Chapter Seven
Bronze Key
A cascade of tranquil golden sunlight tumbled into the bedroom through the richly embroidered fabric of claret curtains. It seeped like aromatic air through every possible inch dispossessed by ominous gray shadows. The night's chill clung to the marble floor and breathed through the damp brick walls of the mansion. Clear skies held an ideal promise to brawl with the cold and to steal the rain away. They were clear, but they took away the blessing. Her blessing.
Sheridan Crane-Lopez opened her eyes slowly when a noisy bird sang the arrival of the bright and early morning. Lying awake but with closed eyes, giving off the impression of slumber, did not protect her from the studying gaze that caused a splendid flush to paint her cheeks. Cautiously, she met the unassuming intensity in the waiting dark eyes, and as if in demanded response her body ached with the wonderful memories of their glorious love-making. He looked magnificent, perched on his side, his elbow carving a dent in her pillow and attached to an arm with an incredibly contracted bicep. The sparkles of peril danced on his night-roughened face, the stubble along his chin, jaw and cheeks grown to miniscule spikes. She felt dazzled, completely lost, and helplessly drowned in the terrifying pit glittering like tiny specks of gold in his eyes. Clawing desperately at the smooth walls receiving her unending fall, she came to the shattering realization that it was useless. Her heart dropped like a wingless bird toppling into the terrains of insecurity. It had registered the insight far earlier than her mind was willing to receive it.
"Staring is rude." She spoke softly, her voice low and lighthearted and her rumpled hair framing her face softly and to such utter perfection that he had a potent incentive to slide his hands into the golden locks and kiss her to oblivion.
Instead, Luis smiled thinly, mildly amused and smugly in control. His fingers brushed against her chin, and she closed her eyes, submissively leaning into the sensual caress. "It's an unspeakable crime to stare," he agreed in a drugging whisper, leaning closer until his warm breath replaced the golden glow against her cheek. Instinctively, her lips parted, moist and expectant, but he didn't kiss her. His hand slid away from her face, leaving his touch a fresh memory against her skin. The sunlight peered over her face, washing through her hair, glinting in her eyes.
The bed shifted to accommodate the sudden loss of a weight it rarely withstood.
Hot tears burned her eyes; her heart settled contentedly in her throat as she struggled to breathe while she fought a losing battle with the overwhelming urge to cry. He would laugh cruelly if he could comprehend the embracing desire she had to whisper his name and beg him not to hurt her again, but that would have been twisting the knife an inch deeper into her flesh. No matter how expertly she denied it and vehemently grasped to believe otherwise, she knew that to her heart he only knew how to do one thing… break it, hurt it, bruise it until its capacity to beat became too crushing, and it would merely cease to exist.
He turned just enough to grip her eyes in a firm stare, noting the presence of the collected tears in her eyes. But he ignored the notion and pulled on his discarded underwear just as he broke the eye contact and calmly breezed out of her room.
She wanted to kill herself as she whimpered softly against the pillow, her face pressed against the white fabric that held her scent mingled with the masculinity her husband oozed. Her tears smashed against the crinkled surface angrily, erasing their tracks before they were even visible. It didn't matter that she refused to cry for him. She was crying in silent sobs that held but didn't soothe the pain lulling her chest peacefully. The man who had made tender, wonderful love to her hours ago was the same cold, calculating bastard she fought with on a daily basis so that the ritual was too customary to pass up. He was the same man she'd married after one night of hot sex and a week of continuous romance – from red roses to candlelit dinners to long walks along the shore. The same man who had brushed his fingers across her cheek last night and opened his mouth to say something, but then had ended up kissing her long and hard as if he was trying to tell her something… or as if her imagination was beginning to carry her far, far away from the truth. Her husband, Luis Lopez, man of many faces – too many flaws, exquisite talent at romancing and making breathtakingly passionate love. Her crazily jealous, ultimately possessive, unfaithful husband.
A tiny voice cried from inside of her hoping that for this one day he would not use the master bedroom's bathroom. Relief flooded her defeated body when she heard the front-door slam. Like a charm, her hopes were granted, but she was fragile and entirely too broken to lift her head from the pillow where her mind was working restlessly, already plotting another scheme to reveal the shady past her husband was so fond of. The fire she possessed to unveil that cocooned past was too vast to be extinguished, even by colossal emotional setbacks that made her feel as terribly used as she was feeling.
