by K L Clare
Neither of us spoke. I hit the bar and filled two lowball glasses with Scotch as we waited for the bedroom door to close.
Thomas tossed a copy of Vanity Fair’s latest edition onto the bar. Elle and I were on the cover. “You were supposed to cut the feature until Devon Parker was dead. We agreed on that. We agreed to block her exposure until then.”
I opened to the magazine’s center spread and unfolded a stunning photo of Elle in her wedding gown. She was standing outside the estate chapel at Eastridge. She was amazing. I couldn’t drag my eyes away from the centerfold. “We agreed, Thomas. But my wife did not.”
“What? Goddammit . . . what the—she doesn’t get to make those decisions.” He slammed his empty glass onto the bar. “Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
I stepped into my brother’s space to intimidate him. More muscle strength or not, he didn’t live in the same dark place that I did. An inhuman sound rumbled inside my chest. “Fuck off, Thomas.”
He didn’t blink nor had I expected him to. He was a Hastings. “You need to tell me when your resolve begins to weaken so you can leave the affected matter with me,” he said through narrowed eyes.
I reached for my glass and shot the whisky. “My resolve is strong. You must remember that even if Elle is physically weaker than we are, her will is as strong as ours. And what’s more, as you’ve said yourself, she is my partner, not my prisoner.”
“I know how you love her, that you can’t deny—”
“You know?” I snarled, cutting him off. I couldn’t stop my fucking self. Every turn, another threat. Another way to lose her. And my brother was now part of that hell. “Tell me, Thomas. How would you know how I love her . . . what it feels like to love her?”
His eyes abruptly hit the floor, and he said nothing.
“I’ll answer for you. You believe you know what it feels like because you’re in love my wife.”
Thomas shook his head, lifting his eyes from the wood planks but not high enough to reach mine. “She belongs to you. She’s my sister now.”
“But you fucking love her. This goddamned pact our father put on us, being her defender, it fucks with your brain. It becomes a madness, makes you feel things. I left her with you twice. And now . . . you love her.”
Fucked up as it was, I needed him to love Elle, because if anything ever happened to me, he would keep her safe for that reason alone. But not this way. He couldn’t love her this way—not while I still had breath in my body. The possessive monster dwelling within me wouldn’t allow it.
“I’m sorry, Will. It’s not what I wanted, to love her this way. I fucking hate that I do.”
The pain in his heart was clear. He’d already accepted his crime. It hit me then. Who was I to blame him for doing the same thing I’d done, for falling in love with a woman neither of us deserved? But still. . . .
“To be clear, know that I would kill you just as I would any other man.”
Thomas met my eyes. “I will never touch her like that.”
“Then find a way to change the nature of what you feel for her. Figure it out. And understand that it’s not going to be easy. Not at all.”
He nodded, and I pulled him into my arms.
“I trust you, Thom. Don’t prove me wrong.” And I did. I loved Thomas. But I loved her more.
“I won’t let you down,” he said as he pulled away.
We paused for a moment. Thomas spoke first.
“I think you might want to read that article. You’re not going to like it.”
“What’s the problem?”
“It exposes Isobel as our sister.”
“What?”
“Yeah. I bought the story from the tabloid, but Vanity Fair must have had the same source. Isobel’s name wasn’t used here either, but it’s only a matter of time. I don’t think there will be any real consequences when she is identified, since we’re not in the business of covering for the old man anymore. But . . .”
“But Lissie.”
“We know Isobel wasn’t her mother, but the rest of the world doesn’t know that,” Thomas said.
Elle appeared in the doorway. “We have to tell Lissie before she hears it somewhere else. Then we’ll inform the rest of the world on our own terms.”
Thomas and I exchanged a deliberate look.
Shit. How much did she hear?
“I’ve been thinking about it since Caroline’s phone call, Will. I don’t want Lissie to grow up believing she was a child of incest. She deserves to know the names of her biological parents and where she belongs.”
Elle came to the bar and pushed a bottle of sparkling water in front of me so I could open it for her. Then she poured more Scotch for Thomas and me.
Her behavior made it clear that she hadn’t heard the first part of the conversation. It needed to stay that way.
I sat on a barstool and pulled her onto my lap. “I think you’re right. We’ll put the information out there and be done with it.”
She nodded. “What else did I miss?”
“I haven’t shared our news, if that’s what you mean. I waited for you.”
Our news about the pregnancy would push Thomas to fight harder to get beyond his feelings for her.
“Go ahead, baby,” I whispered at her ear. “We’ve got this.”
She twisted to see my face. We shared a knowing smile.
“Well, Thomas, you’re going to be an uncle. Again, I mean. We’re pregnant,” Elle said. The happiness in her voice was profound. And goddammit, infectious.
“Wait—what? You’re having a baby?” Thomas closed his eyes for a minute and then smiled. He and I were on the same page. This would help him move forward with his own life. “Congratulations,” he added. “You’re both happy?”
Elle looked up at me again.
“Yeah. We are happy,” I said, kissing the tip of her nose. “Twins. We found out today.”
