by K. M. Galvin
“Don’t worry about that; I’ve already told the private airstrip to make sure there is security and that no press is allowed near while we’re there.”
“Private airstrip?”
“Yes. We’re taking my plane instead of commercial,” he says, as if this is obvious.
“Ugh, God!” I groan, collapsing face-first onto the bed beside him.
East chuckles beside me. “What’s wrong?”
“Of course you have your own plane, moneybags,” I say into my pillow.
“Well, company plane, but yes. You know, I think you’re the only person I’ve ever met who begrudges me for being wealthy,” he says thoughtfully.
I turn my head to stare at him. “You need better company, then.” I bet gold diggers and people who use him only for what they can get out of him surround him.
He looks at me tenderly. “Maybe I do.” He slaps my ass firmly, causing me to yelp in surprise before getting off the bed. “Come on, we leave in an hour.”
I zip the suitcase shut and he takes it before I can grab the handle. I follow him down the hallway and an excited Henry greets me, bouncing over and grabbing my hand.
“Will you sit next to me on the plane? I have an iPad, I’ll share with you!” His big green eyes blink up at me, all guileless and pleading. How can I say no to that?
“You’ve got yourself a seat buddy, kiddo.” I smile down at him, ruffling his unruly curls, much like his father’s. Glancing up, I see the VanHouten twins looking at me with equal amounts of adoration in their eyes. “Why are you two going all freaky Shining twins on me?”
Carter laughs and takes Henry out to the car. The car they ordered this morning. Good Lord.
“He’s never had that,” East admits, watching me turn off all the lights and following me out the door.
“Had what?” I ask, locking my front door, but I have a feeling I already knew.
“A female influence, a positive female influence. Aside from his teachers and my mother, though that’s debatable.”
Suddenly nervous, I cross my arms over my chest. “Sorry if I overstepped, I’ve never been around kids before. I’m not sure how to proceed.”
East pulls one of my hands away from my chest and kisses my knuckles. “You misunderstand. I want you two to get along, I want him to come to you.”
Giving me one last squeeze, he jogs down the porch steps and greets the driver, handing him my suitcase. Turning as he hops in the front passenger seat, he asks, “Are you coming?”
I shake my head, astonished at how quickly my life is changing once again. “Yeah.”
THE PRIVATE PLANE, ALTHOUGH SOMETHING I’ve never experienced, is largely uneventful. I settle into the plush leather seat next to Henry and take the left earphone as he sticks the right in his ear and shows me the wonders of kids’ movies.
Sarcasm aside, I really enjoy them. I love watching Henry giggle happily. Every so often he looks at me, as if checking to make sure I’m there and if I’m enjoying myself before eventually leaning his head on my arm and drifting off to sleep.
I’ve been sitting here with him asleep on me for a good thirty minutes and nothing could make me move. It’s hard to describe the feel of his head on my arm. It’s much more than the obvious weight. It’s this expansion inside that makes it slightly hard to breathe. I want to squeeze him to me. He gives his love and affection so freely, something I have never experienced… Well, that’s a lie. His father is the same way. Having earned his trust through no effort, I find myself swearing silently to protect it and him, for however long I have with him. That kind of easy camaraderie of children demands loyalty.
Leaning down, I give into the desire to take a whiff of his hair, eyes drifting shut at the smell of cute little boy. I sink a little deeper in my seat, snuggling close, and let the sounds of the two men behind us talking softly lull me to sleep.
Later, I wake slightly to the soft brush of lips against my own. Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I begin to move only to find the warm weight of Henry still asleep on me. I hum low in my throat, comfortable and warm. I turn to my right and find East has taken the seat across the tiny isle and is studying me. My smile comes naturally as I take in his rumpled sleepy appearance.
“Hi,” I greet softly.
He leans forward and brushes my lips again with his own. “Hi.”
His look is so filled with tenderness that I shift in my seat, embarrassed. “Have you slept at all?”
