39. Sabrina
Everything comes back to black and white, or shades of gray.
If the Mercer mess was a sketch, I’d scribble over it, tear it up, and burn the pieces of paper to ensure it was gone for good.
Nothing left but ash and coal, all the materials needed to birth a new story.
One of a phoenix rising to reclaim his identity and leave behind the lies, betrayal, and pain.
TMZ was vicious. Magnus and Alice were both tarred with a heavy brush of betrayal and infidelity.
Michael’s ignorance was evident in his belief that his spin doctors could manipulate the situation to his advantage.
The journalists Mason had handpicked to dig up dirt in Spain had come through with incredible detail, even after three decades.
Then there were current photos of him with a blonde woman who was not Alice Mercer, along with his long-time reiki therapist, an auburn-haired beauty with a penchant for seafood restaurants in quaint locations like the Amalfi Coast and Mykonos.
All accessed on the MG private jet when it was logged for maintenance.
Page after page of disturbing allegations, surveillance footage, and witness statements.
Mason had effectively buried the whole family under a landslide of muck.
Marin emerged unaffected, remaining stoic in her love for her entire family.
Ever the peacemaker, she asked the press for time and privacy while her family tried to work things out away from the media blowtorch.
An interesting request, considering the woman married a media mogul.
People whose careers he had formed and guided now wanted her exposé.
Nic was the casualty I ached over. The catalyst for this whole cataclysm was the DNA results stemming from bone marrow testing.
Nic and Frazer had fought to keep their precious daughter’s diagnosis a secret from the prying press, and Mason had just shit all over that request. As an outsider, Fraze tried to reassure her that if there was another way for Mason to drop his bomb, he would have.
That Ava’s medical records were omitted or redacted tempered little; Nic was pissed.
The blanket ban they’d put in place when she first fell sick still applied, was her argument, and I see her point of view.
If Caitlin’s health and future outlook were public knowledge for everyone to discuss, she would be devastated.
The sliver of light piercing the darkness from the announcement and very public fallout, is my relationship with Nic, Fraze, and the kids.
While she’s still furious with her younger brother because she refuses to call him uncle, she has kept the lines of communication open via texts and telephone conversations with me.
I surprised her with a gallery visit only yesterday, bringing her some of Helen’s famous spiced sweet potato soup with yoghurt and cardamom crumbs.
Her wide-eyed expression of awe was the most wondrous sight I’d seen in days.
She accepted the thermos of soup and crusty bread for dipping.
As we walked around the gallery space, I couldn’t help but marvel not only at the work on display, but also at how proud she was to gush about the work and artist backstories.
It’s an edgy, hipster space with whitewashed walls and exposed scrubbed red brick in divided sections for contrast and warmth.
“I can see your sketches here, Bri. A series of charcoal and mixed media works: portraits, landscapes. Perhaps some still lifes, as long as Mason isn’t the model.”
“Can you imagine?” I shriek. “He would never do anything so… outrageous.”
“I never thought he’d do what he did at Grandpa’s retirement either,” she adds with a note of solemnity. “But I understand why he did.” Her fingers search for something to occupy them.
We continue to wander, noting different mediums and textures, and how the directional lighting showcases each piece to perfection. With her sharp eye, she’s damn good at what she does, and the bonus? She loves her work. Other than being a mom, this is what she’s most proud of.
“The kids, Fraze and I raise together like any normal, loving parents should. I think in some ways I was sheltered a lot from what went on with Dad, Magnus, and the boys. Here I was thinking it was some elite boys’ club that I didn’t want to be a part of, anyway.
If only I had known how bad it was for Mason, I would have tried harder to be more present. ”
“Nic, you couldn’t have known.” My hand reaches for her trembling one.
“Ugh,” she says, shaking her head. “I knew enough. I saw enough.”
“I think he’s going to be okay, Nic.” It’s more hope than a guarantee. The walls I thought was eroding over time are being bricked up again.
“And that would be thanks to you and Trystan. We can’t thank you both enough for the support you provide him; he’s so lucky to have you both.” She nudges my arm with her own.
