Broken Promises

By Nancy Minnis Damato

For half her life, Dylana Howell Hanson has performed her duties as head of the celebrated Howell family according to the bible of Chicago's black tie society.  Her recent divorce and the twins promising careers offers her the freedom to follow her dream and travel the world, until her plans are sabotaged by an ex-husband daring her to leave and upended by the man who had won her heart so long ago.   World famous architect Stash Milosz is about to begin Chicago's grandest construction project and satisfy his lifelong dream. Is that why he returned after twenty-seven years or is it the woman who haunts him with her betrayal? Brede Hanson wants his wife back and to once again be the unheralded crown Prince of development in the city, how far will he go to win?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613090435

Book preview

One

I DON’T WANT TO BE here. Her stomach churning, Dylana Howell Hanson stepped out of the taxi and onto Navy Pier. One hand still gripping the cab door, she wavered. Go or stay?

She had no choice.

The popular Chicago landmark stirred powerful memories with its welcome. Overhead, the night stretched in a starless canopy. A warm wind, less like October and more like the June that haunted her, swept the mile long pier then vanished into the blindness of Lake Michigan. Below, waves crashed against the concrete buttress, the rhythm constant compared to the erratic beat of her heart.

Other celebrities emerged from the long line of limousines, taxis and a variety of high-profile transportation. Lights stenciled the lake’s boundary as drivers dropped off their passengers then circled to the waiting areas. The animated chatter of the arriving guests put Dylana on edge as she listened, her natural reserve tested. Her mind-set braced, then like a dutiful sponge absorbed and prepared to imitate the excitement building around her.

The passengers banded together in knots of privilege as they flashed smiles at a wall of badgering paparazzi. The media’s oral assault appeared to amuse the celebrants.

The reporters’ shouts drummed the hollowness of the lakefront. Why the secrecy? Who’s the money-pockets? What’s all the hush-hush? The harassing intensified as the party-goers ignored the verbal mugging.

Waving their invitations inscribed PRESENT FOR ADMITTANCE, the guests flaunted their status like gilt on their posturing frames. They posed while doormen flanked by police officers checked names off a lengthy list. Dylana shivered in the warm night, one hand cupping her ear in an attempt to mute the heckling. She despised the intrusive news hawkers.

Finally, her companion lumbered from behind the taxi and grabbed at Dylana’s waist to propel her through the waiting crowd. Here you are. He stuffed their invitations in a policeman’s hand and proceeded toward the door. She hung on, grateful for the companionship of the only other person on earth who knew why she didn’t want to be here.

Whoa, Judge. Having recognized the celebrities, an officer chased them down and thrust two ornate cards at them. Need these for your table assignment. Evening, Mrs. Hanson.

Judge Charles Abbott nodded toward the braying and the bright lights. Avoiding that blight of parasites. The officer shrugged his understanding.

Inside the renovated WWII military structure, Dylana fidgeted at the edge of the transformed room while Charlie checked her wrap. The copper charmeuse gown caressing her body forced her to straighten her posture as one foot slid in and out of a strappy heel. Am I ready?

She couldn’t quite force her mind to say yes.

Hundreds of Chicago’s headliners crammed the mammoth conference center. Jewels glittered as ageless women in one-of-a-kind gowns and confident men in designer tuxedos wandered among green cloth-covered tables. Overhead, car-sized chandeliers of iron leaves formed frames for ropes of huge red, turquoise, golden and grape faceted beads. The glow from the candle-shaped bulbs shed mystical elegance on the barn-like area. On tables set for eight, cobalt water carafes flanked gold place settings and scarlet wine glasses rimmed in gold, the effect a dazzle of contrast.

Dylana slid a plum-sized topaz back and forth on a gold chain dangling above the shadow of her cleavage as she surveyed her surroundings. Scattered about the room, South American cloths basketed mounds of calla lilies and fragrant ruby roses. Miniature arrangements of the same tropical bouquets centered each table. The flamboyant maze of colors should have come off garishly, perhaps even trashy, but instead she admired the artistic flair. For her, the rose fragrance drifting above the artificial perfumes pulsed romance. She made a mental note to discover the identity of the talented decorator.

