Pride and Papercuts

by Staci Hart

  “Really. I’ve had enough. And I think that day I’ve been wishing for, the day when you were safe from her, is finally here,” he said proudly. “I’ll have the rest of your things brought over to my place, and your room will be waiting.”

  “Thank you, Dad.”

  “It’s me who should be thanking you. You aren’t the only one who’s gained your freedom, and you’re not the only one who gets to live. So let’s make the most of it, shall we?”

  And with a long embrace and a few tears, we would do just that.

  23

  Emancipation Day

  MARCUS

  I’d paced a nearly visible rut in the floor, I’d been at it so long.

  From the second Maisie texted me with the briefest and broadest of explanations, I’d walked the stretch between my living room and the front door like a caged animal. Her message had been coupled with a request to stay with me, which I’d agreed to with more enthusiasm than I should have been allowed, given the circumstance.

  I didn’t know much, but what I did know was that it was bad. Catastrophic. Her mother had found us out and shredded Maisie’s life to ribbons and bits, her future and security wiped away in a matter of minutes, by way of a few weighty words.

  And it was all my fault.

  We should have been more careful. I should have protected her. I could have stopped all of this had I not been so thoughtless, so self-serving. And now, she’d lost everything, just like we’d feared. Like we’d planned.

  But now that it’d happened, the reality was far more gruesome than I’d imagined it would be.

  And the timing couldn’t have been worse. With mediation approaching, with the lawsuit still up in the air, my family could very well pay for the grievance—I had no doubt Evelyn Bower was loading her cannons with devious and dishonorable fodder now that a Bennet had stolen her daughter from her.

  It was incredibly dangerous and potentially detrimental.

  The only hope, the only brightness in the thick of this storm was that now, Maisie was mine, and I’d take care of her better than anyone could.

  My hand slipped into my pocket, finding the velvet box where it’d been for a week, thumbing the curve, turning it around and around without purpose as I worried over her.

  I didn’t know why I’d been carrying it around with me everywhere rather than leaving it at home. Perhaps it was the comfort I felt when reminded it was there. The ring in that box was a promise. It was a future—our future. It was what I wanted, the thing I’d known since she first tumbled into me.

  On paper, it was illogical. There was no reason to rush, no point in doing anything rash. We barely knew each other regardless of how right it felt. It was ludicrous to even consider making this promise—the promise—until our hormones and infatuation simmered down. Until we had a chance to live together. To be together openly, to see how we grew together when we had the real space to.

  There were rules, rules I’d always believed were the only way.

  But that was the thing about Maisie.

  She defied all rules. All logic. All things I’d thought should be and would be and could be, she superseded.

  I knew without a doubt that this was it. What she and I had together was undeniable. The alternative—living the rest of my life without her—was beyond my imagination. I could think of nothing she could say or do to change that. She had my trust, and she had my love, the words synonymous and definitive. And so, last week, before either of us had admitted our feelings, before I’d known how she felt, I’d walked into the jeweler knowing one thing for certain.

  I loved her, and one day, I’d make her mine forever.

  I’d wandered around the glass cases in the quiet shop, peering into the glowing displays until one winking diamond caught my attention, stopped my feet. Simple and beautiful, timeless and sparkling, it sat in that case, angled right at me as if to say, Here I am. The knowledge that this was the ring had struck me as fact, and that was that.

  It’d been in my pocket ever since. Sometimes in my pants pocket—its preferred spot so I could fiddle with it—but more often in my inside coat pocket where she couldn’t easily figure out what it was, should she notice it. The when was distant enough, because despite my eagerness, I knew a good time from a bad one. And this was not the right time. Once we were past the lawsuit, once her mother and the Bower mess was behind us and we had time to ease into a relationship free of constraint, then I’d ask. And God help me if she said no.

  Because there would be no getting over her.

  I sighed, turning the box around again in my hand. She’d be here any second, and the realization had me hurrying it into my coat pocket and removing said coat, hanging it on the back of one of the chairs at the island.

  The instant I heard the key in the lock, I was off like a shot in her direction, whipping the door open to scoop her up. To hold her to my chest, to slip my fingers into her hair. To promise her it would be all right as she cried, to cradle her face in my hands and kiss her.

  It was a long moment before we parted. She set down her bag and wiped her cheeks as I brought in her suitcase and closed the door.

  “Drink?” I offered.

  But she shook her head. “Bed.”

  With a kiss to the top of her head, I grabbed her suitcase and followed her up the stairs. The air around her was still and solemn, something about her resigned but not small. And it left me aching to know exactly what had happened so I could wash it away. So we could leave it behind us and start over.

  We could see that dream of ours come true. I could bring her into my family, make her one of us. We could run Longbourne together, if there was anything left to run after this.

  My stomach turned at the fear that there wouldn’t be. Future Marcus’s problems, I told myself.

  She climbed into my bed, kicking her shoes off on the way, and I left her suitcase near my dresser before joining her.

  Maisie lifted her chin, a silent request for a kiss. And so I wrapped her in my arms and obeyed.

