Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
Damien
Apparently, the days of quiet family gatherings, attended by only myself and my brothers, have come and gone.
Blair and I left Thornhurst early this morning, a week and a half after Araminta’s funeral, driving straight up the coast and through the mountains to attend the celebration I’m not at all confident I will be welcome at.
Fernmoor House, the once-abandoned country house that my sister-in-law took upon herself to restore, has become the default venue for all informal family gatherings over the past year or two.
Far from the posh formality of Ashwell Palace, this place is a home, beautiful but lived in, and I can see why they like it so much.
As we step inside, the foyer is empty, but it’s clear where everyone is when a chorus of laughter erupts from deeper inside the house.
My stomach sinks.
It seems poor timing to divulge all this only a week before Christmas, and on Ben’s birthday to boot.
After five months of minimal contact, however, I have no idea how I could attend without offering some kind of explanation for my absence.
That, coupled with my lingering worries about Leo’s mental health, and the thought of hurting Zelda’s feelings by skipping another family event, left me with little choice in the matter.
Telling Blair everything was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do. Even if having the same conversation with my brothers will be worse, I know it’s time.
“I promise, they’re going to like you better than me by the end of this,” I assure the woman at my side, who has been uncharacteristically quiet for the past hour, and is currently clutching my hand for dear life.
Blair blanches, “You’re not the one who made the world’s worst first impression to the queen.”
Even with the weight of the upcoming conversation hanging over me, it’s difficult not to laugh. “When you’re friends, ask her to tell you the story of how she met my brother. Trust me, Zelda has quite a high tolerance for clumsy starts.”
“Hmm. Are you telling me that it’s a family trait to behave like a royal turd when interested in a woman?”
Despite myself, I snort and reach down to nudge her chin up, lowering my lips to hers in a brief kiss. “Come on,” I say when we’ve parted, glancing over my shoulder as the volume of the party surges unexpectedly, with many voices trying to talk excitedly over one another. “Let’s go.”
Keeping her hand in mine, I lead the way deeper into the house, following the noise to the formal dining room. We stop, lingering in the doorway, to take in the scene laid out before us.
The long table is laden with dirty plates and empty dishes, scattered amongst half-burned tapers.
Ben is sitting at the head of the long table, leaning back in his chair and holding his small daughter to his chest. My heart twists as I watch him laugh, though the noise is lost in the many sets of voices filling the room.
His attention is on the man sitting to his right—his brother-in-law, Calvin Flowers—who is so covered in tattoos that un-inked skin seems to be the exception rather than the rule, and is talking animatedly, his smile wide.
Cal isn’t the only member of the California contingent in attendance, either.
Zelda’s other siblings, Sterling and Sybil, are also seated at the table, and the three Americans seem to be responsible for most of the cacophony.
Leo is there, too, and Zelda’s friend, Davina, along with a pair of men I recognize as Leo’s professor friends, Kian and Eric.
Amidst the chaos, nobody notices us. However, moments later, as Zelda enters the room through the door to the kitchen, her arms laden with a platter holding a handmade cake, Ben looks up.
His gaze catches on Blair and me, hovering in the doorway, and regret wells in my throat as he looks away, smile fading.
Everyone launches into a boisterous rendition of “Happy Birthday” at different times and at different pitches.
Calvin tries to conduct with a fork and knife, to no avail, and there’s quite a bit of laughter amidst the applause as my brother’s wife sets the cake on the table before him, pausing to kiss his cheek.
A cheer goes up as he blows out the candles obligingly, maintaining a careful hold on Alice to prevent her from grabbing the cake. “Thank you, darling,” he tells his wife when the noise has died away, and, at last, he looks to me again.
The room quiets as several people follow his gaze and finally notice Blair and me. Her hand squeezes mine in silent encouragement.
“I hope we aren’t too late,” I manage.
Zelda breaks the silence. “Oh my god, of course not.” She hurries across the room, her face shining, and I release my hold on Blair to accept a hug. “He’s missed you so much,” she whispers when she pulls back, gazing up at me with a pleading look.
I wish I could tell her it could all be set aside so easily.