No more, she decided with a sudden burst of resolution. She could mess with his sensibility just as well as he toyed with hers. If Luis could spend the night making love to her and strut out of her bedroom callously the next morning, then she would learn to do just that. Sheridan Crane-Lopez had learnt more than a few things in her marriage. One was that she could bring herself to do and feel almost anything, no matter how draining it was. Another was that she could stop anything.
After all, she had to cope, regardless of the consequences inflicted upon her character.
The wine-dipped candles flickering steadily were the only lighting available, showering the cozy atmosphere with a romantic aura that was both enticing and dejecting. It was dim, and if faced alone depressing. But the young couples sprinkled around the round tables originally set for two looked anything but depressed. They had the dilated eyes, the rosy cheeks, the swollen lips, the stolen touches, the idealized kisses – symptoms of a disease that could spread faster than fire in a fuel bank.
Love.
She suppressed the longing sigh bubbling within her and crushed it with the simple and truthful harmonious melody of her dreadful morning, her exhausting week, and her nightmarish marriage. Her fingers drummed incessantly against the burgundy tablecloth that bathed beautifully in the candlelight, glittering prettily and her heart hammered musically in a shrill of excitement, fear, and excitement because of fear. The memory of what she'd done that morning played maliciously in the recesses of her mind, tormenting her… agonizing her. Deceiving felt possibly worse than being deceived.
She could still envision herself digging through the phonebook Luis had preserved in a locked drawer belonging to a distinctive chest of drawers. While treating herself to an early shot of red label whiskey, she'd tripped across the key. Accidentally and rather unfortunately. It had been hidden behind the unopened bottle of Johnny Walker, huge and bronzed – unmistakably belonging to the uncharacteristic, cheap bureau Luis had placed in the guest bedroom. The gigantic drawer had almost been empty save for an old, rectangular white notebook and a photo-album resembling those that are given for free after developing photographs. She'd barely had time to thumb through the beginning of the worn notebook only to find out it was being used as a telephone book. Most of the names she'd recognized almost immediately, all written in the thick black ink of a newly acquired Mont Blanc pen until she'd reached one name, jotted in common red ink.
Hank Bennett.
There was a zigzag crossing out the name in the same black ink that had written everything else, but it wasn't a vicious one and allowed her to read the name clearly. The number was still there, untouched. For a moment, she'd doubted that it would still work because the marking seemed old and the name unfamiliar. After punching in the digits on her cell phone, she'd replaced the notebook in the drawer, locked it, and retired the key to its original position. Her hands had shivered violently when she remembered that she'd forgotten all about the photo-album. Tempted to go back and check it once again, she'd been stopped when called about an immediate emergency meeting at the hospital board. The photos would have to wait.
Hank Bennett had seemed nice enough on the phone, lighthearted and with a sense of humor that was all based around his rejection from the opposite sex. Thankfully, he'd agreed to dine with her at Romero's, the Mexican restaurant just on the outskirts of town. Now, she regretted having asked him to meet her at a place that played the theme of romance boldly and loudly. She definitely wasn't out to give him all the wrong ideas about their meeting, but she doubted he'd be smug enough to assume such a thing. And she was hoping he'd been to Romero's before and could recognize the drastic changes made to the restaurant after it was taken by the Anderson family.
Her blue eyes were drawn to the door when a mediocre man who seemed to be jumping at the thirtieth year of life with great passion pushed his way into the restaurant. The clean-cut, noticeably endearing face wore a grim expression like a pair of shoes that didn't fit, and short bangs of brown hair fell lightly on his temples, moving to his forehead and back whenever he walked. He stopped before a waiter and asked him something before being directed to her table – a table under the name of Crane.
A small, reserved smile worked its way onto her lips when she caught his twinkling gaze that was alight with pleasant surprise and appreciation. Hank Bennett stopped at her table and seated himself before her, his eyes flickering around the restaurant in the same wonder hers had.
Clearing his throat, he presumably wiped his hands over the dark blue denim pants he was wearing. "I'm sorry I'm late. I was running around finishing last minute errands when my niece begged me to drop her off at the game." He shrugged, his shoulders rising under his heavy, red sweater. "I'm Hank Bennett."
She shook the hand he held extended beside the candleholder. "Sh-Sharon Crane." Pausing, she fought away the grimace at her stupidity for coming too close to giving out her real name when she'd already lied to him about it on the phone. "It's alright. I'm just glad you could make it."
