When Luce’s tears finally dry, I reach over and pluck some additional Kleenex for her. She blows her nose carefully, and seeing that makes me want to both hold her tighter and break Karl’s nose.
She gives me a wan smile. “Thanks.”
Her face is blotchy, her nose red. Her previously impeccable makeup is smeared with tears, the mascara smudged around her bloodshot eyes. The butterfly pins I gave her hang limply in her messed-up hair. The sight of them makes my blood boil again. Death is too good for Karl. She was nervous, but somewhat optimistic about the party. She relaxed some more after meeting my sisters-in-law. She should’ve shone at the event, enjoyed herself.
Instead, she can’t even go back to it. I don’t know if she can go to work on Monday. It looks like her cheek’s going to bruise. Her lip is busted, and I don’t know how long that will take to heal.
If it were me, I could claim Griffin hit me too hard by mistake when we were sparring. But Luce doesn’t have such a convenient excuse. People are going to stare and wonder, and she’ll hate that. Although she acts like whispers don’t bother her, the slight tensing of her jaw and shoulders says otherwise.
“Guess the party’s over,” she says quietly.
“We’ll throw another one.” I keep my tone light.
“Yeah.”
“And I’ll make sure Karl never attends it.” I still don’t know how the asshole crashed the party, but I’m going to find out. And fire the security team hired for the event. Actually, that isn’t enough. I’m going to sue them into oblivion.
“Thanks.” She gives me another smile, a better one this time. “Can you help me get up? I want to change, but my legs are asleep.”
I adjust my hold on her and help her stand. She teeters slightly. I crouch down, untie the stiletto straps around her ankles and pull the heels off her feet. “Better?”
“Much. Thank you.”
I find myself hovering. Maybe I should give her some space, but everything inside me rebels at the idea of leaving her alone when she’s vulnerable. She’s safe in our home—or should be—but damn it, I thought she was safe earlier too.
She grabs a nightshirt out of the closet and goes into the bathroom. I park myself on the bench and watch the door, fantasizing about inventive ways I can destroy Karl.
Something clatters inside, followed by a sharp inhale.
“Are you okay?” I move toward the door. She might’ve tripped. Shit. I should’ve been—
“I’m fine!” She doesn’t sound like she’s in pain. “I’m just…a mess.”
Guess she saw her reflection. I want to soothe her, but I’m not sure if more tenderness is what she needs right now, especially after all that crying.
“You should see the other guy,” I say, overly casual.
There’s a beat of silence, then a small giggle. “What happened to Karl?”
“He, uh, fell down some stairs. And then ran into a couple of doorknobs.”
“Gosh, that’s too bad.”
“Hey, shit happens when you don’t exercise good judgment.”
She makes a little go on noise, but she doesn’t need to know the details. Hell, I probably don’t remember everything myself. I was too furious to care about anything except kicking his ass.
She comes out of the bathroom, still fully dressed. Her hair’s down completely, the pins gone. “Um. I need your help. I can’t reach the top of my zipper. My back’s a little too sore.” Then she turns around, pulling her hair to one side.
The top half of her outfit is made of sheer white material. As I tug at the zipper and pull it down, the dress parts. What I see puts a red haze over my vision again.
Purplish bars mar her otherwise smooth and flawless skin. She must’ve really slammed into the shelves when Karl hit her.
The damage I’ve dealt him isn’t even close to evening the scales. But they’ll be even—and more—by the time I’m done with him.
She slips into the bathroom when the zipper’s undone. I pace as rage roils through me.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out.
–Emmett: All good and taken care of.
–Grant: If anybody noticed you weren’t around, they didn’t say. They probably assumed you were doing newlywed things.
Good. Even if anybody wanted to probe, Grant would make sure they kept their curiosity to themselves. He’s affable and friendly because he knows people want him to be a good guy, but he unleashes his inner asshole when necessary.
–Me: Thanks.
–Nicholas: How’s Lucie holding up?