He shrugs. “A few hours. Do you want me to take him?” He lifts his chin to his sleeping son.
I need to pee, but I’m too comfortable to move. “He’s fine. How much longer?”
“We’ve begun our descent.”
I lean forward, careful not to disturb Henry, and look at the window. Not one skyscraper in sight. “Descent where?”
When East doesn’t answer, I look back at him.
His face is a little green around the edges and he clears his throat uncomfortably, “Uh—”
“Connecticut,” Carter answers for him. “Our mother would like to meet you.”
My mouth drops open. “Don’t you think that would’ve been good to know from the beginning?”
Carter shrugs and flops down into the seat facing Henry and me. “You wouldn’t have come. We’re only staying the night.”
I narrow my eyes at him, trying to hold onto my anger, but it’s difficult when he’s almost an exact replica to the man who has my heart.
“I thought you hated your parents,” I murmur, looking back to East.
“It’s—complicated,” he admits.
“They were harder on him because he’s the heir. They like me just fine, and love Henry,” Carter explains.
“Heir…” I mumble to myself. How’d I get caught up with someone who’s a freaking heir?
“It’s going to be fine. We’ll get there around dinnertime, then sleep and be gone before lunch,” East assures me.
I look down at my clothes and wince. “How fancy is this dinner?”
“Just family,” East assures me, and I relax a little. Dinner with the family. His family. Who are harder on him because he’s the heir? Sure! No problem.
“East,” I say plaintively.
“It’s going to be fine.”
The wheels lowering as we prepare for landing wake up the sleepy little boy next to me, who instantly looks out the window and lets out a squeal of happiness.
“We’re going to Grammy’s?” he asks excitedly, and I relax further. How bad could they be if Henry is that excited to see them?
Within half an hour, we’re loaded into a black Land Rover and driving down winding roads along the shoreline. The houses start out as normal Cape Cods as he goes through town, but the further we go the larger the houses, and soon it’s just land, rolling green lawns buffered by cliffs, water crashing up against them.
“Where are we?” I ask, eyes glued to the window.
“A little outside Darien; we’re almost there,” Carter answers, looking at Henry and me in the backseat and grinning.
I jog my knee as we approach a long driveway. Please don’t be it, please don’t be it, please don’t be—I groan loudly as East takes the left onto it.
“Guys, this is a flipping estate,” I accuse East and Carter as we pass a large gate with the name Sterk across the wrought iron arch. “And your estate has a name.”
“It means ‘strong’ in Dutch!” Henry pipes up, finally dragging his eyes away from his iPad.
“Your house has a name,” I murmur again, feeling fainter the longer we drive down this highway of a driveway. As the house comes into view, I roll down my window and lean out for a better look like the total tourist of wealth I am.
Jesus J.F. Kennedy Christ.
If a Cape Cod style house ate two more houses it still wouldn’t be quite as large. Painted a startling white against the lush green landscaping and the cloudless blue sky, Sterk stands regal. I can practically hear the parties in the Golden Era spilling out of the larg
e black lacquer front door and shuttered windows. East eases the car to a stop in front of the six-car garage and hops out like it’s nothing.
And I suppose it is. To them.
Rolling my eyes heavenward for not even applying a little makeup before we left the plane, I hop out, my battered Converse slapping the pavement loudly. Henry is right behind me and takes off, iPad in hand, for the door connecting the outside to what seems like a hallway between the garage and the house.
“Grammy!” he squeals as he throws the door open and disappears.
I mean, the woman is called Grammy; how terrible can she be?
I pat my hair in its ponytail, making sure I at least have my hair presentable, and grab my bag out of the trunk. Carter tsks as he takes it from me and slings it over his shoulder. East comes up behind me and slides his arms around my waist.
“Relax, baby. Everything is going to be fine. I have your back.” He nuzzles my neck and forces me to take a step.
“It’s not comforting that you have to make that promise,” I grumble as he takes my hand and we follow Carter into the house.