“I feel very lucky to have him too.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I want to lasso them back inside. There is nothing like telling your boss’s sister, who is his half-niece, that you’re employed by him to take care of his climaxes rather than contracts.
“And do you? Have him, I mean? I know you work for him, but I get a sense there is more brewing.” Oh, she doesn’t know the half of it. And it won’t be me telling her either. Her smile borders on wicked. Yeah, I’ve seen her uncle smile like that; it’s something in the DNA.
“He’s a fabulous boss and an even better friend, Nic,” I say, averting my eyes because I just know I’m blushing the same color as my dress.
“Bri, he brought you to our family’s home for Thanksgiving and Christmas.
You were at the New Year’s Eve ball with him in that gorgeous gown.
There is way more to this than meets the eye, Sabrina.
Downplay it all you want, but know that in his twenty-nine years of life, he has never once brought anyone over to meet the family.
Not once. Hell, I think Magnus thought he might be gay at some point. ”
I stop mid-swallow. There are worse things to be.
A bigot, a liar, an adulterer. Holy shit.
Now I know why Mason isn’t thrilled to be out of the direct line on Michael’s side.
It’s because he’s terrified of turning out like his actual father, considering one half of his pristine but flawed DNA flows through him.
Magnus Mercer, the old homophobe Trystan refers to, isn’t just a family member; he’s his closest male relative.
“There are worse things than being gay. Or fat.” The words fly out in staunch defense.
Slurs of idiom thrown around a playground with such frivolity, they’re almost common verbiage.
There is nothing common about the scars they leave on their targets, though.
“My brother is gay, and he’s one of the most well-balanced, contented, gentle souls I know.
His partner is family. We love them without prejudice.
Like everyone deserves to be loved.” Tears sting the backs of my eyes.
Her face softens. She was relaying Magnus’s, and probably Michael’s prejudice, not her own.
“I know! I’m friends and colleagues with plenty of gay and bi people.
I have zero issues with same-sex relationships because love is love.
I get it, Bri, but old fuckers like my dad and grandpa…
well, Mason’s dad thinks being gay is the biggest slight.
Stupid, I know, especially in open, progressive times like these.
But that’s in the fabric of who they are. Sad, but true.”
“I despise homophobia in any form,” I fire back, finished with my soup. “And I’m not willing to give that old homophobe any more of our precious time. On a brighter note, I wanted to talk more with you about Mason’s upcoming birthday.”
“The big three-zero. I can’t believe my baby bro is thirty.”
“Uncle,” I correct.
“Will you stop?” she teases, hiding her face with a hand.
“Sure. I know. I’m just finishing up on these two pieces which I’m about to send to the framer.” I angle my phone to show her the progress I’ve made now that I’m not working in any real capacity at Mercer Media.
“Holy shit. You are so talented, Bri.”
Blushing, I power down my phone and smile a deep, whole face smile I haven’t felt like doing in weeks.
“Now, you know he hates dressing up for events and such. I was thinking something way more casual and laid-back.” She nods, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“Cast your mind back to what he loved when he was growing up. Cowboys, superheroes, pirate-themed? Or was he into dinosaurs or cars, or sporty stuff?” She’s quiet for a long moment, her mind remaining blank.
“You know what, I can’t remember Mas having a single birthday party as a child.”
When it was just Trystan and I in the storage room two days before the end of last year, he said all he wanted to do was help Mason forget. “Girl, I’d suck his tortured soul out through the end of his dick if he’d let me. And I’d do it for free.”
I’d do it for free too. Because I want to.
I’m going to tell him how I feel and lay everything out in the open.
That I’m head over heels in love with him and see a future with him.
I couldn’t give a shit about Cartier cuffs and sports cars.
I love Mason Mercer the person, not Mason Mercer the media mogul.
I want to cook dinner for him; a kind of tin can potluck.
To run him baths full of scented bubbles after a long day sailing or trading.
To fall asleep with my head on his chest and wake up in the same position, his arms wrapped around me and skin warm.
I want us to be together because we are drawn to each other by some inexplicable longing.
Not because he’s paying me to satisfy his sexual appetite and chip in to help the secretarial support.
I’ve done the one thing I was warned not to do… I fell in love with my boss.