–Me: Better than expected, considering. But I still feel like I haven’t done enough.
My brothers will know exactly what I mean.
–Griffin: I just want you to know that after you left, I kind of tripped over him.
–Huxley: I’ve never heard a man hit a note that high.
I smile at the text. Griffin is an excellent kickboxer.
–Noah: Take photos of her bruises. In case Mister Shoulda-been-worm-food tries to do something. Like sue, or get the police involved.
Noah’s probably right, but I’m not going to ask Luce. She’s been traumatized enough. So let Karl try. I wasn’t kidding about destroying him if he doesn’t stay away. Actually, I’m going to go ahead and do that anyway, since it’s the least he deserves. He should have every bone in his body pulverized.
When I recall how Luce blamed herself, I wish I could grab that asshole now and throw him from the roof of a skyscraper. I don’t think Karl actually hit her before. She wouldn’t have been in shock for so long if it was a common occurrence. But that doesn’t mean he treated her with dignity and respect, either.
I read somewhere that victims sometimes blame themselves because they want to believe the world is logical and they need to cling to the belief that bad situations can be avoided if they themselves do better. But I loathed the way she took that whole weight on to her shoulders. Her tears ripped at my heart.
It was all I could do to maintain control—she needs me to be her rock, not some raving maniac.
–Me: Thanks. That won’t be necessary. I’ll do it my way. She’s my wife.
–Nicholas: I thought you’re still upset about her forcing you to marry her? You want us to quit buying up the Peery Diamonds shares?
I scowl.
–Me: That’s a separate issue.
–Nicholas: Got it.
Despite his response, I wonder if he really does get it. He isn’t the most relationship-savvy guy. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be pining over some girl to the point that he’s getting advice from Noah on what to do.
–Emmett: Need help avenging your wife?
–Huxley: I can come up with something creative.
–Me: Thanks, but I’ve got this one. Believe me.
–Noah: FYI, he gambles a lot. And loses. He owes a ton of money to one of the casinos he frequents, and unless I’m mistaken, the place is connected to the mob. If he doesn’t cough up the cash, it won’t end well for him.
That’s a lot of information he’s gathered about Karl.
–Emmett: How do you know so much already?
–Noah: Research. God created social media for a reason.
–Griffin: God most definitely did NOT create social media.
–Noah: You could win the Nobel Prize if you spent more time on social media for research, Griff. Anyway, what I’m saying is that even if you do nothing, he might disappear all on his own.
–Me: They collect their debts, and I’ll collect mine.
Luce comes out of the bathroom. She’s in a night T-shirt that ends a few inches above her knees. Her hair’s a little damp, but the makeup’s gone, and she doesn’t look as blotchy as before, although her eyes are still bloodshot.
I put my phone away. Is she the type to lick her wounds alone? I don’t want to leave her side. “Do you need anything?”
She hesitates. Then she finally nods, wrapping her hand over her other elbow awkwardly. “Can you just hold me tonight?”
“Of course,” I say, the tension easing. “Let me change. I’ll be right back.”
* * *
The next morning, I open my eyes then blink a little. The bedroom smells like flowers and lavender…like Luce. I turn my head and watch her sleep. She must have been exhausted. She hasn’t stirred even once.
Probably needs the sleep to recover from the trauma. Fucking Karl.
I stay in bed for a while, listening to her breathing. It’s even and slow, and she clings to me like she knows she’ll be safe. The fact that she trusts me to protect her sends an indescribable sense of tenderness through me.
When my stomach starts to growl, I get up carefully and pad down to the kitchen. Matthias is off, so it’s just me and Luce for the day. I start some coffee and head to the pantry to grab English muffins. The area has been cleaned and tidied up. Most likely Nicholas’s doing. My brothers are great, but they aren’t the neatest, except for him. And Amy definitely wouldn’t have done it—cleaning isn’t her thing.
I toast the muffins, pull out some jam and butter and check my phone for messages. There are multiple texts from my brothers.
–Noah: Did you see this?
