Coming Home

by Lydia Michaels

  And this woman destroyed that woman’s family. Evelyn imagined Lucian’s mother and then looked at Tibet. She was dark, beautiful, and quietly dangerous, reminding Evelyn of a black widow spider, nothing like the description of Lucian’s mom. On the other hand, neither was she.

  “She doesn’t sound like me.”

  She smiled. “Then you are like Christos.”

  Why did she have to be like either of them? “I don’t think so.”

  “Really? Christos is brave. He has more fortitude in him than any person I know. No challenge is enough to make him quit without trying. Yet he is terrified of love. He resents having people close to him, because they become liabilities.”

  She was speechless. That was her. Was that what drew Lucian to her? Was she a supplement for the unattainable love of his father? She frowned. “I’m not all that brave.”

  Tibet tilted her head and studied her, a knowing smile on her painted red lips. “The tabloids can be quite harsh at times, but there is also some truth behind them. The media likes to paint the Patras family as better than everyone else. I know what it feels like to come up short in their comparisons.”

  She resented being put in the same category as the woman who broke up a family. “I don’t waste my time with their assumptions.”

  “Eventually you will come out with a statement.”

  “Lucian says that’s up to me.”

  “And what do you plan to say?”

  This woman was indeed a spider. Evelyn didn’t appreciate the sticky sense of being caught in a web. She stood. “I haven’t decided yet. You read the tabloids. You’ll have to wait with the rest of the gossipmongers.”

  Tibet stood and caught her arm. “I’ve offended you. I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”

  Evelyn stared down at the woman’s hand curling softly around her wrist. Lucian loved his mother and that made it difficult to care for Tibet. They’d definitely gotten off on the wrong foot. She stepped back, cutting all physical contact.

  “I think you want to protect Christos the same way I want to protect Lucian. If Christos considers the people he loves a liability, and sees Lucian as a threat, it only proves that he loves his son. I’m glad. But they both have to own their mistakes for anything to change. Your husband taught Lucian everything he knows about being cold and calculating. We won’t stay long. He can either make this right or continue on the way things have always been. I asked Lucian to come here, but if I was wrong and he gets hurt, I’ll never push him toward his father again.”

  A door slammed and they both winced. Tibet sighed. “Christos wants to love, but he doesn’t know how.”

  “Does anyone? Excuse me.”

  Evelyn left the garden room and knocked softly on the doors that led to the den. “Yes?”

  It was Christos. She slid the doors open and sighed at the sight of his haggard expression. Lucian was gone.

  “I suspect you’ll be leaving shortly,” he said.

  She entered the room and settled into a chair. “You fought?”

  He sighed. “It’s the only way we know.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that is the way it’s always been.”

  Looking down at her knees peeking past the hem of her dress, she thought. “You know, my entire life, I never heard my mother say she loved me. I wasn’t quite sure what love was. I saw it as an obligation of attachment. When I met Lucian and, for the first time, actually fell in love, I hated it. It was inconvenient and messy and changed me in ways I wasn’t comfortable with.

  “I denied my feelings, but he insisted the absence of words didn’t negate the truth of sentiment. I didn’t come around until I thought I lost him.” Her mind tracked back to those horrible nights she spent crying for him, hating how much he could hurt her. “He was right. I loved him. Saying so didn’t make the feelings any more true, and bottling them up did nothing to diminish how I felt.”

  Christos watched her as she spoke. The resemblance between him and Lucian was perhaps what made her comfortable speaking to him so candidly. She went on.

  “My mother was sick from the time I was born. Drugs. She was the only influence I ever had. There was plenty about her that I hated, but also plenty I adored. She taught me what not to be as much as she showed me how to survive. When you aren’t given certain things, it’s difficult to miss them. But after meeting Lucian, every time he told me he loved me, I realized, more than any object of value, that was what I wanted most. Love. I finally understood how starved I was for such tenderness. I wanted to hear those words from my mom, to just once know what it felt like to hear that she cared for me the way he did. I never did.”

  “I see why Lucian cares for you. You’re a very intelligent young lady,” Christos said, and she lowered her gaze to hide the heat rising under her cheeks. His voice grew soft, barely audible. “I was not a good father.”

  She gave him a moment for his words to settle in. There was no need to comment. The truth is what it is. She was glad when he went on.

  “I’m proud of the man Lucian’s become, but if I told him that, he’d make some snide comment, discrediting the truth of my words.”

  “We all have defense mechanisms. Nobody wants to be rejected, but love means putting yourself out there. Someone has to take the first step.”

  “I suppose that should be me,” Christos commented, his dark eyes meeting hers.

  “He loves you. I know he does. If he didn’t, the distance between you wouldn’t bother him so much. Hate does not negate love. Indifference is what you need to fear, but I promise you, Lucian is not indifferent toward you.”

  They were quiet for several long minutes. “Do you intend to marry my son?”

  If she hadn’t known Lucian as well as she did, she might have been put off by his father’s bluntness. “He has to ask.”

  “I think,” Christos said quietly, “it would be a novel experience having a daughter I can talk to.”

