The Kiss Plot: Book Two of the Quicksilver Trilogy

by French, Nicole

  Eric’s smile didn’t just shine. It fucking lit up the entire room.

  “I need a pen!” he erupted, checking his pockets in vain and jumping around the bathroom like a bean. “Fucking hell, where is a fucking pen?”

  I giggled uncontrollably while I searched my clutch—his sudden mania was contagious. When I managed to find one, Eric swooped down on the document and signed his name with violent flourish. But when he handed it to me, he was tentative.

  “Last out, pretty girl,” he said, though there was no threat in his voice.

  I took the pen and grinned. Hot and cold indeed. Suddenly, I felt like the sun was beaming through me.

  I bent down and signed the document, taking a moment to admire our signatures, side by side.

  “There it is,” Eric murmured from over my shoulder. “Now we’re officially Mr. and Mrs. de Vries. Or we will be on Tuesday when we file it.”

  “Ah, that’s Ms. Lefferts to you,” I said. “I like my name very much, thanks.”

  “I don’t care what you call yourself. As long as you call yourself mine.”

  I grinned into the mirror. We really were ridiculously cheesy, but I couldn’t love it more.

  “Come on,” Eric said. “As much as I’d love to consummate this marriage fully right here like we planned, right now, I just want a first dance with my wife.”

  I beamed at our reflection. A marriage of opposites that somehow matched perfectly.

  “Let’s do it,” I said as his hands spread over the life inside me. “Let’s go toast to new beginnings and the New Year.”

  Thirty

  “The board of directors for De Vries Shipping Industries is proud to announce that we have unanimously elected Eric de Vries, the son of the late Jacob de Vries and grandson of the late Celeste de Vries, as chairman of the board. The board has total faith in Eric’s ability to continue his family’s legacy of guiding DVS toward new horizons of innovation and success. Congratulations, Eric, and welcome.”

  Photography flashes of the several press agents who had been invited to the party went off like fireworks, and the crowd assembled in front of the mainstage erupted with applause as the announcing board member finished his short speech. Eric tipped his glass toward the ceiling, and I just did my best to smile and not cry again. While his eyes sparked with clear pride, the shadow of a smile at his lips whispered of a bashfulness I found utterly endearing. Pride sung through me at this man that I could finally call my own.

  He took my hand and raised it to his mouth while he smiled around, then finally looked at me and truly beamed. I couldn’t help but beam back.

  “Can I tell them?” he murmured through the shouts in front of us.

  I didn’t have to ask about what. His eyes flickered to my stomach, which seemed to flutter in response to how crazy proud the man obviously was of the fact that we were going to have a baby.

  Holy shit. Eric de Vries and Jane Lefferts. Polar Opposites. Married couple. Now expecting?

  I should have been freaking out, but right then, I couldn’t have been happier.

  Celeste must have been crowing in her grave.

  Still, I shook my head. “It’s a little early, yet, don’t you think?”

  A part of me wanted to keep our secret to ourselves. You know, at least until we got used to the idea.

  Eric shrugged as the hubbub died down, and we exited the stage as the band started playing again. It was only a few minutes to midnight, and it still felt like the party had just begun.

  After accepting congratulatory handshakes of at least twenty people, Eric swept me into an easy two step.

  “I’ve had at least five separate people ask me tonight why you aren’t drinking champagne, Lefferts,” he said. “Honestly, I should have already figured it out. I don’t think you’ll be able to hide it long.”

  “Tell them I’m a recovering alcoholic,” I suggested. “There are enough of them here. New York’s upper class is lousy with drunks.”

  Eric snorted, but he couldn’t stop smiling either. Our joy was infectious.

  “Fine,” he said, pulling me closer. “But I’m not keeping this to myself forever, Mrs. de Vries.”

  His smirk told me he was trying to get under my skin with the name. But it didn’t work. Instead I tipped my head up for a kiss, allowing him to be as public with his affection as he wanted about our news. He kissed me for a few beats longer than strictly necessary, ignoring the flashes of cameras.

