The Kiss Plot: Book Two of the Quicksilver Trilogy

by French, Nicole

  Celeste hadn’t just given me money. She’d given me and my family absolute freedom.

  “There is absolutely no way my mother would have put that in her will,” Violet was arguing.

  “She’s a nobody!” Calvin practically screamed with her. “The bastard of John Carson and his yellow whore! She’s already made this family a laughingstock once, and Grandmother wants to reward her for it? I won’t have it. None of us will!”

  “Calvin, shut up!” Eric’s voice echoed through the room, a thunderclap in a storm.

  I hadn’t noticed until then just how hard I was gripping his arm, finding it difficult to stand upright on my own. I was light in the head, and certainly in no condition to give Calvin a taste of his own sharp medicine.

  Calvin turned in his chair toward us, and I fought the urge to hide behind Eric’s solid body, which stood taller than ever as he faced the roomful of hatred on my behalf.

  “Eric,” Calvin said. “After what she did—”

  “What did she do, Cal?” he asked. “Got reasonably angry because I kept a secret from her? And then married me anyway to save my face? I was the one who walked out on her, Calvin. If anyone embarrassed the family, it was me, not Jane.”

  “Even so,” Violet chimed in. “She’s not a de Vries. Mother wouldn’t even let Nina take over the chairmanship at DVS because of her last name. There is absolutely no way she would give this much of her personal fortune to…to…someone like her.” She thrust her French-nailed finger at me so viciously I thought the gel tip might fly across the room and ping me in the head.

  “Aunt Violet,” started Eric, the hand around my waist tightening even more.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I finally croaked. Everyone stopped talking and looked at me. “I won’t take it. I don’t want any of it anyway. Not if…not if it’s going to cause this kind of discord.”

  “Well, at least she has some sense,” Calvin grumbled.

  But Eric just frowned and shook his head vehemently. “She’s taking it,” he said. “Jane, don’t argue with me. These people have put you through enough. You’re taking the money, and then you’ll be rid of us, all right?” He looked around at his family. “We’re not married. The license was never signed, and it won’t be. Ever. So we’re going to give Jane this gift that Grandmother intended and let her go. Got it?”

  There was a final grumble, but oddly at the finality in Eric’s voice, everyone turned back to the lawyer, ready to receive the final bombshells in the will.

  “Get on with it,” Calvin snapped again. His face was turning red. “There’s really only one thing anyone here wants to know now. Did she leave the company to Eric, Nina, or decide to ruin us all out of spite?”

  Was it my imagination, or did Nina smart at his words? I blinked, and the next moment, Eric’s cousin was sitting next to her husband as placidly as ever, her smooth face without a ripple of disturbance.

  Everyone turned forward again. Clearly this was the question of the evening.

  The fingers at my waist pulled tensely on the fabric of my dress. Did Eric still want the company? Was he eager to be free? I honestly didn’t know.

  It wasn’t really the company, of course. DVS was a publicly traded corporation, but the de Vries family still held exactly forty-nine percent of its shares—not enough to maintain veto power at board meetings when they wanted, but certainly enough to tank it—and the family’s trust funds—if Celeste had decided to sell it off, as she threatened, instead of bequeathing it to everyone else.

  Tom took a deep breath, looking very much like he wanted to escape out the window behind him. “I’m afraid, Mr. de Vries, the final item may deter your plans for Ms. Lefferts.” He looked down at the will.

  “To my prodigal grandson”—there was a groan from Calvin—“Eric de Vries, I bequeath my shares of De Vries Shipping Corporation under the following stipulations:

  He will assume the chairmanship of the board (with the votes from the board) within two months of this notice and by their vote;

  He will ensure a place on the board of directors for his cousin, Nina Gardner née Astor, and an executive position within the company;

  He will live in congress with one Jane Lefferts Lee, in or out of wedlock by his and her choice, for a period no less than sixty days from November second of this year.”

  Immediately, the room burst into uproar all over again as everyone shouted and yelled about it.