He lets go of me as we move through the mudroom, through the gigantic chef’s kitchen, and into what I assume is a living room, but for an Earl or a Duchess.
A large fireplace dominates the room, and the woman swirling amber liquid in a crystal glass leans against it casually. This has to be Mrs. Helena VanHouten, socialite, humanitarian, and the mother of the man I-I-
“So,” she says, her cultured voice cutting through the chatter in my mind, “you’re her.”
She says this with the slightest tint of disdain, but if I might miss the tone, there was no missing the complete lack of enthusiasm at my presence. She never turns towards me and, if fact, the only reason I know she’s talking to me is because, unless she’s talking about herself, I’m the only other “her” here.
“Uh, yes.” I hesitate, lurking in the doorway as East crosses to his mother and air kisses her cheek.
Air kisses. God.
She finally turns her sharp green eyes on me and I freeze. Her salt-and-pepper hair is perfectly coifed in a French twist. She’s impeccably dressed in white slacks, heels, and a navy blue blouse. Large diamonds adorn her ears and her ring finger. She’s every inch the East Coast upper crust lady I imagined: intimidating, direct, and dripping in status.
I glare briefly at Easton, remembering his remark about causal wear, and cross to her, holding my hand out. It lingers between us for an uncomfortably long time and, right before I let it drop, she takes it in a weak shake.
“My name is Taylor McKay, Mrs. VanHouten; it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Is it?” She smirks, looking so much like a female Easton in that moment that I blink. “And stop reminding me I’m married to that idiot. Call me Helena.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Helena, then. I must insist you call me Ms. McKay,” I attempt to joke. It falls so flat I can hear it.
Carter coughs loudly, clearly trying not to laugh, and I give her a weak smile before taking the empty seat on the couch next to East.
Taking a sip of her drink, she sits gracefully in the armchair facing us, “Now. Explain to me, how is it you ended up getting saved by my son?”
“She saved me, Mother,” East cuts in.
“Hmm, did she?” Helena takes another sip of her drink. I wish she’d down it and loosen up a little. I don’t think I’ve sat this straight in all my life, but the woman demands attention. “Illuminate me, then.” She settles back and rests her drink on the table beside her, clearly settling in.
“Um…” I begin and glance at Easton.
“Don’t say ‘um,’ dear. It’s a meaningless word and a waste of your breath. Think before you speak, or don’t speak at all,” Helena’s voice whips out, jerking my attention back to her.
“Mother…” East warns.
I sneak a quick glare at Henry. How the hell does he refer to this woman as Grammy?
I clear my throat and settle into my seat. “I woke up to a loud sound.”
IT TAKES ABOUT AN HOUR to tell our story, East filling in periodically. Of course it’s edited; mostly we leave out any hint of our relationship being something more than just fellow survivors.
Not that it matters, since East declares I’ll be staying in his room. I keep my eyes on the floor as what I’m sure an epic stare down ensues. Helena dismisses us, with a warning to be down for dinner in half an hour.
East leads me down a hallway away from Henry and Carter’s room and opens the door to a beautiful guest room. The large four-post bed, plush snow white duvet, and bay windows look so inviting I decide to drop my bag where I stand and nosedive onto the pillow-soft bed.
“Come on, she wasn’t that bad. In fact, that was Helena VanHouten being downright hospitable,” East jokes, jostling my foot as he passes me to place his bag on the luggage rack at the end of the bed. Like we’re at the fucking Four Seasons or something.
Turning on my side, I rest my head in my hand and watch him. “If that was her being nice, I’d hate to be around when she’s pissed,” I joke lamely.
“Me too,” East agrees, toeing off his shoes and crawling up from the bottom of the bed to me.
Glancing at the open door, I scoot away from him. “Henry could come in at any moment.”
“What do you think I’m going to do?” he asks, a playful grin on his lips.
“Who knows—” I’m cut off as his lips cover mine in a passionate, if brief, kiss.
