by Danah Logan
At this point, I no longer fear Nate poisoning me. Plus, since I can’t leave the estate, I may as well learn how to survive here, starting with the food. Flipping the omelet, I catch myself humming Linkin’ Park’s "Good Goodbye" and a knot forms in my throat. Rhys. I press my hand to my stomach and take a deep breath. The urge to hear his voice consumes me, and I stifle a sob.
"Lilly?"
I jump at the sound of my name but don’t turn around. I don’t want Nate to see me vulnerable. I’m still livid with him.
"Lilly, please tell me what’s wrong."
Why can he read me so well?
I take a deep breath before smoothing my features and face him.
"Did your spy cameras alert you that I’m here?" I focus on my rage instead of the suffocating sense of loss overwhelming me whenever Rhys appears in front of my mind’s eye.
"No. I came in for some food." He nods toward the containers that are still sitting on the counter. "I made way too much last night when I got hungry and figured I'd finish it."
So, he actually did make it himself.
The silence between us stretches, and he stares at his feet. How can a grown man who is a computer genius and runs a billion-dollar hotel empire all of a sudden look like a five-year-old who got caught stealing his sister’s toy? I snort at my pun—not toy, he stole his sister. Nate looks up at the sound, but I don’t feel like elaborating. Instead, I glare back at him.
He shuffles from one foot to the other. "Uh, I’ll just come back later." He turns and walks toward the door with slumped shoulders.
Watching him retreat, my throat thickens, but I can’t make myself call out. The door swings shut, and I’m alone with my omelet sizzling in the pan. The smell alerts me to something burning.
"Crap!"
I quickly pull the pan off the stove and inspect my meal. It’s burned on one side, but I deem it edible. I don’t feel like starting over; my stomach doesn’t have the patience for it.
Sitting at the chair that has become my spot at the large table, I eat the omelet but don’t taste anything. My mind wanders between the two men in my life. Rhys, my boyfriend, who I miss beyond words. I worry about him more than myself since he’s completely in the dark as to where I am and with whom. Then, there is Nate, the only living blood relative I have as far as I know. He is a criminal. He is mentally unstable. But he is also wicked smart, kind, and…my brother.
I need to find a way to contact Rhys. Let him know that I’m okay. Well, as okay as one can be in my situation. And I still want to know more about Nate and…my father. Something feels off about Brooks. It’s time to share my memory with Nate, and maybe I can use that as leverage to contact Rhys. Decision made.
"NATE!"
I’m pretty sure the spy mics will alert him; I don’t feel like hunting down brother dearest in this maze. And yup, not three minutes later, he bursts through the kitchen door, looking frantically around for possible danger.
"What happened?" He is out of breath, which makes sense if he sprinted from his NASA command center to the kitchen—or wherever in this palace he was.
My heart rate increases, but I’m not backing out now. "We need to talk."
He appears to be taken aback by the force of my voice. "Uh…sure."
He slowly walks over to his usual chair and lowers himself down. Neither of us speaks. I close my eyes and take a deep breath to prepare myself.
When our gazes lock, it’s comforting and unsettling how similar our eyes are. We have the same shade of hazel, a little bit of everything, blue, green, with an outer ring of brown. My eyes are more almond-shaped, but we both have the same long lashes—obviously, courtesy of Brooks.
"I want to know more about our father." Oddly enough, I can call Brooks my father when I still have problems referring to Heather, Tristen, or even Emily and Henry as my parents.
"Do you have anything specific in mind?" His head is slightly tilted; he’s studying me. It’s almost comical how I can read him now. I guess having half of the same genetic makeup helps.
"I do. I have something to tell you as well. And a request."
His eyebrows turn skyward again. "That sounds intriguing. What would you like to begin with?" His tone is businesslike, almost cold.
How does this intimidate me, but not his outbursts?
"I want to call Rhys. Today. I can’t wait any longer. In return, I think my recent memory revealed something you’d want to know."
