“Try me.”
“Classic rock. I have a huge vinyl collection. At least, I used to have one. I’m sure it’s in storage somewhere. Anyway, I have a secret love affair with Led Zeppelin, Bob Seger, the Steve Miller Band . . .” She rattles off a few more, and in the meantime, I press preset number one.
Serena’s face lights when Tom Petty’s “American Girl” begins to play over the speakers. I turn it up, and she does a hint of a happy dance in her seat.
I watch her as best I can from the driver’s seat, completely transforming in the span of a single song. She mouths along to the music, her shoulders twisting and lifting with each kick of the bass drum.
Pressing my foot into the accelerator, we climb up hills and coast down valleys, the highway lined in gorgeous, budding trees. A sign on the right tells us Walworth Township is two miles ahead, and the speed limit slows to thirty-five.
The song ends, and The Stones play next as we approach a four-way stop with a flashing red light.
“I’ve never seen someone come alive like that,” I say.
“It’s got to be all this fresh air.” Her cheeks blush and fade away. “I’ve been feeling so listless staying at Belcourt. It’s amazing what a little music and a change of scenery can do for the spirit. Although, now I feel completely ridiculous. I can assure you, I don’t normally make a habit of turning a car into a disco dance hall.”
“No, no. Don’t. Don’t feel that way.”
I make a left at the stop sign and spot a bridge in the distance. Serena reaches for the door handle as we approach it, her body freezing.
“What? What is it?” I press my brakes.
She closes her eyes, swallowing deep breaths. “The bridge.”
I glance ahead and back at her. “What about it?”
“This is where I had my accident.”
“Oh. Shit. That was here?” I drag my hand along my chin before shifting into reverse. “We don’t have to go this way.”
“No, no. It’s okay.” Her blue eyes are wide open now. “It was just a little winter driving accident. The bridge was slick. It should be safe now. Go ahead.”
“You’re sure?”
She bites her lower lip and blinks slowly before finally nodding. “Yes, just go.”
I take it easy, pulling ahead no faster than ten miles per hour. When we get to the end of the bridge, a patched metal railing indicates where her car must have broken through and slid off.
“Good. They’ve got it all fixed up.” She gives it a glance before staring straight ahead. “That was the most terrifying moment of my life. I truly thought I was going to die.”
We pull away from the bridge, and I take a right at the next intersection, which leads us to another stretch of highway. A sign tells us we’re fifteen miles from the next town.
“You thought you were going to die?” I ask.
Her hand rests on her chest, which is rising and falling in quick succession.
“Yes. I was driving along, and this little cat ran across the bridge, and I didn’t want to hit it, so I slammed on my brakes. I’m not used to winter driving. It had just snowed, and I guess there was a layer of ice underneath. Or that’s what I was told. Anyway, I slid off the bridge and broke through the railing. Landed in the water beneath. Thank God, it wasn’t very deep.”
“But.” I scratch the side of my head, watching her then watching the road. “I’m confused.”
“About what?” She bats her lashes, staring ahead.
“The articles, the doctor’s statement . . .” I say, “they all say that was a suicide attempt. That you drove off the bridge to hurt yourself.”
“What?” Her voice is high-pitched, unbelieving. “Who said that?”
“The tabloids, for one. Which, yes, I know. But Dr. Rothbart’s statement also said it was an attempt at self-harm,” I say. “Haven’t you seen the medical report? The one submitted to the court?”
“No, of course not. My last attorney handled all of that.”
“Why would the doctor say that?”
“Why would I try and kill myself by driving my car into two feet of water?” She laughs, but her eyes are glassy. “Do you know how ridiculous that looks? If I were going to hurt myself, I’d find a less dramatic way of doing so. Believe me. I would never go out that way.”
“So you weren’t trying to hurt yourself?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why did you stay in a private mental health facility after the accident?”
“A what?”
“The doctor’s report said you were hospitalized in a private institution in upstate New York.”
Serena’s mouth hangs, and she stares through my window, her body angled toward me. “I hit my head on the steering wheel and suffered a light concussion. I was examined by our family doctor—at Belcourt—and assigned a home nurse for a week. I haven’t spent a night away from that goddamned prison since my father forced me to move there.”
“This isn’t adding up.” I drag my hand through my hair and press my back into the black leather seat. My left hand grips the wheel tight. “Why would Dr. Rothbart risk his license and reputation by lying like that? Why would he give false evidence and risk jail time?”
Serena leans her head against the headrest, her eyes focused on the radio. “Money.”
“Your stepmother?”
“It has to be her. She has access to my father’s accounts. You can put a price on anything these days.”
“She wants your inheritance.”
“Yes, counselor. However did you figure that out?”
“So she’s trying to prove you’re not well, trying to establish that you need some sort of managed care or trust fund, and that you shouldn’t receive your full cut.”
“Exactly. My trust fund is a percentage of my father’s entire estate. Ninety-seven percent. He’s in his late eighties. His days are numbered. Once he’s gone, I’ll inherit hundreds of millions, and she’ll be left with a small pittance in comparison. Less than half of a percent, if I recall. Definitely not enough to maintain her current lifestyle.”