  “I wish Celeste could see this,” I thought out loud.

  Eric looked surprised for a moment, then nodded. “She would have been very, very satisfied,” he said, chuckling. “But you know, I think maybe she died knowing she was going to get what she wanted anyway.”

  “I think what she wanted was to make you happy,” I replied.

  Before we could ruminate too long on Celeste, we were interrupted by several other people wishing Eric good tidings and best of luck on his new position. The announcement wasn’t a surprise for anyone, but I got the feeling that most people probably thought Eric would be more of a figurehead than an active member, or else wouldn’t assume the position until the beginning of the next fiscal year.

  “Congratulations, Triton.”

  At the sound of the familiar voice, Eric paused mid-conversation with an investor from Connecticut. He rearranged his smile, bid the man good night, then slowly turned around.

  His eyes narrowed. “You’ve seriously got a death wish, Jude.”

  The man otherwise known as “Hermes” stood in front of us wearing a nose brace that covered most of his face. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here at the moment, and I couldn’t help but notice that he kept a solid three feet between himself and Eric.

  Eric’s hand sought mine, and he pulled me securely into his side.

  Jude’s eyes roved over my body. “Your little China doll cleans up well. She’s almost unrecognizable in that finery.”

  “Careful.” Eric’s voice was steel.

  “What are you doing here?” I snapped. I wasn’t nearly so circumspect. “If it’s not obvious, you’re not fucking welcome, you neutered GI-Joe.”

  Eric snorted, but the squeeze of his hand told me he wanted me to be quiet as people glanced at us curiously.

  “I was invited,” Jude said as he bared his teeth in an ugly parody of a smile. “A plus-one, as it were, since Triton—sorry, Eric, since we’re using our given names now—couldn’t be bothered to send his brothers proper invitations. My date…let’s see, where is that little imp…she’s an old family friend. Ah, there she is.”

  He pointed across the hall, and Eric and I followed his gaze to a woman watching us from her spot at one of the tables. The sight of those honey-brown tresses and the twinkling, tasteful jewelry that delicately accented her ice-blue dress made me want to scream.

  Eric stiffened.

  Caitlyn fucking Calvert.

  “I believe you know Catie,” Jude said. “So many of us do, don’t we? She’s a regular Becky Sharp, isn’t she? Even more than this one.”

  I frowned, recognizing the reference to the social climbing heroine of Vanity Fair. “What is he talking about?”

  “Caitlyn is originally from Paterson, New Jersey,” Eric clarified to me. “She was a scholarship student in school with us when she was younger, and at one point, Violet took her in for a while. Celeste sponsored half her education.”

  “Ohhhh.” So much made sense now about that conniving little bitch’s behavior. Her strange obsession with the de Vrieses. Her almost maniacal desire to shove me out of the way. She had wanted nothing more than to become one of them herself, at nearly any cost.

  And that included infiltrating, whether knowingly or not, one of the most illustrious societies at its heart.

  “I think you should return to your date,” Eric said. “I won’t kick you out, but you should know that Jane’s right. You’re not welcome. Neither of you are.”

  Jude shook his head. “I really came to see if you
had changed your mind since our last…altercation.” He cocked his head. “On Titan’s orders. He’s really so much more generous with you than I would be.” His green eyes gleamed with even the possibility of vengeance, but instead he pulled a chain out of a coat pocket and dangled a necklace in front of Eric. One bearing a familiar gold coin.

  “Your choice, Triton. But it’s your last chance.”

  Eric took the coin, fingering it gently. Then he clenched it in his fist and tossed it roughly back at Jude.

  “You can tell John Carson that he needs to stay away from me and mine. And that includes my company. Or else he’s going to suffer consequences too, and he has not yet experienced how creative I can be with my vengeance. Can you deliver that message…Hermes?”