We sit in silence while he ponders my words. Finally, he asks, "A deal? What makes you think it’s of interest to me?"
"Because I remembered our father."
Nate sucks in a breath. "You what?"
"Do we have a deal?" Folding my hands on top of the table, I mimic his businesslike demeanor. I count seventeen breaths before he answers.
"We have a deal. But…" I knew this was too good to be true. "I need some time to set up the call. It can’t be traceable, and I don’t have it all in place here at the moment."
Oh.
"How long?"
"Twenty-four hours. I need to finish some other things first."
Another day? I feel like all of the air has been sucked out of the room, and I push the urge to raise my hand to my chest down.
"Not one minute longer," I say with as much force as I can muster without the appropriate amount of oxygen in my lungs. Not that I could do anything if it takes two minutes longer, but I need him to see that I’m serious.
Nate gives me a tight smile and nods.
"So? Would you care to elaborate on what you meant with your last memory being about our father?"
"I think the picture in your NASA command center triggered something."
"My what?" He looks genuinely confused, and a laugh bubbles up in my throat.
"Your computer room upstairs."
The light bulb turns on, and he grins. "Oh, I guess that’s a somewhat accurate description."
And just like that, everything is back at ease between us.
This is beyond disconcerting.
"I knew Brooks." I pause for a second before explaining. "I met him—at least once."
Nate goes rigid and sits up straight. "How?"
"My memories are never very long, but I’m a hundred percent sure it was Brooks. It must’ve been around the same time the picture upstairs was taken. I was at a park with Emily. Brooks was there. Emily introduced him as a friend. He shook my hand, and the way he looked at me…he knew who I was."
"Uh. This is…I…uh, I’m not sure what—" Nate's stammering tells me that this is as much a shock to him as it is to me.
"What does this mean?" It’s a whisper because I’m as curious as I am terrified.
Nate’s face has turned all shades of red, and his fists ball on top of the table.
"This means our father lied to me."
He pushes the chair back with so much force that it topples over and storms out of the kitchen.
That went well.
The clock in the kitchen tells me it’s almost six in the evening. Do I go after Nate, or do I wait for him to come back to me? If I wait, will this impact my timeline to call Rhys?
I clean up everything I used for dinner and head toward the center of the house. Few lamps are on, but between the dwindling light coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows and the illumination along the hallway, I’m able to trace my way through the house. I wonder if there is a way to get to my room from the foyer; it’s getting old always having to go through the kitchen.
Great, now I’m acting like this is my house.
I smack the palm of my hand against my forehead, and the sound echoes through the quiet entryway.
Climbing the stairs to the second floor, I turn right toward Nate’s room. He really could be anywhere, but I’ll start my search at his command center.
I need to come up with a shorter name for that room.
Slowly approaching the door, I hesitate. Do I knock? What if the door zaps me? I wouldn’t put it past him to add some
thing like that to his security measures. Oh, what the hell. I step in front of the door and knock. No zap. I wait. And wait some more. Nothing. Maybe the room is soundproof?
"Nate?" I call hesitantly.
Again nothing. What now? Still contemplating my next plan of action, Nate comes around the corner to the right of me—the west wing of the estate, if my orientation is correct.
"Lilly?" I immediately take note of his state of dishevelment. His sweater is gone, the white t-shirt rumpled, and a fine sheen of sweat covers his forehead.
"Uh, I was looking for you."
"You were?" He stops in front of me, eyebrows squished together.
Looks like his spyware didn’t alert him—that’s new.
The proximity stirs up polar opposite emotions. After his earlier outburst to my revelation of our father and Emily still being in touch years after their supposed affair, I have the urge to comfort him. I can relate to feeling betrayed by one’s parents—more than he already was by Brooks’s betrayal. To believe one thing and the truth being something different altogether. But the voice in my head tells me that I cannot feel sympathy for him. He is a criminal. He took children from their parents. He kidnapped me against my will. But he’s also your brother, the other voice chimes in once more.
