CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The next morning started off perfectly normally. Although Oliver had a full day's work planned ahead of them, he and Grace made time to eat breakfast with the children in the dining room, where Annie and Molly happily drowned their flapjacks in the fresh maple syrup that Oliver had brought back from New England. Cecille popped her head into the dining room just as the staff were clearing away their plates, looking lovely dressed not in her customary maid's uniform but in a more casual dress, ready to take on serving temporarily as the children's caregiver.
"Good morning!" she said with a smile. "Are the children ready to go? I thought we could start off the day with a walk, it's quite a nice morning outside."
"You betcha!" Annie said with a big smile, jumping out of her chair and running over to give Cecille a hug. "It's real swell of you to spend time with us this week, Cecille."
As Cecille began to shepherd Annie and Molly out of the dining room, Grace felt her stomach give a nervous lurch. The time had come, and she knew she couldn't put off the conversation she needed to have with Oliver any longer.
"Oliver," she said quietly, "there's something I need to talk—"
But her words were cut off when Drake suddenly burst into the room like a cannonball and nearly barreled straight into Cecille. His eyes were wide and panicked, and beads of sweat shone on his forehead.
"Good heavens, Drake!" Oliver exclaimed as they all turned to stare at the butler in surprise. "You look as if you've seen a ghost. What's going on?"
"Er," Drake sputtered, gasping and clutching at a stitch in his side. "Sir, it's—well, sir—" He was staring back and forth between Oliver and Grace and looking entirely and uncharacteristically flustered. "I-I-Well, sir, I think you'd better come upstairs. There's a bit of, er, I don't quite know how to describe it."
As Drake spoke, Grace turned her head in the direction of the staircase. What was that she heard echoing off the halls from the second floor?
"Is someone shouting up there?" she asked.
Evidently Oliver had heard the same and reached a similar conclusion. "What's going on up there?" he demanded.
He leapt up from his seat at once and made for the marble staircase. Grace got up and followed him, while Annie and Molly hung back uncertainly with Cecille and Drake in the dining room, looking at each other in confusion.
The sounds of impassioned shouting and arguments grew louder and louder as they approached the second floor boardroom, and the scene that met Oliver and Grace when they finally reached the threshold of the doorway was utter chaos. Nearly every single person in the room was arguing loudly with the person nearest them. A half dozen of Oliver's top executives from Warbucks Steel were standing in clusters around the central mahogany table, throwing invectives at the top of their lungs in the direction their counterparts from the Thompson Corporation, who were yelling back at them and looked about ready to leap over the table for a full-on fistfight.
Cornelia and Edward Thompson were standing closest to the door, and Grace and Oliver both drew back in shock when they caught sight of them. Cornelia was practically in tears, but they were not tears of sadness. Her face was bright red, and she was shouting at her father in fury.
"How could you send him back to Chicago!" she cried at him. "It wasn't his fault! She must have deliberately encouraged him!"
"What the devil is going on in here?!" Oliver exploded, his face reddening and eyes bulging as he glared furiously around the room. "Everyone stop this madness at once!" The room fell silent as all eyes turned to stare at them in the doorway. "Now, does someone care to enlighten me as to why an entire boardroom full of adults are up here raging at each other like animals?"
"Why don't you ask her!" Cornelia hissed, interrupting him and glaring in Grace's direction with flashing eyes.
Grace took a step backward in shocked surprise. "I beg your pardon?" she exclaimed.
It wasn't until Edward Thompson threw something down on the table in front of Grace and Oliver that she noticed the entire surface of the large center table was covered with dozens of newspapers, and that every person in the room was gripping a copy of the New York Evening Post.
"There you go!" he snarled at her. "What have you to say, Miss Farrell?"
Grace was so taken aback by the anger she heard in Edward's normally calm and collected voice that she had no idea how to respond. But then the corner of her eye landed on the newspaper in front of her, and with a gasp her full attention snapped to it.
She suddenly felt dizzy. A wave of ice-cold panic instantly flooded her body, and she felt a tightness in her chest as all the breath rushed out of her.
Her own photograph was emblazoned right on the front page of the New York Evening Post, a photograph of her wrapped in—oh, good heavens, wrapped in Michael's arms out on the street! His lips were on hers, one of his hands was gripping her arm, and the other was tangled in her hair as he seized her and held her close. A bolded headline atop the picture proclaimed, "Billionaire's Fiancée Caught in Rival Affair!"
"I'm afraid to say, Oliver, that we've all lost our heads a bit over the fact that your supposed 'fiancée' has enticed my brother to fall in love with her!" Cornelia shouted in fury.
"That's a lie!" Grace cried, wrenching her horrified gaze away from the newspaper in front of her to stare in shock at Cornelia.
"Photographs don't lie, Miss Farrell," Edward Thompson growled.
"Well, these photographs do," Grace insisted, throwing the paper back down on the table.
Her hands were shaking, and she felt such a strong tide of anxiety rising within her that she could barely breathe. She looked desperately at Oliver—oh dear, what must he be thinking?—and a jolt of fear sliced through her heart when her eyes landed on him. He was staring at another newspaper with a hard look on his face. His eyes glued to the image of Michael kissing her on the front page.
