Nathaniel
NATHANIEL
Leaning forward, let his eyes drift over the details of the painting. The artist’s work had changed so much in the past few years, and he still found himself trying to trace each new difference's timeline.
This one was of a small stretch of beach, at the shoreline. It was hard to tell from the lighting if it was sunrise or sunset. Half-buried in the sand was a twisted, dirty plastic bag carelessly left behind. Beneath it, creeping out from under the edge of the bag, was a small plant, trying to find sunlight even as the plastic strangled it. Yet, a hand, covered with gritty wet sand, was reaching down as though to take the bag away and let the plant finally breathe.
Grim reality was Omega, the artist's original style, and while still there, this came across as less grim and more stark. Where once he’d shown reality as an almost oppressive weight, now it had an air of hope.
Stationed in a corner of the gallery, he examined the painting contentedly. The few other people in the room ignored him, leaving him to his peaceful reverie. Whether that meant no one recognized him, or they were locked in their own little worlds didn’t matter so long as he was left alone.
The soft click of heels from behind told him his peace wasn’t meant to last. It never did.
“ Carter, as I live and breathe,” came a bright female voice.
Composing his face to show friendly interest, he turned to face her. It took him a moment to recognize the dark-haired woman standing behind him, head cocked as she looked him over.
“Blair Atkins,” he finally said, voice warm. “It’s been a while.”
“Last I heard, you were on the other side of the country for school,” Blair said, clasping a small purse in front of her.
His father would have been proud of how well he hid his grimace and turned it into a gracious smile. “Yes, time off for the summer. Better to see things at home from a more mature and educated perspective before returning.”
That, at least, was the lie he was telling everyone, handcrafted by his father. Dane Carter was not a man who would ever allow a smear upon his family name. If that meant covering up his son’s slipping grades and attendance at an Ivy League school and lying to everyone as to why was back, so be it. After all, the good mayor of Port Dale had to look good to his constituents and financial backers. And if he was going to have a chance at Governor in a couple of years and senator sometime after that, well, nothing could get in the way.
Blair beamed. “Well, I can see sense in that. It must be interesting, being back after having been gone so long.”
“Yes,” he agreed, glad it sounded earnest. “It’s been rather nice seeing the sights of Port Dale. I never had the chance when I was younger.”
Blair chuckled, stepping forward to stand beside him and stare at the painting. “Well, you were a minor. Your father certainly wasted no time shipping you off to get your higher education. At least mine allowed me a little time to enjoy some freedom before shipping me off.”
“That must have been nice,” he told her.
Blair sighed. “Well, there are some benefits to not being a member of what I refer to as the trunk of the tree—fewer expectations and demands. Were I my uncle’s daughter, I expect I would have gone through the same treatment as you. Which I suppose was far better than poor Theo went through.”
Ah, right, son of the Atkins family patriarch. The last had heard, the man had been trouble and had no intention of stopping. Of course, that had been gossip while he was growing up, whispered behind backs, and diligently passed around for everyone to savor.
“How is he?” asked politely.
Blair grinned, looking between him and the painting. “Prolific.”
blinked, understanding. “He, Theo?—”
“Is Omega, yes. I thought you knew.”
“No, I’ve enjoyed his work for years. But I’ve also been...out of the loop, being on the other side of the country.”
“And no doubt your family did not pass on gossip about my poor black sheep cousin.”
fiddled with the cuff link of his shirt. “No, I can’t say I heard much about anyone.”
Blair chuckled. “Well, you’re bound to hear about it eventually. It’s quite the scandal. Turned himself into a proper artist, living off his own means. And then he got it in his head that he was going to fall in love with a man two decades older than him.”
realized he was still fiddling with the cuff link. His father had always chided him for it, calling it a show of nerves to anyone looking for weakness. Annoyance at doing it and allowing his father’s voice to echo through his head flashed through him.
He continued to smile benignly. “Sounds...colorful.”
Blair waved a hand. “Oh, I'm sure they’ll paint it as sordid as possible. Fact is, he’s a good artist and in a relationship with a man who loves and treats him right. They’re happy, successful, and secure. I’m happy for him, even if I’m technically not supposed to have anything to do with him.”
“But you do,” pointed out.
Blair grinned wickedly. “My father and uncle set me up to deal with the family’s finances, and I’m extremely good at what I do. Without me, they’d have to bring in an outsider, and they can’t have that.”
“No, I suppose they couldn’t,” said, amazed at her gall.
And if he were honest, despite having only met Theo a few times, felt a strong surge of jealousy. The man should have, by all logic, been cast out, forgotten, and left to rot, as anyone who dared to stand out and disobey the rules of their families would have.