"I wanted to make sure you’re okay. Are you…okay?"
Nate hangs his head. "My father swore up and down that the affair was over when he confessed everything after the funeral. I assumed he meant back when it first happened. I’m not so sure anymore."
His fists begin to ball again, and I do something that startles us both. I reach out and slide my hand in his. We both stare at our joined hands, and then our eyes lock. My brother’s eyes are wide, disbelief written all over his face.
I squeeze his hand. "Do you want to talk about it? That’s what helped me…I mean, uh, working through it all."
In one, lightning-fast move, he engulfs me in a bear hug and holds on tight. My body stiffens; that’s the last reaction I expected from him. His chin rests on top of my head, and he whispers, "Thank you, Lilly." His voice cracks, and I’m as shocked as he is when I return his hug. His spine goes rigid at first before he relaxes again, and we stand like this for several minutes—brother and sister comforting each other.
We both loosen our hold at the same time and take a step back. Everything has changed. We both can feel it. How we move forward from here will need to be determined.
I follow Nate to the library he mentioned during our brief tour. The room is ginormous. Heather and Tristen’s entire first floor could easily fit in here. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves cover three of the walls, complete with a sliding ladder. The fourth wall is all windows. The combination of espresso-colored wooden shelves and floors, more of the same large leather couches as in the sitting room downstairs, and heavy moss-green curtains is completed with different oriental-looking rugs in the same shades of green, beige, and brown. This room has officially become my new favorite place. It’s warm and inviting.
"Can I move in here?" I can’t stop myself before the words come out in an awed whisper.
"Sure." Nate is completely genuine, and I stare at him, mouth agape.
"But I’m a prisoner. You can’t just let me do whatever I want."
What the ever-loving—? It seems my brain-to-mouth connection is currently out of commission, and I peer at him like a deer in the headlights. So much for making progress in the brother-sister relationship department.
Nate goes completely still before he bursts into a fit of laughter. He all but howls until tears run down his cheeks, and he doubles over, holding his belly.
"Ow—tha-t hu-rt-s—"
I just stand there, watching him. Is this part of his less mentally stable side? Eventually, I get slightly annoyed and cross my arms in front of my chest, frowning.
Finally, he regains some composure and faces me straight on. "I’m sorry." Another giggle escapes him. An actual giggle from this grown-ass man. "Okay, sorry. Phew. Man, I haven’t laughed like that in years."
I’m still confused about why he deemed this so funny.
"Um…why are you laughing exactly? I’m pretty sure I just insulted you."
He’s totally serious now. "You didn’t mean it," he deadpans. "That was clear as day written across your face when you realized what you said. Your face is very…expressive, and I think you would’ve looked less mortified if you’d punched me in the junk."
All the tension leaves me, and my mouth turns into a grin. "You’re probably right. So, uh…what are we doing here?"
Nate walks over to one of the shelves on the farthest wall. Following him, I notice a slew of papers on the floor in front of it and between the closest couch. It immediately reminds me of my room when I started my research.
Nate squats down next to it and looks up. "I started going through my father’s papers again."
That’s when I realize that the bottom two rows on this wall are filing cabinets with several of the drawers pulled out, revealing massive amounts of papers.
Nate points at the pile on the floor. "Those are the letters Emily sent. The ones I know about."
I crouch next to him. "What do you mean ‘know about’?"
"After I found the first stack of letters from Emily at my parents’ house—the letters that contained the pictures of you—I never looked at any of his shit again. I wanted nothing to do with him. His office at the firm was already packed up in boxes, and I shipped most of it up here. There is still a ton of paperwork at their LA house, but nothing of consequence. I started my research into Emily, and any other important documents came straight from the lawyers. I had no reason to look again—until now. I guess I just assumed that she kept sending him updates, and that’s it."
