Dirty Little Secrets

by Lizzie Shane

  At the oblique command, Walters moved silently out of the shadow of the house and down the steps to assist Samira, a young man dressed like a valet at his side. His mother turned toward the house, but Aiden continued to look behind him where Walters was greeting Samira, their conversation too soft for him to hear. Everything felt wrong in this moment. She should be meeting his mother, not his grandfather’s butler. Not that she shouldn’t meet Walters as well, but the way his mother dismissed her dug under his skin.

  Samira looked up then, meeting his eyes, her own unreadable and distant, and made an impatient little shooing gesture. He frowned, but he wasn’t going to start an argument in the driveway, so when his mother hooked his arm he let himself be steered up the steps toward the main house.

  “Now, about Tamara…”

  “I don’t need you to match-make for me, Mother.”

  “I’m not matchmaking. I’m presenting you with options. Excellent, highly eligible options.”

  He bit his tongue on the urge to tell her he didn’t want options either. The only option he was interested in was currently unloading the SUV without him—which violated every chivalrous instinct he possessed, but he couldn’t very well tell his mother that he needed to carry Samira’s bag for her without calling into question the nanny-employer relationship that Samira herself had insisted on.

  Things had been stilted the last couple weeks. Ever since The Break-Up. Which was the only way that made sense for him to think of it, though he wasn’t sure it qualified as a break-up if they’d never really talked about what they wanted from one another. Never really been together as a couple so much as two people who enjoyed one another’s bodies. Just two people who had sex.

  But it felt like a break-up. Only a break-up where he was still living with the woman he wanted. Seeing her every morning. Trying to smile like it didn’t make his face hurt. Trying to speak to her normally when all he wanted to do was plead with her to talk to him, to reconsider, to give him a freaking chance, damn it.

  Clearly, there was something more awkward than lusting after your live-in nanny. It was lusting after your ex-lover who also happened to be your live-in nanny.

  But this week wasn’t about Samira. It was about Charlotte and Tug—a thought which was disturbing enough in its own right. He’d only seen his sister’s intended a couple times since the hunt, but sadly he hadn’t improved on repeated exposure.

  “Has anyone else arrived?”

  “Charlotte, of course,” his mother declared cheerfully. “And your father. We expect Candy and that husband of hers later this afternoon.” Aiden idly wondered if that husband of hers would have a name once they’d finally clapped eyes on him. “Scott and Eleanor will be driving down and you know Scott. If we get five minutes warning of his arrival time it will be a miracle. I know I taught you all courtesy, but that boy—” She shook her head.

  That boy was pushing forty, but his mother had never stopped trying to mold her children. Adulthood hadn’t kept her from voicing her—often strong—opinions about their behavior. Aiden knew that was how she showed she cared, but it hadn’t always gone over well with all of his siblings—hence Candy’s flight to California and Scott’s subtle digs at his mother’s sense of propriety by intentionally breaking as many of her little rules as he could.

  “The groom’s side will begin arriving tomorrow morning. We’ll have some activities to bring the two families together on Thursday—Charlotte suggested a hunt for the gentlemen, even though it’s wildly out of season. Only small ground game now. Hardly any sport in it.”

  “She won’t be hunting with us?”

  “The ladies are having a spa day. She thought that was more appropriate.”

  Aiden frowned, something about the sentence striking him as off. Did Tug not know that Charlotte hunted? Why wouldn’t she tell him that she was the family markswoman? Aiden went along on the hunts for the social activity. He’d never been particularly keen on the actual sport, but Charlotte had loved to hunt. She’d won competitions.

  But before he could chase that thought, his mother went on, merrily blathering about wedding plans. “Friday is the rehearsal, of course, with the rehearsal dinner following at the club. The girls will be needed at the rehearsal, but it’s good you’ve brought the nanny, because the dinner is adults only—as are all the family dinners this week—and that way we won’t have to worry about enlisting one of the maids to babysit.” She paused to frown. “Did I tell you all this already? Everything is so disorganized.”

