Fractured Things (Folkestone Sins Book 2)

by Samantha Lovelock

  Spry waits patiently as I try to decide if I’m going to get out or have him take me home. The decision is made for me though, as the door opens from the outside, and a man I remember as Hendrick, Mr. Halliday’s valet, reaches his hand in for mine.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Bradleigh,” he nods politely in greeting, a small smile on his pleasant face. “Mr. Halliday has asked me to escort you to the study.”

  “Thanks, Hendrick. It is Hendrick, right?” I ask, and he nods. “Might as well get this over with. Lead the way.” I turn and wave goodbye to Spry, my stomach clenching again as the Caddy rolls smoothly away from me down the long driveway. Taking a deep breath in through my nose, I blow it out between my lips, square my shoulders, and follow the valet inside like I’m going into battle.

  Luckily for me, the study is in the opposite wing of the sprawling mansion from the macabre mess at the end of September. Walking the quiet hallways, I let Hendrick get a ways ahead of me as I take in my surroundings. The walls are lined with beautiful framed oil paintings, small gallery-style lights suspended above them, and abstract sculptures are resting on carved pedestals here and there. Something my mother told me once floats to the surface of my memory—the harder it is to figure out what a piece of art is supposed to be, the more expensive it probably is. By her logic, these sculptures must be worth a small fortune. Still, I can’t help but think how cold and impersonal the house is.

  I wonder what it was like for Poe growing up here? How can you actually be a kid in a land of look-but-don’t-touch?

  Like I summoned him with the power of my mind, I turn a corner and walk straight into Poe’s shirtless and sweat-slicked chest as he comes jogging up the stairs from the lower level. Putting my hands up in a natural reaction to steady myself, I find my fingertips lingering longer than necessary, tingling with familiar electricity as they take a tour over his well-defined pecs.

  “Star?”

  His voice snaps me out of my reverie, and I pull my hands away quickly, dropping them to my sides.

  “Hi. Uh, good morning. Or rather, good afternoon, I guess. You know, since it’s after noon.” My features arrange themselves into a stupid grin while I pray for the floor to open up and swallow me whole to save me from further pun-y embarrassment.

  “Did you come to thank me for the ride back to California?” Ignoring my ridiculousness, he cocks his head slightly to one side, slowly licking his kissable lower lip before giving me the sexy sideways grin that’s just so Poe.

  Oh, you want to play that way, huh?

  “Actually, I’m here to see your dad.” His adorable look of surprise that he’s not quite quick enough to hide makes me chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’m not looking to trade you in for an older model.” Shooting him a saucy wink, I move to step around him and head towards Hendrick, who’s waiting for me at a discrete distance down the hall. Before I get more than a step away, Poe’s strong hand lands a light smack on my ass, and his gravelly whisper is next to my ear.

  “Let me know when you’re done with your meeting, and I’ll give you a tour of my bedroom.” My thighs instantly clench, and I smirk without turning around, continuing down the hall.

  “We’ll see, Halliday. I might have other plans.” As I step through the open doorway Hendrick indicates, the sound of a sinfully sexy laugh carries smoothly past the untouchable art and warms my skin.

  Chapter Ten

  Walking into Holt Halliday’s study is like being wrapped in a safe, warm, masculine hug after being lost out in the cold on your own for three days. The exact polar opposite of what I was expecting after the frosty cool of the hallways.

  The room is enormous but somehow still manages to be welcoming, with a high peaked ceiling crossed with thick, dark, wooden beams. This seems to be the furthest corner of the house, and it must have no second floor over it with a ceiling so high. My eyes are drawn to the most massive windows I’ve ever seen, framed by tall trees and affording breathtaking one-hundred-and-eighty-degree views of the water spread out below. Staring in wonder through the huge panes of glass, I immediately recognize where we are.

  This is the house we saw from the boat that night, high up on the cliff and nestled in the lush forest.