  For a long moment, that was all there was. A long and languid kiss, its purpose to be only that. A kiss with no intention, no directive, only a meeting of lips and tongues solely to be together, nothing more.

  I held her until she broke away, until she’d gotten what she needed, and it left her slack and soft against me.

  She settled into the pillow beneath her head, tracing the line of my jaw with her fingertips as I gazed down at her.

  “It’s done,” she said simply.

  “Are you all right?”

  “It’s strange, how I feel. The things she said to me …” Through a beat, she recounted those things but didn’t relay them. “It was awful. I should be torn apart, devastated, and in some ways, I am. But more about the death of one dream and the birth of another. I still thought that deep down, she loved me. But she doesn’t. And now my dream is you.”

  I turned my face to kiss her fingertips, my heart aching with sadness and joy for her mother and me. “I’m sorry.”

  “I just …” She paused. “I’ve been so worried I’d become my mother, but after today, I’m convinced I couldn’t be. But I wonder. If I believed, really believed in something, could I forsake what’s right? Because when I think about you and me … I’d forsake anything.”

  “You are nothing like her,” I promised again. I’d remind her forever.

  The smallest of smiles touched her lips, but she didn’t look convinced. “Well, at least it’s done. At least it’s over. And now that I’m here, it’s hard to feel bad about much of anything.”

  “I can’t pretend I’m mad about that.”

  “Me either,” she said on a chuckle. “Dad is going to manage getting the rest of my things moved from Mom’s house to his apartment, and then he’s leaving too.”

  “For good?”

  She nodded, her smile still in place. “He stayed back to talk to her before he left.”

  “Talk.” I scoffed. “I’d love to hear that conversat
ion firsthand.”

  “Oh God.” She laughed. “I bet he’s been saving up names to call her on this day for years. We should declare it a family holiday.”

  “Emancipation day.”

  “For all of us. Although I don’t know what she’ll do about you. She was so angry, Marcus. The things she said …” A shudder trembled through her. “The things she’s done for her own designs, for power. For money.”

  Something about the way she’d said it gave me pause. “What do you mean?”

  But she shook her head, her brows ticking together and eyes drifting down. “Nothing.”

  “Maisie,” I urged. “Did something else happen?”

  “No, everything’s fine.”

  And that was how I knew it was patently not fine. “You don’t want to tell me.”

  “It’s not that. I just—” Her guilty gaze snapped to mine.

  I didn’t speak for a moment, and neither did she. Instead, I smoothed her hair, cupped her jaw, tracing her lips with my gaze as I considered what to say.

  “Tell me when you’re ready,” I finally answered.

  “No, Marcus—I do want to tell you, but it’s … I can’t.”

  “You can’t? Is she stopping you even now?”

  “No, not exactly …” She huffed. “It’s complicated, and … I don’t know what it will mean if I tell you.”

  “For us?”

  “Not for us. For you.”

  I scrambled to find some reasonable explanation, to try to guess what she could need to keep from me. “Nothing you could say could change how I feel and what I want. You can tell me anything.”

  “Even if it incriminated you?”

  I stilled. “If it would incriminate me, I can only assume the knowledge incriminates you. And if that’s the case, you absolutely have to tell me.”

  Her worry didn’t ease, but her sigh was one of concession. “I … I don’t even know where to start.”

  “It’s all right,” I soothed. “We’ll figure it out together.”

  Her eyes tracked her hand as it fiddled with my collar, finally smoothing my shirt over my chest with a sigh. And then she lifted her gaze to mine.

  “My mother is embezzling money from Bower.”

  My shock was total, marked by a tingling numbness that crawled down my spine like ants.

  Maisie launched into her explanation, her eyes cast down as she spoke. She told me about the assistant and her mother’s crime, about Evelyn using the charity as a front. About the exit speech Maisie had planned to give her mother before discovering confession wasn’t what Evelyn had intended.

  And Maisie told me the most pressing part of all—she didn’t know what to do.

  But I did.

  Her eyes were so full of hurt and hope that I hesitated to say it plainly, but there was no other way.

  “You have to go to the authorities.”

  Within a breath, her cheeks were smudged with color. “It’s not that simple, Marcus. Think of all the people who rely on Bower and what will happen to them. Think of all the people at Harvest, all her employees … we don’t know what will happen to them. Aside from the fact that she’s my mother—she’s evil and cruel, but she has been the strongest authority in my life, and betraying that is … it’s …” Frustrated tears filled her eyes. “It’s just not that simple.”

  “She’s a criminal. I won’t try to convince you with a recount of what she’s done to you, because that doesn’t matter. She has committed a crime, and now you know. And because you know, you’re legally obligated to act.”

  Her chin quivered, her eyes searching mine.

  “I know it seems impossible, but you have to. It’s accomplice liability—you could be charged with aiding and abetting. Failure to report a crime.”

  “Could you be liable too?” she asked quietly. “Now that you know, have I put you in danger?”

  I frowned. “Technically, it’s possible. But if your mother is charged and they find out that you knew—her daughter and heir—there’s a very good chance the prosecution will come after you. For me, it’s a maybe. For you, it’s almost certain.”

