Chapter 13 #2
“Her name is Ella. She is Mara Brooks’s stepdaughter, and I know from a source that Mara is mistreating her and also embezzling money through her firm. I cannot tell you more without putting your safety at risk.”
“Please. I have had a target on my back since the day I married your father. Come on, Tristan, tell me. Let me help you.” I run my hand over my chin. Could she?
It would not hurt to have society’s sculptor at the tip of my hand.
“She’s indebted, heavily, to the Vodianovs.” Mother rests a palm over her mouth, fear passing through her gaze, fear for a woman she does not even consider a friend.
“You have to help her.” Helping Mara Brook? That’s the funniest thing I heard in a while.
“She’s lying in the bed she made.”
“But if she does not pay them back, they will…”
“This is not why I came. You asked me, and I told you. Now it’s your turn.”
“Well,” she says, playing with her multiple silver bracelets, “what do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
She sighs. “She seemed delighted by her daughters and would often talk about her house and the various decorating projects she had going on. As for her marriage, she would just…complain, you know, about him leaving the dishwasher open, walking in the house with his shoes on, which, by the way, should be illegal, but of course you know that, honey. As for her firm, she would talk about projects, name-dropping big names from the West Coast, celebrities sometimes. There was a lot of talk about the size of each project and how much work she had, but honestly, I never saw a picture of anything she ever mentioned. None.”
“Alright. And about Ella?”
“Ella? Oh, right. Well, I’m sorry, honey, but she never mentioned her.
Not even once. It is as if the poor girl never existed.
” I uncross my arms and walk toward the glass wall, taking in the last sunlight of the day.
I hope Ella is reading right now, lying in the comfort of her room, safe and sound.
Steps come closer, a hand resting on my shoulder.
“I want to help you. Tell me what is going on,” she says softly, like she used too, and I am grateful for her gesture, even if opening up is not in my vocabulary.
The patio is large, stretching along the side of the house, filled with sofas, plants, Persian rugs, and a wide wooden table with chairs and a taxidermy peacock in the opposite corner.
Running a hand over my nape, I shift in her direction.
“She’s…” I start, but the word stops. She is a smart and kind young woman who, despite not having a voice, is actually the most perceptive and communicative person I have ever met.
Her ability to pierce my soul with her innocent gaze disarms me, and I find myself on the edge of collapse, knowing that I am falling for a woman who has been far too hurt and needs care and attention, and I am not sure I will be able to provide all that she needs while protecting her from my world.
I am falling for a silent princess, Mother.
A woman more royal than royalty itself. The words are there, almost invading the air. But I cannot say them. I just cannot.
I have never fallen for a woman, never strayed my attention from work, never let anybody in. The armor I built over my bones is crumbling a little more each time I think of her, and I do not know who I will be or what I will become capable of if she takes place beneath my ribs.
“Love,” Mother murmurs, looking at me like I have a halo above my head.
“I was afraid you would never allow yourself…” She exhales sharply.
“How… I have to… Give me a minute.” She turns her face exaggeratedly, wiping something from her cheek before coming back to me with glossy eyes.
“Forgive me, Tristan, but what is the matter, then? Why isn’t she with you? ”
“It’s complicated.”
“It always is.” She looks as if she is reminiscing about a fond memory of a lost battle. “Tell me.”
“She used to study at university. English lit. But her stepmother cut her funds and got her to work for her at home, serving and cleaning for her and her sisters. Her father does not know. The man has been on bed rest for years. She is also mute, which I gather can be quite isolating, especially given her situation.” Mother’s gaze darkens.
Yes. Mara Brooks lied about her annoying husband, when in fact she was spoiling the reputation of a dying man.
If she did, what else did she lie about?
“Like…Maddie?”
“Yeah, she can hear too, so exactly like Maddie.” A kind veil passes over her face, as if she is already looking forward to meeting Ella, to adding this person to her close circle, to helping her granddaughter feel more normal.
“Now that I think about it, I remember her asking me several times about Theodore’s passing. She asked me twice if it was from natural causes.” The mention of my father still cuts me in half, torn between disgust, anger, and a strange mix of gratefulness for the legacy he left me.
“Did she?”
“Um-hum. She seemed concerned about whether or not he had died of old age.”
“And what did you say?”
“The truth. That your dad had succumbed to a stroke, one no one ever saw coming. And then…” She exhales, braving the memory.
“Then she never asked again.” Could Mara Brooks be trying to kill her rich, dying husband?
Was she thinking my mother had proceeded this way?
Disgust fills my mouth at the thought of this woman.
There is no doubt she is a walking red flag with the word danger written in black Sharpie across her forehead.
If she is capable of this, what else is she capable of?
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I tell her, the last word unfamiliar, taking her by surprise for a second before she slides her mask back on. “Thank you for telling me.”
“She’s still coming to the ball, you know that, right? Her firm has contributed, not in large sums, but still, every year to the children’s hospital,” she explains. “She’ll be there. She RSVP’d a week ago, with her two daughters.”
“Two,” I trail off. Two, as if my Ella does not even exist.
“I’m sorry, Tristan. I just thought you should know. Do you want me to leave them at the door?”
“Would you?”
“For you?” She scoffs, her voice frail and low. “There isn’t a tomb I wouldn’t dance on if you asked me, love.” Swiftly, she winces into an imperceptible smile. “Do you think she might be in trouble?” I look back at my watch, welcoming the evening hours bridging me closer to her.
“Trouble doesn’t cover it.”
“Then make sure, make sure she’s safe.”
“There’s something else. And whatever anyone thinks, it won’t change a thing, but you have to be aware. I met Ella at work. She was, she still is, cleaning my offices at night, working the night shift. That is where we met.”
“So she is…a maid?” Mother murmurs, index finger on her lips. A second stretches. What she is about to say will determine her place in my life from now on.
Not Ella’s. Hers. I won’t have anyone say a word about the most striking and kind young woman I have ever met.
“She is, but it will end soon. I will make sure to help her get back to her studies.”
“Why isn’t it done already?” She arches a brow, challenging my ability to provide, which turns a feral part of me, frustrated with the situation.
“She refused my help. Said she wanted to earn her way out.”
“Um. No wonder you fell for her,” she snaps with a repressed laugh.
“I always thought those actresses and models were too soft for you.” Removing an invisible thread from her thigh, she continues, “Ella. What a lovely name. Make sure she’s here next week, at the ball.
I’ll talk to her.” The masquerade ball. Mother’s annual charity event, the social night of Westhaven, where businessmen meet celebrities, and investors drown themselves in champagne while bidding for pieces of memorabilia, and actresses auction themselves for dinner dates.
All for the children’s hospital my mother is a patron of.
A nightmare. At least Mother is eager to meet Ella, which is already a relief.
I did not want to have to straighten things out with anyone I care about.
“It’s not safe. Cole’s intel could be anywhere, hidden among the guests.
If they see her, they could…” I stop, fist above my mouth.
“I cannot allow such a risk.” I have already been reckless enough by walking with her outside, then to the library.
If it were up to me, the whole world would know that she is…
mine, and she could get a bullet in the heart for it.
Cole will aim at the heart. He said it, word for word.