  Aiden frowned. “You didn’t say anything about the girls not being allowed to eat with us.”

  “Aiden.” Forced patience thickened her voice. “They’re formal dinners. The girls would be miserable.”

  “They’re family dinners. Charlotte’s their godmother.”

  “Which is why they’re in the wedding. Be practical about this. We don’t want them so exhausted by all the pomp and circumstance that they are sick of it all before Saturday, do we? This is best.” She didn’t wait for an answer, leading the way through the house.

  Aiden was tempted to argue more, but he’d heard his own defeat in his mother’s calm, unmovable tone. Even the most seasoned lawyer couldn’t win against her in that mode.

  She guided him through the formal dining room which was apparently being used as a staging area for the reception that would be held on the side lawn on Saturday. “We’ll dine in the family dining room, since this place is such a disaster,” she said, grimacing with disapproval.

  China was stacked in parallel rows, centerpieces neatly laid out—only his mother would think this was disorganized. “I’m sure it will all come together under your watchful eye.”

  “It had better.”

  He’d thought they were heading to the kitchen to collect the girls, but his mother took a turn and paused at the closed terrace door. “Did I tell you that we’ll need your help managing your grandfather this weekend?”

  “You did.”

  “Good.” She nodded, the fine lines around her mouth tight. “You know what he can be like when he’s confused.”

  Aiden didn’t need to ask how he’d been. The decline these last few weeks had been pronounced. His mother had moved into the house—saying it was for the wedding preparations, but Aiden knew that wasn’t the whole story. Her own mother had died young. She’d been her father’s social hostess since she was a teenager—and in many ways his confidant. Losing him this way had to be killing her, but she kept her feelings hidden as she always did.

  “He’s been spending more time outdoors,” she commented. “I think he enjoys the sun. I told him I would send you to speak with him when you arrived. I’ll just go collect the girls, shall I?”

  Aiden didn’t mention that his grandfather probably wouldn’t remember his mother’s promise to send him out when he arrived. He simply nodded and stepped out onto the back terrace.

  The wide stone patio looked out over the lawns and gardens of the estate. Much of the surrounding area had been developed into million-dollar homes crammed close to one another on smaller lots, but the Montgomery estate remained one of the hold outs of the old guard—a sprawl of acreage that felt almost pastoral, belying its proximity to crowded DC real estate.

  His grandfather sat on one of the loungers scattered among the café tables on the terrace. It was a warm summer afternoon, but a plaid blanket draped over his legs and he huddled beneath a soft cardigan sweater as he stared out over the lawn. He looked frail now. A shadow of himself.

  Aiden found himself wishing he’d gone against his mother’s wishes and brought Benjamin Franklin rather than kenneling him for the week. He’d make a good therapy dog.

  “Hello, sir.”

  Dalton glanced over at him, his eyes unfocused as Aiden took the chair angled next to his lounger. “Hello,” he returned, in a vague, cheerful tone that implied recognition that Aiden had a feeling wasn’t there.

  His grandfather turned his attention back to the view and Aiden settled in
to enjoy the view himself, not bothering to make conversation. Dalton Montgomery had once been one of the most revered and feared men in Washington, and now he was an amiable absent-minded fellow who didn’t really know what was going on around him anymore.

  Aiden sat silently with the older man for fifteen minutes, enjoying the sun. “At least it looks like Charlotte is going to get good weather for her outdoor wedding,” he commented casually. “As if the gods would dare rain on her parade.”

  Dalton didn’t respond, but Aiden kept talking, his voice calm and low. “Between Mother and Charlotte, this wedding is probably going to put a state dinner to shame. Of course, it will probably have as many dignitaries and power players as your average state dinner. Mother will undoubtedly tell me I need to press the flesh. Make a good impression on potential donors if I’m really going to run for office.” He grimaced. “Naïve, I guess, but I hadn’t really thought it through before—focusing on the good I could do and not on how it would change things for the girls. And Samira.”