  She smiled. His compliment was simple and understated, but it gave her a great sense of accomplishment. She met his gaze as if there was an unspoken secret between them. “I think it would be nice to have the same in a parent.”

  “That won’t be possible if Lucian forbids it.”

  He was right. She wouldn’t speak to him if it meant hurting Lucian. Her first loyalty was to him. “You can make sure he doesn’t.”

  They both turned as the door slid open. Lucian appraised the two of them, his eyes narrow and suspicious. “Evelyn. I ordered a car. We’re leaving in a few minutes.”

  Her heart sunk. “You said we could stay the night.”

  Before he could answer, Christos stood. “I’d like to take the two of you to dinner. I know you made other plans, but . . . it would mean a lot to me.”

  Lucian’s jaw ticked. She gave him a pleading look. “I’d like to stay.”

  His eyes shut and his expression looked pained. “Very well. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

  ***

  Dinner was an experience. The cuisine was much like the fare served at the hotel, being that the head chef at Patras was Parisian. Tibet and Lucian were silent for most of the meal, while Christos and Evelyn held up the majority of the conversation.

  Several times she caught Lucian watching them, a perplexed look on his face. They didn’t talk about business. Rather, she spoke of their trip to Ireland and England and how much she loved the island off the coast of Florida.

  Christos complimented her often and smiled with natural affection crinkling his eyes. It was a side, she believed, Lucian had never before seen in his father.

  The ride home was filled with chatter. She often invited Lucian into the conversation, but he only offered up one-word statements. Tibet also seemed to watch them with a sort of disbelief.

  Evelyn saw signs of that stubborn, determined Patras mentality, but compa
red to Lucian, Christos seemed like a big marshmallow. It was so blatantly obvious to her that this man, like his son, was desperate for the connections they’d denied themselves over the years. She was happy to bridge the gap and took great pride in the building connection she sensed between herself and Lucian’s father.

  When they returned to the house, she was still tipsy from dinner and gripped Christos’s arm as their laughter echoed through the foyer.

  “She’s a pistol, Lucian. Don’t let her go,” Christos laughed.

  Lucian’s expression remained blank. “I don’t intend to.” His unaffected tone sobered them.

  Evelyn turned to Christos and said, “Thank you for a lovely evening.”

  He smiled, perhaps a bit sad to see it come to an end. “Anytime, my dear.”

  She said good night and followed Lucian up to their room. When she shut the door, the tension was palpable. “Are you okay?”

  He mumbled something and undid his tie. “You certainly won over my father.”

  She stilled. “Does that aggravate you?”

  “It will aggravate me when he does something typical and hurts your feelings. I know him. This act he’s putting on now isn’t real.”

  “Why? Because it’s incongruent with the man you knew ten years ago? People change, Lucian.”

  “Not him.”

  She tossed her bag on the chair and stilled his hands over the buttons of his shirt. “Your father loves you, Lucian. He’s trying to show you, and you aren’t giving him the opportunity he needs.”

  “Why should I give him anything?”

  “Because you love him too, and this void between the two of you hurts.”

  He sighed and shut his eyes. His forehead came to rest on hers. “How is it you see the parts of me I’ve spent my whole life successfully hiding?”

  “Because I’m like you. Love is scary. But now that I know all the good things it can bring, I’ve changed my position and decided it’s worth the risk. Your father is not the enemy anymore, Lucian. Stop fighting him. Give him a chance before he’s gone. I’d hate to see you haunted with regret.”

  His head tilted, and soft lips traced over hers. “I should strangle him for flirting with you.”

  She drew back. “He was not flirting with me.”

  “Oh yes, he was. It was like you put him under a spell. I only allowed it to go on because it was pissing off Tibet.”

  She laughed. “I don’t get her. She’s . . . it’s like she loves your dad, but he’ll never love her back enough, not by her standards at least. And she knows it.”

  “She’s got a lot to answer for. She’ll never be more than the woman who hurt my mother. I can tolerate her, but I’ll never see past that scarlet letter.”

  Her fingers traced down his throat. “What now?”

  The zipper at her back was dragged down and her dress peeled away. “I’m done with the family stuff for a while. Tomorrow we’ll have breakfast before we leave and I’ll make an effort to play nice so long as you remember which Patras you belong to.”

  Her fingers brushed over the ridge in his pants. “Hmm, here I thought I belonged to myself. Maybe I need a lesson to remind me—”

  His fist gripped her hair and tilted her head back. All words cut off as he pressed his lips to her jaw and nibbled to the soft skin behind her ear. Looking in her eyes, his fingers tightened. “You’re mine, Evelyn. Mine.”

  His mouth closed over her in a total act of possession. Her fingers pulled at his shirt until he had her pinned beneath him on the bed.

  Her clothes were ripped from her body. He spread her thighs and his eyes dilated, going completely black. “You’re soaked.” He grinned wickedly.

  She gazed down at his now-naked body, all sinew and strength. His cock swelled, and with one deep thrust he was driving into her.

  That night he took her completely, irrevocably, and she cherished the sensation of being so thoroughly owned.