Dylana surprised herself as she gazed around the gathering. This was her first grand outing since she had left Brede, and she could feel a resurgence of confidence—as if she really had her social side together. Accustomed to stares after a lifetime in the shadow of her famous grandfather and later her politician husband, she’d recently been introduced to hands over mouths hiding whispers about her personally. This gossip was not the same frustration she had endured while married to Brede. Some glances darted away, pretending not to notice when she caught their eye. How many friendships would end up casualties of the divorce?

Still, the number of warm smiles accompanied by welcoming waves and pleased greetings to see her finally out and about reassured her. She would’ve chosen not to be here at all, even among long time friends, preferring to curl up with one of her mystery or travel books at home. This public recognition of her daughter’s talents obligated her to make the effort.

Her life had collapsed in the last two years: friends neglected, energy consumed by financial advisors and attorney’s demands, her projects ignored. More problematic, the long, public battle for her freedom had strained her relationship with the twins. So, here she was, prepared to do whatever was required to please her daughter.

A body brushed against her, startling her out of her musing.

Her stout companion offered his arm. You’ve still got it over them all, always have, always will, he remarked loud enough for those nearby to hear. Best female of the lot, he winked.

Dylana studied her lifelong friend. His tuxedo, frayed at the cuffs, fit snugly. Thank you, Charlie. Her voice embraced him with genuine caring while she tugged at his tested lapels. Clasping his arm, she admonished, Esther would chew you out right here in front of everyone if she saw you like this. Why don’t you order a new tux, you can well afford one.

When you take my deceased wife’s place in my bedroom, you can do with me what you like. Until then, I’m willing to take your panties off anytime, anywhere, no charge. Charlie chuckled.

Dylana had loved Charlie for a lifetime, belaboring her regret that she could not return his amorous feelings. As only children, next door neighbors, they had bonded at birth. Charlie became the brother she would never have.

You dirty old man. You never quit. She faked irritation, and her teasing brought a broad smile from her companion. She and Charlie both knew he would always care about her. His short wedded bliss had not killed his desire to have Dylana. Unlike her ex-husband’s interest, Dylana mused.

Willing that morbidity from her thoughts, Dylana looked across the span to see her daughter on the dais. Pride banished all else from her mind. A smile tugged up the corners of her lips.

A striking young woman at six feet, Meredith Hanson towered over many of the men surrounding her. To Dylana, Meredith appeared painfully thin. The black brocade jacket caved in below broad shoulders, the fabric’s weight adding heft where an A cup bra and a pancake butt hid. Believing her daughter too gaunt, a boyish frame in need of glamour, Dylana took heart at the men ruffling like peacocks in her daughter’s presence. Fine brown hair, draped in waves on each side of Meredith’s face, coiled into a French braid barely brushing the mandarin collar of her conventional gown. A bow to civility.

Not long ago, Dylana recalled, Meredith had returned from Europe in camouflage pants and a cap hiding a sun-streaked ponytail stringing down her back. No, that was more than two years. Dylana scowled, her miscalculation of time of the past two years a frequent irritation.

She watched her daughter offering her hand to the undulating line of the admired and admiring populating the stage. Since early childhood, outsiders remarked how poised Meredith appeared; only her twin and Dylana know Meredith’s social handicap extended beyond painful shyness. No one else, not even Brede, believed that when faced with strangers’ attentions Meredith stifled a compulsion to run away. A trait, unfortunately, she had inherited from her mother.

Suddenly, in an unnatural rush, Meredith crossed the platform to greet a man who engulfed her in his arms. He kissed her cheeks continental style, then with both hands clasped her hands in a belated, longer than normal welcome. Dylana sensed their closeness, spied the telltale easing of tension in her daughter. Her curiosity piqued. Who was he?

In all fairness, Dylana, too, felt drawn to the stranger. Something inviting, a familiar easy stance, the tilt of his head, captured her attention. The man swayed back on his heels and laughed with such full bodied pleasure Dylana felt the zeal of his humor touch her—but at the same time wariness struck. The tinkle of shattering glass burst into her thoughts, stirring up a lost melancholy. Perhaps from her sentimental heart, the curse Grandfather warned her not to ignore. Dylana shrugged off the warning. Having failed years ago, her deceased grandfather’s romantic grossing no longer acted as her compass.