  What would his grandfather think of Samira? He was one of the old guard, an old-fashioned gentleman who liked things done traditionally, but he’d always judged people by their own actions—never by what the world thought of them or people of their ethnicity. His excellent character judgements were what had made him so successful in his behind-the-scenes political career. He knew who to trust, who to manipulate, and who to throw under the bus. He wasn’t always kind, but he was rarely wrong in his assessments of people—

  “You’re a good man, Aiden.”

  Aiden’s head snapped toward the low, scratchy voice. He looked over at the frail old man sitting beside him and saw his grandfather looking back at him, his blue eyes sharp for the first time in months. Aiden pressed his lips together as emotion climbed up his throat. “Thank you, sir.”

  His grandfather took in Aiden’s expressions—seeing everything he was trying to push back behind a careful mask—and something unspeakably sad entered his gaze. “Been a while since we talked?”

  Aiden swallowed thickly—the moments when Dalton seemed to wake up and realize what was happening to him somehow even harder to handle than the times when he was simply gone. “We’re here now.”

  “That long, eh?” Dalton’s smile was wry—and Aiden’s chest grew tight as he realized how much he’d missed those little traces of cynicism.

  He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t waste this moment. But emotion clogged his throat as he murmured, “It’s good to see you.”

  Dalton nodded, his awareness of what was happening to him vivid in his eyes. “I’m losing my mind, kiddo.”

  “I know, sir.” Such a horrible fucking disease. In these moments his grandfather knew the void was coming for him soon, coming to swallow up the man he’d once been. Not just dying, but erasing him piece by piece.

  Dalton nodded, looking out over the view, but this time his distant gaze wasn’t lost, but introspective. “This isn’t how I thought I would die.”

  Emotion cut off the words in Aiden’s throat.

  “Thought I’d be assassinated by some political rival or foreign dictator before something like this happened. Too much of a threat to go on living another day.” His smile was darkly satisfied by the thought. “I scared the shit out presidents and prime ministers.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  His grandfather turned to him then, his gaze cutting. “Do they know?”

  “They?”

  “The world.” Sharp. Impatient. Aiden had missed that don’t-be-a-moron-boy voice. “Do they know what I’ve become?”

  Aiden shook his head. “We’ve kept a lid on it. But Charlotte’s getting married here this weekend. Some of the guests know you.”

  “So they’ll see.” Bitter frustration pulled at the gaunt lines of his face.

  “I’ll run interference for you. And so will Mother. As much as we’re able.”

  Dalton snorted. “Saving an old man’s dignity when he doesn’t even know it needs to be saved anymore.”

  “Saving a great man’s legacy,” Aiden corrected softly, earning a wistful smile.

  “Was I great man, do you suppose? Will that be my legacy? That is one of the advantages of losing my mind. Less time to wonder how people will remember me when I don’t even remember myself.” He looked back over the view, the seat of his empire.

  “We remember you. The man you were.”

  Dalton didn’t respond, his gaze lost on the view. “I wish I could see you run for office. Run your campaign. I’d love to see what the world looks like when you’re done with it.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The silence built, folding in on itself, stretching until Aiden realized it had stretched too long. “Sir?”

  Dalton turned toward him, his gaze vague—not lost in thought then. Just lost. “Hm?”

  Aiden smiled past the thickness in his throat, and put his hand over his grandfather’s. “Nothing. You enjoy the view.”

  Dalton nodded obediently and turned his face back to the peaceful expanse. Once again a vague, cheerful man sitting in the sun.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Samira knew things had not gone well during Aiden’s visit with his grandfather as soon as he stepped through the door. His mother had informed Samira that Aiden was speaking with his grandfather when she dropped the girls off after their treat—though she’d really told the girls that in front of Samira without speaking directly to the help.

  The treat, unfortunately, appeared to be a massive quantity of sugar that had left both twins bouncing off the walls, squealing their excitement for the four-day sleepover at their great-grandfather’s house.