  Shifting my gaze to the interior of the study, my book geek heart is giddy at the sight of the built-in bookcases lining two of the walls, the top-most shelves high enough to need a rolling ladder to access them. A wet bar and immense stone fireplace take up the third wall. The light in here is natural and inviting–perfect for curling up in one of the two cozy-looking oversized loveseats facing the hearth and whiling away the day reading. The air smells faintly of leather and wood smoke and some kind of spice that reminds me of fall.

  Seated in a tall executive chair behind a beautiful wooden desk with thick carved legs that look very similar to my closet doors and Roxy’s fireplace mantle is Poe’s father.

  “Stella, how nice to see you.” Standing, he gestures to the two charcoal leather club chairs facing him. “Please, come sit down, and you can ask me whatever questions you’d like.”

  His smile is kind and genuine, and I’m struck by how different he is from most of the men I’ve known throughout my life so far. He exudes confidence, power, and strength, but all tempered with kindness, grace, and humor.

  Crossing the room, I take a seat, though my fingers are itching to explore just a few of the what has to be hundreds of books in here.

  “Do you like to read?” Sitting back down, he leans comfortably back in his chair and gestures towards the bookcases. Slightly embarrassed to have been caught drooling, I feel my cheeks flush. I glance down at my hands in my lap before deciding to answer him honestly, even though it exposes the soft underbelly of the relative poverty of my childhood.

  “I love to read. Books were always an escape, a way to be somewhere else, or someone else for a while. Depending on whether my mom was working that month or not, we couldn’t always afford cable, and going to the movies was a rare treat, but she always made sure I had a library card and trips to swap meets and flea markets meant new to us books to take home.” I pause for a few seconds, remembering, and then speak without thinking. “She would have loved this room.”

  “She did love it.” My eyes fly to his face, wreathed in regret and memories of his own. “This was my father’s study back then, so we didn’t have free run of it. He adored Catherine like a daughter, though, and knew how much she loved books, so he would let her in here pretty much whenever she asked. I can’t even count how many winter evenings I sat in front of the fire, happily just watching her read.” His voice trails off.

  Of course. This house has been in the Halliday family forever. My mother probably spent a lot of time within these rooms when she was young.

  “I’m sorry, that was stupid of me, Mr. Halliday. I don’t know why I thought she’d never been here.” My apology hangs softly between us, the air still and quiet.

  “Please, call me Holt, Stella. Mr. Halliday is for business and people I don’t like. Holt is for family.” Unaware of his words' effect on me, he picks up his phone and taps out a quick text. When his attention returns to me, I’ve managed to kibosh the tears before they fall.

  “Sorry about that. There is something I think you’d like to see. I’ve asked Poe to bring it down.” He stands and stretches his arms behind his back, then moves over to the wet bar and pours himself two fingers of a burnt amber liquid I’m sure is incredibly expensive scotch. “While we wait, you’re more than welcome to see if there’s anything on the shelves that interests you. Would you like a soda or water?”

  “No, thank you, Mr. Hal—I mean, no thank you, Holt,” I smile around his name. “The books, though, those I’m absolutely going to explore.” Jumping up excitedly, my feet carry me to the furthest edge of the bookcases, figuring I should start from the beginning.

  Tracing my hands over the spines, it feels like I’ve been given a great gift. Some of these are old, like old, old—the kind of things I’d never be al
lowed to be this close to in my previous life. The smell of the leather and paper embrace me. There really is something to be said about the scent of books and how the paper feels when you turn the pages. Not that I could have afforded an e-reader before, but even if I could’ve, something tells me my preference would still be for tangible, printed words.

  A perfunctory knock sounds at the door to the study, and Poe strides in, freshly showered and smelling divine, damp hair spiky on top, and his dark t-shirt fitting his torso in a way that makes my mouth water.

  Stop drooling! Good lord, his dad is in the room, and you’re over here getting a lady boner.

