by Unknown
Unable to think, I turned on my heels and headed for the front door. “I’m going home. Talk to you in the morning,” I called over my shoulder, knowing he would follow me. It was times like this that living next door to one another royally sucked. He had to follow me, he lived there too.
I stomped down the sidewalk, thinking about the mother I’d never known, the document I’d read, and what it would mean to actually meet someone I was related to. Of course, I had to wonder if this mysterious half-sister had known about me all these years and chose to ignore my existence. She was older than I was, so why wasn’t she around when I was born? Had our mother abandoned her, as well? Did she know her father? What was the big deal about our birthright? Did I even want to be involved?
Opening the door to my apartment, I realized I had no choice but to go to Greece. I had to get the answers to as many questions as I could. All my life I’d thought about the woman that gave birth to me. I’d created all kinds of stories. One of my favorites was that she was some kind of princess who’d fallen madly in love with a commoner. Her family forbid her to marry him, so they ran off together and lived happily for a few years. Then the King’s men came looking for them. My father died fighting off the bounty hunters. Mom soon found out she was pregnant with me. Staying hidden, she gave birth, but soon couldn’t handle the heartache of losing my father. Knowing she was dying of a broken heart, she left me in the park to be found before joining her one true love in heaven. (Stop rolling your eyes, I was a little girl and the story made me feel better.)
In my pajamas with a steaming cup of tea, I read through the document again. This time more slowly and with no distractions. One thing was blaringly obvious, the woman that had given birth to me had been the chairperson, leader, something, of some sort of council or governing body and the surviving members did not want Helena (read as evil bitch from hell) or me to inherit her position. They were bringing our apparent ‘inadequacy of tradition and upbringing’ before the Magistrate with the hopes of stripping us of our ‘rights and powers as determined by birth’. Castle O’Byrne (Imagine finding out you have a castle. Now, tell me you’re not just a little impressed) had always been the home of the ruling family and would also be forfeited if our birthright was somehow seen as illegitimate.
It was unlike any other legal brief I’d ever seen, in theory or practice. I made notes in the margins of the questions I wanted to ask Grant before agreeing to anything. Of course, I knew I was going, I had to, but it was going to be on my terms.
The sun was just peeking into my living room windows when I dragged my butt to bed. Sleep didn’t come easy, even though I was exhausted. Part of me was as excited as a little girl waiting for Santa, and the other part knew there was more to the whole mess than I could see. When I finally did fall asleep, I dreamed of castles and dragons, knights and princesses, and in every scenario, there was fire streaking across the sky. I blamed the crazy visions on my lack of food (I really wanted those wings, dammit). No matter, I stumbled to the kitchen and clicked on the coffee maker.
Glancing at the clock, I saw it was already one ‘o’clock. I had exactly one hour. Time to face the music with my overprotective, but incredibly lovable, surrogate big brother. Knocking on my dining room wall, which also happened to be the other side of his dining room wall, (Isn’t apartment living grand) I wasn’t shocked when he immediately knocked back.
“Get over here. We need to talk,” I bellowed.
I got no reply but heard his door slam just as I was taking our mugs from the cabinet. The coffee had barely warmed the cup when Jax was front and center with a look of guarded apprehension on his rugged face. His dark brown eyes looked weary under his furrowed brow. I knew what I was about to tell him was going to make matters worse, but we’d always been straight with one another.
Handing him his coffee, we walked in silence to the living room. I took my place on the end of the couch and he took his in the large recliner we’d found at a second hand store a couple of years ago.
“I have to do this, Jax. I have to go to Crete and see what all this is about. It may be the only time I actually get to see anyone in this whole wide world I share blood with.”
I could tell he wanted to argue but knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on. We were both orphans with blood ties to no one. We were family of the heart, which in our case meant more than any DNA ever could, but it would never fill the one little hole in our souls that was reserved for the people with whom we shared blood.
Looking at his cup instead of me, he answered, “Dammit, I know you’re right. There’s just something that’s off about all of this.”
When he looked up I could see his need to protect, it was ingrained in every fiber of his being. It was one of the many things that made him such an amazing friend and big brother.
“And that’s why you’re going with me.”
His head snapped up, his eyes opened wide, and for the first time since Grant Hollingsworth had entered our lives, I saw the crooked grin I had come to know and love.
“I always knew you were the brains of this operation,” he chuckled.
“Damn straight!” I teased. “Now, go get packed while I call the attorney. I’m sure he’s gonna wanna leave as soon as possible.”
Jax was up and across the room before the words were out of my mouth. As he closed the door I heard him whisper, “Thanks. Phoebs. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” (See it’s shit like that gets me every time. He may be a big, bad, bald soldier with tattoos and a bad attitude, but on the inside, he’s all squishy and gooey.)
Shaking my head, I dialed the number on the business card, not surprised when Grant picked up on the first ring.
“Phoebe, how nice of you to call. And fifteen minutes early.”
“Cut the sarcasm, Grant. You knew I’d call and I’m somehow sure you already know what my answer is.”