He includes a link to some article by The Hollywood News. It’s a notorious gossip site, most of it crap.
Love Gone Wrong? the headline reads.
I can feel my brow knitting as I scroll down. A photo of me and Luce last night. And…Gabriella? Why was she here? I didn’t invite her, and Luce had no reason to either.
Crashing a party simply isn’t Gabriella’s style. She’s too proud to go to an event where she isn’t going to be adored and fêted.
Did some asshole at The Hollywood News Photoshop this? I look carefully, but it’s impossible to tell. These days, you can fake anything, including videos.
The text that accompanies the pictures claims that after Luce stole me from Gabriella—the “reporter” doesn’t believe what the latter said about there being no man stealing—I apparently realized that I didn’t want to give up Gabriella and invited her to the party for a “rendezvous.” According to a “source close to the couple,” the reason Luce disappeared for the rest of the party is because she caught me and Gabriella together. The writer’s certain we’re going to have an ugly divorce, and Gabriella has to decide if she wants to take back the man who left her for another woman.
This is malicious, even for The Hollywood News. But what’s disturbing is that nobody with any connection to media was at the party. The staff who catered and took care of security were all vetted and clean.
So. That leaves the guests.
Who would hate Luce enough to do this?
Karl.
Damn it. I should’ve broken his phone last night.
–Nicholas: So easy to be a “journalist” these days.
–Huxley: That’s why we have defamation lawsuits.
–Noah: Careful. The Streisand effect and all.
–Huxley: You may not have to sue. Just mention Bollea v. Gawker, and they’ll cave.
–Griffin: Isn’t that the lawsuit that bankrupted Gawker?
–Huxley: Yup. Fuck around and find out. It isn’t that expensive to bankroll a lawsuit like that.
It’s tempting. Luce could see the article and stress. She was so anxious about the party. She doesn’t need this.
The doorbell rings. I glance at the grandfather clock in the living room—9:48 a.m. Who’s visiting this early? Did Luce hear the chime, too? It was pretty loud.
It rings again. Better not be some “journalists” wanting comments.
I check the security panel screen, then scowl when I see Mom’s chauffeur by the gates.
What does she want?
I let the car through, then wait by the main door so they don’t hit the bell again and disturb Luce.
Mom’s Phantom pulls into the driveway. The chauffeur jumps out and opens her door. She climbs out, gorgeously attired in a sleeveless black-and-white dress that shows off the body she spends hours in the gym to maintain. Her ears glitter with four diamonds each, and clusters of sapphires and diamonds sparkle on her throat. Her hands are covered with thin black gloves that come all the way to her elbows.
What’s gotten into her now? This is her I’m here to complain about the injustice of the world mode. The only “injustice” I can think of is the fact that she can’t control her funds, and I’ve made some adjustments to how the Comtois family trusts distribute money. But that’s what she gets for trying to backstab me.
Travis climbs out after her. He’s in a neutral beige sports jacket, white button-down shirt and buck-hide-colored slacks. There’s a medium-thick gold chain around his neck and a thick ring with the Comtois family insignia on his finger, like he’s desperate to show the world he’s one of us.
He’s here to lend her his support. Not sure why he’s bothering, since he’s never been able to influence my decisions. Perhaps in his mind he’s a father figure to me, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Just because he married my mom doesn’t make him my dad, and I only tolerate him because it would upset her if I didn’t.
Still, he’s trying. Somebody give him pompoms.
“Mother,” I say impassively.
“Sebastian.” She smiles and runs her gaze over my white T-shirt and gray sweatpants. “Don’t you look at home?”
I don’t bother to feign a smile. “I am at home.”
“Aren’t you going to invite us in?”
“If you promise to be quiet.”
“You know your mother. She doesn’t raise her voice,” Travis says.
He’s either deaf or a liar. Probably both. Mom tries to act calm and placid in public, but she has a temper that rivals an active volcano—loud, fiery and destructive.