  ***

  Breakfast was cordial. Lucian made an effort not to close himself off, and Christos delicately tried to incite conversation. It was sort of precious, seeing two intimidating men struggle to become more than enemies. It would take time, but Evelyn was glad they’d made the trip. This was a big step in the right direction.

  When their car arrived, Christos hugged her. “Don’t stay away too long, you hear?”

  She patted his cheek. “You know you could come to Folsom too.”

  Christos looked at Lucian, who was doing a remarkable job of acting like he hadn’t heard her suggestion. His father glanced back at her, “If we reach that point, I’d count it as a win.”

  “Time,” she whispered and he nodded. “Thank you for having us.”

  “You’re always welcome.”

  Saying good-bye to Tibet was sort of like petting a cactus. She could be soft, but she also had the proven ability to draw blood. She doubted the Patras children would ever fully accept her, but their tolerance of her presence in their father’s life was perhaps enough.

  As the car pulled away, Lucian rested his hand on her knee. “Do you think you’ll hear from him soon?” she asked.

  “I don’t really know what I’d say if he called. This entire trip has been . . . a surprise.”

  “Maybe he finally realizes what he’s been missing all those years away from you three.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Do you regret coming?” she asked, holding her breath.

  “You know . . . I did, but now I’m not sure. It made me happy to see you two get along. My dad doesn’t say much as far as praise, but, the way he looked at you, it made me proud. I think he, in a way, was proud of me too.”

  Chapter 19

  Coming Home

  The jet landed in New York. It was strange being in a city that was not Folsom. There were familiar structures and the same recognizable metropolitan pulse, but they were still very far from home. However, she wasn’t homesick.

  They stayed the night at Lucian’s brownstone in Manhattan because he’d arranged an appointment with a doctor to remove his cast the following day. The narrow house was compact, but luxurious nonetheless. They’d dined at a renowned steak house, and on the way home Evelyn had a sort of epiphany.

  Lucian had so many houses, but she wasn’t sure which was his home. “Where do you live?” she asked as they climbed the steps to the brownstone.

  “Pardon?”

  “You have so many houses. Which one do you consider home?”

  He tilted his head and unlocked the door. “I’m not sure. The estate is my home, but so is the hotel. I love Ireland, but I also love England.”

  She toed off her shoes and faced him. “Is one your favorite?”

  “They’re all different now,” he said shaking his head.

  “Different how?”

  “Whenever I think of Ireland, I’ll think of you singing in the pub. And the ocean off the coast of Florida was never as beautiful as when your toes first touched the water. Artifacts and historic places of England I see with new appreciation, because of seeing them through your eyes. And even my condo in Folsom . . . that’s always been my central home, but when you left it was nothing more than a cell. I think . . . you’re home. Wherever you are is where I want to be.”

  She blinked as emotion snuck up on her. “I feel the same way,” she whispered, going up on her toes to kiss him. “Make love to me, Lucian.”

  He led her up the stairs and together they stripped off their clothes. When their bodies came together it was a joining of souls. He was her shelter. He was her peace.

  She had nothing to offer him other than herself, but that was all he ever seemed to truly want of her. Over the past weeks, she understood so much more about who he was, and for the first time, she saw herself.

  She was no longer a girl, but a woman. No longer was she racing against all odds
to find the security she’d always coveted. She had everything she needed right there in the arms of the man she loved.

  Her body writhed beneath his weight as he filled her. For him, she was a vessel of surrender, and for her he was a tower of strength. She realized home, for either of them, did not come in the shape of walls, but in the sense of heart. He showed her how to love and she, somehow, taught him the same.

  As they lay beneath the shadows of night, holding one another tightly, she thought of all her fears over the years. When would she eat? Where would she sleep? How would she stay warm? Lucian had become a safe harbor for her to always come back to, but he was so much more than the reliable security she assumed she wanted. He was her solace, her happiness, her reason for laughter, and her desire for so much more.

  For the first time in her life, she was able to imagine a future without considering Pearl. She could go wherever she wanted, be whomever she chose. She was free, but held safe. Not out of obligation or because he had become a liability to her heart, but because she wanted him.

  On the nightstand, she saw a felt-tip pen and paper. Lucian’s fingers trailed over her breasts as the two of them gazed at the ceiling in contentment. She reached for the pen and sat up.

  “What are you doing?” he said, grumbling that she interrupted their comfort.

  “Give me your hand.” He held out his right hand. “No, the other one.”

  His brow crinkled, but he gave her the hand covered in the cast. She looked down at the plaster bandage, remembering how frightened she’d been that day. Turning his wrist, she uncapped the pen with her teeth and pressed it to the scratchy surface. Her hand moved with practiced effort.

  MARRY ME

  Lucian looked at her inscription and stilled. His shoulders rose, as he seemed to let out a breath he’d been holding for far too long. When he gazed up at her, there were tears in his eyes, shimmering like dark puddles in the moonlight. He shook his head, a smile pulling at his lips.

  A soft, gravelly laugh slipped past his throat. She didn’t know what was so funny, then he leaned over to his side of the bed and produced a familiar box. It was her ring. “I’ve been lugging this thing around for months, waiting for the right moment, and you beat me to it.”