She couldn’t make out the stranger’s profile. His face remained averted. Gray flecked his styled russet hair, the shade of oak leaves after they turn from the frost. Perhaps one of Meredith’s former professors? Someone she met on her European tour? The stranger edged closer to Meredith as newcomers crowded the stage, placed his hand in the small of her back. Possessive? Dylana realized the act was protective. As the mystery man changed position, his tuxedo moved along his square shoulders and athletic body with the fineness of hand tailoring. He stayed with Meredith, established a pivotal barrier against the onslaught of posturing dignitaries. The stranger knew her daughter well, his attentions welcome. For a moment, Dylana experienced a flutter of envy.

Charlie shuffled a path through the muddled groupings of chairs and tables, his convivial greetings engaging Dylana in the exchanges. She further impeded their progress with her attention repeatedly drifting back to Meredith’s companion. In spite of Dylana’s uneasiness, the stranger prompted admiration. He was athletically built, hinting at constrained energy—a hunk, in her daughter’s vernacular.

Busy greeting well-wishers while cutting among the spectators, and attempting to grab a better look at Meredith’s friend divided Dylana’s attention. When Charlie halted, she flinched. She came near colliding with one of the women who, according to tabloid reports, had shared her ex-husband’s companionship during the past two years, and probably before.

The girl’s presence startled Dylana. She had dismissed the fact Brede would be attending. Actually, she’d plunged the thought somewhere between liver and bowel where anything of that sort belonged. Of course, Meredith would invite her father—no matter the bruising of the divorce.

The narcissistic oaf stood alongside the girl, facing the opposite direction. A buttered knife couldn’t slide between them. Only seconds and he would turn around.

Pull yourself together. Dylana squared her shoulders.

Tall, well built, arrogantly handsome with the hand-hewn features of an aging movie star, Brede wore his looks well. From the side, Dylana saw the reddened bridge of his nose. Sun-lightened strands stippled his blonde hair—too much relaxing on the Mediterranean celebrating the windfall divorce.

Wonder who paid for the trip? Certainly not him. Stop! Dylana closed her eyes. She had to end this fruitless hostility. Unproductive, boring derision would mold her into a tiresome old biddy, and she had too much life left in her to become uninteresting.

Intuitively aware of an audience, her ex reached back and slid his palm from the girl’s waist down the rise of her butt. He stretched backwards to stroke farther and exchange approval with an envious male, and faced Dylana. His hand yanked away with the speed of touch to a hot iron.

Evening, Brede, Dylana smiled evenly, might as well parade this like all the other lies. She wanted to bite her tongue, regretting the implication that she cared. Take my bad manners as a try at humor. We’re way beyond anything meaningful between us.

Dylana, I would like to introduce... he began, his eyes seeking her indulgence.

I’ve met them all. Remember? Two years of court proceedings leaked to make sure the scandal sheets spelled their names correctly. The taunt bristled on her tongue. What’s happened to me? She wanted to pull her head between her shoulders like a turtle to hide her blathering mouth. If I could get away...? He didn’t have anything to say she wanted to hear.

Dylana, I want to thank you. You never exposed...

Looks like the reason we’re here just spotted us, Dylana interrupted, waving to her daughter.

Meredith spoke to the mystery man while crooking a finger at her mother to come on stage. The stranger stiffened without turning around, then leaned over and whispered to Meredith. She quickly stepped away and began to thread her way off the stage.

Possibly the mystery man didn’t like stretching his attentions beyond his companion? The idea intrigued Dylana.

Excuse me, I’m joining the program’s celebrities and our daughter on stage, Brede grinned. He put his mouth close to Dylana’s ear. Enjoy the show. Meredith’s celebration was arranged especially for you.

His arrogance ripped through Dylana, shredding reason like a dulled blade. He didn’t care what pleased her, and if she hadn’t insisted for all those years he occasionally come home, he wouldn’t recognize either of the twins. She had been too nice, making excuses for him, accepting him as he was, keeping his flaw a secret—as she would continue to do, not for him, for the children.

