2. Brook
“I’m really sorry,” Dad repeats for the thousandth time, as if this crisis was his fault.
Yes, I’m calling it a crisis and going with the dramatics, because I’m on the verge of crying at this point.
Even surrounded by my family, I’ve never felt this alone.
I’m single.
The status has never bothered me. It’s been a one hundred percent improvement from the fucked-up dynamics I had with Dylan Sinclair, my ex.
Over the past few months I’ve spent in New York, I’ve started appreciating my single status.
Maybe it was reconnecting with my roots, with my family, or just a change of scenery, but I finally, for the first time in my life, feel like the ground under me is not shifting violently.
Like I can remain still for a moment, or ten, and enjoy the serenity. Without running. Without escaping. Without avoiding.
And now I fucking have to get married?
Damn you, Roberta.
I haven’t begun to unpack the whole issue of her meddling with my life prior to today. Today’s ultimatum is enough to deal with at the moment.
“Daddy, don’t worry about it. We’ll figure it out.” Paris kisses his forehead and he squeezes her hand.
He looks so defeated in the wheelchair. The last round of radiation damaged his vertebrae, decreasing his mobility.
Every time I see him, I regret the years I stayed away. I’ll never get them back, but at least now I can cherish every moment with him.
It’s been over a year since he was diagnosed with cancer and he’s still here with us, so that’s what I try to focus on.
My currently aimless existence has provided one benefit—after Paris got settled with Finn, her partner, I moved in with Dad and Mom. Well, my stepmom, Bianca.
Under any other circumstances, this would be pathetic at my age, but spending time with my dad is priceless.
Though they are planning to move to their house in Florida, so Dad can fully focus on his recovery in some state-of-the-art facility.
I’ll be their house sitter, and I’m glad I can help in some way. I had planned to spend the time working on my current manuscript, and figuring out if I’m returning to England or staying here.
I guess now I’ll have to look for a husband. Fuck.
“You have to give it to her—she was smart.” Dad chuckles humorlessly.
“Dominic is coming over to review the will.” London paces by the floor-to-ceiling windows in the sitting room.
“All of you have partners. It’s not such a big deal for you,” I point out.
“I won’t be blackmailed into getting married by an old lady I’ve never met,” London snaps, ignoring the real issue here.
I have no one to marry.
“Okay, all of these are the worst of the worst humanity has ever created.” Sydney throws the list of beneficiaries to the coffee table along with her phone. “I might be on the FBI’s watch list because of my search history now. On paper, they’re legal, but tied to environmental atrocities, support of extremist groups, and political groups accused of arms trafficking.” She shudders visibly.
“An evil grandmother if I ever met one,” I say.
“And we haven’t even met her.” Paris sighs.
“We should check where her money came from.” The idea gives me a boost and I perk up. Maybe there is a way out. “I mean, how was that list compiled? Did she support those groups while she was alive? Is her fortune in any way connected? Can we use that to contest the will? Expose her?”
“You and your imagination.” London snorts and I flinch. “Roberta Montgomery was a pillar of society, American royalty.”
Of course my sister would dismiss my idea. That has always been the case. I’m the dreamer of the family. The baby they never saw as equal.
And maybe my suggestion is less than ideal, but I’m desperate here. A fact nobody seems to acknowledge.
“And clearly a bit unhinged if she showed us her affection by spying on us and blackmailing us into the traditional institution of marriage.” I raise my thumb to my mouth and immediately put it back in my lap.
“Let’s wait for Dominic to review the will to see if there is a way out.” Sydney smiles at me. Perhaps she wants to smooth London’s words, but more likely she’s just patronizing me.
I don’t know anymore. Everyone has been supportive since I returned, but their attention only makes me feel like I’m failing.
Like they just feel sorry for me because I left so young, and God knows what I’ve been up to, and now they need to reintegrate me into the real world.
They don’t know what I do. When my agent came up with the secret identity, I liked the idea. It’s helped my success.
I’ve never shared that with my family because the girl that left here years ago wanted them to accept me for who I am. Not for the accolades I achieve.
As if Sydney manifested the man, Dominic Cressard, a high-profile lawyer and London’s boyfriend, walks in and greets everyone.
London drops the binder into his hands after a kiss. He unbuttons his suit jacket and sits down, opening the binder without a word. London briefed him on the phone.
“I’m going to lie down,” Dad announces, and I jump to his side.
“Let me help you.”
I grab the handles of his wheelchair and push him to the bottom of the stairs in the foyer. Snaking my arm under his, I help him stand up. Using me as a crutch, he starts his ascent.
The house isn’t fitted for his needs, and the required renovations and adjustments are a point of tension between him and Mom.
Dad is proud, and he doesn’t want any changes until they are necessary.
The lift is obviously necessary, but I’m not going to push the point.
“Are you okay, darling?” the man who can barely stand asks me, and I blink a few times.
“Of course, I’m fine. It’s been an interesting day, though.”
We reach the landing and turn toward his bedroom where I help him sit on his bed. He leans sideways and I lift his legs.
“Do you want to get changed?”
