35. Cassidy
I find Ethan in the library, standing by the big arched window overlooking the circular drive. I assume he’s watching the buyers leave. Probably making sure no one ran off with one of his paintings.
Clasping my hands tightly in front of me so he won’t notice that they’re shaking, I force myself to walk up to him.
I’ve been thinking about this all of ten minutes as I hunted through the manor for Ethan. He claims not to know Rebecca Monroe, but it’s possible she only ever addressed herself as Becks. That could be why he claimed not to have met with her when Detective Lewis called his office.
And because the thought of Ethan finding out who I truly am before I’ve exhausted all other avenues of inquiry terrifies me, I think I’ve come up with the best way to question him without revealing who I really am.
“Who is Becks?”
Ethan’s shoulders stiffen, and I suddenly wish I’d been standing in front of him before asking the question.
My bad.
But he’s already so intimidating with his back turned, I probably wouldn’t have been able to work up the courage to ask him if he’d been facing me.
He glances at me from the corner of his gray eyes as I step up to him.
“So you were in the basement.”
“Answer the question,” I whisper fiercely.
The hands clasped behind his back tighten.
With nerves…or anger?
I swallow a lump in my throat and try to ignore the way my heart pitter-patters frantically behind my ribs.
“She was my fiancé.”
I try to keep a neutral expression, but that admission shocks me to my core. How long was Mom seeing Ethan before she eloped with him?
Again.
Not enough. I need more. “What happened to her?”
I can hear his hands creaking as he tightens his grip even more.
“She left me. I told her I wanted a family, and I guess she got cold feet. The night I proposed, she packed her things and just…disappeared.” His words are cold and wooden, but they pierce me like a glowing fire poker.
Packed her things.
Disappeared.
Oh my God, I was right. Rebecca leaves a trail of empty homes and broken hearts in her wake.
My cheeks flush, and I have to blink back sudden tears. Ethan glances at me and then turns, grabbing my shoulders before I can step back. “Cassidy? What’s wrong?”
I try to wrench out of his grip, but after keeping everything inside for so long, after tiptoeing around the truth for days, after everything this man has put me through mentally and physically and emotionally, my walls come crashing down like he put a wrecking ball through them.
“Where did she go?” I blurt out.
A deep frown puckers his brow. “I don’t know,” he says slowly. “She didn’t exactly leave a forwarding address.”
Something he said filters out through the chaos in my mind. “You wanted to start a family with her?”
“Yes. She was my fiancé.” His eyes narrow. “What’s going on? Why are you so…” He trails off like he can’t put into words the anguish on my face.
I try to hold back, to keep even a sliver of the truth for myself, because the moment it’s out, there’s no clawing it back. But I’m so fucking done.
Done with pretending.
Done with the lies.
Fucking. Done.
“You wanted to start a family?” I yell hoarsely, grabbing his dark shirt in my fists. “She was my mother! Did you ever stop to think about the family she left behind, you selfish, arrogant, piece of shit?”
I slap him.
And when he just stares at me, dumbfounded, I slap him again.
But when I go in for a third shot, he catches my wrist and shoves me back against the closest bookshelf so hard that the impact sends an encyclopedia crashing to the floor.
“She was my mother!” I try to scream the words, but he’s knocked the air out of my lungs, so it comes out in a whimper.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he growls furiously. “Becks couldn’t possibly be your mother.”
A hot tear races down my face, and I sniff back the sob threatening to break out of me. “Her name was Rebecca Monroe. But I guess she just called herself Becks when she was around you.”
Another tear courses down my cheek, and Ethan’s gaze switches to it, watching it fall with morbid fascination.
“Did she tell you why she left me?” I whisper. “Did you even bother asking?”
He takes a huge, stuttering breath. “Cassidy, Christ, I…I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about.”
The world blurs as more tears brim on my eyelashes. It’s a relief, actually. I cried a lot the first two or three weeks after she disappeared. I’d wake up day after day and have to face my swollen reflection, my red eyes, the creases on my cheeks from the pillowcase.
“I just want to know why,” I murmur.
Ethan’s throat moves as he swallows. He releases me, his hand going into his pocket. I slump against the bookshelf behind me, not caring what he’s about to take out—a knife, a gun, ropes, that flogger he keeps threatening me with.
I don’t care anymore.
Because I still don’t have any answers.
And I guess I never will.
“Here,” he says.
I stare wordlessly at his cellphone as he unlocks it and turns the phone to me.
There’s a photo of a pretty brunette on the screen. She’s ten, maybe fifteen years older than me. It’s a selfie he took of them together, and he doesn’t look much older than he does today. Glenmont Manor is visible in the background, and they’re standing beside a FOR SALE sign with a red SOLD sticker obscuring most of the words.
“That’s Becky Hearst. And unless she was pregnant with you when she was in kindergarten, there’s no way she’s your mother. Now are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?”