by Alice Ward
“Why did you drive that?” Kylian complained, nodding to the Escalade a few rows away.
I stared at the black family sized vehicle I’d bought so that rentals wouldn’t be necessary. “What’s wrong with it?” I asked the brown-haired boy, who had helped me pick it out less than a year ago. A little boy who was in desperate need of a haircut. I hadn’t mentioned it when I picked the kids up last night, but I deeply hoped he wasn’t going for the greasy rocker look like his stepfather.
He rolled his eyes, his shoulders going even slouchier, his hair falling forward and covering his face. “It’s an old man car, Dad. Don’t you know anything?”
Above me, Kenzie giggled, her soft hands stroking my beard. I looked up at her as I pulled the keys to my old-man vehicle out of my pocket and chirped the doors open. “Do you think I’m old too?”
She pulled my head back and looked down at me with a serious look on her face. She could have easily been a scientist looking through a microscope. “You do have some wrinkles.” I smiled. She still sometimes dropped her r’s, so wrinkles became winkles. She poked the outside of my right eye. “There.” She poked the other side. “And there.” She studied me closely, her hair falling around us. “I think you need to moisturize.”
I laughed. “What do you know about moisturizing, young lady?”
She gave me a look of pure despair. “Oh, Daddy. Mary Jenkins had her birthday party at the spa and we all got our nails done and they put cucumbers on our eyes. We got moisturizer in our goody bag. We got nail polish and other stuff, but the moisturizer had SPF 30 so we don’t get wrinkles like you.”
I frowned up at her. “How old is Mary Jenkins?”
She squeezed my cheeks together until my lips puffed out. “She’s four already, Daddy. You have so much to learn.”
I bent down, causing her to do a flip from my shoulders. She giggled all the way to the ground, the giraffe snug against her chest, the charms of her bracelet tinging together. “I’m trying to learn, honey. I’m trying.”
I patted her bottom, and she skipped the rest of the way to the SUV, her little hand planted firmly in mine. Kylian slammed his door shut while I buckled Kenzie into her booster seat. He was still pissed that I made him ride in the back seat, according to California law. Since he was tall for his age, I didn’t force him into the booster seat I’d purchased.
“Mom doesn’t make me ride in a baby seat,” he sneered the moment he’d seen it last night.
“Well, I’m Dad, and I say—”
“Holy shit,” Danielle had interjected, crossing her arms over her chest. Her breasts were even bigger than the last time I’d seen her. In fact, so were her lips. At least I knew where my child support payments were going. “Can’t you take the icicles out of your balls and break a rule on occasion?”
I gritted my teeth. I didn’t break rules. They were fucking there for a reason. But… my son’s expression had taken on a pleading tone, and against my good judgement, I relented.
Tossing the seat in the back, I’d conceded but made sure he buckled down tight. Kenzie was still in a harness and didn’t complain when I secured her in.
This morning, I’d found the booster seat in the garbage and said nothing. Some fights just weren’t worth it.
Without a look in our direction, Kylian stuffed earbuds into his ears while Kenz instructed to “buckle in Jerry.” I took the giraffe and fastened him in securely while Kylian started nodding his head to whatever music he was listening to way too loud.
I tapped him on the shoulder. “It’s too loud,” I said when the bass of the song poured from his ear canals.
He frowned and yelled. “What?”
I pointed at my own ear. “Too loud.”
He rolled his eyes but didn’t change the volume. He was challenging me at every turn, but there seemed to be something more behind the defiance. I considered my options. I couldn’t let him keep getting away with it. Could I? Damn. Where was my fucking parenting manual?
I pulled the earbud from his ear, and the kid went batshit ballistic. “Hey, that’s mine,” he yelled. “Don’t touch me! Don’t you ever touch me!” He yanked on the cord so hard, the bud ripped off in my hand, leaving the exposed wire to fall to the seat. “Look what you did!” he screamed. “You ruined them. You ruin everything.”
