Chapter 7 Silas
SILAS
Past
Sweet Sixteen
At twenty-one, I still live in the cottage on the Foxes’ property. I realize I’m too old to be living with my mommy, but I have three very good reasons for staying.
Sly Fox, Mira Fox, and Ethan Fox.
Sly is just an asshole, and I never know when he’ll attack. Mira hates my mother because she is the young, beautiful maid her then-fiancé—very original—took up with and, to everyone’s surprise, fathered a child with.
Fathered is a very big word. He deposited sperm.
Ethan doesn’t so much hate her as he hates me.
I get it. Ever since he was a tiny little tyke, Mira has been filling his ear with poison about my mother and me, making sure he understands the difference between the staff and himself.
Making sure he knows that no matter my parentage, I am not his equal.
For a long time, I didn’t understand my mother’s choice to stay because it was her choice. The Foxes would all have been happiest if she’d disappeared with her bastard son, and Fox had offered her a check to do just that.
But Mom is a first-generation American born to parents who crossed the border illegally and lived much of their lives in fear of being found out, imprisoned, or sent back home.
I’m not sure which they considered worst. I never got a chance to meet my grandparents to ask.
They were killed in a car accident when Mom was only fourteen.
On her own, she found work and got herself as much schooling as she could, which wasn’t much. But she survived, and she wanted better for me.
I guess in her eyes, living in the cottage or under the Foxes’ roof, despite how unwelcome we are, is still better than being out there on our own and struggling. With those basic needs met, the focus could be my education, me making a better life than she has had.
She is right in some sense. We are living a decent, comfortable life, for the most part, if you can tune out the underlying insults delivered daily—especially by Mira Fox—to Mom.
That’s the piece that bothers me most. Mom works her ass off for the ungrateful pricks, and I do too, when I’m not in school.
But that’s the thing. My schooling was part of the deal for Mom to keep her mouth shut about the interest Sly Fox took in her when she was underage. So, I work around the house, do any and all jobs that need to be done, help my mom out, and get myself educated so I can get us the hell out of here.
The day is coming, too. Just one more semester and I’ll be finished. Once I have my degree in hand, I will officially be offered a position in an investment firm I’ve already had discussions with. That, too, is thanks to Sly, just not the way he’d like it.
See, Sly Fox isn’t always charming. He has made enemies in his past. I have found those enemies, and I will use them to “further” myself, a term he likes to use when he tells his friends that he’s paying for my education as if he’s doing it out of the goodness of his heart.
I wonder if he thinks they’re stupid because one look at me, and any fool can see who my father is.
I have his build, his manner of walking.
I had his manner of talking, but I worked through that.
Worst of all, though, I have his eyes, and every time I look in a mirror, I see what that bastard did to my mother.
It's a Sunday evening in early December, and I’m outside hanging Mira Fox’s Christmas lights while she directs from inside the warm house, cocktail in hand.
Fucking cunt. Did I mention it’s snowing?
Because once snow comes to Sinistral, it stays a good four months, if we’re lucky. Five if we’re not. I fucking hate snow.
Horatio Hart pulls up on the drive, and he and Ophelia climb out.
“Silas, this is no night to be hanging Christmas lights, son. It’s eighteen degrees.”
“Tell that to Mrs. Fox,” I tell him, gesturing to the window where she waves to the Harts and glares at me.
He glances at the house, and I see the tightening of his mouth.
From what I see, Hart seems to be a fairly decent man, although with the sheer amount of wealth he has, I’m not a hundred percent sure.
The kind of money he and Fox have never comes without someone’s hands getting dirty—not to mention the fact that he’s in business and friendly with Sullivan Fox. That’s two red flags.
He knows the situation with my mother, too.
I know he disapproves of how the Foxes treat her and us, and maybe that is where I cut him some slack.
Not that there’s much he can do about it.
He’s not unkind to my mother or me, either, which makes it difficult to hate him.
But those red flags are still right there.
“It’s all right,” I say. “I’m almost done anyway. You all heading out for dinner?”
“Sly, Mira, and I are wining and dining potential investors. Wish us luck. Phee and Ethan have a movie night planned,” he says, and I’m not sure what to take from his tone.
I turn to Ophelia, who is sixteen now. Sweet kid. She’s pretty in a quiet, bookish way. She doesn’t wear much makeup or the kind of clothes a lot of girls her age wear. My mom adores her, and she adores Mom.
