No More Masquerade

by Angel Payne

  Claire approached me again. And didn’t stop until her arms were around me once more, her perfect embrace becoming my reality. “They were lucky too, baby. Damn lucky.”

  I dropped my head against the dip of her neck, breathing in the heady spring bouquet of her against the rain in the air and the storm in my heart, pulling in as much of her light and strength as she’d let me. In so many ways, weight flew off my shoulders—but where did those shoulders belong now? Life had once been about compartments. They’d been neat, sterile, clean—and painless. A few IEDs of fate later, the walls were in shreds and the blood flowed.

  Could I rebuild things as perfectly as they were before?

  Not without Claire.

  I drew her closer, harder, treasuring the pulse of her neck against mine, the warmth of her breath in my chest, the light of her love in my life. “Don’t go,” I grated. “Please don’t go.”

  I felt her swallow deeply. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise. This changes nothing, Killian.”

  I couldn’t help the snarl that erupted. “This changes everything, dammit.” I set her far enough away so our stares could lock. “I’m asking you to lie for me, Claire. To everyone. That includes your father, Andrea, everyone else on the team—”

  “I know.” Despite the fervency of her words, conflict glittered in her eyes. “I know, Killian.”

  I was on the brink of letting her endure a long, skeptical silence from me, when my damn phone chirped. A text message.

  My heartbeat dove to my stomach.

  “I’ve turned off alerts for anyone except Britta and Lance.” I used it to explain why I reached for the thing, still vibrating, in my jacket pocket.

  The missive was from Lance.

  Get back here right away. Meet me in Father’s room.

  Chapter Seven

  Claire

  If it was true about only being given what you can handle, then my cup was running over with the “handleables.” I needed a moment to digest all that had been thrown at me—about a hundred moments ago, back in the park. That was before the text message had blared from Lance, summoning Killian and me back to the hospital.

  Josiah Stone—the man the world still knew as Killian’s father—had taken a turn for the worse. The announcement turned a crazy, long day into an interminable, insane one. But we were going to get through it. I had to keep believing that. We were going to wade through this disaster and come out stronger on the other side.

  Moaning about it all—even a whimper—wasn’t an option, either. This was exactly what I’d been pushing Killian for. He’d sure as hell given it to me. The truth, in all its untamed glory, was here. Now we would deal with it. Just as soon as he wrapped his head around mourning for his real dad. And walking the labyrinth of bullshit still surrounding Trey’s troubles. And handling the nightmare of sifting through the remains of the home he’d grown up in.

  He needed space. And patience. And time. I was confident I could help with the first two, and would fight like hell to see he received as much of the third as possible.

  We reentered the hospital the same way we’d left, via the back stairs Lance had turned us on to. Facing the press wasn’t an option yet. We knew they needed their statements and money shots but nobody was at their best right now, making the front lobby a disaster zone for us. Besides, I could use the down time to whip out a press release and send it over to Andrea for approval and release, perhaps with a suggestion for a full press conference over the weekend, when more sympathetic B crews were on duty.

  As we rejoined Lance and Willa, tension rolled off Killian in waves. His stress was so seismic I wondered if they were picking him up on the local news station’s “Quake Cam.” Wait; that was probably just a California thing. I still couldn’t help feeling like the tectonic plates of his heart were about to collide, and my heart clenched, yearning to help him more than I was. I wrapped my grip tighter around his as we opened the door to Josiah’s private room.

  After Willa and Lance walked in behind us, the entire family was officially gathered. Trey leaned against the window sill. Next to him was Lance’s life partner, Zack, an attractive yet rugged man with a well-groomed beard and sandy hair that matched his sky blue eyes. Britta, who for all intents and purposes was like family to the Stones, was also there. She tugged at Zack and they quickly excused themselves to fetch everyone coffee from the café on the corner. I wondered if I should go along, since the air in the room took on a somber, strictly-family mood, but Killian had clearly turned on his mind-reading skills and shot me a glance that forbade me to even think it. I found the most inconspicuous corner in the room and tucked myself into it.

