Twisted Palace

by Erin Watt

  Your dad is talking, my brain tells me. I search his face for traces of myself and find nothing except our shared eye color. Other than that, I have my mother’s features, her body type, her hair. I’m the younger, blue-eyed version of Maggie Harper, but she must’ve made no impression on Steve because he shows no signs of recognition.

  “Apparently the islanders harvest a particular seagull egg that is sold as a delicacy in Asia. The fishing boat took me to Tonga where I then begged my way back to Sydney.” He takes a sip of his coffee before making the understatement of the century. “It’s a miracle I’m alive.”

  “When did you get to Sydney?” Sebastian asks.

  My dad purses his lips in thought. “I don’t remember. I want to say three days ago?”

  Callum balks. “And you didn’t think to call and tell us you were alive?”

  “I had some matters to take care of,” Steve says tightly. “I knew that if I called, you’d be on the first plane out, and I didn’t want to be distracted from my search for answers.”

  “Answers?” Reed echoes, his tone sharper than before.

  “I went to find the guide who led the hang-gliding expedition, and track down my things. I’d left behind my passport, a wallet, clothes.”

  “Did you find the guide?” Easton’s caught up in the story, too. We all are.

  “No. The tour guide had been missing for months. Once I hit that dead end, I went to the American embassy and they shipped me home. I came directly here from the airport.”

  “It’s a good thing you didn’t go home,” Callum says grimly. “Or you might’ve been arrested, too.”

  “Where’s my wife?” Steve asks, sounding wary. “Dinah and Brooke are attached at the hip.”

  “Dinah’s still in Paris.”

  “What were they doing there?”

  “She and Brooke were shopping,” Callum pauses. “For the wedding.”

  Steve snorts. “What schmuck got suckered in for that?”

  “This one.” Callum points to himself.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “She was pregnant. I thought it was mine.”

  “But you had the vas—” Steve cuts himself off and quickly looks around the table to see if anyone had caught his slip.

  “The vasectomy?” Easton finishes.

  Callum’s eyes cut to me before shifting back to his son. “You know about that?”

  “I told them.” I jut my chin. “There are too many stupid secrets in this house.”

  “I agree,” Steve declares. He turns to pin those familiar blue eyes on me. “Callum,” he says without taking his gaze off mine. “Now that I’ve answered all your questions, perhaps you can respond to one of mine. Who is this delightful young woman?”

  Reed’s hand tightens over my thigh. The knot in my stomach feels like a block of cement now, but at some point, the truth had to come out. Might as well be now.

  “Don’t you recognize me?” I ask, smiling weakly. “I’m your daughter.”

  4

  Ella

  I don’t think Steve O’Halloran is a man who’s caught off guard too often. Pure shock stiffens his body and floods his expression.

  “My…” He trails off, turning to Callum for…assistance? Support? I’m not sure.

  But for a man who so casually asked if someone had “offed” his wife, he doesn’t seem equipped to handle the less dramatic revelation that he’s sitting at the same table as his kid.

  “Daughter,” Callum finishes gently.

  Steve blinks in rapid succession.

  “Do you remember the letter you received before you and Dinah left for your trip?” Callum asks.

  Steve slowly shakes his head. “A letter… From whom?”

  “From Ella’s mother.”

  “Maggie,” I say, my voice hoarse. Thinking about my mom always makes my heart ache. “You met her eighteen years ago when you were on shore leave. You two…uh…”

  “Hooked up. Knocked boots. Did the horizontal mamba,” Easton supplies.

  “Ella’s mother got pregnant.” Callum takes over before his son says the million inappropriate things we all see dangling at the end of his tongue. “She tried to track you down during the pregnancy but was unsuccessful. When she was diagnosed with cancer, she sent a letter to your old base, hoping they’d find a way to get it to you. And they did. You received the letter nine months ago, right before you left.”

  Steve is blinking again. After a few seconds, his eyes focus and he stares intently at me. Curious. Pleased.

