Keeping Her

by Allie Everhart

  I smile as he says it, because his words and his tone express how much he loves my mom. I'm grateful to have parents that love each other the way they do. I feel like Pearce and I have that same kind of love. That's one reason why I agreed to marry him last weekend. Like my mom, I didn't care about a big fancy wedding. I just wanted to be married to him. I was ready to start our life together.

  I hear noise on the other end of the phone and then I hear my dad again. "Rachel, your mother's home so I'm going to hand over the phone. But before I do, I need to say congratulations."

  "Thanks, Dad."

  "I love you, honey."

  "I love you too."

  He hands my mom the phone and I hear her voice. "Congratulations, honey! We heard the news. That's great!"

  She's trying to sound excited for me, and I think she really is, but I can also hear the hurt in her voice.

  "Mom, I'm really sorry I didn't call and tell you myself."

  "It's okay. I'm sure you two had a lot going on and I know you were out of town. Where did you end up going? You never said."

  I was going to say Las Vegas, but that was when I was going to confess I was already married. Now I'm not going to tell her, so I can't say Pearce and I went to Vegas or she might assume we got married.

  "We went to Manhattan," I say. "We saw a show. Ate at some great restaurants. Stayed in a nice hotel."

  "That sounds fun."

  She's reacting much better than I thought she would. It doesn't make sense. She's always so protective of me and now I tell her I'm engaged and she's not mad? Maybe she is, but she's saving her anger for a later discussion. I'd rather just have her get mad at me now and not wait.

  "Mom, if you're mad about this, just tell me. I know it's sudden and—"

  "Rachel, your father and I had a long talk about this yesterday after we heard the news. I admit I was upset, but your father reminded me that he and I didn't exactly make our parents happy when we got married so soon after we met. But it all worked out in the end, despite our parents' objections. Sometimes you just have to trust that your child knows what's best. I know I have a hard time doing that, but I'm trying to get better at it. But I still worry about you. I always will."

  "I know, but you don't have to worry about this. I love Pearce and I don't have any doubts about marrying him."

  "That's good, honey. I'm glad you're happy. So why was your engagement on the news?"

  I explain it all again, the same story I told my dad, except my mom seems to get it more than my dad did. She follows celebrity news and at least has an idea of what Pearce's world is like. He's not a celebrity, but from what I've told her about him, she knows his life isn't always private.

  "Mom, I know you're not going to be happy about this, but I'm moving in with Pearce."

  "I assumed you would."

  "You did? But we're not married yet."

  "Rachel, this isn't the 1950s. I know couples live together before they get married. And honestly, I'm relieved you'll finally be out of that dangerous neighborhood. From what you've said, it sounds like Pearce lives in a very nice place."

  "Yes, it's really nice, and you have to go through a security gate to get into his building. It's very safe and in a great neighborhood."

  Just as I say that, the door opens and Pearce walks in, carrying a big paper sack.

  "Mom, Pearce just got back with dinner so I should probably go. But I'll call you tomorrow."

  "Could I talk to him?"

  "Who?"

  She laughs a little. "You're fiancé. My future son-in-law."

  "Oh. Yes. Of course. I guess you've never spoken to him, have you? For some reason I thought that you had."

  "No. We never have, but I'm looking forward to meeting him in a few days. You're still coming for Thanksgiving, right?"

  "Yes. We'll be there." I motion Pearce to the phone. "My mom wants to say hi."

  He nods and takes the phone from me. "Hello, Mrs. Evans. This is Pearce Kensington. It's nice to finally speak with you."

  He's using his formal tone. I told her he's kind of formal, but it's hard to know what that means until she hears it herself. She'll like that about him. It makes him sound mature and respectful, which he is.

  As he listens to her, he puts his arm around my waist and pulls me into his side. "I'm sorry it's taken so long. Your daughter has been remiss in her duties to introduce me to you and Mr. Evans."