  “So he doesn’t have to be married now?”

  “Sixty days? That’s it?”

  “What in the hell is happening?”

  But Eric was as silent as stone. Instead, he was staring at me, his face pale as the moon and his eyes as wide as craters.

  That fear I had seen before had returned. Panic.

  “She knew,” he whispered. “Fucking hell.”

  “She knew what?” I asked.

  But Eric had no more answers for me. Instead, his gaze shot to Calvin, whose skin had also blanched considerably. “What have you done?” Eric demanded.

  Calvin’s piggish face only turned a few shades whiter, but for once, he remained quiet.

  “No,” Eric said, standing up. He turned to Nina and the rest of them. “We can’t. You…you don’t understand.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Tom said as he held up the will. “It’s what the document says. And I’m sorry to say it, but if you do not comply, I am to arrange for the partitioning and sale of the company shares to the highest bidders and donate the proceeds of the sales to a list of approved charities. If the family wanted to purchase them on their own, I’m afraid even the combined liquid wealth of everyone in this room would not be anywhere near enough to purchase forty-nine percent of DVS.”

  Behind them, Calvin’s face screwed up even more, and in front of him, Nina’s smooth brow crinkled in confusion, mirroring the twin faces of her mother and her aunt.

  “What is going on?” Nina asked as she looked between Eric and Calvin. “Eric, what did Calvin do?”

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” Eric said. “You did this. She was free, Calvin. She was free. Did you tell Grandmother? You did, didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t say a word,” Calvin whispered, though guilt was scribbled all over his face.

  Eric just shook his head, the arm around my waist fell away, and he shuffled toward the door.

  “No, but if you hadn’t told John about her in the first place—” he started.

  “I didn’t tell him anything!”

  “Well, someone did.”

  “Eric, just wait a second—” I tried.

  But before anyone could say anything else—or before I could ask one of the million questions running through my mind—Eric received a text message.

  “We’ll talk about this later,” he said. “I have to go.”

  And then, despite the general uproar in the room, he left.

  Two seconds later, my phone also buzzed in my coat pocket. The message was from an unfamiliar number and was short and terse:

  The old dairy in Central Park.

  Ten minutes.

  The both of you.

  –C

  I stared at it for a long time. It didn’t take a genius to know who had sent it. John Carson. Dear old Dad. Apparently, he had a few things to say to the two of us. Well, I had a few things to say too. And there was no time like the present to get them out.

  Nine

  I burst onto the street still buttoning my cashmere coat, my breath spilling into the chilly November air in bright white plumes. Eric, of course, was nowhere to be seen among the rush of cars and pedestrians on Park Avenue.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I muttered as I looked frantically up and down the street. This was the second time I had chased Eric out of this building just to have missed him. Living in this ridiculous, diamond-lit world was starting to feel like déjà vu.

  “Ms. Jane?”

  I whirled around to find Gracie, the doorman, watching me timidly.

  “He went
straight toward the park, miss,” he said, pointing a white glove westward.

  I swore. Profusely. He must have received the same basic text that I had. Well, fine. I had a few choice words for Daddy Dearest myself. I was about done with him yanking me and Eric all over the fucking city like puppets on a string.

  “Gracie,” I said, turning back around. “Can you tell me the quickest way to get to the old dairy?”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, I’d ruined a perfectly good pair of vintage Givenchy pumps tromping through Central Park. I’d walked around the Met after leaving Celeste’s building with the intent of making my way to the old dairy and waiting there for Eric and John Carson in the shelter of the Dutch-style building. My hair was a frizzy mess from the light drizzle, my gold cat-eye glasses were fogging up, and my toes were soaked from stepping in more than one deceptively deep puddle on the park paths.

  But just as I passed the back end of the Met, the sky really opened up, and rain began to dump.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I said to the clouds. “Really? Now?”