  “Daddy!”

  Aiden caught Maddie as she flung herself at him as soon as he entered the cottage, grunting at the force of her greeting. “What did Nana give you?” he asked suspiciously.

  Samira helped him detach Maddie’s giggling, clinging form. “Near as I can tell? Mountain Dew.” Stella then catapulted across the room and they repeated the process of daughter removal a second time. “They’re a little excited.”

  Aiden snorted at the understatement. “Just wait until the wedding. Princess dresses and cake.”

  This sent the girls into a new round of squeals over the joys of princess dresses and cake to come.

  “I think I saw your dresses hanging in your closet,” Samira commented—and both girls shrieked and bolted up the stairs toward their bedroom. “Don’t touch them!” Samira called after them, relieved by the sweet silence when they were gone. “I think the dresses are hung too high for them to reach, but it was all I could think of to distract them. They’ve been like this ever since your mother dropped them off.”

  Aiden flopped down onto the couch with a groan. “I have a feeling it’s going to be a long four days.”

  She had to agree. She continued unpacking the girls’ supplies in the kitchen, keeping her hands busy, and intentionally avoided asking how his grandfather was doing.

  “I’m sorry about earlier.”

  She glanced up from the bag of twin-approved snacks she was unloading into the cupboard, frowning. “Earlier?”

  “Abandoning you like that at the car. I shouldn’t have let my mother treat you like the help.”

  She arched a brow. “Aiden, I am the help.”

  His expression pinched with frustration, but she didn’t let him get started.

  “That’s all I am. Remember?”

  He looked like he wanted to argue, but she was saved by the reappearance of the girls at top speed.

  “Daddy! Did you see? Did you see how beautiful we’re going to be?”

  Aiden gave the girls his full attention and Samira went back to her busywork with a spike of relief. No matter how much distance she put between them, he kept trying to push closer, couldn’t seem to help himself. But if there was one thing this week with his family would underscore, it was the fact that they were from completely different worlds.

  The estate certainly drove that home.

 
She’d known, intellectually, that the Montgomery-Raines family was political royalty, but knowing was different than seeing it firsthand. The “cottage,” as everyone called it, was a two-story house with more square footage than Jackie’s condo set in the lush landscaped grounds of the estate. It consisted of a single massive main room that was kitchen, living room and breakfast nook in one, along with three good sized bedrooms upstairs and two bathrooms.

  The only thing quaint about it was the gabled roof and its only claim to cottage status came in comparison to the mega-mansion that dominated the acreage. The main house apparently had twelve bedrooms—and that wasn’t counting the gate house or the “carriage house” guest suites over each of the garages.

  She’d asked Walters, when the butler had introduced himself, if the place had a name. “Manderley,” he’d replied with such a straight face it had taken her a moment to realize he was joking.

  Aiden had talked about coming to visit his grandfather every Saturday, but Samira had never had any idea that he was actually going to a palatial compound that had hosted future presidents and dozens of foreign dignitaries over the years.

  This was not her world. Her world was comfortable middle class. Academia. Intellectual snobs sipping overpriced lattes and talking about ancient civilizations.

  Samira knew there would be no talk of ancient empires tonight. No. Aiden’s family was all about current empire building—and she was entirely out of her depth.

  Better she was just the nanny. Safer that way.

  The pitch of Maddie’s voice changed—a sharp whine catching Samira’s attention—and she glanced over in time to see the girl’s stubborn pout emerge full force while Stella went into hyper-angelic mode as if she could win whatever Maddie was being denied if she was good enough.

  Samira belatedly tuned into what Aiden was saying mid-sentence. “—just for grown-ups tonight, but you’ll get to see everyone tomorrow. And you’ll probably have a much better dinner here than I will over there. I’m probably going to have to eat snails and frog legs.” He made a face and Stella giggled, but Maddie was not so easily distracted from her pout. “Nana said she was going to have dinner sent out for you—what do you think she had made for you? Slimy squid and jellied eels?”