  I squirm in my chair, which causes Reed to stroke my leg in reassurance. He knows I don’t like to be the center of attention, and right now everyone in the room is looking at me.

  “You’re Maggie’s daughter,” Steve says, his tone a mixture of wonder and interest. “She passed away?”

  I nod, because the lump in my throat is too big to speak around.

  “You’re…my daughter.” The words come out slowly, as if he’s testing their flavor.

  “Yep,” I manage to get out.

  “Wow. Well. Okay.” He rakes a hand through his long hair. “I…” A wry smile touches his lips. “I guess we have a lot to talk about, huh?”

  A spark of panic ignites my belly. I’m not ready for this. I don’t know what to say to this man or how to behave around him. The Royals might have known Steve for years, but he’s a stranger to me.

  “I guess so,” I mumble, staring down at my hands.

  Callum takes pity on me by suggesting, “But that can wait until later. After you’re settled.”

  Steve glances over at his old friend. “I assume you’ll let me stay here until the police release my penthouse?”

  “Of course.”

  My anxiety intensifies. Can’t he check into a hotel or something? Yes, the Royal mansion is huge, but the thought of living in the same house as my presumed-dead father makes me nervous.

  But why? Why aren’t I throwing my arms around this man and thanking God he’s alive? Why aren’t I ecstatic at the idea of getting to know him?

  Because he’s a stranger.

  That’s the only answer that makes sense right now. I don’t know Steve O’Halloran, and I’m not good at letting new people in. I spent my entire childhood moving from one place to another, trying not to get close to anyone because I knew that Mom would just pack us up again and then I’d have to say goodbye.

  When I came to Bayview, I didn’t plan on forming any real bonds. Somehow, I wound up with a best friend, a boyfriend, surrogate brothers whom I adore, and a man—Callum—who, as screwed up as he is, has become a father figure to me.

  I don’t know where Steve fits in. And I’m not ready to figure it out yet.

  “That will give Ella and me time to get to know each other on her own turf,” Steve is saying, and I realize he’s smiling at me.

  I muster up a smile in return. “Cool beans.”

  Cool beans?

  Reed pinches my thigh teasingly, and I turn to see him fighting a laugh. Yeah. Maybe Steve isn’t the only one who’s in shock right now.

  Luckily, the discussion soon turns toward Atlantic Aviation, Callum and Steve’s business. I notice that Steve doesn’t seem interested in the minute details—just a project that the two refer to in vague terms. Callum once said they do a lot of work for the government. Eventually, the two men excuse themselves and duck into Callum’s study to go over the company’s last quarterly report.

  Alone with the boys, I search their faces for signs that they’re as freaked out by all this as I am.

  “This is weird, right?” I blurt out when nobody says anything. “I mean, he just came back from the dead.”

  Easton shrugs. “Told you Uncle Steve was a baller.”

  Sawyer snickers.

  I shoot a worried look at Reed. “Am I going to have to move in with him and Dinah?”

  That sobers up the kitchen.

  “No way,” Reed says immediately. Low and firm. “My dad is your guardian.”

>   “But Steve is my father. If he wants me to live with him, then I’d have to go.”

  “No. Way.”

  “Not happening,” Easton agrees. Even the twins are nodding emphatically.

  Warmth unfurls in my chest. Sometimes I still can’t believe that we all hated each other when I first got here. Reed was determined to destroy me. His brothers alternately taunted or ignored me. I fantasized about running away on a daily basis.

  And now I can’t imagine not having the Royals in my life.

  Another wave of anxiety churns in my stomach as I remember where Reed spent the night. There’s a very real chance he won’t be in my life anymore, not if the police really believe he killed Brooke.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” I say in a shaky voice. “I want you to tell me everything that happened at the station.”

  Reed nods and gets up without a word. When Easton rises, too, Reed holds up a hand. “I’ll fill you in later. Let me talk to Ella first.”