  The clouds, of course only responded by raining harder. I decided my best bet was to walk south to the transverse road crossing the park and grab a cab or bus to the West Side, where I could dry off in the safety of my own apartment.

  But no sooner had I trotted down one of the south-running trails than I stumbled upon the statue of the Polish King Jagiello. And there, sitting on a bench, completely oblivious to the raindrops hanging off the end of his long, straight nose, was Eric. They were a funny pair—the bronze monarch on the horse, swords crossed above his head as he rode into battle; Eric, the despondent heir, head bowed while he twisted a wet brown leaf back and forth between his fingers like a forlorn schoolboy.

  He hadn’t even bothered to put on an overcoat, instead soaking up the cold mid-November rain like a sponge in his Tom Ford. A shame, really. That suit was one of his favorites.

  I paused, no longer caring that my clothes were also getting ruined. Across the path, raindrops bounced off Turtle Pond like bullets breaking skin. Eric, however, just stared moodily at his sad little leaf, completely unaware of my presence or the pounding rain.

  For a moment, all of my anger returned. How could he just sit here like today hadn’t happened? Like the world wasn’t happening? It was the epitome of childish. Was this what he was going to do every time things got hard? Run away and sulk? Maybe it was better that we didn’t stay married. Maybe it was better if I just said hang the money and walked away from him and his completely.

  I started to say just that, but something stopped me. His hand twisted around with the leaf, and in his palm, I caught the telltale glint of gold: the two-faced coin that had hung around his neck for the past several months.

  All of this had something to do with Janus. This secret society. Eric wasn’t a coward by nature. Hell, he was the one who came to me asking for my participation in this charade. Hadn’t he stuck up for me, had my back through all of it?

  Who had his now?

  His hand stopped moving, and the leaf fell to the ground. He continued to stare at the coin, clenching and unclenching his fingers around the quarter-sized metal piece.

  “Well,” I said, shooting for levity but hitting something closer to cynicism as I approached. “If it isn’t the errant heir himself.”

  Eric looked up, seemingly unsurprised to see me. “Hey.”

  I bowed. “How goeth it, my liege?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Don’t call me that. You of all people…”

  I sighed and sat down beside him. My dress and coat were already ruined, so who cared if I had a wet ass? “You’ve been running away from me for weeks, and now you’re going to give me a hard time for jokes?”

  He just sighed and went back to playing with his coin, tipping it between one palm and the other.

  I looked at the sky, which wasn’t letting up. Pieces of my hair were pasted to my cheeks like papier-mâché. Around us, the park was desolate. It felt like the whole city was mourning Celeste’s passing, not just us.

  Absently, Eric pulled on his tie, first on the bottom, then up at the top, loosening its choke around his collar before he went back to playing with the coin and chain.

  “Eric,” I said as kindly as I could, though I was fighting to snatch the thing out of his palm. “I think it’s time you tell me what’s going on. Before we see…him.”

  At that, he finally looked up with a start. “What do you mean ‘we’?”

  “I got a message just after you left. Pops requesting my presence at the dairy. I take it you got the same one, and that’s why you darted out of there?”

  Eric swallowed. “You are not going anywhere near him, Jane.” His voice was quiet, but vehement—the first sign of anything besides despondence.

  “Oh, really?” I said. “I get the feeling our reunion is unavoidable. The scion has been called home, so to speak.”

  Eric shuddered. “You don’t want to know how close that is to the truth.”

  I set a hand on his knee. He shook it off. I frowned.

  “Then maybe you’d better tell me,” I said. “Because I have the sneaking suspicion that if I’d known about all this crap before, we might be in a better spot.”

  “Jane,” Eric said quickly. “You have to know, I never knew who he was to you. I never—Jane, I swear to God, I never knew.”

  Whatever I was expecting, that wasn’t it.

  “I know,” I said. “I believe that, at least. You’ve kept a lot from me, but I can’t believe you’d keep a secret like my paternity. But now that the cat’s out of the bag, you might as well tell me the rest. Who is John Carson to you? Why does the thought of him make you look like you’re planning to dig a tunnel under this weird Polish statue and live there like a Ninja Turtle?”