“In any other case, I would have to admit you are right, but you, Phoebe O’Byrne, are not an easy woman to read.”
I could hear irritation mixed with fascination in his voice. My inner bitch was dying to give him a snappy comeback, but I kept her at bay. I assured her we’d have plenty of time for that later and kept the rest of the conversation professional.
“We’ll be ready to go within the hour. I just need directions to the airfield.”
“We’ll?”
“Yes. Jax is going with me and that is non-negotiable.”
There was a moment of silence where I could only imagine the amount of eye-rolling and gnashing of teeth that was taking place on the other end of the phone. When Grant finally spoke, the strain was evident, but the smooth was still present in his tone. “I will have to let the Council know that you are bringing an escort.”
There was something he wasn’t saying, something foreboding in his voice, but I wasn’t in the mood to deal with it or him, so I pressed on. “Thank you. Now, what is the address and what time do we need to be there?”
“I will send a car for you in ninety minutes.”
“That’s not necessary. We ca…”
“I insist,” Grant interjected, the tension in his voice rising, adding a gravely undertone to the suave. I half expected him to growl or snarl.
“Thank you. We’ll be ready.”
The click of him disconnecting was the only response I received. The cracks in Mr. Hollingsworth’s veneer were showing. Cracks I was somehow sure he worked hard to keep hidden. It was just one of the many things about this whole experience that had the little voice in my head telling me what a nutcase I was for agreeing to go on this little excursion.
Pulling my old, worn suitcase from the hall closet, I threw it on my bed and began deciding what to pack. I had absolutely no idea what the weather in Crete was like this time of year, or any time for that matter. Grabbing my cell phone from the bedside table, I pulled up the weather channel. Everything I’d ever heard about the Greek Isles was apparently true. Every day was predicted to have a high
of seventy-eight, low of sixty, with sunny skies. Sounded like paradise to me.
Halfway through digging out my spring and summer clothes from the back of my closet, I heard the sound of the front door opening and closing, closely followed by the sound of combat boots striking my tile floors. Jax had returned. He called out, “Hey kiddo, where are ya?”
“In the back of my closet!”
By the time I made it out, both arms were full of clothes and I was kicking three pairs of sandals and a pair of pumps, with a big straw sun hat precariously sitting atop my head.
“Great look, there, sis,” Jax snorted.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’re so funny.”
“Are you moving in over there?” Jax questioned, staring at the amount of clothing in my arms.
“I have no idea how long all of this is going to take or what kind of clothes I’ll need, so I grabbed a little bit of everything.”
Kicking the old military duffle he’d thrown on the floor and shaking my head, I sighed. “Let me guess, it’s filled with jeans and T-shirts?”
“And the button down you gave me for Christmas.”
I had to laugh. When I bought him the dress shirt it had been more as a joke than anything else. The man never wore anything but worn denim and T-shirts and looked damn good in them. More than once I’d seen women checking him out. And the best part was he could be ready to go anywhere in ten minutes or less.
“Well, at least you have something for a formal affair,” I teased.
“I’m not going to hang out. I’m only there to make sure everything is on the up and up. That lawyer is up to something, I can feel it in my bones.”
All I could do was laugh. “You think the little old men at the diner are up to no good and all they do is play gin rummy.”
“The diner’s a mob front. Those are the lookouts.”
“Oh my God!” I snorted. “You watch too many movies.”
“And you don’t watch enough,” he countered.
“Whatever. Why don’t you go grab the stuff outta the bathroom? All my makeup is in the red train case on the back of the toilet.”
He grumbled something I couldn’t make out, but did as I asked while I began filling my suitcase. Exactly ninety minutes later, a horn honked, just as I was locking my door. Jogging down the stairs, I ran through the list in my head, making sure I had everything I needed.
Walking out into the rainy afternoon, I stopped dead in my tracks, causing Jax to bump into my back, when I saw the black stretch limo complete with a uniformed driver, waiting outside our building.
“Ms. O’Byrne?” the driver asked with a haughty English accent.
“Yes?”
Opening the door, he stepped towards us, motioning for Jax to give him our bags. As soon as we were sitting in the back with the door closed, the nerves I’d held off all day landed in the pit of my stomach. I spent the whole twenty minute ride to the airport wondering which would come first…passing out or throwing up.
When the limo stopped the driver got out and opened my door, something I could get used to. Stepping out of the car, I saw Grant wanting by a small jet with the Hollingsworth, Musgrave, and Walton emblem on the side. The man looked like he just stepped off the pages of GQ, dressed in head to toe charcoal gray that I could only guess was cashmere. The collar of his knee length overcoat was popped up to protect him from the cool breeze and had most definitely been custom made. Even his scarf looked handmade. Nothing off the rack fit that well. His black dress shoes were polished to within an inch of their lives and showed no signs of wear. The wind had slightly ruffled his dark hair, making him look just this side of more approachable. There was just a touch of stubble on his chiseled jaw, but it was his cocky almost grin that made me bite the inside of my cheeks to keep from smiling back. There was no way I was going to make this easy for him. At this point I had no idea if he was friend or foe, so that meant he couldn’t be trusted…at least until further notice.
