by T. K. Leigh
The picture of poise and sophistication, she steps back from the podium, allowing the captain to answer the myriad of questions the press now fires at him. But I can’t listen anymore.
I bang on the keyboard, closing out of the webcast, my jaw ticking as I glower at the blank screen with animosity, as if it had something to do with my mother’s vindictive actions.
“Should I prepare a statement?” Mia asks after several silent moments.
I shake my head, feeling like the rug’s been pulled out from beneath me. I should have expected something like this, considering who my family is. I didn’t realize it growing up, but as I got older, I learned the Bradford name was as powerful in the South as the last name Carnegie once was in steel country. I should be happy reporters didn’t swarm the jailhouse Saturday morning. Thankfully, the holiday worked to our advantage.
Not anymore.
I’m about to respond to Mia when my cell rings on my desk. I glance at it, assuming it’s Londyn. Instead, I see my father’s name flash on the screen. It certainly didn’t escape my notice that he was nowhere to be found during my mother’s press conference. But it didn’t surprise me. He normally keeps as much space between them as possible, unless absolutely necessary.
“I’ll give you some privacy,” Mia offers, then slips out of my office, closing the door behind her.
“Dad,” I answer, a touch of hesitation in my tone.
“I assume you’ve seen.” His voice is deep and slightly gravelly, yet exhibits the same smooth, Southern accent I have.
“She couldn’t keep her mouth shut about this? Did she really have to paint Londyn in such a horrible light?”
“That’s your mother for you. She’s always been a big fan of the Danish Gambit in chess. This is just her striking first and striking hard. Not against you, Wes, but against the media circus that was sure to follow once word about the parties involved became public.”
I blow out a laugh. “Danish Gambit, huh? So… What? I’m just supposed to accept it and watch as she declares checkmate in a matter of only a few moves?”
“I didn’t say that,” he replies slyly. “I taught you how to play chess, son. What’s the one thing I told you about opening with the Danish Gambit?”
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose, not seeing how this is relevant to my current predicament. Still, I humor him. “You either win spectacularly or fail miserably.”
“Precisely. And if you ask me, your mother is set up to fail miserably.”
“How? By telling everyone who will listen that my girlfriend is lying? That she’s crying wolf, as she put it?”
He chuckles to himself. “Just like your mother, you often focus on the negative and forget the positive.”
“And what’s that, Dad? What could have possibly come out of that ridiculous publicity stunt that would be considered positive?”
“Didn’t you hear that reporter? She knows Londyn’s side, something I can tell you Captain Matthews definitely wanted to keep from the media.”
I straighten, peering into the distance. “How do you know that?”
“I may have overheard a conversation between him and your mother. And based on that conversation, I may have reached out to some of my contacts in the media.”
“You were the source?”
“Would you be surprised?
I stand, walking to the windows of my office. “Actually, no. But if you were just going to leak information to the media, why put up with Mom’s press conference in the first place? Why didn’t you just stop it from happening?”
“You and I both know nothing could have stopped her from doing something like this eventually, Wes. She craves being the center of attention. It’s just who she is. I figured it best to let her put on the show she desperately needed, but also throw her a curveball. That’s what the leak was. A curveball. One she failed to hit. Her bashing the ‘Me Too’ movement?” There’s a hint of amusement in his tone. “Trust me, son. That will backfire. Your mother thinks she holds a great deal of influence over powerful people here in the great state of Georgia, but that movement will eat her up and spit her out. And I hope to have a front-row seat for the barbecue.”
I take a moment to process his words, trying to find some sort of reassurance in them. As always, I’m left with more questions than answers.
“Why do you stay married to her?” I ask after a pause. “Even when I was a kid, I could tell you didn’t love each other. Hell, I was barely a teenager when you added the second wing of the house so you could have separate living quarters. I don’t think I’ve seen you in the main part of the house in years.”
He exhales a deep sigh. I picture him pinching the bridge of his nose, as I’ve witnessed him do on more than one occasion while sighing in such a manner. “It may be difficult for you to understand because times have changed, but this sort of arrangement was all I knew. My father never married for love. He did so for power. Was paired with a woman who had something to offer, like an influential family. Same with me. Your gampy may have grown a bit…eccentric in his older years, but when I met your mother, he was an extremely influential man. Which made your mother appear to be a great match for me. At least according to my parents. So we were married.”
“And neither of you cared? I can’t believe Gampy and Meemaw would be okay with their daughter marrying for anything less than love.”
“As you know, your mother can be very headstrong. She may not have loved me, but I can attest to the fact that she absolutely fell in love with my bank account. So we were able to convince everyone, including her parents, that we were the perfect couple. Still do.”
“That’s so…sad,” I say, unable to stop myself.
“Like I said, different times.” There’s a wistfulness in his tone. “But I’m glad you and Julia didn’t follow the same path.”
He clears his throat. “Now, I think it advisable for you to spend a few hours and touch base with clients, assure them it’s still business as usual. Would you like me to reach out to a few myself?”