  Eric just shook his head vehemently. “The less you know, the better.”

  “That is one hundred percent untrue.”

  His eyes turned just a shade darker than the rain clouds above us. “Look. I have some money. My own, not my family’s. Your loans are paid off already, and it should be enough to—to get you started on something else. Whatever that’s going to be. Away from here, Jane. Do you understand? You have to leave.”

  I shook my head stubbornly. “I’m not going anywhere. What is it about my…father”—I practically spit out the word—“that has you acting like a scared fucking rabbit?”

  But instead of replying, or saying anything at all, Eric stood up suddenly and took off into the trees.

  “Goddammit,” I muttered. “Not again.”

  I jogged after him, trying my best to make him out clearly through my rain-smeared lenses as he dodged across the traverse, earning the ire of more than one cabbie in the rain. He walked briskly into the “Ramble,” the horde of trails crisscrossing several acres of the park with no apparent rhyme or reason. The asshole had the privilege of being in much better shape than I was, and he wasn’t wearing heels.

  But apparently I was running on adrenaline.

  “Eric!” I shouted as he turned another bend. I stumbled as one heel broke. “Fuck!” I cried.

  He paused, having clearly heard me, but when he saw that all I suffered from was a broken shoe, he took off once more.

  “You asshole!” I shouted as I kicked off the ruined footwear, picked them up, and started sprinting after him. Once he came into sight, I hurled one shoe at him, which glanced off his shoulder. I wasn’t much of a runner, but at least I could throw.

  “Stop following me, Jane!” he shouted, even though he stumbled a bit.

  “No!” I hurled the other shoe. This one hit the tree in front of him.

  He whirled around. “Yes!”

  “No!”

  I leaped forward, and we both went hurtling into a pile of leaves at the base of a naked birch. We tumbled a good few feet together until both of us were covered with cold, wet leaves and mud. My shoes disappeared somewhere in the soggy refuse along with my glasses. The
world around me grew blurry, but Eric, now close and personal, remained perfectly clear.

  “Goddammit!” he shouted as he pushed me off him. “You never know when to leave well enough alone, do you?”

  “That’s because if I didn’t, you’d just toss me to the wolves, you bastard!” I threw a handful of wet leaves, which hit his shoulder with a splat.

  We were both a disaster now—Eric’s suit was soaked and smeared with dirt; my dress was basically just a mud flap. Why did it always have to come to this? Practically drowning before we could actually talk?

  Eric sat up, his chest heaving.

  “You need to get out of here,” he said in between tortured breaths. “Jane, you need to trust me. Don’t wait around to meet him. Don’t stay. I’ll deposit some money into your account or you can call Skylar and Brandon.”

  “What about your family? What about your company?”

  “I don’t care about any of that, Jane! You just need to go!”

  Before I could protest more, Eric got up and started jogging back into the park, seemingly immune to the torrents of rain. Thunder clapped.

  “What in the hell,” I muttered as I scrambled up and after him. My toes were starting to turn blue. “Eric, wait up!”

  “Stay away from me!”

  I took off, catching him just as he ducked under an arch. “Eric! Shit! Will you just wait?”

  I caught his sleeve just before he could run out of reach. It wasn’t enough to hold me, though, and I fell to the pavement, only to be caught just before I slammed into the sidewalk.

  Eric pulled me upright, and we stared at each other for three long seconds, hands cuffed around each other’s arms, caught in a warped circle of our own making. Streams of water flowed down his beautiful face, drops hanging off his nose, lips, chin, even his eyelashes.

  He scanned my face in the same hungry way.

  Then we both lunged.

  His lips crashed into mine. Or maybe mine crashed into his. Either way, I was swept up in something that was simultaneously like fleeing and coming home. Mine, my subconscious screamed with every angry, hardened bite of his lips and thrash of my body.