  The jackass seems to know precisely what’s going through my mind and leans against Holt’s desk, aiming a smart-ass smirk my way while his eyes flash with his own dirty thoughts. He smoothly hands his dad a book without turning his attention from me.

  I do my best to give him shit by scowling in his direction, but my attempt fails miserably because all he does is throw back his head and laugh. Which, of course, exposes the length of his throat and draws my focus to the line of his strong jaw and the sexy collarbones I suddenly find myself wanting to nibble on.

  Nibble on his collarbones?!? What the hell is this guy doing to me? Why does everything about him make me want to see him naked again?

  The thought of him with no clothes on just makes matters worse, and my face feels like it’s on fire. Tired of him taking the lead, whether he realizes he is or not, I walk over and punch him twice in the upper arm.

  “Hey! What the hell was that for?” He grouses, rubbing the spot where my fist connected, even though we both know it didn’t hurt.

  I lean in close and lower my voice, hoping Holt doesn’t hear.

  “Two for being a pain in my ass. Stop standing there, looking like every girl’s wet dream, please.”

  “Or what?” he asks with a mischievous note in his voice.

  “Or I’m going to punch you again, only this time it won’t be in the arm.” I threaten in a teasing tone, holding my fist in front of me, level with his crotch. “Behave.” He grins at me and shakes his head ever so slightly.

  “Never.”

  My exaggerated eye roll sets him off, laughing again as Holt sets down his drink and comes to join us. The heartache painting his features instantly sobers Poe and I though, and we both straighten up.

  “Stella, your mom and I, well, we accidentally gave each other the same book for Christmas the year she was fifteen, and I was sixteen.” He sits in the leather chair I recently vacated and leans forward, cradling the worn and well-read paperback reverently. “We discovered Edger Allen Poe in English class at school, and both fell in love with his writing. I can’t even count how many times we sat out on the bluffs together, talking about our future.” He looks up at the two of us and smiles, but it’s steeped in loneliness. “She always wanted two kids. No more, no less. She decreed our son would be named Poe in honor of our favorite poet, and our little girl would be named Evangeline, after my mother.”

  Poe and I look at each other in surprise at that revelation, neither of us sure what to say or even if we should say anything at all.

  “Son, throughout her entire pregnancy, your mother never wanted to talk about names. So when you were born, she concerned herself with flirting with the doctor, and I had the nurses add your name to the paperwork before she even held you for the first time. I needed to keep that promise to Catherine, even though you weren’t her son, as silly as that may sound.”

  Poe drags the other chair closer to his father and drops into it, leaning forward in a similar position to Holt’s and putting his hand comfortingly on his shoulder.

  “Dad, it doesn’t sound silly at all. I’m proud to carry my name for her.”

  Something odd in his voice catches my attention. It looks like he’s fighting harder than usual to control his emotions. When his father meets his gaze, there’s a current that passes between them that makes me think I’m missing something. Choosing to set it aside for the time being, I squat down in front of Holt, covering his hands that are still clutching the book, with my much smaller ones.

  “She kept her promise, too. My middle name is Evangeline.”

  His eyes fill with tears as he nods and tries to smile. Slowly, he releases his grip and transfers the paperback to my hands.

  “I thought you might want to see this. To know it came from your mother when she was young and full of dreams.”

  Glancing down at the raven on the cover, the world tilts, and my legs give way, my ass hitting the ground with a thud. Words escape me at first, I’m so surprised. Recognition floods my mind, and another piece of my puzzle clicks into place. Looking up at the two handsome men both staring at me in concern, I swallow hard and lick my lips.

  “I know this book.”

  Sitting on the carpeted floor in the front room, I’m refereeing a very important debate between two of my dolls while my handful of stuffed animals quietly observe. The mid-morning light filters silkily through the window sheers in shades of bright green from the new leaves on the trees in the yard.

  Eventually, my small ears pick up the sound of quiet crying from down the hall, and I elect my brand new floppy dog to accompany me in search of the source. Wandering past the empty kitchen and my tiny princess pink bedroom, I stop in front of my mother’s room and realize the sound is coming from her.