Even so, I fall onto my back, breathless and staring dumbly at him. I hate that he has such effortless power over me.
“After dinner tonight, you and I need to have a talk,” he says seriously and my gut clenches in response. “Don’t be worried, I think you’ll like this talk.”
I chew on my lip and nod, still nervous despite his reassurance.
Before long, we’re seated at a large mahogany table, where Helena sits at the head. I’m curious as to where Mr. VanHouten is, but since everyone is acting like him not being here is normal, I don’t ask. God knows I loathe making another faux pas. The family dynamic is so different than my own was I feel like I’m walking on eggshells.
The adults at the table eat in silence while Henry keeps up the innocent chatter of a six-year-old. I smile at him over my soup, completely enamored. I wish I had his confidence.
Dinner goes by surprisingly quickly considering the nerve-fraying tension in the room and Carter immediately excuses himself, kissing Helena on the cheek before heading upstairs. East gets up and lifts Henry into his arms, saying he’s going to give him a bath and get him settled. I widen my eyes and shake my head as slightly as possible, but he smiles apologetically and follows his twin upstairs.
I watch them go before turning to find Helena staring at me intently. Her gaze makes me squirm just as much as her son’s and I realize it’s because they both have the ability to read me perfectly.
“What’s your game here, Ms. McKay?” Helena asks without preamble.
Wiping my mouth, I set my napkin down and settle in for the conversation I knew was going to happen sooner rather than later. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
Helena scoffs and sits back in her chair, considering me. “Is it money? I know you still have student loans and your father didn’t leave you much after his passing. Added to the job you quit, I’m not sure taking tourists on walks through the woods is something to live off of.”
My heartbeat races at the last claim. “How do you know all that?”
She raises a perfectly plucked brow. “Darling, Carter was stupid enough to use the investigator we have on retainer. It was as simple as a phone call.”
I mimic her expression. “Why would I run away when we arrived at St. Croix and hide away for months with no word to your son if I was only interested in his money?”
“Oldest trick in the book, Ms. McKay, is playing hard to get,” she counters haughtily.
Over the games, I lean forward. “I don’t
know what kind of relationships you’ve had in the past or currently, but I am not you. I would never be so shallow and conniving. I’ve been around wealthy people most of my adult life, and it has left me nothing if not disillusioned. I ran away that day because I love your son, but I didn’t want to put any demands on him. His life is complicated enough. Besides, our situation is so—” Cutting myself off, I reach for my wine glass and drain the contents. “Despite what you obviously think, I am not a stupid woman. Think what you like, it has no bearing on me whatsoever.”
“How much?” she asks coolly, not at all affected by my impassioned speech.
“What?” I shake my head, confused.
“How much to make you disappear?” she clarifies evenly.
I stare at her, dumbfounded, before anger erupts and I stand up so fast I knock my chair over. “You have embarrassed yourself, Mrs. VanHouten. I did disappear, but your son found me. Do you know what that tells me? He wants me as much as I want him. I’ve lost too much in my life to give that up. Excuse me.”
I fling my napkin onto the table and march upstairs and down our hallway to find East hurrying towards me with a look of concern. Not giving him a chance to ask me what’s wrong, I walk straight into him and kiss him.
“I’m ready to have that talk,” I whisper against his lips when I finally break away.
He smiles blindingly and takes my hand, leading us back to our room. East demands that we wait until we’re ready for bed. I strip down and dress in my pajamas quickly, refusing to sleep in only my underwear like normal in his mother’s house. Who knows if she’ll send someone in to kidnap me and dump me into the Atlantic in the middle of the night?
Crawling under the sheets and blanket, I sigh, settling in. Helena may be many things, but that woman knows how to pick a bed. I could lie here forever.
East hurries in behind me, pulling me into his arms and settling his chin on my shoulder so every part of him is flush against me. It’s so familiar to how we slept on the island that I have to blink away tears. I’ve missed this most.