Instead, he’d found success and happiness. It flew in the face of everything had been taught about their way of life. And to twist the knife, Theo had found happiness with another man and still had someone in his family who supported and was genuinely happy for him.
“Well,” started, clearing his throat. “I’m glad things worked out for him.”
Blair eyed him. “You mean that, don’t you?”
turned to look at her, curious. “Of course I do. Why else would I have said it?”
Blair snorted gently, turning her attention back to the painting. “Because in our world, people say many things for different reasons, usually to get something or simply appear polite. Tell anyone in my family that my cousin is a painter, all but married to another man, and they’ll tell you how nice that must be, but you can see them recoil. It’s in the eyes. Always in the eyes.”
That left him unsure what to say next. Though he’d never been close to Blair, he had run into her at family functions and social settings more than once before he’d been thrown across the country by his father. She had always been very good at toeing and pushing the line without going too far. It always left other people unsure what to say next, especially because she practically welcomed people to step over the line.
“I can be happy that someone else has found happiness,” told her.
Blair turned to look up at him. “Have you?”
stared, thinking that was a prime example of how strange a conversation partner she was. No one really wanted to know how someone else was doing unless it was for amusement.
“Mm, no,” she concluded, turning away.
“Uh,” grunted, taken aback. “That was...swift.”
She waved a hand in front of her face. “It’s in the eyes.”
“Always is?” he asked with a small smile.
“Exactly.”
“And mine don’t show happiness.”
“No, they don’t. They’re...well, no, they’re not happy.”
“Perhaps you missed your calling as a therapist, Blair.”
That earned him a small laugh. “I think not. Can you even imagine?”
“I imagine it takes a certain type of person,” he agreed.
“Someone who is most decidedly not me,” Blair added.
He didn’t agree, but he stopped himself from saying it aloud. She struck him as the type who had no problem going through a person’s life story, picking it apart, and finding the flaws and weaknesses. Then again, the point of therapy was to do just that, and he wasn’t sure if that was her intent. Some people, he’d come to learn, enjoyed picking at the frayed edges to see what would unravel.
“I’m sure you have better things to do than listen to me prattle on,” Blair said, turning and waving over her shoulder. “Tell your father I said hello, would you?”
“I can do that,” told her.
“And tell Sonia I said hello too.”
And with that, she was gone, leaving him to watch her departure with bemusement. It was a strange thought, but he was beginning to wonder if Blair was one of those rare people who found a place in the lives their families expected them to live. Not out of requirement or necessity but simply because she’d found her niche and wasn’t afraid to throw her weight around if need be.
He wasn’t sure who he envied more, her or her cousin, Theo.
* * *
After leaving the gallery, he had been sorely tempted to wander the city. The problem was his driver was sitting less than a block away, waiting for . If he decided to wander, the man would follow him, albeit at a distance. Besides ruining the appeal of a solo walk, the driver would report everything back to the Carter patriarch. The last thing needed was to have his father ask why he decided to go off schedule.
So, he allowed himself to be driven from the inner city to the edge of town. The massive estate that formed the Carter ancestral home waited for him there. The Carters, right along with the Atkins and Thompsons, had been the founding families of Port Dale when it was little more than a tiny mining town. Of course, all three families had grown beyond their humble origins, something they prided themselves on, even as they left all semblance of humility behind.
The massive estate, centered around the three-story, sprawling mansion at the center, took up a great deal of space on the edge of Port Dale. Surrounded by brick walls, accessible only by massive gates, it towered over the landscape. That was partly because the forefathers who had built the house chose to build it upon the massive bluffs that lined the southwest edges of Port Dale.
had wondered more than once why they needed three stories, three wings, and the dozens of rooms that made up the vast estate. And that wasn’t counting the four guest houses and the servants' quarters. Of course, nowadays, the servants had job descriptions, fair wages, and multiple non-disclosure agreements to sign, but their roles hadn’t changed.
“Thank you,” he murmured to the driver once they rounded the curve of the driveway to the front door.
He would have preferred to use one of the side entrances. Using the front doors, twice the size of normal doors, felt encumbering and unnecessary. His father, however, said that their majesty made all the difference. When one is high-born, one should use the best, according to his father. privately thought it was a load of smoke and mirrors but had long since learned to keep his mouth shut regarding such thoughts.
He had to suppress another cringe when the doors opened as he mounted the steps. Sure enough, two men, impeccably dressed, stood with their hands on the inside handles of each door, waiting for him.
“Thank you, Peter, Ethan,” he muttered as he stepped inside.