Kenzie began to cry, and I unbuckled her, pulling her from the car while Kylian kicked the passenger seat in front of him, hit the windows with his fists. I shut the car door, Kenzie clinging to me until my son had exhausted himself.
I’d never felt so helpless as in that moment.
The rest of the day was the same. A smiling and happy Kenzie versus a sullen and spiteful Kylian. Each time I tried to talk to my son, all I got was hateful glares, if he even looked my way at all.
It was exhausting. And worrying. And downright annoying at times.
Here I was, the chief executive officer of a Fortune 500 company. I employed over two thousand people all over the world. I’d hit the Hottest Billionaire Bachelors list a few months before I turned thirty last year. And a seven-year-old was cutting me off at my knees. And I had no idea how to stop it or make anything better.
When Kenz was tucked into her pink and purple bedroom after I’d read her four books, because, “I’m four now,” I went in search of my son.
He looked like a starfish, splayed out on his bed, staring at the ceiling like he’d lost his best friend. I sat down beside him but didn’t reach out and touch him. I didn’t want to give him a reason to pull away.
“You okay?” He didn’t answer me, just continued to stare at the ceiling. “Come on, Kyl. You can talk to me, you know?”
Concern flared when tears welled into his eyes. He dropped an arm over his face so I couldn’t see. “Yeah, right. Then you’ll just leave again. Fat good it’ll do me.”
I thought back to the therapy sessions I’d gone through after my mom died suddenly when I was ten. She’d left to go to a charity meeting and never returned home. A drunk driver had veered up on the sidewalk where she’d been walking, ending her life way too soon.
The therapist always fed my concerns back to me in the form of a question, which had been annoying at the time, but after a while, it seemed to work. I’d slowly gotten over my fear of cars, my fear of my father leaving. My fear of sidewalks and people swerving up onto them.
“So, you’re upset that I’ll be leaving on Sunday?”
He shrugged, but from his position, it was more of a flailing of limbs. “Why do you care?”
I pulled his arm down and waited until he looked over at me. “I care because you’re my son and I love you. Tell me what’s going on.”
To my surprise, he started talking. To my surprise, I wasn’t surprised by what I learned.
“Jet’s an asshole.” He shot me a look, daring me to correct his bad language. I let it slide for the moment, knowing I had bigger mountains to climb than the potty-mouthed ones. “And I hate it here.”
“What has Jet been doing?”
Kylian sighed and rolled over until his back was to me. I pulled until he was facing me again.
“He bought me this drum set, then made me practice all the time. Last Saturday, I wanted to go to my friend’s birthday party, but he said I had to practice. Dad, he didn’t let me stop until bedtime.”
I frowned.
There was a terrible, horrible part of me that wanted to say, Well, that isn’t so bad. I wanted to discount his feelings, tell him about all the times my father had pulled out his belt, intent on “whipping the sense” into me.
But there was something else, I sensed it.
“Do you want to play drums?” I asked instead, trying to put myself in his seven-year-old shoes.
“I thought I did, but I don’t anymore.” His voice cracked, and he coughed, clearing his throat. It didn’t work. The next words came out just as ragged. “I don’t want to play the guitar or keyboard either.”
There was something more to this. Something he wa
sn’t telling me. This wasn’t about music or practice. But what was it?
“What aren’t you telling me, Kylian?”
His face crumbled, and he placed his hands over it, holding back the tears and the sobs tearing from his mouth.
It broke my heart.
Moving closer, I tried to pull him to me, hold him like I did just a year ago.
“No!” he screamed and pulled away, rolling from the bed and running to the bathroom. I could hear him cry so hard he threw up, then cry some more.
I was still there when he came out an hour later. His face fell when he opened the door and found me sitting on the side of his bed, waiting. I’d planned on waiting right there all night if needed.
“Kylian, tell me what’s happening, and I’ll do everything in my power to fix it.”
He shook his head, tears dripping down his face and off his chin. “I can’t.” The words were barely audible.
“Why?”