“No shit? Christ, woman, you’ll grow bigger than a house,” he teased.
“Don’t make me kick your ass, buddy. You’ve already interrupted my honeymoon, so—”
“There’ll be no arse kicking. No more fighting for you, Ellie.”
“You finally get your wish, Thomas. No more fighting for me.”
“Look. There’s another reason I’m here,” he said, redirecting his focus, his expression sobering. “Director Martin sent me.”
37
Thomas let himself into the apartment the next morning and joined me on the balcony, where I watched Elle as she painted below in the private garden. He leaned on the wrought-iron railing next to me and slapped me affectionately on the back. “She’s glowing,” he said.
He was quiet for a minute as we stared down at the woman we loved. I was about to leave her with him again, and even though it was for only one evening, it was a difficult pill to swallow. Yet necessary.
“I’m proud of you, brother. You are a good husband, and you’ll be a damn good father.”
I turned the empty coffee cup in my hand. “We’ll see, Thom.” That his declaration was about him and me rather than about her helped ease the anger I suppressed. He was demonstrating that he could be trusted.
“You’ll always have John and me. We’ve got your back. Listen. I’ve decided to spend some time in New York after this. I’ll be as close as a phone call. If you need me for anything, just say the word, and I’ll get on a plane and come home straightaway.”
We still watched her.
Elle’s hand guided the brush she held over the canvas in the same gentle rhythm she used when she created imaginary works on my chest. Goose bumps raised on my skin at the thought of her touch. I couldn’t hear it, but I could see by the way her full lips were set together that she was humming a tune. She never failed to take my breath away.
The garden below our apartment had low boxwood borders and a smooth granite square in the center. There were a couple of benches for occupants seeking peaceful reflection. Mature tree branches reached over the square a
nd met in the middle, their fluffy cherry blossoms merging into one large canopy. An iron staircase led from our balcony to the garden.
Elle smiled to herself, causing my own lips to curve.
“Let me do this for you, Will. I can head back to London immediately and take care of Devon Parker according to plan. Your place is here by her side. Stay in Paris with your wife and your babies.”
I turned to him. “I need this one . . . need the closure. You’ll keep my family safe until I return in the morning. Then you will go spend that time in New York . . . and you will do whatever it takes to find your way to the other side of your feelings for my wife.”
He nodded.
“John will stay with me over the summer holiday,” I added.
“He will be glad for the time with you. You’ve been John’s father all along, you know. He respects you, loves you more than he did our father or Ethan.”
“They never gave him enough attention.”
My gaze went back to Elle.
She looked up to the balcony and smiled at me. Right then, I hoped like hell she would never come to know that my brother loved her as anything other than a sister. She waved at him before calling out to me. “I’m done for now. Can you come get the easel?”
“Be right there, baby.”
Thomas cut in. “I’m going back to the hotel so you two can spend time alone before you leave. Ben will arrive on the Continent between six and seven o’clock. I’ll be back here at seven. And brother, prepare her this time, goddammit.”
“She understands.”
Thomas walked away, leaving me alone with the image in my head of how I had hurt her more than once in the past . . . because I hadn’t given her enough credit for the strength she possessed. I’d kept her in the dark, believing at the time that I was protecting her. She was almost killed. The scars on my body from a bullet reminded me every day that I had fucked things up.
That would never happen again.
After carrying Elle’s easel and supplies into the apartment, I led her by the hand into the bedroom. Our bedrooms were the safe havens for our relationship, the foundation of our connection, the places where the world round us burned down but we survived as one whole. I needed her to feel us that way when I made clear what was going to happen that night.
Elle stood before me, her eyes locked into mine. I gave a gentle tug on the soft blue scarf she wore and brought it to my face to inhale her scent. Then I wrapped it round my fist.
Green eyes. Unshed tears. A sharp rush of air hit her throat, and she choked on it.
She understood my message. When I arrived in England later, the darkness I had caged for months—the rage she feared—would consume me, and I would become a killer again. I would take Devon Parker’s life with my fists.
“I’m leaving with Ben for London at seven this evening. You will remain here inside this flat with Thomas. You have my word that I’ll return to you at first light. You will not leave my brother or this apartment for any reason. I need to know that you are here waiting for me. Do you understand me, Elle?”
“I do,” she whispered.
“And do you understand how I love you . . . and how being away from you feels like having a blade rip through my chest?”
“Yes. It’s the same for me.”
I bowed my head and stuffed her scarf into my pocket.
She placed my palm on her face. Her luminous skin was warm and soft as she brushed it against my hand. Her eyes burned, never leaving mine.
Message received. She was demanding that I come back to her, and what was more, she was showing me that I must return as the man who stood before her in that moment, not as the broken, ill-tempered man I’d once been. The rage had to die with Devon Parker.
“You are mine, Elle. I will always return to you.”
She smiled. “You better, because I love you madly.” My wife’s lips came to mine, and I opened my mouth, allowing her to lead us into a passionate kiss.