The older of the two stood straighter. “Forgive me, sir, but Mr. Carter requested that you join him in his study when you arrive home.”
resisted the urge to sigh. Of course, his father wanted to see him.
“Thank you, Peter,” he told him.
Flashing them a smile, he walked across the pristine white marble floor to the massive staircase. He mounted the stairs, taking each meticulously, before reaching the landing where the stairway split. Taking the left stairs, he climbed carefully until reaching the thickly carpeted hallway.
Thankfully, his father’s study was near the front of the house. wouldn’t have to delve deep into the west wing to meet with him. He needed only to walk the handful of yards to the double doors leading to his father’s spacious study.
He took a moment, gathering himself before raising his hand to knock. The motion was interrupted by his father’s swift bid for him to enter, voice curt. Trying not to read too much into the tone since that was his father’s normal voice when he wasn’t being the genial politician, grabbed the handles and pushed his way into the room.
“You’re later than I expected,” his father said by way of greeting.
entered, passing the sitting area beside a fireplace and the lines of shelves filled with books his father had probably never read. He stopped before the massive desk where his father sat in his straight-backed chair, bent over as he intently studied something on his computer.
“I took my time with the displays. I wasn’t aware you wanted to speak to me,” explained.
“The art of the former Atkins boy,” his father said simply.
hesitated before deciding that honesty was best. “In truth, Father, I hadn’t known it was Theo’s work.”
“Your ignorance of its source does you little credit. I know you’re more observant than that,” Dane Carter told him, leaning back in his chair. “Though I will admit, it is a little troubling that the work of a man well-known for flouting dignity and propriety should speak to you.”
Well, perhaps honesty hadn’t been the best course, but had never been good at lying. It didn’t help that his father was unusually good at knowing what was and wasn’t doing. certainly didn’t appreciate the not-so-subtle jab at his tastes either.
“My appreciation of the style is simply that, not indicative of anything else, Father,” said quickly, wishing he could at least grit his teeth as he spoke. “You have no need to worry about me.”
“Really? I think history proves otherwise.”
It was said so simply had to fight the urge to turn his gaze away. Dane Carter never shied from expressing how his only son had failed him. The latest, falling behind in his schoolwork, was just one more example of how couldn’t be trusted without his father’s close inspection.
“Perceived reality is not an indicator of pattern or habit,” told him, choosing his words precisely and carefully.
The older man leaned back in his seat, watching shrewdly. For a moment, was awash in a wave of disgust as he realized how alike the two of them were. His mother had died shortly after giving birth to him, but she had passed on her vibrant hazel eyes to her only son. The rest, however, came from his father. There was the sharp, angular jawline, the easily furrowed brow, the thick black hair, and even body shape, broad at the shoulders and narrowing rapidly to the waist. Save for his eyes, he was a stunning physical replication of his father.
He hoped he never looked at someone he supposedly loved with such disdain.
“Just so long as we do not find ourselves repeating history in….certain ways,” his father said with extra emphasis. “Then we should be fine. Yes?”
offered his best smile. “Of course, Father.”
It had seemed like a grand victory at the age of fourteen. Telling his father he should be in a public school to understand the people he would one day have to represent. The logic had been sound, even as he secretly wanted the freedom of something other than the private education he’d grown up with.
How easily it had been thrown away when, three years later, he had befriended another boy. More than befriended. knew their feelings had been so much more than friendship. Before they could do anything other than start down the path of romance, however, they had been caught. Of course, they had been caught by his father’s assistant, a woman who had been quick to drag home and inform his father.
Poor Tyler had never known what kind of life and people he’d accidentally stumbled into. supposed it was probably for the best that they’d been found before it went too far. At least his friend, almost lover, had been spared his father’s rage at a son who dared to threaten the Carter family's reputation and genetic line. And so, had been shipped off, first to a private school and, upon graduating, to an Ivy League school.
All so neat, so tidy, and all to spare Dane Carter having others know his son craved the company of men.
“Good,” Dane said, looking down at his computer. “I wanted to check to make sure you understand.”
“And I do,” said simply.
“Elections are coming up, and while I have every confidence in my victory, you’ll have to understand if I’m distracted.”
“Of course.”
“And to possess yourself of the dignity and proper behavior you know I expect of you.”
“No question, Father.”
“Good. And in the meantime, I’ll place an additional security detail on you and Natalie.”
He was glad his smile was frozen on his face when his sister was mentioned. Natalie Carter was everything the family patriarch could have asked for in a child. She was shrewd and ruthless yet polite and diplomatic. Natalie never stepped out of bounds nor showed any sign that she even thought about doing so.