He swiped at his nose with his hand, then finally met my gaze. “I’m not supposed to tell.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Maddie
Monaco shown like a bright jewel in the night as the yacht approached the city. It had been a peaceful two days of lounging on deck, taking in the sun during my last moments of freedom. But it was soon coming to an end as the lights grew brighter with each tick of the clock.
In the night sky, a firework exploded, a gold starburst that erupted over the city. I waited for another, but it didn’t come. Disappointing. Then again, it was late, nearly midnight, or so I thought. I glanced at the clock on the bedside table and was surprised to see that I was wrong. In truth, it was nearly two in the morning. I’d been sitting in this window seat for hours.
I leaned my cheek against the cool glass of the window and pulled the soft lounging robe tighter around me. I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stand the thought of closing my eyes. Each time I did, I dreamed of Prince Vitalievich, but in the dark of my subconscious, he was a monster with wickedly sharp teeth and glowing eyes.
I jumped as the door to my stateroom opened and Mama slipped in, dressed in her gown and robe, her slippers peeking from beneath the long hem.
Her eyes were wide, her breathing rapid as she closed the door softly behind her. Her expression made my heart increase in speed. “What’s—?”
She put her finger to her lips, and I stopped speaking. She held a mug of tea in her hands, but quickly set it on the dresser.
“Are you feeling any better?” she asked, her finger still over her lips.
I stared at her, trying to understand. When she shook her head, I said, “No,” and the look of relief on her expression told me I’d said the right thing.
“I brought you some tea. Maybe that will settle your stomach.”
I stood from the window seat, pulling my robe around me, suddenly cold. “Thank you. Are you okay?”
“Yes, dear, I’m fine.” She waved for me to follow her into the private bathroom, and I did. “How about a nice bath? It should help you feel better.”
She nodded rapidly at me, and I mechanically said, “Thank you. Yes, that’s a good idea,” and she turned the water to the bath on its highest setting. When she turned to face me, her hands on my shoulders, her expression grave, my heart began to pound.
She pulled me close to her. “You need to go,” she whispered directly into my ear, her cold hands on my face as she held me close. “I’ve arranged it all and just received confirmation that the plans were complete.”
I pulled back, my brow furrowed. She slipped her finger over my lips and turned my head until my ear was against her lips again.
“Listen to me closely. In two hours, when the clock strikes four, you will slip from the back of the boat and jump into the water.” She dug into her pocket and pulled out a device. A watch. She pressed it into my hands. Her fingers were trembling when they moved to my face again. “This is set to the exact GPS coordinates you will swim to. It will be a long swim, a half a mile, but you’re strong and it’s the closest I dare get you to land.”
I turned Mama’s face until I was whispering in her ear. “I don’t understand.”
Her breath was hot against my ear. “You will. Listen closely. I have a contact who is helping me get you out of the country. It is very dangerous, but no more dangerous than the life you will live should you stay.”
I nodded, emotion clogging my throat. I thought she didn’t care. I thought she had agreed to my sacrifice. Knowing she was putting her life in danger to save me nearly took me to my knees.
“Not now,” she hissed in my ear. “You can cry later, but now, you must listen.”
I nodded, swallowing the sobs that wanted to escape.
“At exactly four, you will leave this cabin and go to the back of the boat. If anyone tries to stop you, just tell them you’re feeling sick and need some air. You will need to be dressed exactly as you are now to avoid suspicion.”
I looked down at the silk gown I was wearing, a matching robe hanging loosely around me. I nodded.
“It’s vitally important that you make it look like an accident. Lean over the side. Not the back, the side, and pretend to throw up. Then tumble over. Do you understand?”
I nodded, my heartbeat a living thing in my throat.
“When you are in the water, take off the robe so it won’t hold you down. It will most likely sink, but if it doesn’t, it won’t matter. It will be further evidence of your drowning.”
I pulled my head back and stared into her eyes. My drowning? I mouthed.