I begin to understand what he means. "You think there has to be more?" This conversation gives me déjà vu. Rhys and I had the same type of exchange just a few months ago.
"I do."
Nate’s gaze drops to my stomach, and I realize that my arms are wrapped around my midsection again.
"You do that every time you think of him." His tone is subdued, and I’m stunned by his perceptiveness. I can only nod, trying to swallow past the lump in my throat.
I squeeze my eyes shut and feel Nate placing a hand carefully on my shoulder. "Hey."
I peek at him from under my lashes, and he says, "We’ll figure this out, okay?"
And with that, I lose it. I crumble to the floor and start sobbing. He has no idea that Rhys said almost the same exact words to me.
Rhys. Oh God. How can I sit here and make nice with the guy who kidnapped me?
Despite my inner turmoil, I let Nate pull me close and wrap his arms around me while I cry against his chest. He rocks me back and forth like a little child and mutters something that sounds like, "I’m sorry, I’m so sorry," over and over.
When I finally pull away from him, his eyes shine with unshed tears, and his mouth is in a flat line.
I whisper, "I want to go home."
Nate’s gaze drops to his hands. "Okay."
Chapter Eight
Nate leads me back to my room.
Even in my post-cry haze, I notice that we are not going through the kitchen. He walks past the double staircase that leads down to the first-floor foyer. I expect to see the same bend in the hallway as in the west wing; instead, we stop at another door. It looks like every other door we just passed, and if I hadn’t learned the layout of the building by now, I would expect only to find one more room. Nate steps through, and we’re standing in my hallway. My room is not two doors down, and I grumble, "You could’ve shown me this way earlier, instead of making me go through the kitchen every time."
Nate doesn’t respond. He simply lets me walk past him. Everything is how I left it, and despite this not being my actual sanctuary, being in these lavender walls calms me instantly.
"I’ll see you tomorrow," he says, and before I can respond, the door closes with a soft click.
Exhausti
on takes over once more, and I fall face down onto the bed.
I wake up with a start. The room is pitch black, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. My dream has left me breathless. It was so vivid it almost felt like one of my memories.
Rhys and I were at Bones, eating dinner, when Brooks and Emily walked in. They sat down at a table nearby, talking animatedly, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Emily was yelling at Brooks, who tried to calm her down. It was like they were in a soundproof bubble.
My focus went back to Rhys, who was scowling at me. "Babe, what’s wrong?"
"I’m not sure. I think I know those people over there." I pointed to Brooks and Emily only to realize they were replaced with Nate and Katherine having a romantic candlelight dinner, holding hands.
What the hell?
"You should be happy that your psycho brother is finally out of your life." Rhys scoffed.
I turned to him and saw disgust written all over his face.
I was confused. "Nate is engaged to Margot. What is he doing here with Katherine?"
"Nate and Kat are married. You gave him an ultimatum—you or Kat. He chose Kat."
"He would never choose her over me. I’m his SISTER." My voice turned panicked.
"Then you and I can’t be together. You made your choice." Contempt dripped off his voice.
Now, sitting in my bed, panting, I massage my temple. That was— Shit, what was that? Leaning back into the pillow, I replay the words in my head. I’m his sister. I don’t have to be a therapist to understand that, subconsciously, I’ve made my choice. I’ve accepted the fact that Nate is my brother. He would put me first, no matter what. I’m certain of that. Of course, there is still the issue of him being a criminal, and he has to pay for it, but first, he is my brother. Hands in front of my eyes, I exhale a shuttering breath.
All of this because I picked the wrong topic for my journalism paper. Or was it the right one?
Throwing back the comforter, I get up and dress in yesterday's clothes, adding a thick black hoodie due to the chilly temperature at night. There is no way I'll fall back asleep. Barefoot, I pad back to the library. Thankfully, a dim hallway illumination remains on at night, or Nate did this for my benefit. Either way, it helps to find the library. Everything is as we left it.