The Gilded Cage

by Lauren Smith

  Hayden felt compelled to distract him from his dark thoughts. “How’s work? Students still giving you hell?” She nudged his elbow.

  “Not too long ago you were one of those students giving me hell.”

  “True,” she agreed. She’d taken Royce’s undergraduate level course Introduction to Paleontology, just to mess with him, but she’d ended up really enjoying the class.

  “Kenzie, my teacher’s assistant, is a real piece of work. I can’t figure her out. She’s always arguing with me on assignment grades. She’s a taskmaster and would fail half the class if I let her.”

  “Good for her. I like the sound of this girl.” She smirked.

  Royce rolled his eyes. “You would,” he replied sarcastically.

  They drove in silence to Wes’s house, but Hayden felt more relaxed. Royce was like a brother to her—all-American good looks and that sexy professor attitude rolled right off her, even though she knew a lot of other women were suckers for him.

  When they got to Wes’s house, she thanked Royce and retrieved her bag from the trunk before he could.

  “Back so soon?” Wes came out the front door. “Dare I even ask?”

  Hayden shrugged. “Mother and I got into a disagreement before I even got out of the main entryway. I told her I’m done. I’m moving out, Wes. I have to send someone to get my stuff from the cottage tomorrow. And she’s going to make Dad stop payments on my trust, which I wouldn’t normally care about, but with Dad preventing me from getting a job on the island or in New York, it puts me in dire straits.”

  Wes’s eyes widened and he hissed out one word. “What?” It was clear he hadn’t expected that outcome when he’d dropped her off.

  “Yes, I’m a free woman now, but apparently broke and homeless. Hooray!” she cheered sarcastically, fist pumping the air.

  Wes was completely serious. “You’ll stay with me as long as you need to.” He took control of her suitcase and waved to Royce, who then sped off.

  Her shoulders slumped, and a wave of fatigue and depression swept through her with the force of a tidal wave. She just wanted to curl into a ball and sleep for the next decade.

  “Do you need anything?” Her brother’s voice was soft and full of concern, as though he sensed her devastation.

  Her own mother had disowned her in less than ten minutes, and her mother hadn’t even noticed she’d been shot. That she was hurt and had almost died three times had never even come up. Her mother should have been in awe of what she’d done. She’d found Fenn, then survived an angry bull, a car crash, and a hand-to-hand fight with an assassin. She should have received a damn medal for enduring all of that.

  Wes lifted her chin and she finally met his gaze. “Maybe this is the chance you need to be your own person. To go out and start that business you wanted to. I’ll bankroll whatever you need. This is your shot, Hayden. Make the most of it.” He kissed her forehead and led her through his house to her favorite room—one on the ground floor with a terrace that opened up to his front gardens.

  The room was decorated in a decadent shades of reds and mahogany, colors that were rich and sinful. The white down comforter on the king-sized bed looked soft and inviting.

  “You going to be okay?” Wes asked as he maneuvered her suitcase into a corner by the tall, dark wood highboy.

  “Yes. Really, I am,” she promised. Just after I have a good cry, she silently added. One would think someone got used to their parents being disappointed in them and having unrealistic expectations. But to be attacked solely because she’d stood up for herself—well, that was an unpleasant surprise that still left her reeling. She just needed to go into a dark quiet place and lick her wounds before she would be ready to face the world again.

  “Good night.” Wes closed the door and she was alone. Again.

  Chapter 21

  Fenn tugged at the tie wrapped around his neck. The damn thing was strangling him. He glowered at his reflection. All dressed up in a suit and jacket, he looked like Emery. Exactly like Emery. It wasn’t a bad thing, but it was odd. He growled softly as he messed up the tie yet again. He’d started to rip it off when his mother appeared in the doorway, a little nervous smile hovering about her lips.

  “Need some help?” she offered.

  “Yes. I can’t figure this da—rn thing out.” He edited himself, but she winked at him and gently pushed his hands down, away from his neck.