  I look up and see Pearce smiling at me. I can hear my mom's voice, but I can't hear what she's saying.

  "Yes, we're looking forward to it," Pearce says, then he listens again. "Very good. We'll see you then. Before you hang up, is Mr. Evans close by? I'd like to speak with him." Pearce lets me go and walks into the living room. "Mr. Evans. Pearce Kensington." He listens. "Yes, it's nice to meet you as well. Mr. Evans, I would like to apologize for not asking for your daughter's hand in marriage. It was inappropriate of me and I didn't mean to disrespect you in any way."

  Pearce has his back to me but I'm watching him as he talks. I never expected Pearce to ask my dad for his blessing and I don't think my dad expected him to. But I think it's kind of sweet. And romantic. Pearce listens again, and I'm wondering what my dad is saying.

  "It may not be necessary," Pearce says, "but it's what I've been taught to do. So when Rachel and I are at your home later this week, I will ask you in person, once you've had a chance to get to know me. Hopefully you'll give us your blessing. I love your daughter very much and I promise to take good care of her." He nods. "Yes, you as well. Goodnight, Mr. Evans."

  Pearce walks back into the kitchen and hangs up the phone. "So for dinner, I ended up getting—"

  "Pearce." I go up to him. "Thank you for talking to my parents."

  He smiles. "Why would you thank me for that?"

  "I don't know. I guess I just wanted to thank you for being so polite and for saying that stuff to my dad. You didn't have to do that, by the way. Ask for my hand? It's kind of old-fashioned."

  He leans down and kisses me. "It's not old-fashioned. It's the right thing to do. I'm just sorry I wasn't able to do it before we got married. That's probably why he acted so strange when I mentioned it."

  "That's not why. He was just surprised you asked." I reach up and unzip Pearce's coat because he never took it off. "My parents don't know that we're married."

  "You didn't tell them?"

  I shake my head. "I couldn't do it. My mom heard about our engagement on TV. My dad said she was upset that I didn't call and tell her, and then he said how much it would mean to her if I let her help plan the wedding. So I couldn't tell them. I just couldn't do it."

  "That's fine, but I'm still going to tell my parents."

  "I know. But tell them not to say anything to mine."

  "I will, but they never listen to me."

  I sigh and hug him. "You're right, Pearce."

  "About what?"

  "Hiding this from people. It's going to be really hard."

  CHAPTER THREE

  3

  PEARCE

  We're back at my loft now. After we had dinner at Rachel's apartment we packed both our cars with her clothes and a few other items, then drove here separately so she'll have her car to take to class tomorrow. I need to get her a new car, and soon. I live in a very expensive building and my fellow tenants will complain about having such an old, run-down car in the parking garage. I know it sounds ridiculous, but that's just how it is. Besides, even though I had her car fixed, I'd still feel better having her drive a newer, safer car.

  When we arrived at my loft, I expected to have someone there waiting for me. My father. My mother. Jack. I was sure at least one person would be there waiting to yell at me. So when I didn't see anyone, I was both surprised and worried. I know my father's furious, so why the hell isn't here? And why hasn't he called me? I checked my messages, but the only ones I had were from Jack. I couldn't make out all that he was saying, but there was a lot of profanity and he sounded extremely angry. I'll deal w
ith him later. For now, I need to deal with my father.

  "Rachel, I need to go." I lean down and kiss her.

  She's sitting on the couch, going over her notes for a test she has next week. She missed class today because we were traveling, but she wasn't too worried about it. A lot of her classmates have already left to go home for the holiday, so her professors didn't plan to go over any new material.

  "Pearce, it's late. Why don't you wait and talk to them tomorrow?"

  "I can't wait." I go to the closet and get my coat. "I need to get this over with."

  She meets me by the elevator. "How long do you think you'll be gone?"

  "I have no idea." I put on my coat. "But if I'm not back by morning, I think it's safe to assume my father's killed me."

