“You led me to believe…”
“That I was under your pay? Perhaps. But it was not with any ill intent. Rather, I wanted to prove that the morals I told you about, at our very first interaction? That still stands.”
Sylvain made a sound deep in his throat. “Show me my sister again,” he said.
The doctor nodded and turned back to the screen. An image flashed. Bianca was there, in exactly the same position as before.
“She’s watching the timer,” the doctor explained. “She knows she will be let out in, oh…” he looked at his watch. “Approximately four hours.”
“That long,” Sylvain said.
“Yes. But think of the difference! Here, she wants to be let out. Back on your estate? She wanted to be locked in.” The doctor smiled. “I consider that progress. Don’t you?”
Sylvain said nothing.
Chapter Sixteen
A week passed.
One week turned to two.
Then two turned to three, then four, and before Sylvain knew it, a whole month had flown by.
He kept himself busy by beginning plans for the installation of the heightened security system at the estate. He’d realized that he had to have cameras around the castle. Bianca’s suicide attempt could have been averted. Or at least, someone could have been alerted to it sooner.
He did not want to risk anything like it again.
He hadn’t returned to the mental facility since the fateful visiting day. He still received progress reports from Doctor Patterson but understood that it was for the best if he did not interfere. He was no psychoanalyst. He could not say what would work with his sister and what would not. His interference could only complicate things… for the time being.
There was another reason he began retrofitting the castle. Privacy. He valued his privacy above all, and he knew that the lack of it could compromise all the servers and computers he had running underground.
The castle had to go fully off the grid. That meant no cell phone signals, no radio waves, nothing could be transmitted on or off the property without his knowledge.
So he bought the most elaborate interference devices and radio wave scramblers. The castle would be an electronic dead zone. Nothing would happen on the estate without his knowledge… when the system was complete.
Leila came to him frequently as he worked. He did not mind her presence. Sometimes she just read. Other times she sat quietly and watched him.
She did not interfere, so he allowed her presence.
Besides. He could not become impatient with her. They were having a child together, after all. If that didn’t bring them closer, Sylvain knew of nothing that would.
Occasionally, Sylvain’s thoughts drifted to Alicia. He could not help it. She was such a big part of who he’d become. But now, he looked upon the memories without sadness or longing. He looked at them without much of any emotion, in fact.
They were just there.
It took about a week of deep, untroubled sleep for Sylvain to realize how much his sister’s nighttime screaming had affected him. Sleep was essential. The difference of his mental state with and without it was night and day.
That’s why, he thought, his father’s maneuvering caught him so far off-guard.
Speaking of the older Alastair… he had, miraculously, grown content. There was still that gulf between him and Sylvain—as there would be until the first of them died—but it no longer seemed like a pressing issue to address. They avoided each other’s company as best they could. Although, once or twice, when Sylvain sat down at the piano, he thought he could feel his father lurking in the halls just outside the door.
At first the behavior rankled him, but then, Sylvain realized: maybe the old man was trying to make amends. He was not one to admit to being wrong, not ever, but maybe, just maybe, he actually… felt… something for his son.
Sylvain did not let it affect him either way. He could not control what his father did. Sylvain would surely not be the first to extend the olive branch, however.
One day in the middle of the week, Leila came to him. She seemed nervous.
“Your father asked me to go with him to town.” She writhed her hands together. “His vision is getting worse and worse, you know.”
Sylvain looked up from the computer he was assembling. “Are you asking my permission to go?”
She nodded.
“That depends on you. Do you want to accompany him?”
“He doesn’t have anyone else.” Unconsciously her hand fluttered to her cheek. The bruise Sylvain’s’ father had given her had long-since faded, but she carried the memory of it well. “I thought it’d be nice.”
“If you want to go, go,” Sylvain said, perhaps a touch too harshly. “I’m not keeping you here. I am not like him.”
“I just didn’t want you to think I disappeared,” she said. She stepped closer. Her hand went gingerly to Sylvain’s shoulder. “You haven’t told me all he’s done to you, but I know enough. I’ve seen you two interact.”
“Oh? And what about it?”
“You come across as two bitter rivals,” she said. “But Sylvain… you are his son. His vision’s going now—his health will soon follow.”
Sylvain snorted. “He seems in top shape to me.”
Leila hit him. “Don’t joke!”
Sylvain sighed, then pushed himself up to address her properly. “I’m not going to hold it against you,” he said, “if you go with him. Actually, I appreciate you telling me. Keep him company, if that’s what you want to do. So long as he is not forcing you to it, I don’t mind.”
She kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” she said, and left.
When she was gone, Sylvain stopped what he was doing, and for a long moment, simply looked at the space she’d vacated.
A vague suspicion, about Leila and his father, drifted up from the depths of his consciousness…
He shut it down. It was baseless and paranoid.
He had nothing to worry over.
Chapter Seventeen
Sylvain and Leila never spoke about the pregnancy openly in front of his father. But as time passed, the growing bump of her belly became impossible to ignore.