“Zelda, this is Blair Porter. You met briefly at the funeral,” I tell her, and Blair looks downright petrified when Zelda turns her attention onto her.
“Of course. Welcome, Blair. Do we have you to thank for Dam’s presence tonight?” she asks warmly.
Blair’s cheeks go pink. “Your Royal Highness. Thank you for having me in your home, I’m so sorry to come without an invitation and—”
Zelda silences her with an airy wave. “There’s actually a rule in Fernmoor House that we take quite seriously, and it’s that titles are left at the door. Call me Zelda. Now, come sit, we’ll introduce you to everyone.”
There’s an underlying tension in the room, the party much more subdued, as Zelda produces two more chairs, and everyone shuffles over to make room. Blair and I end up between Leo and Sybil as cake is distributed, and finally, Ben meets my eyes over his daughter’s head.
I smile weakly. “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you,” he tells me quietly, and though the words are stiff, they seem to take some of the lingering awkwardness from the room.
I’d like to ask him if we can talk later, but the hubbub around the table has escalated in volume again. My brother seems to sense it, however, because he inclines his head toward the door, a question in his eyes.
Throat tight, I nod and lean forward to look at Leo. He also understands the unspoken request, and after Ben has handed off Alice to Cal, the three of us stand.
Fuck.
“We’ll be back shortly,” I tell Blair, leaning down to speak quietly in her ear, and she offers me a soft, encouraging smile, her hand coming out to squeeze mine.
If anyone at the table thinks anything of us leaving halfway through dessert, they don’t comment, and before I’m quite ready for it, I find myself filing out of the room after Leo and Ben.
“You look familiar,” I hear Davina tell Blair as we cross the threshold into the hall, an air of playful delight evident in her voice. “Did I see a rather spectacular picture of your breasts on the cover of a magazine?”
Christ.
Confident Blair can handle herself, I follow my brothers down the hall and into a warmly lit study. Leo closes the door behind me, and even the quiet click of the handle has my stomach twisting.
“Why have you come, Damien?” asks Ben without preamble, leaning back against his desk, his expression hard.
My gaze catches on a framed portrait on the wall above the desk, which depicts Ben and Zelda sitting together before a nondescript blue wall. In Zelda’s arms is a swaddled infant, and even in the formal, painted image, both of them look so happy.
I force myself to meet his eyes, swallowing the shame and guilt which have grown even further inside me since we stepped inside Fernmoor.
“To tell you I’m sorry. For leaving the palace the way I did.
” Exhaling heavily, I sit down in the other vacant chair, struggling to keep track of the words I swore to myself I would tell him tonight.
Though I’d rehearsed them many times in my own head over the past week, and talked it over with Blair, now that I’m here…
“This isn’t me asking for your forgiveness,” I finally manage, addressing Ben as I shove down the clawing fear. “But you deserve an explanation for my absence the past few months.”
So, I tell them.
It takes far less time than it did when I had this conversation with Blair. After all, Ben and Leo were there with me for most of this. They don’t need to be given any backstory when they lived it.
Neither of them speaks or reacts in any way as I make my confession, and though it is the most difficult thing I’ve ever done, something seems to have loosened inside me as I near the end.
“I left the palace because I couldn’t look at her.
Alice,” I confess at last, staring up at Ben.
“When I came to meet her,” my voice cracks, “she was perfect, you know? Nobody had ever hurt her, or tried to make her anything she isn’t, or—fuck.
” I shake my head, desperately trying to dispel the burning behind my eyes.
“It should have been my responsibility to protect her, but instead, I’d pushed her into the line of fire before she was even born. ”
The silence that follows this is painful, but shorter than I would have believed possible given the information I just disclosed.
I look up as, slowly, Ben pushes off his desk, turning to look at the portrait hanging before him. “It’s changed my perspective so much,” he muses, “being a parent.”
His expression becomes thoughtful. “After she was born, there were nights I would stay awake for hours, holding her while she slept. I remember thinking that I would do anything for her, anything at all.” At last, my brother turns to meet my eyes.
“I was so angry at our father for so long, but now that I’ve experienced that kind of love…
I can’t imagine how broken he must have been not to have felt it too. ”