I consider his offer. What impression would that give people that I still need my dad to help in moments of crisis? A few years ago, he stepped back from the day-to-day running of the firm, leaving it to me to handle. So that’s what I need to do here.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll take care of it myself.”
“Good. I’m proud of you. And for what it’s worth…” He trails off.
“Yes?”
“Well, I’ve never liked that smug husband of Julia’s.”
“Do you… Do you think he’s hurt her?”
“I’d like to think she wouldn’t stay with him if he had. That doesn’t sound like the Julia I know.”
“But you saw the press conference. That Julia wasn’t the same Julia.”
“I know. Which was why I came back from Aspen with your mother when I was supposed to head to Pebble Beach for the month. To keep my eye on Julia. Just like you need to do with Londyn.”
I close my eyes, finding comfort in his words. Something I didn’t think possible after witnessing my mother’s press conference. But that’s always seemed to be my father’s role in our lives. Whenever my mother threatened to destroy everything, he would come in and mitigate the damage.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Thanks,” I say again, about to end the call when I stop myself. “Hey, Dad?”
“Yes?”
“If you were to finally leave Mom, I can guarantee you’d have my and Julia’s full support.”
He belts out a full belly laugh I usually only hear during the firm’s Christmas party when he dresses up as Santa for all our employees’ children. “Duly noted. Unfortunately, some things are easier said than done.”
I nod, knowing all too well how he feels.
Chapter Eleven
Weston
I stare up at the imposing brick façade of the house that never felt like home, despite having every
thing I could want at my fingertips. Welcoming light glows from several windows, giving off the impression of warmth and comfort. It’s all a front, a way to make our family appear happy. But I was never happy here. The only place I felt an iota of happiness was with Gampy and Meemaw.
After taking a minute to steel my nerves for what I came here to do, I slide out of my car. Ever since my failed engagement to Brooklyn, I’ve done everything in my power to avoid my mother as much as possible, but I need to confront her over her latest publicity stunt. My father may think he mitigated any damage by leaking Londyn’s statement to the press, but I couldn’t face Londyn without knowing I stood up to my mother. Let her know my loyalty can’t be swayed, no matter what she tries.
As I approach the front door, it swings open, my parents’ housekeeper, Lila, greeting me with a warm smile.
“Good evening, Mr. Bradford. May I take your coat?” she asks, stepping back, allowing me to enter the high-ceilinged foyer. “Get you something to drink perhaps?”
I’m sure I look a sight after the past few days of barely sleeping. Couple that with spending all afternoon on the phone with several of the firm’s largest clients, ensuring them it’s still business as usual, and I’m nearing the end of my rope.
“I won’t be staying long. Is my mother here?”
“They’re in the den.”
“Thank you, Lila.”
“Of course, sir.”
With determined strides, I make my way through the large living area and past the formal dining room, everything pristine and perfect. Exactly like the public’s perception of my family. But I know the truth. Our sins are masked with piety, our crimes with charity.
Stepping over the threshold into the den, I focus on the high-back chair by the fireplace, my mother’s usual spot, a queen on her throne.
“Weston, darling. What a pleasant surprise.” She treats me to a fake smile.
“Is it really?” I continue toward her, eyes on fire. “Something tells me you fully anticipated my—”
I come to an abrupt stop as I pass the couch, taking in the rest of the room.
“Nick,” I sneer, my blood boiling. “What are you doing here?”
“Recovering, Weston,” he answers with a pompous smirk I’d love nothing more than to wipe off his face with my fist. “You couldn’t expect me to travel back home. Not in my condition.” He gestures to his sling.
“Domenic will be convalescing in Atlanta,” my mother explains. “In this house.”
“What?” I counter, eyes wide.
“The doctors said he’ll be out of commission for the next six weeks. Not to mention the physical therapy he’ll require in order to repair the damage that horrible woman caused.” Her lower lip quivers.
“The cameras aren’t around, Mother. You can drop the act.”
“What act is that, Weston?” she asks, holding her head high, spine stiff, shoulders squared. “That I’m beside myself with grief over the idea that something could have happened to Julia’s husband? Where’s your compassion?”
“Trust me. I’m just as beside myself with grief over what happened.” I turn my glare on Nick. “But not for him.”
My animosity grows with every minute I’m forced to be in the same room with him. The thought of Julia having to endure this nearly breaks me. That’s when I realize she’s not here.
“Where’s Julia?”
“She and your father went to Charleston to pack up a few things and get Imogene,” my mother answers with an air of authority. “They’ll be back on Wednesday. They’ll stay here while Nick recovers and for the duration of the criminal proceedings.”
I do my best not to react. My mother must be in her glory at the idea of being at the center of a sensationalized trial. I’m not sure I should be the one to break it to her that less than one percent of all criminal proceedings actually end up in trial. The DA hasn’t officially filed charges against Londyn…yet. I’m still holding out hope they won’t. That after Londyn’s statement and the leak at the press conference today, they’ll see it’s a losing case and decline to prosecute her.