  Easton probably sees the panic etched into my face, because for the first time ever, he actually does what he’s told.

  I lace my fingers through Reed’s as we climb the back staircase to the second floor. Once we’re alone in my room, he wastes no time locking the door and yanking me into his arms.

  His mouth lands on mine before I can blink. The kiss is hot, desperate, and all tongue. I thought I was too exhausted to feel anything other than, well, exhaustion, but my entire body tightens and aches as Reed’s skilled lips tease me to the edge of oblivion.

  I groan in protest when he breaks away, which makes him chuckle. “I thought we were going to talk,” he reminds me.

  “You’re the one who kissed me,” I grumble. “How am I supposed to concentrate on talking when your tongue is in my mouth?”

  He pulls me onto the bed. A second later, we’re curled up on our sides facing each other, our legs twined together.

  “Were you scared?” I whisper.

  His gorgeous face softens. “Not really.”

  “You were arrested for murder,” I say in anguish. “I would be scared.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone, Ella.” He reaches out and strokes my cheek with his fingertips. “I swear to you, Brooke was alive when I left the penthouse.”

  “I believe you.”

  And I do. Reed isn’t a killer. He’s got flaws, lots of flaws, but he could never, ever take someone’s life.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that you went over there?” I ask in a hurt voice. “What did Brooke say to you? And the blood on your side…”

  “I pulled my stitches. I wasn’t lying about that. Must’ve happened on the drive home, because I wasn’t bleeding when I was over there. And I didn’t tell you because I was high on pain meds when you got back, and then we started fooling around…” He sighs. “I got distracted. And honestly, the whole thing didn’t even seem important. I was going to say something in the morning.”

  There’s nothing but sincerity on his face, in his voice.

  I lean into his palm, which is still cupped over my cheek. “Did she want money from you?”

  “Yup,” he says flatly. “She was freaking that Dad scheduled a paternity test. She wanted to make a deal—if I signed over my trust fund to her, she’d take the cash and split. We’d never have to see her again.”

  “And you said no?”

  “Hell yeah I said no. I wasn’t going to pay that woman a dime. The DNA test would’ve shown that her baby wasn’t mine or Dad’s. I figured we just had to wait it out for a few more days.” His blue eyes darken. “I didn’t think she’d fucking get herself killed.”

  “Do you think it was an accident?” I’m grasping at straws, but I honestly don’t understand how any of this happened. Brooke is—was—awful, but none of us wanted her dead. Gone, maybe. But not dead.

  Or at least I didn’t.

  “I have no clue,” Reed answers. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Brooke had enemies we don’t know about. She could’ve pissed off someone bad enough that they decided to bash her head in.”

  I wince.

  “Sorry,” he murmurs hastily.

  I sit up and rub my tired eyes. “What evidence do the cops have?”

  “Video footage of me entering and leaving the building,” he admits. “And something else, too.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. They’re not telling us yet. Dad’s lawyer says that’s normal—they’re still trying to build their case against me.”

  I feel sick again. “They don’t have a case. They can’t.” My lungs seize up, making it hard to breathe. “You can’t go to jail, Reed.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You don’t know that!” I jump off the bed. “Let’s just go. Right now. You and me. I already packed your bag.”

  Reed bolts up in shock. “Ella—”

  “I mean it,” I interrupt. “I’ve got my fake ID and ten grand in cash. You’ve got a fake ID too, right?”

  “Ella—”

  “We could create a new life somewhere,” I say desperately. “I’ll get a job waitressing, you can work construction.”

  “And then what?” His voice is gentle, and so is his touch as he gets up and tugs me toward him. “Live in hiding for the rest of our lives? Look over our shoulders all the time worrying that the cops will find us and haul me away?”

  I bite my lip. Hard.

  “I’m a Royal, baby. I don’t run. I fight.” Steel hardens his eyes. “I didn’t kill anyone, and I’m not going to prison for something I didn’t do. I promise you.”

  Why does everyone always feel the need to make promises? Don’t they know that promises always get broken?