“Good to see you again, Phoebe. Please make yourself comfortable. Stephanie, our flight attendant, will see to your needs. Carlton is stowing your luggage. I’ll check with the captain and join you momentarily.”
His snub of Jax did not go unnoticed and I promised myself to point it out once we were in the air. No one ignored my best friend and got away with it. He may be the muscle in our relationship, but I was the brains…and the mouth.
To say Grant’s private plane was ostentatious would have been an understatement. It had camel-colored leather seats that reclined, with massage and heat functions. My booted feet were completely swallowed by the thick carpet, an exact match to the leather of the seats. And everywhere I looked the glimmer of the brass accents shone brightly under the diffused track lighting.
No sooner had our butts hit the seats than a tall, thin brunette appeared from behind the curtain at the front of the plane. She walked towards us with the grace of a runway model and spoke with a refined French accent that spoke to her private school education.
“What can I get you to drink? Dom Perignon? A glass of 2008 Egon Müller Scharzhofberger Spätlese Riesling?”
I had never tasted Dom and wasn’t about to start. I also didn’t have the nerve to tell her that I had no idea what the other thing she mentioned even was. So I did what I always did in these situations, I opted to remain true to myself.
“How about a cup of tea? Do you have Earl Grey?”
Not batting an eye, Stephanie nodded, “Absolutely, ma’am. My pleasure.” Turning towards Jax, she asked, “And for the gentleman?”
Clearing his throat, then still answering just above a whisper, Jax said, “A beer would be great, if you have it.”
“Absolutely, sir. My pleasure.” And with that Stephanie floated back the way she’d come.
Barely containing my laughter, I bumped his knee with my own and teased, “Real smooth there, Casanova.”
“Shut up, brat,” he protested under his breath, but couldn’t hide the blush that stained his cheeks. It was one of the only times I’d ever seen him embarrassed, and I was never going to let him live it down.
Preparation for my next dig was cut short as Grant entered the plane. My heart skipped a beat and for a just a moment, I thought maybe they were testing the life support systems and had turned off the oxygen. There was something absolutely lethal about the man. He was most definitely kryptonite to my good intentions.
Taking off his coat only further convinced me that I was going to have to keep my distance whenever possible. Gone was the uptight lawyer from the night before, only to be replaced by his more casual persona. His black turtleneck sat perfectly across his wide shoulders and pulled just slightly at his biceps as he moved, then hung loosely around his torso. It was untucked, giving him an air of nonchalance that added a dimension to an already good-looking man that I truly didn’t want or need. (Okay, maybe I wanted it, but I seriously didn’t have time for it.)
Grinning like he knew what I was thinking, Grant took the seat across from me. Stephanie returned with my tea and Jax’s beer, along with what looked like scotch. (Guess, she already knew what Mr. Hollingsworth wanted.)
After our refreshments were served, he let our flight attendant know that we would be eating promptly at seven, before she once again disappeared behind the curtain. I wondered what was for dinner and thought about asking, but decided to let it go.
“It’s a fifteen hour flight,” Grant commented, looking way too content. “I thought I might answer any questions you have before dinner.” His statement hung between us. I thought of a few snarky comments but tabled them. (It really wouldn’t do to piss him off trapped in a plane flying over an ocean, now would it?)
Reaching into my bag, I pulled out the document, laid it on the table, and met Grant’s stare with one of my own. I needed to make sure he understood that I was no pushover. Sitting completely still to the count of ten, I decided to begin. “How long will these proceedings take?”
“I would expect no longer than ten
days?’
“That long?”
“Yes. Each member of the Council gets a full day to provide testimony in support of their claim and there are six of them all together. Then you and Helena will each have a day to oppose, if you so desire.” He paused with a smug look on his face that had me gripping the oak armrests of my seat until my knuckles were white.
Before I could speak, he went on, “And now I must ask, do you plan to oppose the Council’s claims or relinquish your birthright?”
“Considering I have no clue what this Council even is or what my birthrights actually are, and the brief was very clear that no one but the Magistrate could explain their existence, I’ll withhold my decision until I’ve heard what he has to say.”
“Very wise,” was his only response.
I powered on. “What took them so long? I mean, dear old mom has been dead for twenty-five years.”
“That is precisely what took them so long. You and your sister had to reach your Dawning age, your twenty-fifth year, before the Council could take action.”
“Dawning age? Is that some sort of familial term?”
“Yes. That definition will suffice for now.”
Shaking my head at his ambiguity, I asked, “How old is Helena?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“Did she know I existed before you found me?”
“She did not, at least she was not sure you had survived. I was acting on direction from the Magistrate. He was aware of your existence, but not your location.”
(Well that was something. At least she didn’t just ignore me. Of course, now I wish I had remained lost. But I digress…)
“If I retain my birthright, will I be expected to live in Crete…in Castle O’Byrne?”
“Your presence will be required from time to time, but as I understand it, it does not have to be your permanent residence.”
“Why didn’t Helena inherit mom’s position? She is the eldest.”