This time he smiled, a wide toothy grin that was childish and charming. "So what is a pretty lady like you doing, calling people out of anonymous phone-books and asking to meet them for dinner?" His brown eyebrows rose questioningly as he fell back against his chair and crossed his arms against his chest.
"I hoped you could answer some of my questions." There was no time to consider the flattering side to his comment, not when it made her think of how troublesome she was acting. She shouldn't have gone through that notebook. More importantly, she shouldn't have actually called anyone out of it. Staring at him thoughtfully, she came to the unsettling contemplation that this man didn't look like someone Luis would socialize with. He looked… normal and humble. Her husband would eat him alive and throw him butt-naked on an empty street if he ever found out about their meeting.
He ran a hand through his hair and let out a long, pensive breath followed by an uncertain nod. "I'll do my best to answer anything you can dish my way." To himself, he chuckled softly, looked down at his empty plate, then raised his warm eyes to meet hers. "It's not often that I get to have dinner with rich, beautiful women."
Smiling softly, she averted his stare and decided instantly that she liked this Hank Bennett a lot more than all of Luis's friends put together. "You know I'm rich." The statement fluttered past her lips quietly.
"It's hard not to. The Cranes are known in Harmony and just about everywhere else nation-wide. Before long, we'll be studying about the ruthless Alistair Crane alongside Hitler." Hank grinned cheekily, looking up when a waiter stopped at their table and asked for their orders.
She ordered a green salad with sauce vinaigrette and a bottle of white wine while he selectively described the spicy quarter-pound steak with roasted potatoes dipped in a melted, thick, four-cheese dressing.
"You must be hungry," she commented, genuinely smiling for the first time in what seemed like forever and a day.
"I am," he admitted sheepishly, his cheeks coloring to an adorable hue of red. "So… what is it that you wanted to ask me about?"
Shaken out of her thoughts and faced with the original issue at hand, she linked her fingers and placed them tentatively in her lap. "I would like you to answer a few questions about an old friend of yours." The guess was thrown blindly and he nodded patiently. "Luis Lopez."
Hank Bennett held her blue gaze for a moment longer before he looked away and cleared his throat uncomfortably. Prickles of perspiration dotted the line of his shaven moustache and creased his forehead. It was cold outside, but Romero's had a peculiar toasty warmth that made it seem like the last days of spring. But he was sweating with unease. "Trust me, lady, you know more about him now than I'll ever get to know. He's married into your family." Pausing, he shoved a hand through his hair and muttered a curse under his breath. "I read that in the Herald, saw the picture... that was months ago."
"Yes, he married a far relative." She grasped the glass of wine the moment it touched the table and downed a healthy sip to ease her taut nerves. "I'm more concerned about his past."
He frowned, his brow furrowing in the intense expression as he chewed on a piece of fresh bread. "Why?"
"I'll keep my reasons to my self for the time being." Her voice exuded absolute authority, and she felt grateful for her sudden burst of confidence. She didn't know how much more she could take of his confusion, discomfort, and wonder before she came out with the whole truth about the real reason she wanted to know. He was her husband, damn it. "Will you answer my questions?"
A boyish grin creased the sides of Hank's eyes. "Will you treat me to dinner?"
She laughed while pouring another glass of wine and sliding it towards him. The tension slid out of her nerves silently while utter relief flooded her face. "Of course."
"Okay," he began, bringing the transparent glass to his lips and tasting the rich liquid slowly as if rolling its flavor around his tongue. "What do you want to know?"
The smile dropped off her face as she drew in a wavering breath. "How long have you known Luis?"
"I can't tell you that I still know him. We haven't spoken in at least ten years, but we knew each other well enough ever since we were born. You see our parents were friends – good friends. So we became best friends." He spoke honestly, once or twice hesitating over his words.
"Your parents were friends with Don Fernando and his wife?" Her heart was jumping excitedly at the prospect. Initially, she hadn't counted on getting any information at all concerning the issue, but her lucky stars were shining on her that night. And now that she was facing one of the keys to her husband's past, she felt her impatience grow within her and she wanted to squeeze everything out of him.
Hank swallowed deliberately and averted her blue gaze. "Y-yes." There it was: his first lie. Even though he and Luis were no longer even remotely friendly, he would never think of betraying a man he once considered his dearest friend whatever the circumstances. "His mother ah – died when he was around twelve." A look of utter sympathy washed over his companion's beautiful face. At least, that wasn't a lie. "He was never the same after that."