“I didn’t ask you, Travis,” I say.
“Of course I’ll be quiet. What kind of unmannered barbarian do you think I am?” Mom says stiffly.
Since she wouldn’t have put on her battle gear just to leave meekly, I let her and Travis in. I pour myself some coffee, but don’t offer them any.
“I’d like some tea,” Mom calls out, taking the armchair in the living room. She crosses her leg, right over left. She’s feeling justified about her issues and confident they’ll be resolved to her satisfaction.
Travis sits to her right, the view of the garden behind him. He pats Mom’s hand. There, there. It’s going to be okay, love. I’m here for you.
I gag inwardly.
“We don’t drink tea,” I say as I sit with my back to the kitchen. I saw various types in the pantry.
Her expression cools. “Then coffee?”
“I didn’t make enough for guests. No advance notice.” Get the hint and tell me why you’re here. Or better yet, leave.
“It’s rude for you to have coffee without offering me any.”
“Believe me, it’s better than my talking to you without coffee.”
That shuts her up. She knows I don’t do well without my morning brew. “Fine,” she says, taking a composing breath. “This is about you.”
“Me.” I let the word sit there and sip my coffee.
“I know you’re upset, and I can see why you didn’t invite any of us to your wedding. Although it was quite unfair, considering you invited Ted!”
“He is the father of the groom,” I say dryly.
“You don’t even like him.”
“I don’t, but he’s not a formal enemy.” I give her a meaningful look.
She blanches, then catches herself. But it’s too late. Her unintended reaction seems to fuel her rage over the injustice she suffered at my hand. “You made us sign papers! You could’ve at least invited us to the party last night! It was so embarrassing.”
Of course, this is about her all-important public image. “Don’t worry. No one knew that none of you were invited. People probably assumed you couldn’t come.”
“Which makes us look ungracious!”
“Then tell them the truth. And keep your voice down, Mother. You sound like a banshee with an air horn.” I don’t want her waking Luce up over this stupid stuff.
“I do not sound like a banshee!” Mom hisses. “And what you suggested would also make us look ungracious!”
“What do you want me to do about it?” I drain the last bit of coffee from my mug. There isn’t enough coffee in the world for this inanity. “I’m not going to decide the particular way that you should look ungracious.”
“You never used to be like this, Sebastian.” Her lower lip trembles. Her gaze is fixed on my reflection in the glass-top coffee table.
Travis reaches over and squeezes her hand. “She’s been distraught for weeks.” His tone is halfway between chiding and pleading, which only serves to irritate me. Mom and I don’t need a sycophantic middleman to communicate.
I lean forward, pointedly excluding Travis, and say in a low voice, “You backstabbed me, and you expected nothing to change?”
“But you don’t have to be so mean.” She pouts. It used to work well, but that was before.
“And you didn’t have to betray me. Now, if you’re done wasting my time—”
“I’m not finished,” Mom interjects quickly. “We need to talk about Preston.”
“What did he do now?” I pause for a second. “Did he run to you and ask you to intervene on his behalf so he doesn’t have to honor the wager?”
“What wager?” Her confusion seems genuine, but she’s a pretty decent actress.
“He and his ‘girlfriend’ challenged Luce and me to a tennis match. The losers were supposed to get on their knees and say, ‘We are not worthy,’ ten times. While genuflecting.”
Mom’s jaw slackens. She knows how well I play.
Travis’s expression remains blank. But then, he knows very little. His only saving grace is he has good instincts, and right now he’s doing a fine job of blending into the background.
“He and his girlfriend didn’t get a single point,” I say.
She squeezes her eyes shut.
“And both ran like their pants were on fire after the match.”
Her chest heaves as she blinks and tries to think of something to say. Finally, she flicks her hand dismissively. “It isn’t about that.”
“Then what is it about?” Preston always has issues.
“You can’t cut him off.”
“Why not?”
“He’s your brother, Sebastian.”