Resting my forehead against hers after breaking our kiss, I told her that I loved her, told her no words were good enough to describe that love.
“Will, before you go, we should talk about another lie Ethan and Isobel kept from us.”
“Because you believe I’ll have more anger to purge from my system later?” I was teasing, but when her serious face confirmed that that was actually what she was thinking, my stomach shot up to my throat.
Her secret.
The lie she was keeping had never been about the pregnancy. There was something else.
“Yes,” she said.
Elle entwined her fingers with mine and guided me across the room. Her eyes remained on my face as we lowered ourselves onto the settee at the foot of the bed.
* * *
I wiped the sweat from my brow and stared at my wife’s mouth as she stumbled through the sentences. We could do this together, she was telling me. It wasn’t as bad as it might sound. Something beautiful was the outcome. I should focus on the present and forgive the past transgressions of Ethan and Isobel. My brother. My sister.
Elle retrieved her purse and came back to the small sofa. She pulled out a photo she had never shared with me and placed it on my leg. “Do you recognize this woman?”
I lifted the photo. I did recognize her.
“Rebecca something or other. Hill . . . Rebecca Hill. She worked for David Nielson’s father. You know David and his wife, Caroline, of course. Where did you get this?”
Elle didn’t say a word. She wanted more from me.
“You want me to tell you about a woman who I saw only once years ago. She meant nothing to me. I don’t follow this, Elle. It’s not like you. Let’s get back to the matter at hand.”
“Tell me what you know about Rebecca Hill first.”
It wasn’t clear why she wanted to dive into my past with other women, but the determination in her expression was sharp and relentless.
“There’s not much to tell. I met her at one of Mr. Nielson’s dinner parties. Ethan and I were working on our business plan for the firm, and Nielson had connections. I’d attended Oxford with David, and apart from Ben, he was my closest friend at the time.”
“More,” she half-whispered.
“David and I stepped outside to get high. Rebecca followed. She and I hooked up after Nielson’s dinner party, then she chased me round for months. I wasn’t interested. I had no feelings for her, and I didn’t care for her lifestyle. That is all.”
“What do you mean when you say ‘her lifestyle?’”
I tossed the photo onto a cushion. I’d never told Elle about the drugs. “What is it you discovered about Ethan?”
She narrowed her eyes and waited.
Fuck.
I dropped my face into my hands and pinched the bridge of my nose. “She was using cocaine quite a lot. Getting high served a specific purpose for me, and I didn’t want to share that with a woman. It was how I managed my longing for you and pushed through the chaos when there was little time for sleep as we built the company.”
“I see.” She paused. It felt like days before she spoke again. “Did you sleep with her that night?”
“Yes.”
Elle was quiet again. I found her hand and squeezed it.
“Will. The woman in the photo . . . it’s Sarah Parker.”
I jumped to my feet and met her eyes. “What? No. It’s not.”
Standing as well, she placed her hands on my forearms. She meant to soothe me.
“Please listen to me,” she whispered. I nodded. She continued, “I will explain, I promise. But I’m begging you to consider everything we have now, all that is at stake for us, before you react. I need your word that you will listen and process and work through this with me.”
“You’re scaring the bloody fuck out of me, Elle, but I trust you. You have my word.”
There was a faint spark in her eyes right then.
“Lissie . . . is your daughter. Yours, not Ethan’s.”
38
&nb
sp; Several hours later, Ben piloted the helicopter across the channel, and I used the ride as an escape to pull myself together before we arrived in London. My best friend understood something more weighed on my thoughts, and he gave me the space to process it.
Elle had taken the photo of Sarah from Mrs. Parker’s flat when I’d been outside making phone calls. She hadn’t known at the time that Sarah was linked to me. But in the following days, as we had prepared for our travel, Commissioner Brown had provided her with more information.
The commissioner had not only continued interrogating Devon Parker for Elle, but he’d also investigated the lab where the DNA testing had been processed. My clever fucking brother had used my hair sample for the paternity test and had run it through one of the forensics labs. An involved employee who’d been fired thought he might earn a living from exposing this type of restricted information—otherwise the truth might have never been uncovered. The man had since been put behind bars.
I had dropped to the floor in a state of shock after Elle said the words—when she’d told me that Rebecca Hill was Sarah Parker and Lissie was my daughter. There was no doubt in my mind that Elle’s words were true. She would never say it without knowing it was the truth.
We stayed that way for quite a long time: me on my knees with my goddamned face buried in her warm body like I’d done when she’d told me we were pregnant, and Elle speaking tender words, holding me as she worked to ease my pain and confusion.
Time. I was banking on more of it before the twins were born. More time for me to find the place inside of me that would teach me how to be a good father. That thought process was wrong. Elle often warned me not to count on time, to cherish the days we had. She was that place inside of me. It was Elle who would show me how to be the kind of father I wanted to be for our children. Her belief in me was my guide.
Elisabeth Anne Hastings was my biological child.
While Elle and I had lain on the bed holding each other, she had relayed to me everything the commissioner had learned from his research and additional interrogations of Devon Parker.