"But it was so widely known that Don Fernando had no children." It came out more as a question, and she wanted to kick herself for sounding so privy and suspicious.
"It's because of his wife…" he explained vaguely. "She was very sick." He coughed, choking on a gulp of his wine, and the waiter swept beside him, placing the steaming dish in front of him right before he set the rich salad on the opposite end of the table.
Hank focused excessively on his food, and she got the impression he was trying to dodge anymore questions. At first, he'd seemed more willing than when he'd found out about the topic of their conversation. So far, he didn't seem too excited about the subject. "How was Luis before the death?" Visibly, he relaxed under that topic as if he was infinitely more comfortable discussing her husband's personality rather than the cold hard facts about his life.
"He was a very nice guy, flexible under pressure, and with a heart the size of Texas. And he loved his… mother a great deal."
"Will I be asking too much if I told you to recount everything about him exactly as you remember it?" Her fork paused in the stabbing of two cuts of lettuce, and Hank smiled once again. She could get used to seeing the amiable man smile.
"It will cost you, Crane. The more you keep me, the more I'll eat. There's no stopping me." He was delighted when she laughed for the second time concerning the same joke, awed by her beauty, and repelled by her hunger to find out so much about an ancient friend. The look in her astonishingly striking blue eyes told him to hurry with his story, and he did just that. "Like I told you, Luis and I first met before either of us was conscious enough to recognize it. We grew up together, the best of friends, and went to the same school, terrorized the same teachers, picked on the same geeks, and fought with the same bullies. Needless to say, we pledged our loyalty to each other everyday, and more seriously when we finished elementary and were warded off to middle school. Convinced that we were always going to be the closest two people on earth, Luis and I did everything together."
Hank swallowed the piece of meat he'd neatly cut out of his steak and tried to wipe the wistful expression on his face, only to find that he couldn't. "He told me everything as I told him, and both our families relished our bond, growing closer because of it. When his mother died, everything flipped for him. His world as he knew it changed, and I was the only thing that was still the same – my family was the same. We supported him for as long as he let us, and then he secluded himself to Don Fernando and the mansion, training hard to be what he was never meant to be. Luis wanted badly to become a gentleman, to take over Don Fernando's business one day and fit into that society of yours. At that time, we were still friends, but he was starting to become drawn back and defensive.
"We both got scholarships to Boston University, but he would've gone either way. Don Fernando would've paid if he'd had to. Anyway, I was wrong to think that our sharing a dorm room would revive our friendship, even though it did for a while when he was acting normal and dating the many girls thrown at him. You see, Luis carried his title of star quarterback from high school to college with ease and joined the most popular fraternity on campus. Now that's hot stuff." Shaking his head in distant reminiscence, he wiped the corners of his lips with a napkin. "Man, girls were crazy about him back then, and he dated a lot. Fun dating. Not one of the chicks was ever worth a serious thought in his mind. He'd had his eyes set on his wife the whole time. I knew that even though he never said it.
"He met her once, during a summer vacation when he came back to Harmony to stay at the mansion. When he returned to Boston, it was in the last graces of our friendship that he told me all about meeting her at the huge gala dinner held at the Seascape. He talked like crazy about how beautiful and sophisticated she was, bragging that she spoke French and Spanish and could fly a plane and ride a horse. Quite plainly put, he was awed by the Crane Heiress, but it was such contemptuous awe that it would have frightened her if she'd ever seen it. Luis promised me then that he would marry someone exactly like her, and I knew even then that he meant he would marry her. I was not surprised when I read about their wedding in the Herald. He had proven to me time and time again that he would never give up on something he wanted. And Luis had wanted Sheridan Crane for more reasons than one."
He hadn't noticed that Sheridan's once relatively calm face was now flushing with emotion. Her gut wrenched painfully, and she had to keep herself from sobbing again as her mind reeled with the memories of what she'd thought was their first meeting. She wanted to remember their actual first meeting when Luis Lopez had set his victim, and she desperately wanted to know why in the devil's name he had chosen her. For an instant, she began to regret going 'home' that summer, but then she realized that even if he hadn't met her that day… Luis would have found her. Because he wanted her. And the bastard got everything that he wanted, using any means necessary.
" Sharon?" Hank was waving his hand before her face as he smirked his amusement. "Where were you just then?"
