“It’s okay, whatever it is, it’ll be okay.” He pulls me in for another hug. My dad doesn’t balk at tears and tell me to buck up, probably because I’m not much of a crier, so he knows it can’t be good if I’m in his foyer, ruining his suit with tears.
When I’m composed enough, he leads me to the living room, where I tell him all about Gwendolyn’s threats to expose our family if I’m unable to keep Lincoln from looking into the penthouse further.
My father is a warm man, genuine and approachable. It’s why he’s such a perfect fit as a senator. People like and respect him because he shows strength of character, and he’s fair and just. But right now, he looks like he could go a round in a boxing ring and win.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I say, gathering my courage. “I know I’m putting our entire family in a difficult position and that I probably shouldn’t have gotten involved with Lincoln while working for Gwendolyn.” I summon the courage to tell him the rest.
“Wren, honey—” my father interrupts, but I cut him off.
“Let me finish, please, Dad. I can’t lie to Lincoln. I know it’s going to make things complicated for everyone, but I love him, and I won’t let someone blackmail me into keeping my mouth shut, least of all his own damn mother.” I rush on, trying to get the words out before I break down in another fit of tears. “I know this has the potential to hurt your campaign, but I can’t let Gwendolyn push me around like this. I just need you to understand.” I hiccup loudly, my panic gaining momentum as I consider, truly, the ramifications of my actions.
He puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Sweetheart, take a breath.”
I inhale loudly and release it slowly, trying to stay calm. My dad regards me with a sad smile. “I’m so damn proud of you right now.”
I blink several times. “But I’m putting you in a horrible, awful position.”
“You’re being blackmailed, Wren. It’s out of your hands. If anything, you’re the one being put in a horrible position.”
“You’re not angry with me?” I exhale some of the anxiety that’s been keeping my stomach in knots.
“Of course I’m not angry with you. I’m immensely proud of you for holding onto your morals, especially when you’ve been surrounded by one of the most morally gray families I’ve ever had the misfortune of knowing.” He reaches for his Rubik’s Cube, something he’s had on his desk for as long as I can remember, and starts twisting it, breaking up the perfect color patterns on each side until they’re a rainbow mosaic.
“There’s no way out of this without someone getting hurt. I’ve tried to come up with an alternative, but Gwendolyn has backed me into a corner.”
“Well, that’s what she’s good at, isn’t it? Gwendolyn sure knows how to play the game. I didn’t realize how twisted she really is. I questioned when Gwendolyn and your mother started spending time together, knowing what I do about that family. But then, I think your mother felt bad for her, considering all the rumors about Armstrong. And of course, they were both so committed to working on charitable projects, I thought it was good for your mom. I should’ve been more careful, and I should’ve discouraged you from working with that family.”
“I just wanted to make things better with Mom. And it’s not as if she was wrong about the job. Gwendolyn has amazing connections, and it was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up,” I admit.
My mother appears in the doorway, her surprise turning to concern as soon as she sees my face. “Wren, honey, is everything okay?”
My dad’s smile is sad as he sets the Rubik’s Cube on the table, one side already uniform again. “We have a situation on our hands, Abigail.” My dad fills her in, and with each admission, her face grows paler, and I begin to second-guess myself. My mother may have made a mistake all those years ago, but she’s genuinely a good person. I see it every time we volunteer at the hospital together. I suddenly realize she’s spent her entire adult life trying to make up for a lapse in judgment.
“Maybe we can find another way.” Even as I say it, I know there isn’t one. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt by this. It’s not going to look good for your campaign.”
My dad dismisses the idea. “Forget about the campaign, Wren. That’s not what this is about.”
“But if everyone finds out I’m adopted—”
“This is my fault,” my mother says softly.
“This isn’t yours to own, Abigail—”
My mother puts up a hand to stop my dad. “It is, though. I ultimately made the decision that’s led to this. It’s me you were protecting all those years by keeping the adoption a secret. We should’ve addressed it when Wren found out.” My mother turns to me. “I’m so sorry, honey.” She takes my hands in hers, expression imploring. “You’re in a bad situation because of my choices.”
“This situation is as much my fault,” my dad interjects.
My mother gives him a soft, sad smile. “We can both own it.”
In all the years since I found out I was the product of an affair, neither of them has ever really talked about it with me.
My mom squeezes my hands. “We wanted to protect you. I wanted to protect you. When your dad and I found out you weren’t biologically his, I was devastated, not because I was pregnant, but because I’d made your life so difficult even before you were born. I didn’t want you to grow up being ashamed of me and how you’d come to be. But if it hadn’t been for you, Wren, I don’t think your dad and I would still be together.”
All the knots in my stomach tighten. “I don’t understand.”
“You were our wake-up call, Wren. You were the reason behind the ‘Family First’ platform. I pushed your mother to make a decision she regrets because I was absent. We were both at fault, she and I. It’s not just one of us who’s culpable. I was too focused on my career and not focused enough on our relationship. I ignored all the signs. I pushed aside your mother’s needs and placated her with things instead of love. You were the reason I finally opened my eyes and saw what I was doing to the person I loved the most.”
My parents look at each other, and I don’t see any regret, only love.