  He took in the sight of her as she nimbly and proficiently made a flawless knot out of the mess he’d created. Her golden blond hair was swept back in a chignon, and she looked older, wise, and more melancholy. There was a dimness to her eyes that overpowered the sparkle and glow he’d remembered. The shimmer still there was so faint that he feared it might be more his memory than reality.

  The quiet of the house around them was thick and soft, almost cloying, and it made him ache inside with longing. The depth of what he’d lost, what she’d lost, finally struck home. Twenty-five years. The majority of his life was gone like that. He was trapped in the stillness of this moment, in this place, like he was waiting for a storm to break, hoping it would be over soon.

  “There, all done.” His mother patted his chest just beneath the perfect knot and turned him by his shoulders toward the mirror.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  For a moment he wanted to tell her everything in his heart, a thousand words he’d waited years to say but hadn’t remembered until now. His throat closed and he shut his eyes briefly, regaining his fractured control over his emotions.

  “How did you do that?” He touched the tie, then placed his hands over hers where they rested on his shoulders. She leaned against his shoulder, eyes deep and sorrowful before they turned falsely bright.

  She wiggled her fingertips. “A mother’s magic. Years of practice, too. Your father still can’t tie his own tie.”

  “Of course I can,” Elliot announced from the doorway. “I just use it as an excuse to get you close and have your hands on me, dear.” He gave his wife a secret smile, the kind old lovers shared that conveyed years of emotions and memories only they could understand.

  Would he ever feel that way with someone? Fenn wanted that closeness, but he also feared it. If he dared to care about anything it could be taken away from him. A man couldn’t afford to take risks like that. It was too dangerous.

  “Mandy, mind if I have a word with Fenn?” Elliot asked.

  His mother sighed, kissed Fenn’s cheek. “I’m so happy you’ve come home. There’s so much…” She swallowed, wiped fresh tears from her eyes. “I love you, Fenn. I always loved you, even when our hope was gone and we thought…”

  He knew what she was trying to say, but she didn’t need to. Words weren’t needed. A mother’s love…and a father’s love never needed to be spoken, only felt. And he felt their love, like a burning inferno inside his chest, a love so strong it had survived even the belief he was gone forever. He wrapped his arms around his mother and held her as she broke down again, shaking silently, only gasping for breath every few seconds. It would take time to heal this great wound—so much time—but they had it now, had all the time they needed.

  I am home.

  When he let go of his mother she laughed, her eyes watery as she sniffed. “I need to fix my makeup before dinner. I’ll see you soon, sweetheart.” She kissed him then left the room.

  When she was gone, Elliot just stared at him. Outside a low rumble of distant thunder was followed by a symphony of leaves whispering against each other in the swelling breeze. A storm was coming.

  “Emery said you boys aren’t out of the woods yet, that the danger is still out there.”

  Fenn nodded. “I was being hunted in Colorado. Almost got killed. They almost killed Hayden Thorne twice. It’s serious.”

  “I know,” Elliot said.

  Just beyond the open window the wind changed and everything went eerily still as the darkening skies swirled and shifted.

  “When you find out who is r
esponsible, I want to be there. I want to end the life of the man who took you away from me. Whatever monster he is, he deserves to suffer, but I’m afraid I don’t have the patience for that.”

  The pained rage in his father’s gruff voice might have frightened Fenn as a child. As a man he could only nod in agreement.

  “Sir—Dad,” he corrected when his father scowled. “Who would do this to us? Did you have any enemies?”

  Elliot seemed to withdraw into himself, as though calling upon the years of his life and examining each one.

  “I have managed to live a blessed life. Even when I was building my empire with your uncle, we avoided making any real enemies.”

  Another dead end, Fenn thought; another path that held no answers.

  Elliot patted Fenn once on the back. “Let’s go down to dinner. We shouldn’t keep your mother waiting.”