Every time her eyes meet mine, a blush creeps into her cheeks, and it takes all I have not to smile. I have a feeling that when I rescued her from idiot Ethan’s swimming lessons, she might have gotten a little crush.
“Hey there, O. Something is different about you,” I start.
I know what it is, but I get the feeling she doesn’t get a whole lot of attention because boys her age are idiots, so I draw it out and watch her face light up when she smiles.
She pushes her thick and often unruly curls behind her ears.
She actually has no idea how pretty she is.
“I’m giving my glasses a rest tonight,” she says, blinking a couple of times before rubbing one eye. “How do people wear these all the time? They’re so irritating.”
Her father laughs. “Did you bring your glasses in case you need to take out the contacts?”
Ophelia rolls her eyes. “We live next door, Dad. I can run over and get them if I need to, but I won’t need to.”
I grin, turning when I hear Mira knocking against the window gesturing for me to hurry up. You’d think they paid me by the hour.
The door opens and Ethan steps out onto the porch. Ophelia turns to him and smiles wide.
I watch her dad, and I swear he tenses when Ethan whistles.
“Well would you look at you? I like it, Hart. I like it.”
“Thanks,” Ophelia says. “I like it too.” She walks toward the house.
“Keep an eye on the kids, will you, Silas?”
“With all due respect, Mr. Hart, I’m not a babysitter, and he’s not a kid.”
Hart turns to me and studies me. “You know things might be easier for you if you’d brush that chip off your shoulder. We’re not all horrible people.” I grit my teeth, and he sighs. “You know I didn’t mean to imply anything by asking, son.”
“No, your lot never do.”
He sighs again. “Ophelia is a little young for her age, and Ethan’s a little old for his.”
I follow his gaze to watch Ophelia disappear inside, seeing Ethan’s hand on her lower back.
“Look, I’d appreciate the help, Silas, and would be happy to compensate you.” He reaches into his pocket to take out his wallet.
“No need for that,” I say tightly. To people like the Foxes and the Harts, we can all be bought. “I’ll look out for her,” I say, not liking Ethan anywhere near her any more than Hart does. I never did mention the swimming lessons, and I’m pretty sure Ophelia didn’t either.
“Thank you. How’s Mom, by the way? I heard she was under the weather.”
“She’s getting better. Bad cold.”
“Glad to hear that but not so happy to see her working through it, to be honest.”
“You think I didn’t tell her as much?” My mother can be stubborn.
“I’m sure you did, knowing Esmerelda.” He chuckles. “Let her know I was checking on her, will you?”
“Will do.”
“Ready to charm them, Horatio?” Fox asks as he approaches. Mira follows as she slips her arms into her coat, which I have a feeling cost more than they pay Mom in a month.
“Ready,” Hart says, adjusting his expression at their approach.
The three of them disappear, Mrs. Fox giving me a sneer over her shoulder before she vanishes. I pick up the debris from the lights, which I admit look pretty good. I head to the cottage to shower. I wave to Mom, who is in the kitchen of the main house making popcorn for the kids.
Kids.
Ethan Fox hasn’t been a kid for a long time. I don’t like how he looks at Ophelia. She may be sixteen, but she’s too young and way too good for him.
By the time I’m finished with my shower, Mom is back at the cottage making a cup of tea.
“I’m tired today, Silas.”
“You do too much,” I tell her, kissing the top of her head. “They can afford to hire a housekeeper that’s not you or a cook that’s not you or someone to do their dirty laundry that’s not you. You don’t have to do it all.”
“You just worry about school, sweetheart. Get your degree, and we’ll talk then. I can handle another six months.”
I shake my head. “I’m going to go check on Ophelia.”
She raises her eyebrows.
“Mr. Hart asked me to keep an eye on her. She’s with Ethan.”
The corners of her mouth turn down and she nods. “I think that’s a good idea. I’ll warm up your dinner.”
“I can do that when I’m back. Relax. Put your feet up.”
“Thank you, Silas,” she says, reaching up to kiss me on the top of my head. She’s always done that since I can remember but now, I have to bend down for her to reach.
I walk back across the yard to the main house.
Mom and I use the glass doors that lead right into the living room since it’s closest. I pull them open and enter the dimly lit house, heading downstairs to the theater that seats twelve.
Thick carpet masks the sound of my approach, although I tell myself I’m not sneaking.
I just want to make sure Ethan knows where to keep his hands, which is off Ophelia.