  Against a backdrop of hushed whispers between Willa and her boys, I worked at sorting out the facts that had just been blasted at me.

  Most immediately, from what I pieced together from snippets of conversations between the medical personnel, Josiah’s lungs resembled dying party balloons. Translation? Things didn’t look optimistic for their proud patriarch. That opened a forest of feelings for everyone to traverse but in my mind, the emotions were boxed up, saved for another day when we weren’t in crisis mode.

  The situation called for some mental lists. It was my way of sorting out whoppers like these, in order to keep it all straight. I closed my eyes and pictured two columns. One was for essential information, the other for items that were important but not setting everyone’s hair on fire at the moment.

  Deep breath.

  Fact one: Killian had been lying to me about his identity during our entire relationship. Which column? Unbelievably, I pushed it to the “non-essential” list. He’d been a child when put into the middle of the Stone family mess, likely unaware of the consequences he’d pay by a handful of adults who should’ve known better.

  Fact two: Trey was likely blackmailing him because of the secret. Instant spot in the “essential” column. Killian’s big bro would milk his power for everything it could get him, since he’d never organically produce any heir to the throne, let alone the perfect male boy everyone expected. Eventually, that might even include a bid to pull Kil and me apart in any way he could. There needed to be a game plan in place to deal with him. No, that was too kind. “Dealing” with him meant leashing him back up. Now that I knew the full back story, I didn’t trust Trey as far as I could throw him.

  A jolt of protectiveness hit me on behalf of my man. And on behalf of me, a squirm of discomfort. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be in a canoe with this nest of liars right now. And sitting in the same room as witness to their boo-hoos over the man who’d orchestrated all these lies? To be honest, it pissed me off.

  Refocusing on the list was a better idea.

  Except for the fact that my day suddenly got worse.

  If Killian’s family wasn’t a nuthouse in its own right to deal with, my head lifted at the unmistakable croon of “Stepmommie Dearest.” Sure enough, I watched Andrea practically float into the room on a cloud of Chanel Number Five, her St. John pantsuit as wrinkle-free as her face. But to the best of my knowledge, they didn’t make Botox for wool yet.

  “We got here as soon as we could,” she told Killian as he crossed the room to her, “but honestly, Mr. Stone, I could have prepared something for you remotely. This should be a time for your family only.” Her expression was tight. My senses were racing. We got here as soon as we could?

  Sure enough, Margaux appeared the next moment, stunning in a to-the-minute Burberry trench. I looked down at my two-day-old jeans and sweater combo then rolled my eyes at myself for even noticing what she wore at a moment like this. Wait. That actually was easy to decipher. It was simpler to lust after her Burberry than try to fathom why she was here. The woman herself seemed to agree with me. Margaux looked as comfortable as a nun on a nude beach.

  Killian stood back, his own expression now puzzled. “I didn’t call you,” he told Andrea, his voice flat as—well, a stone.

  A weak rasp lifted into the air—from the bed in the center of it. “I
called you here, Ms. Asher.” The gasps Josiah spurted between the words made the sentence more like a paragraph.

  Uncomfortable had officially arrived at the party. In an instant, Andrea changed from sleek and cool to nervous and fuming. Everybody, even the sullen Trey, noticed the switch. The fact that Josiah even recognized her on sight seemed odd. Had they met before? And when? Andrea never made one mention about having contact with the elder Stone in her life.

  I stepped next to Killian out of habit, wrapping my arm around his waist and peering up into his shadowed eyes for any clue. Only confusion ruled those dark depths.

  Willa hastened to her own man’s side. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his paper-thin hand into hers. “Joe, please don’t strain yourself. You need to rest.” She stroked his arm and leaned in, the room’s harsh lighting bringing out the hollows beneath her eyes. All of her usual twinkle was gone. I doubted she’d slept since the fire.