“Half-brother.” I resent that we’re related at all. Brothers are supposed to be fun, smart and cool—somebody you can count on. Like my Lasker half-brothers. Not somebody whose messes you have to clean up over and over again.
“He looks up to you,” Mom says.
“Well, I am taller.”
“You know what I mean.”
“We can agree to disagree.” Amicable, that’s me.
“What you did hurt him.” She’s in I’m going to say my piece no matter what mode.
“Why? Did he have to get a job?”
“Sebastian. Have a little sympathy. He just wants to have a carefree life.”
“What he wants is an irresponsible life with no purpose or benefit to society. I won’t be an enabler.”
“I never asked you to! But you won’t even let us help him!” She clutches her chest dramatically.
“Because you coddle and enable him. Why do you think I wanted to control the family funds?”
Mom gasps. “You’re such a cruel child!”
“Finally! A point we can agree on!” Now is she going to go away? And take Travis while she’s at it?
“I raised you better than this!”
“I’m the best I can be, Mother.”
“I am not ‘Mother.’ I’m Mom!” She knows the distinction I place on the words. Mom is someone I like. Mother is the woman who gave birth to me.
“Right now, I don’t like you very much.”
Her chest starts heaving again. “Because I want you to share a tiny percentage of your money with your brother?”
“He didn’t earn it.”
Suddenly her eyes light up. What the… I turn around and see Luce coming down the stairs. She’s changed into a loose spring dress in yellow.
When she turns, revealing her bruised face, Mom gasps. I grip my mug hard, anger and sympathy surging equally. Luce’s cheek looks much worse in the light. Like a semi ran over half her face.
“Oh my goodness! What happened to you?” Mom’s words come out in a soft breath.
“Well…” Luce smiles awkwardly. “Hello, Marie.”
“Your face,” Mom says again, pointing with a shaking finger.
“It looks worse than it is,” Luce says, then clears her throat.
Mom turns toward me. She stares like she doesn’t recognize me. Travis’s thumb twitches over his phone, like he’s debating if he should call 911.
Are they serious? “It wasn’t me!”
Mom seems shaken, but Travis is skeptical. Bet that asshole wishes I was a woman beater, so he could blackmail me with it on Mom’s behalf.
“There was an accident at the party,” Luce says. “But Sebastian took good care of me.”
“Well. If… Um… All right. That’s good. That’s very good,” Mom says. “But if you ever need anything, anyone to talk to, you know my number.”
“Thank you.” Luce comes over to me and places a hand on my shoulder.
The gesture seems to reassure Mom a little, and disappoint Travis. God save me from my “family.”
“So. To what do we owe the honor? I didn’t realize you were coming over,” Luce says.
“It’s about Preston,” Mom answers quickly. “Sebastian has cut him off, quite cruelly, I might add. Families don’t do that to each other.” She spreads her arms beseechingly. “Maybe you can make him understand.”
“I heard some of what you were saying earlier,” Luce says.
I knew it! Mom was too loud.
“Marie, I happen to agree with Sebastian. I don’t know why you would think I’d side with Preston. In case you’ve forgotten, seeing him in bed with my half-sister is permanently etched into my brain.” Luce reaches over and threads her fingers with mine. I squeeze gently, enjoying the united front we’re creating.
Mom and Travis have the decency to blush.
“If you’re here to insist that Sebastian give Preston money he doesn’t deserve,” Luce says, “I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“I’ve never…” Mom jumps to her feet and huffs, but she’s smart enough to retreat when she knows she isn’t going to win.
Travis stands and puts a hand on her elbow. “Let’s go, Marie. Maybe we can come back when they’ve had time to think things over.”
“Come back when Preston can part the Red Sea!” I call out at their retreating backs.
Once we’re alone, Luce and I go to the kitchen. I make more coffee. “Sorry about that,” I say as the aroma of the well-roasted beans fills the air.
“It’s okay. I’m surprised your mom is so unfair about you and Preston.”
“He’s her favorite. Everyone in the family loves him because he’s the fun one.”