Sighing, she brought a lightly trembling hand to her forehead and rubbed her temple effectively. It was all quite too much to take in so quickly, but she managed to force the muscles of her face into releasing a tiny smile. "I… I actually j-just remembered that I have a… an engagement in fifteen minutes."
His face wore a disappointed look that bore the remnants of his boyish grin. "Then I guess we should wrap up here, huh?"
She nodded but didn't seem to notice that she had a man who was incredibly dejected shuffling forlornly before her. "I'm… really, really sorry about this. I totally forgot…" She signaled to their waiter about bringing them the check.
"It's okay." Hank tried to smile, failing miserably when he came out with a near wince just watching her open the leather-bound little booklet and slip a fifty and a twenty dollar bill into it. "I just…" Trailing off, he stood at the exact moment that she did and attempted to help her with the bulky white coat one of the waiters had delivered. But she was obviously in a hurry as he followed her to the door of the restaurant with the words still swimming in his mouth.
When they were both outside, she turned around quickly. "Thank you, Hank. You've been great about all of this, and I really do owe you this favor." In an elegant movement he couldn't help but notice, she tightened the obviously very expensive fur coat around her shoulders. "You have my number. If you ever need anything at all, feel free to call me at anytime."
His hand shot out and grabbed hers before she could leave, and he tried to smile at the utterly shocked look on her face. "You'll be doing me a great favor in return if you agree to have dinner with me tomorrow. It'll be my treat. I promise." Hank took his time smiling at her before he let go of her hand and stuffed his into the blue-black pocket of his jeans. For a second, his eyes washed over the restaurant and he let out a little laugh. "But it'll definitely be somewhere less… extravagant."
She smiled sympathetically, momentarily forgetting her own problems and allowing herself to feel guilty for leading him on in anyway. "I'm sorry, but…"
"Aw, damn, you're seeing someone, aren't you? I mean even I should have enough sense to ask you that before I make a fool of myself…"
"Hank," she interrupted his rambling with a gentle tone that drove him to meet her eyes evenly. "I'm married."
He laughed softly, this time taking a hold of her hand and bringing it to his lips in a touching gesture. "I shouldn't be surprised, but I am. A woman like you is very likely to be married." He kissed the warm skin before gently letting her hand go. "After all, you're beautiful and sophisticated and rich. But somehow, I didn't think a sane husband would let such a phenomenal wife out of his sight for a second."
"You're a sweet man, Hank Bennett." His words affected her beyond reason, and it wasn't only because they were more than flattering… and they'd been said before by so many men she'd met randomly… and confirmed so often by her faithful pursuer… They moved her because deep inside she knew that the only person she wanted to hear them from would never utter such 'nonsense'.
"What can I say? I'm a heartbreaker." And the teasing twinkle was back to his eyes as he walked her to the parking, closed the door to her car, and then slid into his own little Ford. Revving the engine to life, he followed her Mustang with his gaze until the heat came on full blast in the car, startling him for a moment. Hank turned his attention back to the interior of his modest vehicle and finally noticed a small magazine-clipping Kay had probably dropped from her backpack in the rush she'd been to get to the fields. Frowning, he picked it up and almost snorted at the assortment of professionally taken photos at the posh, gala dinner the Davidsons had held a while ago. He was about to crumple it and toss it outside his window and then lecture Kay about it when he suddenly caught a newly familiar glittering gaze in one of the photos that his up-to-no-good niece had obviously marked with a small blue check next to the photo. He stared at the capture fully and was slapped by the reality of it jiffies later when he realized that the woman he had just dined with was Sheridan Crane, his old best friend's wife, daughter of the almighty Alistair Crane. She and Luis were posing in the photo, both looking marvelously glamorous but amazingly unhappy. Sheridan Crane appeared like she was fighting tears with her husband Luis Lopez by her side. He could slap himself for his own gullibility and his failure to recognize the Crane Heiress, not that he'd seen her often… but either way, he'd been blinded with his own desire to court the stunning beauty.
As he finally led his car away from Romero's, he tried to focus on damning her for lying to him, but it was almost uncontrollable… his thoughts fled and latched onto the notion of her sorrow, and why she was asking him about her husband –and exactly how she came to know of his existence. Luis certainly would never mention him.
He shook his head vehemently. First thing would be finding out why on earth Kay had a clipping about Luis Lopez and his wife.