  Josiah stared at her with an inscrutable scowl. “Rest is the last thing on my mind right now, my Willa-Wisp. I don’t—have the luxury—of much more time.”

  A lump lodged in my throat at watching her chin wobble. “Oh, Joe.”

  “There now. There, there. Be strong, darling. I really—need you—to be strong for me now.”

  “Be strong?” Lance was the one to finally voice what the rest of us were thinking. “Why? What the hell’s going on, Father?”

  Josiah choked out a long cough before answering. “There are—affairs—I must get into order, my boy.”

  “Now?” Trey rose as he snapped it.

  “Yes. Now. Before,”—he hacked loudly again—“well, before…”

  “Joe!” Tears spilled down Willa’s cheeks now. “No…no!”

  Killian and Lance traded grave glances before rushing to the bed but backed away when their father swept his emaciated arm in foreboding command. As he fell back to the flat pillows, he seemed to age another ten years.

  Miracle of miracles, Margaux hadn’t uttered a single word. She seemed to have absorbed the tension in the room by osmosis, though her normal poise remained carefully intact. She remained by her mother’s side, resigned to her chic silence.

  There was still no explanation for why she was here.

  Josiah finally found his voice again. He curled Willa’s hand tighter. “I have—gathered you all here—for a reason. There are—certain things—I must tell you all. This is likely an overdue meeting, but the Almighty has—chosen His timing—for a reason.” While Trey rolled his eyes, Kil and Lance exchanged another quizzical look. “There have been—so many secrets in this family. Too many.”

  Killian finally pressed forward again. I could feel the tension in him across all ten feet separating us. “Father, we don’t have to—”

  “Yes.” It was a ferocious snarl. “We do, Killian.” He coughed his face into the color of boiled beets before whispering, “Now bring Margaux over here.”

  Shockingly, Andrea cut first into the stunned silence. “Dammit!”

  “Margaux?” Trey spat. “Why?”

  Without a word, Kil beckoned a hand toward Margaux. She looked at his fingers like they’d turn to adders any second, though step by tiny step, she approached the bed. Even when weakened, Josiah Stone’s authority couldn’t be ignored.

  “There is no easy way to say this,” Josiah stated. “So I—shall simply—say it. This young woman you call Margaux—is, in reality, your sister.”

  Killian, Trey, and Lance practically laser-beamed their shock at one another. Not surprisingly, Trey pushed out the first verbalization of that sentiment. “Excuse the fuck out of me?”

  “She is—my daughter,” Josiah affirmed. “My own flesh and blood.”

  Killian’s gaze had affixed to Willa with knowing steadiness. “But she’s not your flesh and blood.”

  Willa winced. “Obviously not.”

  Josiah’s stare softened as he looked to Margaux. “You were named Mary at birth,” he explained. “You looked just like a little Madonna.” He ignored Trey’s scoffing snort. “And your mother here,”—he directed a bony finger at Andrea—“adopted you from the woman I’d been having an affair with, a secretary of mine at the time. She was a good woman, Margaux—simply unable to care for you as she yearned to herself, because of her circumstances and mine.” His long breath made his chest rattle. “For many reasons—among them to allow you a normal and happy life—we vowed to keep the secret for all these years. But now—I am a dying man. I will—keep secrets no more. I will—go to God with a clean conscience. All these truths—have been settled with my attorney. You shall—have it in writing. But I wanted—to say the words. For Mary. For all of you.”

  I should never have mused that the day couldn’t get any stranger. Fate laughed in my face now, its morbid chuckles bouncing behind Willa’s wordless rise before she went to stare out at the park where Killian had dropped his shockers on me only an hour ago.

  Trey was the first to burst with actual words. “You cannot be serious. Honest to Christ, Father. Do you have a pet monkey waiting around to claim its stake in the family, too?”

  “Trey.” Lance angled forward. “That’s enough, dammit.”

  “Shut up,” Trey retorted. “You’ve been out in the desert humping burros, cacti and God knows what else. You know nothing about any of this. If you did, you’d be on my cart right now.” He glowered toward Margaux. “Her? Of all the fucking people? Her?”