  Jude’s eyes narrowed, but after a moment he held his hands up in surrender. “You’re an idiot, Triton,” he said. “I always thought so. Carson gave you more credit than you deserve.” He stepped backward into the crowd. “Still. I’m going to enjoy this.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  But the big man just turned and walked away.

  Eric turned to me, and for a moment his hands hovered protectively around my waist.

  “Should we call Tony?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “I’m not scared of that asshole. Let’s just enjoy the party. I want to dance some more with my wife.”

  I grinned. But something else was bothering me.

  “I want to call my mom first,” I said, already maneuvering through the crowd to find a place where I could actually hear. Eric followed, giving polite nods and waves as we went.

  “Will she be up?” he wondered after we found a relatively quiet corner.

  “Chicago is an hour behind us,” I said. “And it’s New Year’s. She’s probably at her cousin’s guzzling soju. She’ll be up.”

  Eric nodded and was pulled into a nearby conversation, keeping an eye on me as I swiped over my mother’s number.

  “Please answer, please answer,” I repeated as I listened to it ring.

  I gazed down at my left hand. The rings looked good there. Felt right. In two days, Eric and I could file the papers before our deadline passed and be officially married in the eyes of the state of New York. My mother had been begging me for grandchildren for years. I wasn’t in a hurry to announce it to the party, but this was just the thing to put our drama to bed.

  But, to my utter disappointment, the call went to voicemail. I tried again, and the third time, finally left a message.

  “Eomma,” I said, my voice uncharacteristically small. Once again, I was battling tears—Lord, this pregnancy was going to be an emotional nightmare, I could already tell. I figured I should just name the kid Catharsis and be done with it.

  I turned toward the corner, smiling weakly at some curious onlookers. For a lot of people, this was the first time Eric and I had been seen in public since the wedding.

  “Eomma, I’m sorry,” I whispered emphatically. “But I think this has gone on long enough, don’t you think? I’m so sorry we missed Christmas…but I have things to tell you. We need to make this right.” I sighed and worried my lips, contemplating. “Look, I’m going to come to Chicago. This week, okay? I just…Eric and I have to take care of something on the second, but after that, I’ll be on the first flight there. Eomma, I love you.”

  My voice cracked on the last statement. My mother and I hardly ever said I love you, so it felt cheap somehow to be saying it to a machine. But for some reason, right now, I needed her to know it more than ever.

  “I just want to make sure you’re all right,” I said just before hanging up. And then I stared at the dark screen of my phone for a long time.

  “Everything all right?” Eric unwittingly repeated my last phrase, approaching with a worried look.

  “You know,” I said. “I don’t think it is.”

  Before he could ask why, I was overcome with sudden urgency.

  “I need to go to Chicago,” I said as a strange, chilly sensation crept up my spine. “Something’s happened. Something is wrong.” I looked up. “Eric, I haven’t heard from my mother for almost six weeks. No voicemails. Just texts. She hates to text, I…” I shook my head. “Something happened. I know it.”

  He examined me for a moment, but my concerns must have been written all over my face. The car. The house in Evanston. Her ongoing lack of communication. I didn’t know what was going on, but I had absolutely no doubt that John Carson had something to do with it.

  This was why we had felt so blissfully unbothered for the past month. We weren’t the ones he was bothering. My mother was.

  “I’ll get the jet,” Eric said immediately.

  I blinked. “The jet?”

  He nodded, no sign of a smirk. “Chairman of the board comes with certain privileges. Like use of the company plane.”

  Ten minutes ago, I might have had a sharp comeback about Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, but right now, I was just grateful we had the resources.

  “I need to go home and change,” I said, suddenly moving around awkwardly in my gown. “I’m not going to look for my mother in Jessica Rabbit cosplay.”

  Eric nodded. “I’ll tell Tony to bring the car around.”