I voice the one thing that has eaten at me all these years. “I always wondered if you looked at me and saw your biggest mistake. Especially since you lost Robyn, and she was really yours.”
Tears spill over and cascade down my mom’s cheeks. “Oh, sweetheart, no. Losing Robyn was painful for all of us, but it was also inevitable.”
“I don’t understand.”
My mom and dad exchange a remorseful look before she continues. “We should’ve explained this years ago, but talking about it was just so difficult. Your father and I are both carriers of a rare genetic disorder. We can’t have children together, but with you, I didn’t pass on the gene. So if it weren’t for you, we would have no children of our own. You were our miracle, Wren. You always have been. You’re the reason for everything good in our lives. We always wanted you, both of us. Your father signed the adoption papers because as far as we were concerned, you were ours in every way that counted.”
They envelop me in a hug, one that’s full of the promise of healing.
“I don’t think either of us fully considered the ramifications when you were born, Wren. And then, when you found those documents when you were a teenager, we should’ve handled things differently so we could’ve avoided putting you in this kind of position. You should never have carried this burden. We’ll make this right for you, Wren. For all of us,” my father says.
He pulls me and my mother into another hug so tight, it’s almost hard to breathe. We stay like that for a long time, letting go of emotions tied to a past we can’t ever get rid of and a pain that suddenly feels fresh.
Eventually, he releases us. “I’m so sorry the decisions your mother and I made are causing you such turmoil.”
“I know you are, both of you.” I squeeze their hands. “There’s nothing I can do to stop Gwendolyn from exposing you.”
“We’ve always b
een prepared to tell the truth, Wren. We should have done it a long time ago,” my dad says.
“Gwendolyn will turn it into a scandal.”
My mom’s expression goes icy. “Not if I have anything to say about it. She’s sorely mistaken if she thinks she can take advantage of you, or anyone in this family.”
“She can only turn it into a scandal if she’s the one doing the exposing. I don’t have anything to hide, Wren. I can talk to my publicity team and find a gentle way to address this publicly. Gwendolyn can’t blackmail you if she doesn’t have anything to hold over your head.”
In all the time I’ve known about the affair and where I came from, I never really looked at it through my mother’s eyes, maybe because I’d found out as a teen when my whole world revolved only around me and how things impacted me. I’d blamed her for it, was ashamed of her and for her, and myself. But learning this, knowing that I’m wanted and always have been, regardless of how I came to be, helps soothe away some of the hurt I’ve carried in my heart all these years.
Now, I understand better my father’s reason’s for protecting her, us. It’s never been about him or his career; it’s always been about keeping us safe from the media showdown. They could rip us apart, and my parents never wanted to put me under such scrutiny. “Does this mean you’re going to make a statement?”
“Your mother and I will do whatever it takes to make sure you’re not the one caught in the middle of other people’s bad decisions, or forced to make choices you’ll regret.”
CHAPTER 22
TAKE A MOTHER DOWN
LINCOLN
By ten, I’m about ready to pack it in and go on a mission in search of Wren. My mother is absent from the office, G-Mom just returned from her cruise so I’ve yet to see her or speak with her, and last I heard, Armstrong missed another putt in his office game of golf and broke his computer monitor. Again.
And still nothing from Wren.
I’ve gotten all of absolutely nothing done this morning, apart from looking through more financial files, in search of something, anything that will give me some answers as to what my father was hiding and why my mother is so intent on keeping it that way. Every time I find a large withdrawal from my father’s business account, I underline it and set it aside, prepared to cross-reference until I find something that might get me off this hamster wheel.
My cell rings as I find yet another transfer of funds in excess of twenty-five thousand dollars. I glance at the screen, spit the highlighter out from between my teeth, and slam my thumb down on the answer button so hard that my phone shoots off my desk and clatters to the floor.
“Hold on.” I push out of my chair and it hits the wall behind me with a loud thud as I scramble around my desk. “I dropped my phone. I’m here.” I snatch it up, relieved the screen hasn’t spiderwebbed, and bring it to my ear. “Wren? Are you okay? Are you sick? Do you need anything?” Wow. My calm and collected needs some work.
“It’s me. I’m … okay. Are you at the office?” Her voice sounds hoarse, like maybe she has a sore throat.
“Yeah. Yes. I’m at the office. Are you at home? Can I bring you anything? Soup? Tea? Ginger ale?”
“I’m … no. I don’t need anything, and I’m not at home.”
“Did you go to the doctor’s? Your voice doesn’t sound great. You should’ve called. I would’ve taken you.”
She clears her throat. “I’m not at the doctor’s. You don’t have any meetings this afternoon, do you? I didn’t schedule anything for you.”
“No. Nothing. Are you coming in?” Her tone ramps up my nerves.
“No. Um, but I think we need to talk.”
“Okay. Sure. Shoot.”
“Not over the phone. What time do you think you’re going to leave work? Maybe I could come over, then?”
“I can leave right now. I can be at my place in twenty, or more like half an hour, depending on traffic.”
“Okay. I’ll meet you there.”
“Are you okay?” I start packing up my things, shoving them into my messenger bag. “You really don’t sound okay.”