  “Enough.” Killian drove it at Trey in his boardroom voice. Quiet. Ominous. Unassailable. “It’s time to take a breather, Trey.”

  Muttering a thousand more versions of the f word during the trip, Trey stormed out. Just to make his point, he knocked over a small tray table on the way.

  Andrea pressed against the counter top that housed the sink and door to the ensuite bathroom—but her demeanor was far from defeated. “You had no right to do this, old man,” she seethed. “None.”

  I shivered as she articulated her last words like a combination of Catwoman and Cruella De Vil. Both bitches had terrified me as a kid. My senses had no trouble clicking to that dread once more.

  I stepped over and slipped my hand into Killian’s once more. He gripped me harder than he had through any insane moment of the past two days. Other than that, his countenance was motionless. He stared at Josiah as if the man would suddenly spring up and shout “April Fools!” at everyone. Maybe follow it up with a little jig, make us all roar with laughter.

  Josiah simply wheezed in another heavy breath. When he let it out, he looked relieved of a huge burden. Off of his chest, onto ours. Six different versions of The Scream were now positioned around the room, like a high school art class had been assigned the famous work to copy and each student put their own twist on it.

  “Father, are you sure there isn’t some sort of mistake?” Lance’s question was respectful but firm. “Maybe the woman lied to you. Did she need money? Did you run a DNA test?”

  During his little interview, Margaux threw her stare to the floor. Her shoulders curled in, making her look like the self-conscious “new girl” for the first time since I’d known her. Talking about her as though she were a faceless science experiment seemed wrong and harsh but no one could argue his point. Josiah’s name was synonymous with wealth and power, meaning people were willing to do ruthless things for the commodities. Faking a pregnancy was child’s play in that game.

  Killian quietly kissed my fingers before untwining them from his. With as much care, he walked over to Willa. He gently turned her around, gathering her into his long, strong arms—then held her while she silently fell to pieces. Yet another life flipped upside down by a carefully crafted lie. But how was this one any different than the charade she’d participated in with Killian at the center? Her heart might have been in the right place at one time but continuing to go along with Josiah’s deception to the world, convincing Killian to do the same…karma really could be a clever little bitch.

  My throat tightened and my stomach kno
tted. I hurt for Willa but I hurt for all of them. Yes, even Trey’s nastiness had its sympathetic side.

  This train was derailing. Fast. The wreckage up ahead was undoubtedly gruesome, and all I could do was stand by and watch. My heart hurt again. Everyone in this room faced a much different reality than the one they woke up to this morning. What a tangled fiasco.

  With no preamble whatsoever, Margaux pivoted, strolled to the door, and left. No tirade, no explanation, no goodbye—utterly eerie.

  The door closed behind her.

  Whomp.

  Horrible silence reigned once more.

  Andrea had the good sense not to chase after her. Instead, in true Andrea Asher fashion, she smoothed her jacket, strutted to Josiah’s bedside, and leaned in.

  “You haven’t heard the last of me, you bastard.” The Cruella snarl was still in fine form. “You will regret this decision. I will personally see to it.” Her shoulders bunched, leading me to believe she actually considering strangling the man, before she went on. “I’m not the convenient little problem all you ‘good ol’ boys’ can stow away anymore. I did what I said I’d do, Josiah. I made something of my life and my daughter’s, too. I took your table scraps and turned them into a fucking feast. You have no damn idea what I’m capable of—but you can watch from hell as I give a glorious demonstration.”

  She uncurled herself from the crouch then swiped carefully at her hair. One perfect pivot later, she strode out the door with the same determined silence as her “daughter”’s.

  The beeps of the machines, along with the slight rise and fall of Josiah’s chest, were the only indications he was still with us. His face was now bathed in peace. Andrea’s threat meant nothing to him. He had accomplished what he set out to do, a selfish yet selfless act wrapped into a few catastrophic sentences.