  "Don't even joke about that." She hugs me. "Just relax. Everything will be fine."

  "You don't know my father. I wasn't joking when I said my father might kill me. I'm basically heading to my execution."

  It's true, but I don't know why I'm telling her this. I guess because I know she doesn't believe me. She can't imagine a father killing his own son, but I have no doubt he'd kill me if he didn't need me to take over the company someday.

  "If he's going to be that upset, then don't go."

  I kiss her. "I need to talk to him and find out if I'm supposed to show up at the office tomorrow." I step onto the elevator.

  "You think he'll fire you?"

  The elevator closes before I can answer. But the answer is that I'm hoping he will. I'd love to have him fire me. If he did, I'd be free to start my own company. Be my own boss. Pursue a dream I never thought was even possible.

  Unfortunately, my father knows about that dream, which means the chances of him firing me are slim to none. He wants me to be miserable, and I will be if I keep working at Kensington Chemical with him as my boss.

  My parents' mansion is a half hour away. It's ten o'clock but my parents usually stay up until eleven. My father's usually up even later than that, reading or doing work in his office.

  When I get there, I don't bother announcing my arrival to the guard. Instead, I punch the security code into the large iron entrance gate, and when it opens, I drive down the long winding road to their estate.

  The estate includes their mansion, which is 22,000 square feet, as well as a large guest house, and a smaller house for the hired help. They have several acres of land, surrounded by trees, giving them the privacy they desire.

  My father doesn't like people, even rich people. He doesn't like talking to them or being around them or having them anywhere near him. If he could, he'd live in total solitude, but he's forced to interact with people both as a business owner and to fulfill his obligations as a member of high society.

  My mother is more social, which reflects well on my father. People see them as a couple rather than individuals, so my father benefits from my mother's active social life. When they see him with her, they assume he wants to be at all the charity auctions, dinner parties, and other social activities she forces him to go to, when in fact, he despises those events.

  Over the years, my father has learned to put on a fake smile and engage in conversation, so people think he's much more personable than he really is. And being seen at these social events helps his image, and the image of the company, which has helped us get new business. My father should thank my mother for that, but he never will. He thinks his success is all his. He'd never give any credit to my mother.

  I go up to the front door and ring the bell. I grew up here, but now that I don't live here, my parents wouldn't approve of me just walking in. It's bad enough I didn't call before coming over or announce myself at the gate. But I didn't, because I wanted to take them by surprise. Otherwise, my father would probably be waiting at the door with his gun. I shouldn't be thinking that, and yet part of me really is worried about it. I should've brought my own gun, just in case.

  "Mr. Kensington." The maid answers the door, nodding at me. Actually, it's more like a bow. My father thinks he's a king, which is why he expects his hired help to practically bow down to him when they greet him. And since I'm his son and look just like him, the help always treats me like they treat my father. I don't like it. It makes me feel guilty, like I'm forcing them to act this way because I'm rich and think I'm better than them. I know they're just doing what my father tells them to do, but I still don't like it when they greet me that way.

  "Are my parents still awake?" I ask as I step inside the house.

  "Yes, sir." The maid helps me with my coat. Again, I don't like it. I grew up surrounded by hired help taking care of my every need, but as I got older, I grew tired of it. I'm a grown man. I can take off my own damn coat. And I don't like being called 'sir.' It's not necessary.

  I hear my mother coming down the hall toward the foyer. "Kelsa, who's at the door?"

  "It's your son, ma'am."

  My mother stops abruptly when she sees me. "Pearce."

  She only said my name, but I could hear the anger in her voice and I can see it in her face.

  "Mother."

  She says nothing.

  And so the standoff begins.

  She waves her hand at the maid. "Kelsa. Go make some tea."

  The maid scurries off.

  "I'm not here to have tea, Mother."

  "I didn't say it was for you." She folds her arms over her chest.