And yet, it was upon that Dane placed his hopes, dreams, and expectations for the future. wasn’t sure if it was sexism or simply a man following tradition to the point of stubbornness.
“And why would we need extra security?” asked casually.
“Because people are always willing to use an easy target to make their win easier. And I cannot have something happening to you or your sister,” Dane said.
Which was either the truth, and Dane Carter couldn’t risk having his chances ruined, or he was using it as an excuse to keep under tighter surveillance. was willing to bet on the latter rather than the former. They’d never had issues leveled at their family before, but it would make a neat reason for his father to keep an eye on him.
“Whatever you deem best,” said.
“And I do.”
“Of course.”
Dane motioned listlessly with two fingers. “Good. That is all. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
felt the sudden urge to bow out of the room but stayed upright as he turned and walked away. There had always been something so regal, noble even, in the way his family was run. Of course, nobility was a virtue to some, but in his mind, it meant procedure, tradition, and habits built out of teaching rather than necessity. It was the bowing and scraping of lessers to their betters, even if their betters were little more than tyrants crowned by dint of station and blood.
He felt exhausted when he left his father’s study and entered the expansive east wing where his bedroom was. At least there, at the far eastern end of the mansion, he could feel something like safety and privacy.
And then there was Sonia, waiting at his bedroom doors.
She was a small woman and had been his nanny when he was young, a constant presence his father had never been. The best thing Dane Carter had ever done for him was to make Sonia a constant companion even after a nanny became unnecessary. It was intended to create a sort of bond, without the family obligation, an attempt at humanity. was still impressed his father had thought that far ahead for his son, but he wouldn’t argue with it.
“Hello, Nathan,” she said, beaming.
“Hi, Sonia,” he greeted, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease.
She opened the door to his bedroom, gesturing him inside. “You look like you could use a nice sit.”
“And then some. Do you think you could sneak me some alcohol?” he asked as he stepped into his room.
“I might if you were to ask nicely.”
“Consider this me asking nicely.”
She chuckled softly as she closed the doors behind them. It was the only room he could count on as a private place. Hardwood floors covered in plush carpet, a large four-poster bed against the back wall, and a sitting area beside a fireplace. It was, he realized, no different from his father’s study or any other ‘private’ space in the mansion.
But it was his, at least.
“I’ve been told you’ll have extra security,” Sonia said, bending before the fireplace.
“So I’ve been informed,” he said, throwing himself onto a couch.
“Sounds like a bunch of extra eyes you never asked for,” Sonia continued.
chuckled. “You thought that too, huh? I guess he can’t let me get away with too much. I might go running off into the arms of some guy again.”
Sonia stoked the fire, letting out a heavy sigh. “As if adoption isn’t an option.”
looked at her sharply. “Careful, you might be overheard.”
Sonia shrugged. “And what? Have him replace me?”
“Yes.”
The idea of losing her was horrifying, and his voice grew sharp, cracking just like his father’s did. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to feel ashamed. Sonia was the only person he could count on to have his back, who understood him. It might have been years since he’d last seen her, but he’d missed her.
Once the fire crackled in the fireplace, she stood up and paced toward him. Her dark eyes were filled with a light that had nothing to do with the fire as she reached him. Gently, she rested her hands against his cheeks, turning his face one way and then the other.
“If losing me made you happy, I’d take it,” she told him softly.
“Losing you would make me the opposite of happy,” he said, laying his hands upon hers.
Her fingers tightened. “I just wish?—”
He waited before insisting, “What?”
She shook her head, drawing away. “How would you feel about having a night off for yourself?”
Nathanial laughed. “As if I could do that.”
“You could if someone knew the details about your added security. And well, by knowing that, could tell you how to avoid them if you wanted.”
“Could they?”
“Amazing what inside information can do, isn’t it?”
Nathanial felt his mouth twitch in a faint smile. “And would they?”
“In a heartbeat.”
Because that was how she was. Sonia had never cared about what was right or, rather, what was proper. She cared only about him, and if he needed to get out, away from the eyes of his father’s hired help, to breathe, then she would give it to him.
“Maybe someone might consider it,” he told her, lounging in his seat.
“Maybe they should,” she said, slipping through the doors and out of sight.
Smiling faintly, he relaxed before the fire, listening to it crackle and watching its dancing flames. His father had declared that he was under watch, whether for his own good or his father’s remained to be seen. He was still under the ever-choking aura of his father’s wishes, of the expectations of his family name. But hell, at least he was back where he could be around the one person who cared, who wanted what was best for him in her own eyes.
He was home.