Sylvain had a hard time admitting it at first, but the girl was growing on him. Sex with her had become more and more passionate with every passing night. Maybe they were growing more comfortable with each other. Maybe it was something else.
But, for the first time ever, Sylvain could look forward to a future including her.
And, of course, their daughter.
The child’s gender had been determined as early as possible. Sylvain took absolutely no risks: he would have nothing ruining the birth.
He doubled down on his work, making the castle as secure a location as possible. It was for his benefit. But also for that of his family. He would give his daughter the best upbringing. And unlike his own, hers would not be tainted by the Alastair family legacy.
Because Sylvain was not that type of man.
Nearly two months after the ill-fated visit to the mental institution, Sylvain received word from Doctor Patterson that Bianca had been cleared to come home.
The information came as a shock. Questions raced through his mind: Already? So soon? How?
The doctor said that they had made tremendous progress after stumbling upon something… unexpected.
He would not say directly what.
“Astounding” did not even begin to describe the potential of such a break-through—if indeed it were real.
Preparations began to welcome Bianca back. Sylvain held the news from his father. He suspected the old man would not react kindly.
He had been all-too-relieved to see his daughter locked away.
But after talking more with Doctor Patterson, Sylvain understood that Bianca’s return would be more along the lines of a trial run. If she would stay permanently or not would depend on her behavior.
Everything was still up in the air.
So the f
ollowing day, Sylvain walked into his father’s study to make the announcement.
He entered without knocking—and was taken aback to find Leila sitting on the windowsill, legs crossed, giggling as his father whispered in her ear.
They both heard his entrance at the same time. Leila broke off and went rigid. His father turned around… and gave no reaction at all.
Sylvain stepped forward. The dark ball of rage threatened to flare.
“What is going on here?” he demanded.
His father clicked his tongue. “I was giving my future daughter-in-law some… advice,” he said coyly. “On how best to handle my wayward son.”
Sylvain’s eyes became slits. He looked at the woman. “Leila?”
“He wants us to get married!” she exclaimed.
His father cursed. “Dammit, girl,” he began, but Leila had already bounced off the windowsill and ran up to Sylvain. She took both his hands.
He held himself distant. “What?”
“We’ve been talking, your father and I,” she quickly explained. She could not contain her enthusiasm. “About… well, about you and me. About our future together. About our child.”
This was the first Sylvain was hearing of it. “For how long?”
Leila shrunk back, just a tiny bit. “You’re not mad, are you?”
“That,” Sylvain said plainly, “Depends entirely on your answer. For. How. Long?”
She bit the inside of her cheek. “A few weeks?” she said shyly.
Sylvain started to make a displeased noise in his throat. She continued quickly over him.
“Please don’t be angry! It started when he and I went to the village. He began telling me about all sorts of wonderful philosophers and their teachings, and, Sylvain, I never knew how brilliant your father was!” She smiled brightly, a bit nervously, and looked to the older Alastair, before returning her eyes to Sylvain. “Now your intellect makes so much more sense,” she added.
Despite himself, Sylvain felt the smallest bit pleased at the unexpected compliment.
His father stepped in. “If the young woman is going to be carrying my granddaughter,” he announced haughtily, “then I want her to have a proper education. I’ve been doing my best, son, to get her up to speed while you waste your days in that dingy basement of yours.”
Sylvain looked at Leila. “Is this true?”
She bit her lip once more… and nodded.
“He’s been… teaching you?” Sylvain clarified.
Again, another nod.
“He’s given me books,” she said.
“Books,” Sylvain repeated.
Leila nodded. “Yes. They’ve been wonderful.”
Sylvain considered this.
“Oh, don’t begrudge the girl for wanting to expand her intellect,” his father cut in. “You should be proud of her, son, if nothing else!”
Sylvain looked at his father. He had never seen him interacting so… amicably… with a female.
Maybe the prospect of becoming a grandfather really was changing him.
But that dark, nasty suspicion at the back of Sylvain’s head reared itself once more. The way he’d walked in on them… they looked too comfortable with each other. Too intimate.
He did not want to voice his suspicion without reason. So instead, he focused on the other thing that was said.
“Married?” he asked.
“Oh, yes!” Leila exclaimed, all joy and excitement once more. The dark cloud had passed. “Your father has given his blessing, Sylvain, for us to… for us to…” she faltered a little bit under Sylvain’s hard stare. “For us to become husband and wife!”
“And you did not think of bringing the issue to me, first?” Sylvain questioned.
Leila shrank away. “We don’t have to do it. It’s all just hypothetical…”
“Like hell it is,” Sylvain’s father interjected. “If my son is having a daughter with a young woman as bright, as beautiful, as lovely, as vibrant as you, there is absolutely no excuse for a marriage not to happen. In fact, it’s the only option. It would be shameful if the child was born to two parents who are unattached.”
“Unfortunately, father, it is not your prerogative,” Sylvain began.