  Twin tears slid down her temples and into her hair. “She did this. She’s responsible for this, but she’s not going to make me choose everyone’s fate. She’s going to do that herself.”

  I frowned, not liking the idea of any plan that hinged on her mother doing the right thing.

  “I’ll go to her. Tell her I know what she did. Gather some proof so she can’t deny it. And then I’ll tell her if she doesn’t go to the authorities, I will.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because once she knows you know, she’ll act. She could leave the country. Cover it up. Or worse—pin it on you. She’s not to be trusted, especially not when her neck is on the block.”

  “I just don’t understand.” Her voice sharpened. “This is a real solution. She can’t do anything but leave the country in that amount of time, and I don’t think she’d ever run away—she’d rather it all go down in flames with her in the middle, holding a matchbook. I don’t know if I can do this, not without giving her the chance to make it right.”

  “Even if she stabs you in the back the second you turn around?” I argued. “This isn’t a petty crime or a minor violation—she embezzled. This is a federal offense, and it’s not something to be taken lightly.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” She scooted out from under me and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, putting her back to me. Her head dropped to her hands. “I know what I’m supposed to do, but I … I don’t know if I can do it, Marcus. I don’t know if I can.” She broke into a string of silent sobs.

  The sight broke my heart.

  I moved to her side, and the moment my arm was around her shoulders, she curled into me. Her tears broke through in earnest, and there was nothing I could do but hold her close and curse Evelyn for doing this to Maisie. To herself. To her company.

  “I know it’s hard,” I started. “But I promised myself I’d protect you, and I’d be betraying that promise if I didn’t insist that you take matters into your own hands. But I’ve got your back. I’ll always have your back, whatever you decide and come what may. Take a minute. And if you can’t go to the authorities without giving her a chance, then that’s what we’ll do.”

  She lifted her head, looked up at me with dark eyes, her lashes grouped together by tears. “Thank you,” she whispered, and I wished I could make her mother pay for every single one.

  “I love you, Maisie. No matter what.”

  When I kissed her, it was with hope that my fears would never come true, that it would all work out like it needed to—for our safety, our future. Or God help us all.

  24

  Reap and Sow

  MAISIE

  The sun had been up for a little while, the city already awake and humming its good morning. But Marcus and I hadn’t left the safety of his bed, preferring to stay tangled up in the nest of blankets as long as we could before facing what the day had in store.

  Three days had passed since I’d come to stay, three days of joy and worry and the comfort of him. I smiled to myself, my head resting in the curve where his shoulder joined his chest and my body tucked into his side. Strange that I hadn’t even considered whether staying together would be anything but easy. When I’d come here, I’d been in such a state that I hadn’t really thought about much of anything. Only that I needed him.

  Funny that I hadn’t stressed about being together this much. To stand next to each other and brush our teeth. To chat idly while we changed for bed. To make breakfast and drink coffee in a sort of autonomous synchronicity, connected while remaining wholly independent.

  But waking up with him was the best part.

  After so much sneaking around and all the stolen moments and meetings, it was luxurious to spend nearly every moment together. An embarrassment of riches after rationing what meager time we had. Marcus still had work to
do, but when he went to the greenhouse, I went with him. I’d met everyone, even Kash’s girlfriend, the wedding planner. One afternoon, I’d helped Tess while she worked, comparing notes on not only flowers, but our Bennet men. And last night, after a rowdy and lovely dinner with the whole brood, Marcus had brought me to their greenhouse.

  God, it was beautiful. Quaint and charming, warm and welcoming. The greenhouse was the Bennets—alive and a little messy, bursting with color and teeming with a feeling of home. And for the first time, I understood that feeling, that elemental sense of belonging, even though they weren’t my home, even though the Bennets weren’t mine.

  More than anything—anything in the entire world—I wanted them to be. Currently, I was only an observer, someone invited to peer into their family and take a spare seat at the table. But I longed to have a permanent place, to etch my name on the family tree, to be a part of their lives.

  To have a family. A mother. A sister and brothers. A place to belong, full of people who loved me. Where there was no cruelty and no betrayal. Only the deep and undeniable support and affection of those who cared most.

  After Dad and I being so alone, with our guard always up and our discomfort ever present, the comfort of trust seemed a reprieve neither of us thought we’d ever get. But the Bennets hadn’t only welcomed me—they’d welcomed Dad too. After Mrs. Bennet’s reaction to her children’s ambush regarding her having dated my father, I didn’t know how it would go. I’d wondered if it’d be strange or tense, an awkward meeting after years on opposite sides. But within a few days, the Bennet children had turned the whole ordeal into a good-natured ribbing, and Mrs. Bennet let it go, though not without a little snark.

  Dad and the elder Bennets dove in like only old friends do, with laughter and reminiscing and an unstoppable stream of conversation as they caught up on nearly thirty years of life. Dinner was rife with embarrassing stories about their children, the subject of my mother avoided at all costs. But afterward, we’d left the three of them in the living room and gathered in the kitchen to share stories of our own—five Bennet children and the three women they loved.