“I’m—” She hiccups. “No. Not really. I’ll explain when I see you.”
“You’re worrying me a lot, Wren.”
“I know, and I’m sorry, but it’s really not a phone conversation.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I end the call, shove the file folders I was going through into my messenger bag, and bust my ass to the elevator.
“Oh! Mr. Moorehead! I was about to stop by your office!”
I take a deep breath and grit my teeth. Marjorie has no idea how stressed I am, and I don’t want to take it out on her simply because she’s had the misfortune of running into me right now.
I plaster on what I’m sure is a horribly disingenuous smile and turn to face her. “I’m on my way out, Marjorie. Can it wait until tomorrow?”
“There’s a call from Wentworth Williams.”
Dammit. Wentworth likes to talk. A lot. Whenever I have a call from him, I budget an hour and make sure I have another meeting lined up afterwards—real or fake. Unfortunately, since he’s the reason I didn’t have to fire twenty employees, I should probably field the call. “Fine. I’ll take it.”
“He’s on line two.”
Despite telling him I have a meeting in ten minutes, he keeps me on the phone for fifteen. On the upside, the merger seems to be going well so far. By the time I finally leave, I should almost be at my place, so I text Wren and let her know I got held up by a call and to make herself comfortable.
Of course, the trip back to my place can’t be smooth. There are two fender benders clogging up traffic on the way to the penthouse, and it’s everything I can do to keep from rolling down the windows and screaming bloody murder at the idiots who are blocking two lanes.
During the exceptionally long trip back to my place, I roll around a million different possible scenarios. I can hear Wren in my head, telling me I’m being a drama queen and asking if I need my crown, but any conversation that can’t be had over the phone is a serious one. And serious conversations are rarely good.
Even the elevator seems to take forever, and when I open the door to my penthouse—my cousin’s penthouse—and finally lay eyes on Wren, I should feel some form of relief, but I don’t.
I find her sitting on the couch in the living room, a glass of water in front of her. She’s wearing one of her pretty dresses with a full skirt. But her eyes are red-rimmed, and she looks exhausted. She pushes to a stand and gives me a weak, tremulous smile. A lone tear glides down her cheek, and she smooths a hand over her stomach.
I track the movement, and all of a sudden, that heavy feeling in my gut, the one that’s been weighing me down since last night, finally lifts.
“Oh fuck.” I drop my messenger bag on the floor with a loud clunk, which probably isn’t good for the laptop inside, but I don’t give a shit. I rush over and pull Wren into me, wrapping her up in a hug that I try to keep as gentle as possible. “It’s okay, babe. There’s no reason to be upset. We’ll figure it out.” I release her and tuck stray hairs behind her ear. “I’ll take the penthouse down the hall as soon as it comes available. You can move in here with me, or I can stay with you if that’s better. Whatever you want, we’ll do this together.” I place a hand over her stomach. “The three of us.” Jesus. I never thought I’d be excited about the prospect of having a kid, especially a surprise kid, but after the last twenty-four hours of speculation, this is definitely better than any of the alternatives.
Wren’s brows pull together, and she makes this pouty face. It’s so fucking cute. “The three of us?”
“Yeah.” I press a gentle kiss to her lips. They taste salty. She must’ve been worried about how I’d react to the news. “You, me, and our baby.”
“What?” She looks down at my hand covering her stomach, and her eyebrows shoot up along with her hands. She gives her head a vehement shake. “Oh, no. No, no, no. I’m not pregnant, Linc.”
>
I drop my hand and step back. “You’re not?” Despite only having been together a couple of months, I’m irrationally disappointed.
“Why would you think I’m pregnant?” She runs her hands self-consciously over her stomach. “Am I bloated or something?”
“What? No. Not at all. I just … It made the most sense? You not feeling good, taking the morning off, not being able to tell me over the phone, all the tears. I just thought … you being pregnant was logical.”
“We use a condom every time.”
I shrug. “Maybe my sperm are bionic, and they can blast through a condom.”
Wren drops to the couch and barks out a humorless laugh. “The last thing I need right now is to be pregnant.”
“Would it be so bad?” I’m not sure why I’m offended. Maybe because she sounds so incredulous.
And now she looks incredulous too. “Is that a serious question? Lincoln, we’ve been together for all of two months, and it’s not even public. Do you realize the kind of field day the media would have with that? You knock your personal handler up?”
I motion between us. “Well, we wouldn’t have to keep it a secret anymore, then, would we?”
“Imagine how the media would spin that. I’d be the wannabe socialite senator’s daughter who seduces the CEO of Moorehead Media. They would shred me.”
“Whoa. Where is this coming from?” This conversation has taken a swift right turn into Shitsville.
Wren rubs her eyes. “Because your mother told me I was reaching above my station by being with you, and that I should learn where my place is.”
I stop pacing the length of the living room and turn to face her. “She said what?”
Wren tips her chin up, defiance making her eyes burn. “She accused me of being a ladder climber. And that was right after she threatened to expose my family if I can’t get you to stop looking into your dad’s penthouse.”
I hold up a hand because I’m not entirely sure how to process all of that information. “My mother is blackmailing you?”
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