“And Julia’s on board with that? What about Imogene’s schooling?”
My mother waves a hand. “I called in a favor with the headmaster of the academy here. They’re happy to have Imogene as one of their students.”
“What about Julia’s business? Her test kitchen is in Charleston, not here.”
“After what happened, it’s probably best for her business that she stay here. Wouldn’t you agree, Weston?” my mother presses.
“Plus, I couldn’t stomach the idea of something happening to my family if I allowed them to remain in Charleston without me there to protect them,” Nick adds. “There’s no telling who might target them.”
“I’m fairly certain they’d both be much safer in Charleston than here with you.”
“Oh please,” my mother interjects with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “You can’t seriously believe what that homewrecker told you.” She stands from her chair, sauntering toward me. “Because that’s all she is. A homewrecker. A woman who preyed on a vulnerable man at a difficult time in his life. And when things didn’t go as planned, she did the one thing she could. Accused him of rape. And, sadly, she’s manipulated you, just like she did Nick. What’s it going to take for you to see that?”
I force a smile, undeterred by her words. “And what’s it going to take for you to see that he’s manipulating you, just like he did Londyn. And Julia.”
She opens her mouth to protest when a knock sounds. We both turn to face Lila, who stands in the open doorway.
“Pardon the interruption, Mrs. Bradford, but Detective Stocker is here to talk to Mr. Jaskulski. He called earlier.”
“Of course,” Nick says in an authoritative voice, preventing my mother from doing so.
I can only imagine the tension that will pervade this house the longer Nick and my mother remain under the same roof. They’re both arrogant. Both pompous. Both have egos bigger than the entire state of Georgia. I give it a week until they’re at each other’s throats.
Then again, maybe that’s not a bad thing.
“I apologize for intruding on your recovery,” a tall, stocky man with a shaved head says as he walks into the room. “If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have bothered you with this at all, but after the leak to the media, I’ve been ordered to do my due diligence and question you regarding the perp’s statement.”
“So if no one had let it slip that he’d raped a woman, you wouldn’t have done your due diligence?” I narrow my gaze on him as I widen my stance. “Makes me question the integrity of the police department.”
The detective bristles at my comment. “And you are?”
“Weston Bradford.”
His eyes flicker with recognition. He knows exactly who I am. And not that I’m simply Nick’s brother-in-law, but that I’m dating the so-called “perp”.
“Well…,” Detective Stocker begins nervously, looking between me and Nick. “Perhaps I should come back at a later time when we can talk more candidly.” He starts to turn, but Nick interrupts.
“Right now is fine.” His smug eyes meet mine. “I have nothing to hide.” He turns his attention back to Detective Stocker. “Like my brother-in-law should know, there are two sides to every story. And I’m certain that’s exactly what Ms. Bennett fed you. A whopper of a story. I’m more than happy to set the record straight, once and for all.”
I’m not sure I can stand here and listen to Nick spin what I imagine will be quite the story without wanting to put my fist through his teeth. Or, at the very least, the wall. But I need to know what he says. It can only help Londyn with any potential defense.
“Let’s start with how you’re acquainted with Londyn Bennett,” Detective Stocker begins once he’s situated in a chair across from the couch where Nick currently reclines. “She claimed you met when she attended college in Upstate New York.”
Nick nods. “That’s correct.”
>
“And what was the nature of your relationship?”
“Platonic. We were regulars at a coffee shop a few blocks from campus. Over the weeks of constantly running into each other, we formed a friendship.”
“Even though you’re a married man?” Detective Stocker asks with a raised brow.
“My intentions never veered into anything less than honorable where Ms. Bennett was concerned. I was married. She was married. But we were both away from our respective spouses, so I suppose we found a camaraderie in each other.”
“And why wasn’t your wife with you?”
“She’d given birth earlier in the year. Imogene was born with a hole in her heart that required surgery soon after birth. It was in her best interests that she remained in Charleston, close to her medical team, at least until she was on a better path. I initially hated the idea of being away from my wife and daughter, but my job provided excellent health insurance, which was necessary considering the high cost of her lengthy hospital stay.”
“And was this your first year at this university?”
“Second.”
“Was your wife with you the previous year?”
“No. She’d gotten pregnant prior to our scheduled move to New York. At her eighteen-week checkup, they’d noticed some abnormalities in Imogene’s heart. Due to the high-risk nature of the pregnancy, Julia thought it best to stay in Charleston where she had access to her doctors. Not to mention the hospital was within minutes of our home, something she wouldn’t have in the small, rural town in New York.”
“I see.”
“I suppose that’s why I felt a connection to Ms. Bennett. She was away from her home and husband, as well. It was refreshing to have someone to talk to about my struggles.”
The detective jots down a few more notes before looking up. “And is that all you discussed with Ms. Bennett? Just your struggles?”
“Mostly, yes. Sure, I shared my knowledge of Greek mythology with her, and she shared her passion for art history with me, since that was her major, but like I said, our relationship had always been platonic. At least until the masked ball.”