“He is…?” Her eyebrows pull together in confusion. “Then why did your family refuse to let me marry you?”
“They wanted him to have Sebastian Jewelry. If he didn’t marry you, he wouldn’t have had anything.” My fury with my family surges again. The idea of Luce with Preston is profane. I’ll break his face if he dares to touch her.
“But that isn’t what they said. They told me you were ‘too good’ for me, and offered Preston. If they wanted to justify giving Preston Sebastian Jewelry, they didn’t have to put it that way. Same thing if they cared about him more than you.”
“That’s true, they didn’t.” Hmm. My family acknowledges I’m an excellent executive, and they love the money I make. But they never think I’m “too good.” They didn’t think it was big deal to throw me to Luce when Preston screwed up. “There must’ve been some kind of misunderstanding.” I shake my head. “Nobody’s ‘too good.’ Everyone gets what they deserve.” I serve her coffee.
“Thanks.” She takes a few sips. “Regardless, it isn’t right they don’t treat you fairly. Even if Preston hadn’t cheated on me, I wouldn’t have wanted him to be anywhere near the Sebastian Peery collaboration.”
“You would’ve married him if he hadn’t cheated on you.” The idea immediately roots itself in my head, a mental worm impossible to dislodge.
She gives me a look. “That isn’t even close to what I just said. But yes. I might’ve gone ahead even if he’d cheated, so long as he wasn’t caught with my half-sister.”
“You want him that much?” Searing acid eats away at my belly. I shouldn’t have settled for just cutting Preston off. I should’ve wrung his neck for being an idiot and a generally irritating presence in my life.
“Wanted him? No. What I needed was a husband who’d sign the paper you did after the wedding. My so-called ‘family’ has been living well off my trust fund, and I wanted to put a stop to it. Surely you can understand that.”
Karl and her half-sister are both pieces of work, but that doesn’t lessen the burning sensation in my gut. “I do, but I don’t have to like it that you were engaged to my half-brother.”
She runs a soothing hand down my arm. “Then let’s thank God that I married you instead. To be honest, I like you better.” She smiles, then sips the coffee.
As I mull over her motivation for this marriage, something else strikes me. “What about your father?” From what I can gather, Roderick seems somewhat decent.
Her expression cools. “He’s a sperm donor. If I could, I’d give back the genetic material I got from him.”
“Why do you hate him so much? His devotion to your mother is legendary. He won’t even remarry because he can’t forget her.”
She laughs humorlessly. “People don’t know what he’s really like. He cheated on my mom ever since I was a little kid. Probably even before. She just looked the other way because she wanted to feel loved.”
Jesus. “I’m sorry.” My initial distrust of him was warranted. I hate him for his unfaithfulness and hurting not only his wife but Luce throughout the years. At least my father never married. It’s sad when somebody can make Ted Lasker look like a decent human being by comparison.
Luce shrugs. “I’m never going to let myself be blind to a man’s disrespect because of love. When I give my love to someone, it’ll be a man who deserves it.”
“Like who?” She must have someone in mind.
“I don’t know.” Her wedding band winks under the light. I remember when we exchanged vows…and how brilliantly and openly she smiled…
Jason the Judge. She claimed he was just a friend, but friends don’t smile at friends the way she did.
“But you were thinking about marrying Preston anyway,” I say, although what I really want to know is why she didn’t marry Jason Choi in the first place. Was he not rich enough? Too much history?
The question lodges in my throat. It’s like I’m apprehensive about her response.
Me? Fearful of a few words? Ridiculous!
“I would’ve divorced him as soon as I got what I wanted,” Luce says. “The marriage was just a means to an end.”
So she was planning to divorce Preston. It should make me happy, but my mood sinks lower. To her, this marriage is just a convenient way to get something. A legal necessity.
I don’t know why the idea bothers me so much when I already understood that. You’d have to be a fool to think this union was meant to last forever.
But it disturbs me anyway, and I hate it that I’m bothered at all.