Over his shoulder Brede directed her, Honey, I’m leaving my friend in your hands. This is all new to her.

Dylana’s instinct came in a wave of pleasure imagining her spiked heel in the middle of his rear, but a troubling situation distracted her. As usual, she replied in a sweet-sour response.

When Brede moved toward the stage, Dylana reached across the table and removed the name card in front of his companion. You don’t want to sit there. We’ll put you here, next to Judge Abbott. You might as well get acquainted with Brede’s traveling court. She felt saddened when the foolish girl purred her approval—the poor thing had so much to learn.

Wait’ll Charlie, the old sport, had a few drinks and looked down her dress while he drooled over her skirt. Actually, she didn’t have much dress to look down or skirt for that matter.

The girl’s full lips widened into a model’s perfect smile. Thank you, Lana.

Dylana froze. My name is Dylana! Dylana Howell Hanson, she barked. Brede never called me Lana and no one else does. Never. And please remind him, no honey, baby-doll, et cetera. We’ve never been on those terms. I would appreciate it. She used her most intimidating smile, the one that made chihuahuas slink away.

I’m sure I heard Brede referring to you as Lana...

Never! Dylana quickly moved away. Her chair faced the stage, and Miss Whoever across the table would spend the evening with her back to the other table companions or to the performance, undoubtedly needing traction by morning. Feeling unnaturally rash, Dylana traded her son Mitchell’s place card from a neighboring table and seated him at her left, along with his fiancée, Sharon Wynngate. That with the perennially unruffled Charlie protecting her right, then Brede’s feminine arm ornament, left two unoccupied chairs. Someone had efficiently removed Brede’s abandoned seat.

Dylana finished her rearranging just in time to give Meredith a motherly hug and kiss on the cheek. You look absolutely Hollywood. I think you’ve already shaken the physical and mental equilibrium of all the bachelors in the room. You’ll be mobbed by every male still conscious after dinner. And what about the new man, the one acting as your bodyguard? He obviously enjoys keeping you close.

Meredith didn’t bother to look around. You mean my new boss. I’m not interested in men right now, Mom—especially anyone older. Haven’t time. Her gray eyes sparked with excitement.

You never have time. How am I ever going to spoil a grandchild?

Mitchell will reproduce long before I will. You know his vanity; he can’t wait for a replica of himself to show off.

You think that fiancée of his would chance interrupting her career?

Mom, he dotes on Sharon. They both have good qualities that will...

She wormed her way up from assisting your father to being the market’s most resourceful real estate entrepreneur...

Give her a chance. How could my brother not fall in love with her? All the men think she’s beautiful, brilliant, charming...

Ambitious. Believe me, before your father and I—

Mom, drop it, you won that war. Leave it be, don’t turn into one of your tedious divorcee friends. Meredith’s smile asked for restraint as she placed her hand on her mother’s bare shoulder. Sorry for the short notice on the ceremony. The association kept the news absolutely secret—waiting until the owner of our firm could tie up his other commitments and attend the presentation.

On the stage, people signaled for Meredith to return. Starting away, she talked over the noise around them. University of Illinois...same as you.

Dylana smiled, pointed at her ears and shook her head. The activity on the stage had energized the floor conversations.

...needs government approval. Meredith’s voice cut through. Dad will see it gets done.

Now the pieces fit—why Brede shared the stage. From whose pocket? Dylana hadn’t intended to speak so loudly.

Meredith frowned and stepped back to her mother. Believe me, I know you had a rough time, the whole family did. It’s done—four months already—you need to leave your armor at home.

The criticism blistered. Two public years in the making, Dylana muttered. Everyone knew, but no one would acknowledge his transgressions, afraid the name listed after his might be their own.

Because you insisted on... Meredith tossed her head. You’re acting like a cow standing on its own teat and bawling about it.

Amused at her daughter borrowing Grandfather’s crude truism, Dylana snickered. Sorry, the prospect of sharing our family occasions with your father and his current hostess has me so ecstatic, I can barely keep both feet on the ground.

Mom! A flush burnished Meredith’s cheeks.