  Fenn followed his father down the stairs and into a walnut, wood-paneled dining room. Crystal chandeliers gleamed above them, the electric lights in their sockets warming the room. Emery sat across from Sophie, who was looking better, yet Emery kept a watchful eye on her. She probably should have stayed in bed, but Fenn wondered if maybe she was just stubborn and wanted to be here. Sophie waved at him and winked before wincing and putting a hand to her injured side. It was an odd feeling, but he recognized her on a conscious level as important, perhaps because she belonged to his twin. Would Emery feel like that toward a woman Fenn cared about? Hayden’s face flashed across his mind.

  A maid appeared and leaned down to whisper something in his mother’s ear. Miranda brightened.

  “Brant is here!” she told everyone before turning back to the maid. “Show him in and set a place for him.”

  “Brant?” Fenn asked his brother. He had vague memories of his cousin, their elder by ten years.

  “He doesn’t know we found you,” Emery whispered. “He’s probably going to be shocked. He took it pretty hard when we were kidnapped. Mom said he refused to talk to anyone for almost two weeks. I remember when I escaped and came home—he just looked at me blank-faced, as though shocked that I was even alive. Everyone, including him, had assumed the worst.”

  Fenn digested this information and ran a finger under the collar of his shirt, desperate to loosen the tie even the slightest bit. How the hell was a man supposed to breathe when he wore a tie?

  A trim man in his early forties entered the dining room. He looked a little like Elliot, but younger, without his uncle’s gray in his own light brown hair. The man’s gaze swept the room and froze when it landed on Fenn and Emery.

  “Brant,” their mother began excitedly, “it’s perfect that you’ve come over. You will never believe what’s happened.” She waved toward Fenn. “See? It’s my other baby boy. He’s come home. Can you believe it?”

  “Fenn?” Brant’s voice was low and hoarse. The man still didn’t move toward them.

  For a long moment, Fenn held his breath, memorizing the other man’s features and absorbing Brant’s reactions—or rather, the lack of them.

  “My God, it’s good to see you. Where have you been all this time?” Brant finally seemed to regain control of himself as he walked over to Fenn and shook his hand. Unlike his initial encounters with his parents and Emery, Fenn felt no blossom of warmth, no sense of connection. Yet he and Brant were blood.

  “I was…” He sought his brother’s gaze and Emery gave a slight nod. “I was living in Colorado. Had a head injury during the kidnapping and was taken there by one of the men who held me prisoner.”

  “Do you remember much about that time? Like the men who held you? Are they still alive?” Brant asked as he released Fenn’s hand.

  “A little. Vague memories, really. I do know that the men who kidnapped us are dead.” Yet as he spoke, something dark stirred at the back of his mind, a sense of something important he’d overlooked. But there was no logical reason for it. Fenn tried to dismiss the sensation.

  “We should eat before dinner gets cold.” His mother insisted as she sat down. Brant took a seat close to their father, who sat at the head of the table.

  As dinner began there was much talk: half business, half about Fenn’s return. He rarely spoke unless directly addressed. He wasn’t used to this type of social event. His meals were usually whatever he could grab while out working or the occasional meal on the couch in Jim’s house. This large room, expansive table, and the array of plates and utensils was a little overwhelming.

  “Emery, I’d like to talk to you about the Lockwood Industries board again,” Brant said.

  Emery took a sip of his wine and focused on their cousin. “What about it?”

  “Well, they are worried about you. They’ve asked me if you could grant temporary power over to the board if something were to happen to you. From what your father has told me, there have been threats on your life. That’s a potential death knell for the company. If word got out about this situation, the stock price would plummet and we’d be easy prey for takeover attempts. We could lose our company.” Fenn noticed Brant had left his meal practically untouched.

  “And the board wants me to do what, exactly?” Emery settled back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. Fenn felt a strange compulsion to mimic him and stopped himself right before he did. Being around his twin was having an odd effect on him.

  “Nothing too drastic. Merely an execution of a document they’ve prepared. It sets out a temporary restructuring of the company’s leadership if you were incapacitated or died. I told them it was likely never to happen and that the document was unnecessary, but they’ve put their foot down on this,” Brant apologized.