  Hitching up my too-big flannel pajama bottoms, I walk to the edge of her high bed covered by the pretty green and white handmade quilt with red flowers on it and toss my stuffed friend up ahead of me. Using both hands and my bare toes, I climb the side of the box spring and mattress and pull myself up until I’m on my hands and knees. Retrieving my dog, I tuck him under one arm and scoot over until I’m right next to my mother as her body shakes with her soft sobs. Folding my legs to the side, I lean my head against her shoulder and jam my thumb in my mouth even though I know I’m not supposed to do that anymore because four-year-olds are big girls, and big girls don’t suck their thumbs.

  Finally, her sobbing slows, replaced by quiet sighs now and then, and she wraps her arm around my thin shoulders, tucking me tighter against her. Looking down, I see she has a book on her lap, closed now, her fingers tracing the big, black bird on the faded front cover and playing with the worn page edges.

  My thumb comes out of my mouth with a pop as my little hand reaches out to touch the perfect fat teardrop suspended from my mother’s jawline. She captures my wrist gently and peppers my palm with kisses, making me giggle, before setting the book aside and pulling me onto her lap. Burying her face in my hair, we cuddle together on the edge of the big bed, her and I and my floppy stuffed dog, while the bird on the book cover watches over us silently.

  “I have this book. It’s one of the things I brought with me from New York—one of the only things I have of hers.” My words are soft, like part of me is worried if I speak them too loudly, it will scare away the connection slowly growing between my mother’s past and my present self.

  Holt’s eyebrows raise in surprise, and relief lights his deep blue eyes that are so much like his son’s.

  “She kept it?” He asks.

  “She did. It’s been tucked in the back of my closet since she went away. Hasn’t been opened since I was fifteen. I remember her thumbing through it all the time in my younger years, though. Enough that it seemed strange she didn’t take it with her when she left.” At the mention of her leaving, a look of pain flickers across Holt’s face.

  “Stella, I’m so sorry she left you. I really wish things had been different,” he says, the sincerity in his words unmistakable. He reaches down to where I’m sitting on the floor, knees drawn up and back resting against one of the carved legs of his massive desk, and gently runs his hand over my hair. It’s very much something a parent would do to comfort their child, and I’m absurdly grateful for the gesture.

  “Did you ever try to find her?” Something in me blurts out one of the questions I came here to ask befor
e I can put on the brakes.

  Please don’t say no, please don’t say no.

  “For the first year, finding her consumed me. I was almost nineteen and had already been designated as the Halliday Heir, so the resources available to me were considerable. Private investigators chased every lead we found for thirteen months, crisscrossing the entire country.” He sighs and leans back in his chair. “Nothing ever panned out. She was just gone. Like she never existed at all.”

  Covering his eyes with one hand for a few seconds, he takes a deep breath.

  “Eventually, my father sat me down and gave me a speech about family duty and obligation, and put a stop to the search. I know now how much it tore at him to do it–Catherine was the daughter he never had and the girl we all expected to become my wife. At the time, though, my loss and despair colored everything. Foolishly, it made me believe he saw her as replaceable, and I hated him for years because of it.”

  The room is silent, except for the collective sounds of our breathing.

  “Maybe I gave up looking too easily. Maybe I started to believe the whispers in my ear–the ones telling me she left because she didn’t love me anymore.” Shame weighs heavily on his handsome face, and at this point, both Holt and I are having a hard time holding back tears. The only person who seems to be having a different response is Poe. He chokes out a harsh, bitter laugh.

  “Let me guess who was doing the whispering. Good ol’ Eunice. Satan herself. Of course she was, the vile, hateful bitch.” Gritting his teeth, he quickly stands. “I need some air. Star, come find me before you leave?” he asks. I nod in agreement, and he pats his father on the shoulder before stalking out of the room, leaving his dad and me alone.

  “I apologize for Poe’s behav—,” Holt starts.