Dylana’s teasing demeanor evaporated. She felt genuine regret, upsetting her daughter on this special night when all Meredith’s hard work, schooling and dreams appeared fruitful. You’re right. I’m sorry. From the stage someone called Meredith’s name. Dylana pecked her daughter’s cheek. I’ll behave. Afterwards?

Sorry...maybe? There’s an afterglow at the Yacht Club with my new employer and his entourage. Everything about tonight’s hush-hush. The boss demanded absolute secrecy about his identity, his name is not to pass through our lips, nor any hint about the activities surrounding the event. Paparazzi and all. You know, it’s really all about business tonight.

Well, happy you included me. Even if I’m peeking from the ground floor while your father sits beside you. She grimaced before leaning over and kissing her daughter on the cheek. Sorry, slow learner. Nearby, one of the governor’s aides pulled out a vacant chair, his companion squeezing forward for introductions.

Meredith stopped, half turned toward the stage. ...introduce...you’ll love him. The noise of arriving guests broke up her words.

Fine... A pair of arms turned Dylana around pressing her face against a male chest. The man leaned over her shoulder, and Dylana heard a quick kiss behind her before being released.

You’re still the two most enchanting women in the room, her son’s baritone praised after he kissed his mother. That is—after Sharon.

Meredith beamed as she stepped away, Awww, you just say that because you’re my twin.

Freeing Dylana, Mitchell claimed the adjacent set of chairs and began introductions. Good evening... The chatter increased as the new arrivals greeted those around them.

Dylana looked back and glimpsed her daughter’s lips moving, but only one word was distinguishable...Brazil.

Dylana’s stomach sank. Keep smiling. Her gaze sought the stage—drawn to the confident bearing in the eye-catching tuxedo. A barely discernable jaw forced her to swallow. Be sensible. Her eyes narrowed, peering hard at the trim, athletic body. The attentive tilt of his head and catlike tension in his body as the stranger spoke to Brede birthed a furrow between her eyes.

Her fingers hugged the topaz then slid it along the chain. Impossible. I won’t think about Brazil...about him. Panic dotted her mind, her thoughts stumbled. A delayed reaction, she reasoned...the crowd...publicly facing Brede...his companion.

Dylana deliberately shuddered, willing herself to shed the memory of the man who had claimed, then abandoned, her heart so long ago.

Two

Dylana forced herself to keep pace with the table conversation. Don’t look . Disobedient, her gaze fanned toward the stage, glimpsed a splinter of the stranger’s profile as he greeted someone.

No—twenty some years ago. A smile of habit fixed on her lips, dried, patent, unflinching, while her heart pounded. Her mind reached to grasp Charlie’s yarn detailing an anonymous lawyer’s antics. She fought to focus, to cheat the memories of their hold. Beneath the noise filling the room, a musical trio played pop songs, some of her favorites infused with a flamenco beat. The innovation elicited an instinctive smile. Her breathing slowed, her mind calmed as she listened.

Say something. You’re not a naïve schoolgirl.

Mitchell, we’re fortunate you and Sharon found time to come on such short notice. Dylana leaned forward to address her son’s fiancée. No real estate moguls exploring the city who require hand-holding tonight, Sharon?

Dylana concentrated on her handsome son, vaguely aware of the girl’s answer. His movie star looks oozed with the untarnished persona of a boy-next-door quality. Barring any upheaval, that characteristic alone, without the voters knowing about his brilliant mind, assured his election in the spring to the state general assembly.

Mitchell spoke into Dylana’s ear. Mom, Sharon owns a premium investment business which she manages extremely well. Some of your friends are repeat clients. Be more trusting?

And you met her how? Dylana whispered back. She didn’t trust Sharon, and Mitchell knew that. Dylana had repeatedly struggled to make friendly overtures to the girl who had served as Brede’s assistant for several years, trying to discover likeable qualities and forgive that minor misstep. Busy re-titling deeds of proposed state purchases, assuming that’s what you mastered under Brede’s tutelage?

The conversation stalled while white-gloved waiters served shrimp canapés cozied alongside cups of mango and red pepper soup. Food Dylana barely tasted while she devoured it. Her hunger surpassed that of a bear waking from hibernation. Why couldn’t she lose her appetite under stress instead of becoming ravenous?