  Reed squeezes my shoulder. “These trumped-up charges will go away. Dad’s lawyers aren’t going to let—”

  A high-pitched shriek cuts him off.

  We both spin toward the door, but the scream didn’t come from the second floor. It came from downstairs.

  Reed and I fly out of my room, reaching the second-floor landing at the same time as Easton.

  “What the hell was that?” Easton demands.

  That was Dinah O’Halloran, I realize when I peer over the balcony railing. Steve’s wife is standing in the middle of the parlor below us, her face whiter than a sheet, one hand raised in the air as she gapes at her not-dead husband.

  “What’s going on here?” she’s shouting in horror. “How are you here?!”

  My father’s mild voice wafts up the stairs. “Hello to you, too, Dinah. It’s wonderful to see you.”

  “You’re…you’re…” She’s stuttering. “You’re dead! You died!”

  “Sorry to disappoint, but no, I’m very much alive.”

  Footsteps echo, and then Callum appears beside Steve. “Dinah,” he says tightly. “I was going to call you.”

  “Then why didn’t you?” she roars, teetering on her five-inch heels. “You didn’t think to pick up the phone sooner to let me know that my husband is alive?”

  As much as I dislike Dinah, I kind of feel bad for her. She’s so obviously stunned and confused by this, and I don’t blame her. She just walked in and saw a ghost.

  “What are you doing here?” Steve asks his wife, and something about his blasé tone rubs me the wrong way.

  I get that Dinah is a bitch, but can’t he at least hug her or something? She’s his wife.

  “I came to see Callum.” Dinah won’t stop blinking, as if she can’t figure out if Steve is actually there or if she’s hallucinating. “The police…they left a message on my phone. They said my penthouse—” She hastily corrects herself, “Our penthouse…they said it’s a crime scene.”

  I wish I could see Steve’s expression, but his back is to the stairs. I only have Dinah’s expressions to gauge his, and it’s clear that whatever she’s seeing on his face is making her extremely uneasy.

  “They told me Brooke is dead.”

  “That seems to be the case,” Callum confirms.

  “How?” Dinah wails, her voice shaki
ng wildly. “What happened to her?”

  “We don’t know yet—”

  “Bullshit! The detective said they detained a suspect for questioning.”

  Reed and I slowly edge away from the railing, but it’s too late. Dinah has spotted us. Sharp green eyes laser into us, and she releases a cry of outrage.

  “It’s him, isn’t it! Reed did this to her!”

  Callum steps forward, entering my line of sight. His shoulders are like two granite slabs, rigid and unyielding. “Reed had nothing to do with it.”

  “She was having his baby! He had everything to do with it!”

  I flinch.

  “C’mon,” Reed mutters, reaching for my hand. “We don’t need to listen to this.”

  But we do. That’s all we’re going to be listening to once the news of Brooke’s death gets out. Soon everyone is going to know about Reed and Brooke’s affair. Everyone’s going to know that she was pregnant, that he went over to the penthouse that night, that he was interrogated and charged with her murder.

  Once the story breaks, the vultures are going to circle. The pitchforks will come out, and Dinah O’Halloran will be leading the charge.

  I suck air into my lungs, hoping to calm myself, but it doesn’t work. My hands are shaking. My heart is beating too fast, each thump-thump vibrating with fear that I feel straight to my bones.

  “I can’t lose you,” I whisper.

  “You won’t.”

  He pulls me away from the landing and draws me into his arms. Easton disappears into his room as I press my face tight against Reed’s muscled chest.

  “Everything will be okay,” he says gruffly, his fingers sliding through my hair.

  I feel his heartbeat against my cheek, and it’s steadier than mine. Strong and even. He’s not afraid.

  And if Reed, the guy who was just arrested, isn’t afraid, then I need to take his lead. I need to borrow his strength and conviction, and allow myself to believe that maybe, for the first time in my screwed up life, everything will be okay.