“I’m fine.” He waves away the idea, clearly tired. “I’m just going to rest for a moment and Bianca will come to help me later. With the tea and all her opinions.” He rolls his eyes, but there is adoration behind his comment.
I kiss his forehead.
“Sit with me for a moment, Brook.”
I perch by his side and he squeezes my hand. “I hope Dom finds a way out of this mess. Roberta Montgomery hurt your mother a lot, but I never forgave myself for being the reason for their feud. I’m sorry the old witch reached out to hurt you now.”
“She’s not hurting me, Daddy.”
“Your mommy wanted to reconcile with her so badly. She valued family and was too kind, overlooking their betrayal. She always wished they could have a relationship.”
His words hit me with a wave of regret. Is he telling me I should have made more effort over the years? That my mommy valued family and I didn’t?
“Don’t worry, Daddy, I can find a fake husband and flip her off.” It’s easier to crack a joke than to face the truth.
We both laugh, but Dad gets serious. “I’m sorry I drew you away. It’s one of the biggest regrets of my life.”
So he isn’t blaming me, but himself. God, why do I always project blame on myself?
No blinking can save me anymore and a tear escapes, rolling warmly down my cheek. “You didn’t—”
“I had my hand in the way things turned out back then and I’m sorry about it. I hope to stick around for many more years, but this illness has made me realize what’s what. Time with people who matter is up there as the most important thing. And I robbed us both of that. And I’m afraid I might have robbed you of more than father/daughter time.”
I can’t stand facing him, so I scoot closer and lie beside him. He wraps his arm around me and I rest my cheek on his chest.
This way, I can let the stupid tears fall.
Is he right? I’ve never assigned much responsibility to him for what happened before I left New York.
That one night when he caught us kissing, he was trying to protect me. It was just normal parental behavior. Protecting his baby girl.
At seventeen, I didn’t recognize it as such, but in retrospect even if he hadn’t caught us, things would have turned out the same regardless.
There is another man to blame for what happened. Not that I care anymore. It’s been too long.
But now I’m thinking about that kiss and my body gets all warm, and I want to sit up and step away because being aroused—am I aroused?—while I’m hugging my dad is the last thing I want to feel.
“I’m here now, Daddy. My decision to stay in England after my graduation had nothing to do with you. I only wish I would have come home more often.”
But I was scared. Too scared to spend any time in this house filled with memories I fought long and hard to bury as deep as possible.
I’m still avoiding his room and it’s been almost ten years. Some things can’t be fixed with any amount of therapy.
Dad doesn’t respond, and after a moment, wrapped in the memories I wished I could erase, I realize his breathing has evened out.
I lift my head and sure enough he’s dozed off. Standing up carefully, I kiss his cheek and leave the room.
“How are you feeling, kitten?” I hear Finn ask Paris as I come downstairs.
“I discovered I have an evil grandmother, but otherwise we’re good. Hunter and Dom are pouring through the will if you want to join them.” She sighs.
While I was gone, Syd’s fiancé must have also arrived. I head to the kitchen to join my sisters and Mom.
They are gathered around the large square kitchen island, drinking Mom’s lemonade. I guess the men are in the sitting room with the damn binder.
“Dad fell asleep.” I open a cabinet to get a wine glass. Fuck the lemonade.
“Here, darling.” Mom hands me a bottle of Chardonnay. “Anyone else?”
The three other women refuse. I’m not sure what Syd’s reason is, but Lo doesn’t drink because Dom abstains, and Paris obviously doesn’t drink because she’s pregnant.
I raise the bottle toward Mom, but she shakes her head.
Once again the outsider, I pour myself a generous portion and gulp it down, trying to make a point.
Not sure what point, but here we are. They expect me to act out, so I do.
I lift the bottle for a refill when the doorbell sounds. Mom frowns and leaves to get the door. She normally has a housekeeper to do it, but when family is home, she always sends the housekeeper away early.
London scoffs at me and opens her mouth, but then thinks better of it. Like for a moment, she actually recognized that I might need some liquid reinforcement.
“How long do we have to stay married?” I ask.
“For a year, and Rupert decides if the marriage is legit. I guess divorcing within a year might be considered a scam? I don’t know. We need to talk to him after Dominic decides what the next move is.” London shrugs and turns to the kitchen’s arched entrance.
“It’s the day of ghosts,” she exclaims. “Hey, little bro.”
I set my glass down so I don’t drop it and draw attention to myself. I need to disappear to deal with my heart pulsing in my temple.
The kitchen gets incredibly hot suddenly, and somehow dimmer and brighter at the same time.
The universe certainly decided to fuck with me today. Big time.
It’s like thinking about that kiss conjured him in real life. Seeing the man—because he is no longer the boy I’ve tried to forget—many other memories rush to consume me.
To eat away at all my defenses. To destroy my barely maintained composure.
Because on a shitty day like today I can’t catch a break, and the boy I used to love has shown up out of nowhere.
I shake my head, but no… Of all the fucked-up images my mind devises, this particular vision is a cruel reality.
Baldo fucking Cassinetti is truly standing in our childhood home’s kitchen.
My first love.
The boy who broke my heart.
My stepbrother.