"Oliver," she began, trying and failing to control the tremor in her voice, "Oliver, I don't know who published this or why, but—"
"How do you explain this?" he interrupted quietly, finally turning his gaze up to meet hers.
For a moment, all that Grace could do was stare at him in stunned silence, his words—and the shadow of doubt she saw in his eyes—hitting her like a hammer.
"Allow me to enlighten you, Oliver," Cornelia said viciously. "Michael confessed everything this morning before my father sent him packing back to Chicago. Did you or did you not tell him, Miss Farrell, about how you were having second thoughts about your marriage to Oliver? About how you weren't sure you wanted to spend the rest of your life married to a man endlessly obsessed with his work, who never makes time for others and cares only for his fortune?"
"No!" she cried, horrified to hear the words she had said to Michael so cruelly twisted and then thrown back in her face. "No, I didn't mean anything like that! He misunderstood me! Oliver …" She turned to face him fully and reached for his hands. "Oliver, please, look at me." He stared at her, the disbelief on his face almost unbearable for her to look at. "Tell me you don't believe any of this!"
He held her gaze for only for a brief moment. Then, with another glance down at the paper in his hands, he pulled his hands away, pushed past her, and stormed out of the boardroom.
"Oliver!" she gasped in horror, turning on her heels to rush after him out of the room.
She was in such a hurry that she never saw the look of triumph that fleeted ever so briefly across Cornelia's face as she watched them go.
Oliver was stalking away quickly in the direction of his private offices, and they were nearly at the landing of the main staircase by the time Grace reached him.
"Oliver! Oliver, stop!" she begged, desperation rising in her voice. "Oliver, I'm not going to let you walk away from me believing this garbage!" She reached for him and tried to grasp his arm, his suit jacket, anything. "Oliver, please just stop and listen to me!"
He spun around to face her so suddenly that she recoiled. Staring into his eyes, she was horrified to see that his face was darkened with rage.
"Why should I, Grace?" he snarled, his voice dangerously low.
Neither of them, vision tunneled and hearts racing, saw the stricken faces of Annie and Molly, Drake and Cecille, and the Asp and Punjab, who had gathered at the base of the marble staircase and were staring up at them in alarm.
"Oliver, none of this is true!" she cried, tears stinging her eyes.
"Then why don't you try explaining these pictures to me?" he demanded, shaking the newspaper still clutched in his fist.
"Oliver, it's not what you think—" she began tearfully, before he cut her off again.
"It is you in these pictures, is it not?" he demanded, his eyes filled with a deep fury that she had seen in him only rarely and that had never—never—been directed at her. "It is you in these pictures kissing Michael out on the street?"
She took a shuddering breath. "Yes, Oliver, it is, but—" He had already turned again to stalk away from her, and she rushed after him. "Oliver, it wasn't like the paper says at all! He kissed me, but I didn't want him to!"
In desperation, she grabbed his arm with both of her hands and, with all of her strength, forced him to stop and turn around to face her once more.
"Oliver," she begged, the tears in her eyes starting to spill down her cheeks as she stared deeply into his eyes. "Oliver, I love you. You know how much I love you. Please, you have to believe me."
He looked down long and hard at the newspaper crushed in his white-knuckled grip.
"I don't know what to believe," he said finally, his voice cracking.
"You should believe the woman you're going to marry," Grace whispered.
The silence that followed was interminable. She felt her heart thudding painfully in her chest as she stared at him, waiting.
But his next words hit her like a punch to the gut. "Was going to marry." And then he was gone, and everything stopped.
Grace was barely aware of how she managed to make it back to her suite.
As soon as the door slammed shut and locked behind her, she felt her knees give way and she sank down to the floor. For a long, long moment, all she could do was stare, unseeing, in front of her. Then, burying her face in her hands, she broke down.
How had all of this happened? How had she been so selfish, so hesitant to spark another argument with Oliver while he was traveling, so desperate to enjoy an easy and happy evening out with him after he had returned, that she had endlessly put off telling him what he needed to hear? A small voice within her mind was berating herself in the harshest of tones, saying that it was her fault and that none of this would have happened if she had been honest with him.
But that small, bitter voice in her mind was drowned out almost completely by the wailing in her heart. The fury in his eyes, the doubt written plainly all over his face, his outraged stare and those dreadful words—"was going to marry"—were now seared permanently in her memory.
It was his accusation that hurt the most of all, the fact that he had been so quick to believe the news story at face value over her desperate protestations. How could he possibly believe she was capable of such deception? That she would be so faithless as to pursue another man while she was engaged to marry him? With a fresh wave of anguish she realized the clear implication of what had just happened: in spite of all the years they had worked side by side, in spite of all the times he had entrusted her to carry out the most sensitive work on behalf of his business empire, and in spite of everything that had happened between them since the summer, the reality was that he still didn't trust her completely.
Suddenly the door of her suite banged against her back, and she jumped in surprise, steadying herself on the ground with her hands. She heard Annie and Molly's voices as their small hands pounded on the door, crying for her to let them in.
Grace suddenly felt a deep wave of grief sweep over her that threatened to pull her under entirely.