  “Do they have a plan in mind for who would take over as president? I’d rather not let the control leave our family, and I know Dad could take over, but he’s done with boardrooms and business meetings.”

  “I’d volunteer if that would make you more reassured,” their cousin suggested.

  Emery was silent for a long moment. “I suppose that isn’t an unreasonable request and I’d be comfortable with you being in charge under such circumstances. I’ll work with the board tomorrow and sign whatever they need if it will put them at ease.”

  Brant exhaled in relief and immediately seemed more cheerful.

  “Now that Fenn is home, are we celebrating?” he asked.

  Miranda and Elliot exchanged looks but didn’t offer any answers.

  Brant had a ready suggestion, though. “You should do something, Emery. Have a party or organize a press conference. We could control the spin on the news and it might give our company a huge boost. I’d be happy to talk to our public relations department about it and see what they think.”

  “It’s not a bad idea. A press conference would be good. We should wait a few days, though,” Sophie said.

  Fenn noticed the way his brother’s gaze darted to Sophie’s. A secret shared look passed between them.

  Picking up his wine glass, Emery looked at their mother. “Very well. Mother, would you like to organize a party? We’ll take care of the press conference.”

  “Good, good.” Brant dug into his previously untouched meal with vigor.

  Fenn listened to the rest of the discussion that followed with little interest. It was mostly about people, places, and things he wasn’t familiar with. His mind wandered, particularly to Hayden. He hated to admit it, but he felt lost without her. In the last few days she’d worked her way under his skin and he couldn’t get rid of her. Didn’t want to. But he had to keep her safe and being with her wasn’t safe.

  Emery leaned to him and whispered. “Hans will drive you to Wes’s place. I know you miss her.”

  A jolt of surprise went through him. Was he that easy to read?

  “It’s all over your face,” his brother responded with a low chuckle. “After dinner, you can go to her. Stay the night if you want.” He pressed a slim black phone into Fenn’s hand. “This is yours now. Keep it with you at all times. My number, Sophie’s, Wes’s, Royce’s, Hans’, Cody’
s and our parents’ numbers are all in the contacts list.”

  Fenn studied the phone. He’d never owned one, but plenty of the women he’d slept with had them and he’d played around with them. Technology was something he’d always loved, and now, having met his family again, he understood. Some things ran in his blood.

  “Royce?” A flicker of memory—a boy with dark hair and laughing eyes—flashed across his mind.

  “You remember him? He was one of our best friends, like Wes.”

  “I do,” Fenn smiled. He did remember Royce. A damn menace, his father had called him—lovingly of course—when Royce had once convinced the four of them to wreak havoc on a garden party. The guests hadn’t liked finding tadpoles in the jugs of ice water.

  “Thanks for the phone.” He slid it into his pocket. He’d never bothered with one before, but if it was important to Emery that he have one, he’d happily take it.

  “You know,” Emery continued in a low voice, “it was the same way with Sophie. I couldn’t let her out of my sight. She’s still that way. Her injuries were the only thing that kept me from going to Colorado once I knew you were there.” Shame darkened his twin’s features, but Fenn wasn’t mad. He understood Emery’s reason for staying behind.

  “You don’t have to explain. I completely agree with your choice.”

  The relief in Emery’s eyes was evident, and the tension left his shoulders.

  “Why don’t you excuse yourself and go meet Hans? I’ll tell our parents where you’ve gone.”

  “It won’t upset them?” The last thing he wanted was to upset his parents. After so many years without them he was afraid to lose them now that he’d just gotten them back. But he needed to see Hayden. She was the one thing familiar to him in all of this chaos.

  “No. They’ll understand. Trust me.”

  Fenn waited a minute, then pushed his chair back. When everyone turned to look at him, he flushed. “I just need to use the restroom.”

  His mother smiled. “Down the hall, to the left through the door behind you,” she said.