“So how does it help her to prove you’re crazy?”
“She’s been after my father to change the will since they got married. He wants to know that the money he and his father worked their entire lives for will live on and not be spent carelessly or foolishly. She’s spent the last few years trying to convince him of how irresponsible I am, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Veronica’s the one with the spending problem. I couldn’t care less about the money. It’s more of a burden than anything else. I just don’t want her to have it. She doesn’t love him. She only loves his wealth.”
“All right. Let me get this straight.” I clear my throat. “If she can convince your father that you’re not of sound mind, he’ll change the will and leave her with more money than God.”
“Yes.” Serena drags her fingers through a long, red wave. “I’m assuming she wouldn’t get everything, but she’d certainly get more than her fair share. I’m sure I’d be given a small trust of some sort, but it’s the principle of the thing.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“I can’t let this happen.” Serena places her hand on my arm.
“It won’t.”
Serena’s expression fades. “I just want my life back. I want my good name back. I want the truth known. And I want Veronica exposed before it’s too late.”
“It’s a long order, but I can do this.”
“What do you mean, you can do this? Hello.” She points to herself. “I’m not some helpless damsel in distress.”
“But you kind of are.” I can’t help but admire her determination. The fact that she doesn’t want to rely on me is fucking adorable.
“No, no. I hate that.” Her head shakes, her hair feathering her face.
“All right. I get it. You’re a strong, independent woman. Regardless, you need me. You need me whether you like it or not. You can’t do this alone.”
> She releases a dramatic exhalation, her elbow resting against her door.
“Don’t screw me over.” She turns back and points a finger at me. “I mean it, Derek. I have to know that I can trust you. That you’re not in this for yourself. That you’re not here to milk what’s left of my trust fund.”
“Slightly insulted by your insinuation, but you have my word.” I draw an ‘X’ across my chest and lift my palm. “Estate law happens to be a pet passion of mine. Believe it or not, cases like yours aren’t entirely uncommon.”
“So this will be easy, then?” Serena’s tone is lighter, hopeful. “We just have to prove that Dr. Rothbart is on her payroll and that he lied. Find some unbiased doctor to evaluate me and prove I’m not in a state of self-harm, and that I don’t need a conservator or psychiatric medications. And then we need to prove that Veronica’s been scheming.”
“It’s not going to be easy, Serena. This isn’t the movies.” I place my hand on hers, and our eyes lock.
Seconds later, her shoulders slump and her forehead rests against the passenger window. “So I’m stuck with you for a while?”
“Don’t act like you’re disappointed,” I tease.
Her heart-shaped lips smother a chuckle, and I wonder if she’s smiled more today than she has in a long time.
“We should get you back home,” I say after noticing the sun is officially hidden behind the horizon. “The last thing we need is to raise any eyebrows. Veronica can’t know we’re looking into her dealings. As far as the Belcourt staff is concerned, I’m simply your conservator and nothing more. We will not discuss anything related to Veronica as long as we’re on the Belcourt grounds, understood?”
“Yes, counselor.”
“By the way, those large purchases you made?” I ask.
Her brows meet. “What large purchases?”
“The eleven million worth of sports cars and clothes and jewelry . . .”
The expression on her face tells me all I need to know. “Oh, God. Seriously?”
“It was mentioned in the court order. How did you not know this?”
“Derek, I’ve been so medicated and out of it. There’s not a lot I remember past the whole airport incident. They had me on tranquilizers, benzodiazepines, sleeping pills . . .” Her chin is tucked, and she buries her face in her palms. “I had no idea it was this bad.”
“So Veronica made some irresponsible purchases in your name to show your father you weren’t capable of managing your finances in the perceived state you were in.”
Serena brushes strands of golden-red hair from her face. I can tell she wants to cry from the weight of sheer frustration, but perhaps the medication still coursing her system has numbed her too much.
We turn around, heading back to Belcourt and riding in silence. I avoid the bridge on purpose, taking an alternate route and extending our drive back by a few extra, much-needed minutes.
By the time we pull into the circle drive, I spot Eudora hiding behind a curtained window. The front door swings open a moment later, and she stands, watching and waiting as if we’re late.
“Didn’t realize I had a curfew,” Serena mumbles under her breath, turning to me. “Do you see how ridiculous this is? I’m twenty-five. Twenty. Five.”
“You should leave,” I say.
“Pardon me?” Her eyes glimmer enough to tell me I’ve piqued her interest. “Leave, as in leave Belcourt?”
“Yes.”
“And where would I go, exactly? I’m not ready to show my face in the city. That’s the only place I feel at home. That and this little cottage a couple of hours outside London. That’s where I was trying to go that night at JFK.”
Her voice fades into nothing.
“Anyway,” she sighs, her fingers wrapping around the door handle.
“You should move to some small town where nobody knows you,” I say.
“What, like wherever you’re from?” Her laugh dwindles when she realizes I’m not joking.
“Nobody would know you there. Except, maybe, Demi.”
“Your sister?”
“Yes. The Rixton Falls born-and-raised celebrity gossip enthusiast.”
“Rixton Falls? That’s the name of your hometown?”
I nod.