  She's wearing a black pants suit. I've never seen her wear it before. Perhaps she bought it for the funeral she's planning to have for me after my father kills me, which given the way she's acting, seems more and more like a possibility.

  If my mother's this angry, then how angry is my father? My mother is usually the reasonable one. In the past, when I've done something my parents disapproved of, my mother would try to make excuses for my behavior in an attempt to get my father to back down and lessen the punishment I would receive. She'd say I was still learning to be a man, still making mistakes, and that I shouldn't be harshly punished for simply being young and naive.

  That excuse has worked in the past because my mother is basically telling my father I'm stupid, careless, and irresponsible, and although my father looks down on those traits, having my mother describe me that way makes my father feel superior. It makes him think he's smarter than me and still has things to teach me. It makes him feel powerful. My mother knows all this, so she uses it to my advantage to convince my father to lessen my punishment. But I get the feeling that won't be the case this time.

  "Why are you here, Pearce?"

  "I'm here to talk to you and Father."

  My heart's beating out of my chest, but on the outside I remain calm. I don't want them getting the upper hand here. I need to appear strong.

  "We've already heard your news," she says. "It's late. You should leave."

  "I need to speak with Father."

  "Your father is in his office, working. You shouldn't disturb him. You'll have to speak with him later. Call his secretary and make an appointment."

  "Are you saying I'm no longer employed at the company?"

  "I don't know what his plans are for your employment. You'll need to discuss that with him."

  I step closer to her and lower my voice. "Just tell me what he said. How is he going to punish me?"

  "He hasn't said much, so I really don't know."

  I drop my head and squeeze the bridge of my nose, trying to relieve the pounding headache that formed as soon as I left my loft.

  "Pearce. You need to leave."

  I look up at my mother again. "I'm not done talking to you."

  "There's nothing more to say. We already know what you've done."

  "You only know part of it." I pause. "When Royce and I were in Las Vegas last weekend, I asked Rachel to meet me there."

  My mother's arms drop to her sides. "Please tell me you didn't."

  I nod. "I married her. We got married last Saturday."

  "Shit." She whispers it as she looks down the hall toward my father's
office. My mother never swears, so I know this is bad. He's definitely going to kill me. She grasps my arm. "Why would you do this, Pearce?"

  "Because if I didn't, I couldn't be with her. They're voting in a week. They're making it a rule that you have to marry whoever they choose. And I couldn't do it, Mother. I couldn't get married again to someone I didn't love. I know you don't approve of her, but I love Rachel. I can't live my life without her. I know, deep-down, you want me to be happy. So why can't you accept this and just be happy for me?"

  She takes a step back and folds her arms over her chest again. "Your father's right. You're a fool, Pearce! A complete and utter fool! It doesn't matter if there isn't an official rule in place. You know how it works. You know they make the decision."

  "You said I could have a say in the matter. When you tried to set me up with Sydney—"

  "Sydney was on the approved list! I was trying to help you! Give you a woman you might actually enjoy being with. Someone you could someday come to love."

  "I already love Rachel. I love her more than I could ever love any other woman."

  "Then you're an idiot for getting involved with her in the first place. We taught you better than that. Were you not listening to us all those years? Did you really think you could marry this girl without any consequences?"

  "I know there will be consequences and I will take whatever punishment they impose upon me. But I will not give up Rachel."

  "You may not have a choice," she says, glancing down the hall at my father's office. "Your ignorance and careless actions are going to cause you harm, Pearce. And this time, I can't protect you."

  She storms off, leaving me alone in the foyer.

  I slowly make my way to my father's office. The hallway is long and narrow and dark, and I really do feel like I'm walking to my execution. My throat is dry, my heart is pounding, and my muscles are aching from being clenched so tightly.

  I hate that I'm reacting this way. It's completely insane. At my age, I should be able to marry who I please and my parents should accept that and be happy about it. But instead, I have to get married in secret and then live in fear of what will happen next.