If she had lost Oliver, then she had also lost Annie and Molly. The girls she loved with the unconditional love only a mother could feel for her children. And then the panic began to spiral within her again. With another gasping sob, the realization crashed down on her: in the span of just a few short minutes, she had lost everything in the world that she cared about.
And she knew in that moment she had to leave. If she and Oliver were finished, if he had made his choice not to believe her, she had to leave as soon as possible. Shakily rising to her feet, the tears still pouring down her cheeks and her breath deep and tortured, she set to work.
Bags were hastily packed, her suits and dresses thrown into them in a haphazard manner she never would have tolerated under normal circumstances. Calls were made, and although she held herself together while speaking quietly into her telephone, she broke down as soon as she hung up.
And all the while as she was doing this, her ears were always tuned toward the door, waiting for him to come find her. Waiting for him to come apologize, to beg her forgiveness for rushing to condemn her so quickly, to ask to hear her side of the story, to sweep her into his arms and promise never to hurt her again.
But no knock came, at least not from him. Only the cries of Annie and Molly periodically recurred through the day as the girls begged for entrance to her suite and then, hearing nothing from her, gave up for a time before coming back again a short while later.
By the time the sun was setting lower in the sky and the shadows of dusk were starting to settle over the house, Grace knew she had no choice but to open the door to them. And so, the next time she heard their sorrowful entreaties on the other side of the door, she finally unlocked the door and pulled it open.
She knew she must look a complete mess, and she felt a nauseating wave of guilt as she saw Annie and Molly's eyes widen and their faces fall as they took in her appearance. And her heart, in turn, winced with pain when she saw them. Both girls' eyes were red, tear tracks were visible down their cheeks, and a haunted look of deepest distress darkened their faces. She bit her lip, fighting back fresh tears as Annie and Molly flung themselves into her arms.
"Grace," Annie whimpered, clinging to her tightly. "Grace, why is this happening?"
"It isn't true, is it?" Molly begged, her eyes wide. "You and Mr. Michael?"
"Of course it isn't, my dear," Grace said tearfully, holding Annie close with one arm as she caressed Molly's face with her other hand.
"We know," Annie said, hiccupping as she wiped tears out of her eyes. "I've been sayin' all day that it can't be true. The papers must have it all wrong. We believe you, and so does everyone else." She bit her lip. "Well, almost everyone else. But what happened?"
As Grace recounted the truth about that fateful evening walk with Michael, the girls listened with wide eyes. Annie frowned when she had concluded.
"How come you didn't tell Daddy what he did?" she asked in confusion. "He woulda been real mad."
"I know," Grace said quietly. "That's exactly why I didn't say anything, Annie. I know I should have, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Unfortunately, Michael is an important business partner for your father, and I didn't want to be the cause of trouble between us and—"
"Grace, why is all your stuff in suitcases?" Molly suddenly interrupted.
For the first time since the girls had come into her suite, Grace saw Annie's eyes dart around the room and take in what she had been too distracted to notice upon entering: suitcases and a steamer trunk lying open on the floor, filled to the brim with her clothing and belongings.
Annie swayed on her feet as if the floor had suddenly lurched beneath her. "You're packin'?!" she wailed, looking around the room in horror. "Grace, no! You can't leave!"
Grace swallowed hard, trying to tamp down a fresh wave of anguish threatening to rise up within her. She had a splitting headache from spending the entire day crying, and she felt completely and utterly drained.
"Annie, Molly," she said finally, blinking hard. "Girls, please come here." She took the girls' hands and led them over to her bed, sitting them down as she knelt in front of them. "Girls," she began, and wondered with another jolt of pain if she would be able to continue. "I have to leave. I-I wish I didn't have to, but I don't have a choice."
"Where are you going?" Annie whispered.
Grace bit her lip, dreading the reaction she knew would come. "Washington."
"Washington?!" Annie and Molly both burst out in dismay.
Grace nodded solemnly. "I never told anyone about this, even Oliver. But months ago before you came to live with us, Eleanor Roosevelt offered me a position on her staff at the White House. I turned her down at the time, but …" She swallowed hard, a lump rising in her throat. "I called this afternoon, and she said the position was still available if I wanted it. I've always admired her very much, and if your father doesn't want to marry me anymore, then I can't stay here."
"Grace," Annie said softly, her voice breaking, "please, don't go."
"I don't want to go, Annie," she whispered. She gripped each girl's hands tightly, feeling a powerful swell of love for each of them. "Girls, I need you to know this: I love both of you, as much as if you've been my daughters for your whole lives. And nothing, nothing, will ever change that."
"But you were gonna be our mom," Annie choked. "You were gonna be our mom, Grace!"
The sound of a gentle knock startled all of them, and Annie and Molly's heads both swung immediately toward the door.
"Daddy?" Annie hiccupped hopefully.
But when she saw the grim faces of Douglas and Rebecca Farrell appear as the door opened, her face fell. With a howl of sorrow, she threw herself back into Grace's arms again and sobbed.
Author's Note: Well, this was a thoroughly heartbreaking chapter to write. But trust the process and stick with me—I'll do my best to make it worth your while in the end!