“Sounds quaint. There’s a waterfall, I presume?”
“Several.”
We glance across the dash, watching Eudora fold her arms and tap her foot. She checks her wrist.
“She doesn’t wear a watch.” Serena rolls her eyes. “Thanks for the tour of the country today. I needed that. I felt a little more like myself tonight.”
I offer a tight-lipped half-smile and lift my fingers from the steering wheel for a quick wave goodbye.
“Do you have an email address?” I ask as she climbs out.
She shakes her head. “No internet here. Remember?”
“We should set you up with satellite internet.”
“That’s a thing?”
“Yes. I’ll have my secretary call and schedule an installation. I’d like to be able to reach you at all times. Privately. Your cellphone isn’t reliable, and landlines aren’t secure.”
“Sounds good. Goodnight, counselor.”
Her white teeth rake her bottom lip, though I don’t think she knows she’s doing it, and she gently shuts the car door and heads in. From where I sit, I can tell Eudora’s fussing at her, and I only stay long enough to watch her disappear inside.
I have to get her away from these people.
She’s not safe here.
Chapter 6
Serena
“Your father and Veronica called while you were out.” Eudora follows me up the winding staircase that leads to my suite.
“What did you tell them?” I whip around, stopping on the eighth stair.
Eudora covers her heart with a wrinkled hand. “That you were sleeping, of course.”
I exhale and climb the rest of the steps, slightly breathless when I reach the top.
“Your medications were due over an hour ago,” Eudora says when we cross the threshold to my room. “They’re on your nightstand.”
“I’ll take them after I wash up.”
Eudora eyes the meds, then me. “You seem awfully alert lately. Feeling better?”
Unbuttoning my shirt before the mirror, I pause at the third button and turn her way. “Much. Thank you for asking.”
She knows me better than anyone, and the rolling feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me she sees clear through me.
“It’s that lawyer, isn’t it? You’re sweet on him.” Her words are choppy, displeased. “It’s like you’ve been walking on air since yesterday afternoon.”
I laugh and return to my buttons. “Not. At. All. You’re imagining things.”
She moves closer, examining me until I squirm slightly. “You’re blushing.”
“He’s a nice man,” I say. “And he’s easy on the eyes. But after everything that happened with Keir, I’m rather insulted by the fact that you’d accuse me of wanting to jump back into the dating scene. And he’s my conservator. It would violate his professional standards and my personal ethics. Please. No more frivolous indictments.”
She slaps her palms along her sides and huffs. “I’m just protective, that’s all.”
“Right. You said that before.” I pull my blouse off my shoulders, standing in nothing but a bra and black leather leggings that are a size too big and mourning my curves in the mirror. Food just hasn’t tasted the same in the last couple of months. I blame the medication.
“It’s just.” She stands beside me. “You’re a very beautiful young lady. He’s a handsome man who knows you’re richer than God. And he’s charming. Serena, he’s essentially a stranger, and you got in the car with him. What if he would’ve taken you somewhere?”
“Okay. That’s enough.” I chuckle. “I’m not a child climbing into a car with a candy-toting stranger. I’m grown woman. You saw me leave with him. We both know who he is. I didn’t see th
e harm. You know you sound ridiculous, right?”
I peel out of my leggings and yank a pair of matching satin pajamas from my middle bureau drawer. When I’m changed, I head to the bathroom to wash up. Eudora follows, leaning in the doorway.
“Just be smart about this,” she cautions. “I don’t care how sweet he is to you. How he makes you feel. You can’t trust him. You can’t trust any of them.”
I dab a line of toothpaste on my ultrasonic brush and shoot her a scrunch-faced look, debating whether to argue or appease for now.
“Got it,” I say. I’m too tired to fight with Eudora, and I know her stick-in-the-mud tendencies all too well. I’ve grown up with them. “He’s untrustworthy, and I won’t trust him.”
When I round the corner to the dining room Tuesday morning and spot Veronica and my father seated at the head of the table, it’s all I can do to not choke on my spit.
“Good morning, sweetheart.” Veronica rises, her glass-like forehead reflecting off the lit chandelier above. She’s dressed in head-to-toe daffodil yellow, my father’s favorite color, even though it looks horrid against her orange-glow skin. Someone that evil shouldn’t wear happy colors.
I shudder when she calls me any term of endearment, which only seems to happen when my father is present.
“Hi, Daddy.” I ignore Veronica and take the seat next to my father, who’s dressed in a navy velour tracksuit. It’s all he seems to wear anymore. Long gone are the days when he’d never be caught dead in anything besides his favorite Italian tailored suits. I slip my hand over my father’s, and he stares blankly ahead.
“He’s not quite himself today.” Veronica clears her throat and takes the seat on his other side. “He had another episode this morning. Kept calling me . . . Maggie.”
My chest tightens.
That was my mother’s name.
“It was like he’d completely forgotten which decade we’re in,” she laments, but I don’t think she cares about him. I think she’s more concerned with her window of opportunity fading.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
I find it interesting that she hasn’t visited in weeks, and now she’s here. A few days after I fled Belcourt for a couple of hours.
The Complete Rixton Falls Series Page 29