His father’s eyes darkened. “Leila, dear, won’t you run along now, please?” His soft voice betrayed none of the emotions Sylvain knew had just flared beyond the surface. “I need to speak to my son. Alone.”
Leila looked at Sylvain. He gave the briefest of nods.
“Go,” he said.
She forced a thin smile and ducked out the door.
When she was gone, Sylvain turned on his father. “Marriage?” he said. “Marriage! You fill the girl’s head with fantasies, for what? To mock me?”
“Don’t be so bitter, Sylvain,” his father said. “Leila, as I’ve come to know her, is good for you.”
“And what does that mean, ‘as you’ve come to know her’?” Sylvain demanded.
“As a person. As a human being,” his father responded calmly. “She is quite the fascinating young woman, you know. Sharp. Ambitious.” He looked Sylvain up and down. “Much better for you than that old hag Alicia.”
Sylvain’s temper flared. “You will not speak of her!”
His father smiled knowingly. “Have I hit a nerve?”
Sylvain stalked toward the table. He put both fists down. “You will not,” he growled, “so much as breathe Alicia’s name. Ever again.”
How much does he know about her? Sylvain wondered.
“Or what?” his father sneered. “You’ll threaten me? You’ll yell, you’ll pout, you’ll scream? We both know you don’t have the courage to stand up to your old man. That’s what I’ve been trying to teach you all these years, son. I was trying to give you a backbone! Unfortunately…” another malicious smile, “…you have always lacked one.”
Sylvain would not rise to the bait again. His father was changing the subject, and right now, the subject was Leila.
“Why did you tell her about marriage?” he asked.
“Because that is the proper thing to do. It is the responsible way to behave. It is the only fitting outcome, out of this… situation? For an Alastair. You will not have a child out of wedlock.”
Sylvain sneered. “It’s all about the name, isn’t it, father? That’s all it’s ever been. It’s all you’ve ever cared for!”
“Names have power, son. I was trying to instill that into you my whole life. What you lack, what you’ve always disregarded. Is the power of the one you possess. Like it or not, you are its true heir. As your daughter must be.”
“To hell with the name,” Sylvain growled. “I am my own man. I made my fortune. I’ve had success. The surname made no iota of difference the whole way through.”
His father chuckled. “You really believe that, don’t you? You really think you, and you alone, stand outside it?”
“I’ve proven that,” Sylvain said. “I’ve proven it to myself and to the world. Maybe not to you, but that was nothing I’ve ever tried. You’re blinded by the illusion of power that you think you still hold. You’re blinded by an archaic way of thinking. Look at yourself! You’ve locked yourself away in this castle. You would have held your daughter here her whole life had I not stepped in. You cling to glory that is not there, that has never been there, and that makes no difference in this world!”
His father chuckled. “That’s what you think, is it?”
“It’s what I know.”
“Tell me, then. If all I care about is glory, why did I let you back? You fouled the family name when you went to prison. You became a black mark. I could have disowned you, I could have made you nothing—”
“Oh no, father,” Sylvain interrupted. “You hold no influence over who or what I am. That much was made clear long, long ago.”
“You think so?” His father leaned closer. “You truly think I don’t know what you’re doing, with the computers, the servers, the networks of yours? You were caught being a thief, Sylv
ain. Which is why you went to jail. You were once, and you will continue to be, a—”
“You know nothing,” Sylvain interrupted. “Nothing! Nothing about who I am or what I’ve done. Nothing about the hell you put me through!”
Sylvain bit his tongue the moment the words came out. He’d never broached the subject before. But now? There it was, out in the open, for the very first time.
His father looked at him. He licked his lips. “And now, I suspect,” he began slowly, “you expect an apology?”
“From you? I expect nothing.” Sylvain turned away. “Oh. Your daughter is coming back. This weekend.” He looked over his shoulder. “I thought you should know.”
Chapter Eighteen
Sylvain stalked through the halls calling for Leila.
He finally found her in the piano room, staring glumly out the window.
It was raining. The weather suited Sylvain’s mood well.
“Marriage,” he said the moment he saw her. Then again, as a question. “Marriage?”
Leila turned to him, squared her shoulders, but in her eyes, Sylvain could see that she remained uncertain.
“Your father brought it up—”
“Fuck my father,” Sylvain growled. He walked right over to her and loomed tall. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what he thinks. What I want to know—” on impulse, he grabbed her neck and craned her face up, “—is what you think.”
“I—I—” Her hands grabbed at his wrist. “Sylvain, stop! You’re hurting me!”
With a shocked gasp he released her. He was so consumed by the fury he didn’t realize what he’d done.
She fell back. She rubbed at her throat.
Now, the uncertainty in her eyes was replaced by fear.
“I’m sorry,” he said stiffly. “I didn’t…”
“That’s fine,” she stepped in. In a quieter voice: “I’m used to it.”
Sylvain glowered down. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that all men are the same, that’s what!” she exclaimed. Now she was angry.
The Alastair Affair 4: Sylvain Page 6