Sharon barely touched her spoon to the soup. I already had my real estate license when Brede hired me. My experience with him taught me how to unearth the state’s interests. Someone has to watch out for the private citizens besides you.

Dylana longed to remark about Sharon’s experience and whose interest she represented but held her tongue. A public censure, no matter how overdue, wasn’t worth tainting either of the twins’ affections.

Mitchell placed his arm across the back of Sharon’s chair. Don’t toss her into the same pot with the rest of the property churners. I’ve got a real prize here. Sharon is the person I need beside me for the campaign, and afterwards. Ignoring all warnings, Mitchell had announced their engagement a month ago.

Dylana choked down a one line prayer that her son was right. Sipping her water, she initiated questions and elicited conversation consistent with the blueprint of a consummate socialite.

A lapse occurred in the conversations. Meredith’s comment intruded. Brazil? A bit of shrimp stuck in Dylana’s throat. Who was Meredith’s unnamed boss?

Dylana’s thoughts skipped back years, punctuated with frames of painful memories. Depression, loneliness, the temptations of death. She barely tolerated their intrusion. Sharon, tell us, what is the latest real estate venture the governor or mayor has you chasing?

Dylana sneaked a peek at the stage. He’s dead. That single mental declaration slammed the gate on her recollections. The tension eased, her body unknotted, her mind cleared as she contemplated her companions.

Sharon’s elbows squeezed her breasts together, producing more cleavage before she sat forward while the servers set down plates of prime rib. The performance didn’t escape Mitchell. Astonishingly, he looked pleased.

All kept strictly confidential right now, Sharon replied. To do with Meredith’s special project. Don’t want speculators bidding up prices. She tossed her blonde ironed locks. Project’s keeping us all very busy. She smiled up at the waiter, ignoring the clink of crystal when he missed his mark pouring more wine.

Dylana grudgingly admitted the girl was beautiful. And she knew how to work her looks. Mitchell and Sharon made a perfect model’s set, sought after by countless photographers, the envy of ever magazine cover aspirant.

Conversation slowed while the diners appeased their appetites, until dishes with strawberries skiing down a mound of chocolate mousse brought excited murmurs. Visualizing the additional plumping pounds, Dylana felt frustrated. She had skipped the potato and bread, banking the dessert would be chocolate—her favorite. After all, calories were calories.

Charlie’s dessert dish nudging her neglected wine glass crossed the line. Dylana checked the impulse to empty his plate first, one divine spoonful at a time.

As he set his glass down, Charlie’s pinky scooted the chocolate closer to Dylana. Sharon, Charlie said, hope you’re not involved in Brede’s latest misadventure?

The judge’s subtle query interrupted Dylana’s mental pilfering. Charlie never vented about affairs that might come before his court.

Best not, he continued. Let me warn you, and you can pass this on to him. Word leaks out, he’ll be standing in my courtroom again. On the wrong side of the chambers.

What now? Dylana’s curiosity stirred. If she ever washed Brede’s dirty laundry in public, half the ballroom would drown in the pollution. She would continue to be the perfect bureaucrat’s ex-wife and Charlie knew that; his warning was meant to discourage the others. She could never embarrass Mitchell and Meredith by enlightening them on Brede’s plunders, but she would love to watch their father’s alabaster derriere race down the pinnacle of political parasites.

Brede, Sharon and Meredith are working closely together. The neglected arm ornament’s saccharin voice added a splash of vinegar. Tight too, about their project. She preened with all the grace of a sitting guinea hen. So sorry, Dylana, you didn’t know?

Dylana bowed her head, softening her posture. I’ve never been Brede’s caretaker. Humility fluffed her words. Perhaps, Judge, you’d better give that warning to our newest guest. She seems informed on Brede’s latest scheming. Dylana had bettered too many feral felines to be sucked into a competition over nothing.

So, Brede had involved their daughter in the state’s newest development. I wonder where? She hoped by now Meredith had learned to weigh his offerings on a righteous scale.

Dylana studied Brede’s latest companion. How come hormones wore so much better on her? Maybe...half Charlie’s dessert. Twenty five pounds had fleshed Dylana out since the marriage years ago. Big breasts and a handful