  But before we could do anything, a sudden commotion disturbed the party. People scattered as a horde of police officers flooded down the stairs, fronted by several men in black suits who looked, if Hollywood was correct, an awful lot like federal agents.

  They plowed through the crowds, and the band stopped playing. A hum of voices remained, but otherwise, most people stopped talking to watch the squad make their way to us.

  “Eric de Vries?” A tall man with a barrel chest addressed Eric with an utterly no-nonsense tone.

  Eric frowned. “Yes. Is there a problem?” He glanced around. “Can’t be disturbance of the peace. I own the building, and it’s New Year’s Eve. The entire city is up right now.”

  The man pulled out a badge—just as I suspected, he was a bona fide G-Man.

  “Charles Dryden, FBI. Mr. de Vries, you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit securities fraud.”

  Eric’s jaw dropped. “Insider trading? Are you kidding me?”

  “This has to be a misunderstanding,” I said, stepping in front of him. “Eric would never do something like that.”

  But Eric took my arm and pulled me to the side. Dryden raised a hand, and a rush of officers came forward to grab Eric by the arms.

  “Easy!” Eric protested. “Do I look like I’m resisting here?”

  They ignored him, wrenching his arms behind his back in order to handcuff him roughly while Dryden proceeded:

  “Eric de Vries, you have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney and to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed at no cost.”

  “Jane.” Eric’s eyes zeroed in on mine, begging me to watch him. “Jane, call Skylar. Find Nina, and call Skylar and Brandon. Take Tony with you anywhere you go, and do not trust anyone else, do you understand? No one else.”

  I nodded, my lower lip trembling as I walked alongside while they escorted my husband to the street. I fumbled with my phone, unable to make my fingers work as the icy wind caused shivers to sprint violently all over me.

  “I’ll be out tomorrow,” Eric called over the gusts screaming from the Hudson Bay.

  I nodded, unable to speak. This was crazy. I needed to call Zola. Find out what the hell had been happening. Was this what he was trying to tell us?

  We should have run, I thought, over and over again. We should have kept running and never stopped.

  “Jane!” Eric’s voice rang out over the din as he stood in front of the waiting car.

  Our eyes met—brown to gray, earth to steel. His flashed like the stars hidden by the city’s aura.

  “I love you,” he shouted. “The both of you! Don’t
forget it.”

  I nodded frantically, but my voice was stuck.

  “I love you too,” I called back, fighting over the crowds and the drum of my own heart to get the words out. The words I desperately wanted him to know, beyond the shadow of a doubt.

  But it was too late. The cars pulled away, a caravan of police.

  Eric de Vries.

  My lover.

  Fighter.

  Husband.

  Father-to-be.

  Was already gone.

  Postlude

  Cold steel teeth that close.

  A box of gray,

  an icy sky.

  The only thing that saves me is her skin,

  waiting for me

  out there.

  “Cube”

  —a poem from the journal of Eric de Vries

  The angry buzzer sounded as the guard let Eric through the heavy doors that led to one of the visitors’ rooms of Rikers Island correctional facility.

  It was January fourth. Eric had been sitting in this shithole for the last five days. Two while they waited for his arraignment on the second, and three more while he counted down to the trial. Almost an entire two weeks he had to be here, only because Carson, that bastard, had pulled enough strings in the judiciary to have him labeled a flight risk. After all, argued the prosecutor, hadn’t Eric already fled the country once?

  Bullshit. All of it. The newspapers were having a field day—the de Vries heir, the golden prince of New York, rotting in prison not hours after he’d just been crowned king. Fucking fantastic.

  Jane was sitting in one of the clusters of chairs on the other side of the communal visitation room, hands folded at the edge of the wobbly table. She was dressed completely in black, the only color her bright red lips and the twin shade of her thick cat-eye glasses.

  “Don’t cross your legs,” barked the guard as he led Eric to the table.

  Jane started, but obediently uncrossed her legs. It was all Eric could do not to glare at the guy.