She pulled me back. “You must die tonight, Madeleina. There is no other way.” A sob escaped her, and she drew in a sharp breath. “After tonight, I can never see you again. We can never be in contact again. Never.”
I clung to my mother as she went on to explain. I would be met by a man at the watch’s GPS coordinates. He would give me further explanations on what to do.
“You will be Madalyn Durand from this day forward, my darling. You are a French-American returning from studying abroad. Your home is New York City. Your specific backstory will be waiting for you in a suitcase, along with clothes and other things you will need. You must read it on your flight, memorize every word, then destroy it.”
I’d never been to America, but I’d heard of the Big Apple, of course. My English tutor had lived in the city for a number of years and often told stories of her life there. She described the taste of the pizza, the smells, the buildings that soared to the sky. “And Central Park,” she’d sighed, her eyes closing with the memory. “If you ever go, you must visit Central Park first. It is the emerald of the city.”
“You will speak your best English,” Mama continued. “You must sound American, but if your French accent slips in, the fact that you studied abroad in Paris will cover it. Your new passport will support the story.”
It was hard to keep up. I’d be meeting a man, he would take me to a hotel where I would change clothes and dye my hair.
“I’ve managed to give you enough American dollars for you to make the trip and be able to live for a few months, but there are jewels sewn into the lining of the bag you’ll be given for the trip. You’ll need to sell those one by one until you get a job and are able to support yourself.”
I pulled back again, searching her face, trying to find answers there. “How?” I whispered. “I have no experience. No talents.”
Mama looked me in the eye, her hands on my face, the blue eyes glowing with love… and pride? The moment was over when she turned my face to whisper, “You will find a way, Madeleina. No, Madalyn. Maddie. You, of all my children, will find a way. Now, I must go. I dare not be gone longer.”
She held me close. I held her too. If what she said was true, this was the last time I’d ever see my mother. “Thank you, Mama. How can I ever repay you for this risk?”
She squeezed me tighter. “By living a good life, Maddie.” Her voice cracked, and she shuddered in my arms. “Marry. Have children of your own. Create your own
future, but never, ever speak of your past, of this night or where you came from. To anyone. Ever. After tonight, Madeleina Birgitta is dead. Let her rest in peace.” She pulled me close and pressed her lips to my cheek. “One day, I hope you will know the lengths a mother will go to to save her child.”
And that was what she was doing. Saving me. I knew it.
“I love you, Mama.”
Her face crumbled, tears escaping to waterfall down her smooth cheeks. “I love you too, my darling. Be well.” She turned to go, but came back, her mouth at my ear again. “Take nothing from this room. Absolutely nothing. The servants will be interviewed. If anything is gone, it will raise suspicions.”
We hugged one last time, tears streaming down our faces. In a louder voice, she said, “I hope you feel better, darling. Let me know if you need anything else.”
Our eyes met. “Thank you. I will.”
Then she was gone, slipping out as quietly as she came.
The next hours were an agony as I swung on an emotional pendulum between hope and fear.
How would I live?
I knew nothing of taking care of myself. Nothing of how to find a job. Or cook ordinary meals. Or do anything that would prove useful in the real world.
But I would be free, and with that freedom came possibilities. As Mama said, I would learn. I had to. I had to make the risk she’d taken to help me escape worth it.
As four o’clock approached, I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face.
I looked into the mirror. “Goodbye, Madeleina Eliza Birgitta,” I whispered to my reflection.
Then I smiled.
I could do this. Would do this. Not just for Mama, but for me.
When it was time, excitement pounded through my system, quickly followed by a shot of adrenaline as I moved to the door. Then I looked back.
I always traveled with my favorite pictures, and there they stood in frames by the bed. My family. My sweet dog, CeeCee, who passed away last year at a ripe old age of sixteen. I stepped toward the photo, wanting to take it with me. Would one picture hurt? Would it matter if a small white terrier’s photo was missing? CeeCee had been my best friend through most of my childhood. Her loss had nearly crippled me, and pain stabbed my stomach as I thought of losing even her memory now.
