Mr. Williams adjusted his glasses. Charlotte politely poked at her dinner. Mrs. Merange studied her son’s face, gauging his reaction.
James and Gwen both reached for their wineglasses. James drank the rest of his while Gwen was sorely reminded that she hadn’t opted for the refill.
“Oh, my…” Mr. Williams looked across the table, to James, a grin touching his wrinkled cheeks. “He really does have your nose. Isn’t that remarkable?”
James forced a smile of acknowledgment. “I suppose so.”
He took Gwen’s hand beneath the table. She placed her napkin next to her plate of goose and potatoes and excused herself to the bathroom.
That was what she had dreaded the most when she agreed to come to Albert’s birthday dinner. The man was so smitten with his grandson, that he couldn’t help but shove the boy in everyone’s faces. Especially Gwen’s.
Because he’s not my son. He belonged to some other woman, a bastard sanctioned by both the Merange’s and their oldest friends, the Welshes.
Gwen would never forget that horrifying night one year ago, at a gala before Christmas, when Cassandra Welsh waltzed into town with a baby on her hip. The whisper in high society was that one of her many, many lovers was the father, and the reason she skipped down wasn’t because of a mental meltdown, but because she was pregnant with a bastard baby. James, the man who once called Cassandra his best childhood friend, had been his usual mix of concerned for her well-being and utterly delighted by the shitstorm brewing in town. There was no one more invested in gossip and “hot messes” than James Merange.
Until this one bit him in the ass.
The baby was his. Even a DNA test proved that. That night – that long ago, far away night that almost ruined their lives – Gwen ran the gamut of emotions that went from The Bastard Cheated on Me to The Welshes Did WHAT?
James had not, in fact, cheated on his partner of seven years. Instead, semen that he had preemptively stored in a bank upon reaching adulthood had been pilfered by the Welshes, because they were desperate for an heir, and Cassandra would only settle for having James’s baby. The worst part? James was never allowed any say in it. His father had signed off on the release of the genetic material for Cassandra to use in a sterile doctor’s office. Apparently, it had worked.
How could Gwen be angry at the man she loved for something beyond his control? How was he supposed to know that his parents still carried certain powers he never anticipated? And how could he face his sudden fatherhood alone? Gwen couldn’t leave him. Not when he was innocent. Not when they still loved each other.
Still, such events that not even the likes of James could have ever foreseen, put unprecedented strains on their relationship.
Before that night, we were as happy as ever. After that night, they had drifted apart, until Gwen often wondered how much more she could take before she opted for the stipend and moving to the west coast. Alone.
