by Zoe Carter
Her green eyes widen in disbelief, but then she shrugs, probably unable to believe her good fortune. I am throwing my prize lamb to the wolves, and she knows it. “Of course. What are friends for?”
“Thank you so much, Jess. I really appreciate it.”
I watch as one of the most stunning women in the Hamptons approaches my husband, scarlet waves and jaunty breasts bouncing in tandem. Warwick has always been helpless in the wake of a charming, beautiful woman, and it’s no different now. I pinch myself to keep from laughing as my husband puffs out his chest, standing a bit taller. As jealous as he is over me, he would bend her over his mother’s veranda in a heartbeat if he thought he could get away with it.
With his ego pleasantly occupied, I can slip away and check on Elliot.
But as I round the veranda, I see something that turns my blood to ice. My breath catches in my throat.
It’s Caleb. He’s cradling Maisey’s face in his hands like it’s a precious gift, a rare and lovely jewel. As I stare at them, unable to move, he draws her in for a kiss, and their bodies melt together like lovers.
My sister’s fingers are on the back of his head, pulling him in, and I remember the sorrow on his face when he spoke to me in the nursery. How sincere he’d seemed when he’d declared his undying love for me. What a crock. He was full of shit then and he’s full of shit now. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that people don’t change.
Maisey has to learn the truth about our perfect stepbrother. The question is, do I tell her now in front of him, or should I wait until we’re alone?
It’s one thing to lead me on. My heart dissolved into dust a long time ago. But Maisey? She’s still so innocent, so sweet. She probably believes in true love and all that other crap. I hold tightly to the sides of my dress to keep from ripping my stepbrother’s face off. I shouldn’t be surprised. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. It’s a cliché because it’s true.
An image of his father invades my brain again. Peter. Peter ruined everything. Everything that happened that summer was his fault.
I bite my lip to keep from screaming. If I had a gun, Caleb would be dead right now, partying with his sainted father in the burning pits of hell. How can he do this to us? Why is he doing this to us?
There’s a part of me that’s tempted to let Maisey fight her own battles for a change. I’d never asked to be my sister’s caregiver. I was still a child when my father died. It wasn’t fair to put that responsibility on my small shoulders.
But if not me, who else? Alice certainly hadn’t been capable, and somehow Dad had known that. He’d predicted she’d fall apart the minute he was gone, and that no one would be able to put her together again.
“Sarah?”
Warwick sidles up from behind, silent as a serpent, wrapping his arms around me before I can escape. “What are you doing out here? You should be entertaining our guests.”
His body heat is stifling. It’s too humid for this kind of contact, and I feel suffocated, but he’s not holding me out of affection. The more I struggle to pull away, the tighter his grip. My feeble attempts to resist are exciting him, and he grinds his erection into my ass.
Then he sees why I’m standing there in the dark. He laughs, his voice low and triumphant in my ear. “Well, isn’t that interesting. I didn’t know they were a couple.”
“They’re not. At least, they weren’t.” Hoping to hide the tremor in my voice, I strive to sound indignant. “He’s our brother. We’ve known him since we were children.”
“Stepbrother,” my husband corrects, dragging me away. “Let’s give them some privacy. There are lots of people waiting to congratulate you, starting with me. I was thinking about showing you the new painting in Father’s den. You haven’t seen it yet, have you?”
He grins, leaving no doubt about his actual intentions. Damn it. It’s my own stupid fault for siccing Jessica on him. Now he’s all hot and bothered and he expects me to take care of it. Perhaps he’d like to experience what it feels like to get a dildo shoved up his own ass. I regret not bringing one to the party. That would be quite a celebration indeed.
My strength has left me, so I let Warwick walk me back to the party, the silk of my dress growing damp under his hand.
“It’s too bad, though.”
Wallowing in my own misery, I’m startled by the sound of my husband’s voice. “What is?”
“I quite like your sister. She’s smart. She has spirit. But your stepbrother...” Warwick shakes his head. “He’s weird. I’ve never been able to warm up to him. She deserves better, if you ask me.”
Damn Maisey and Caleb. Why did I have to run into them? If everything had gone as planned, I’d be with my son by now.
Elliot...
In my frustration, I free myself from Warwick’s grasping hands. Shit. I’d forgotten I’m supposed to be drug-addled, weakened and confused, his obedient rag doll.
His eyes narrow. “You seem tense, darling. Stress of the party getting to you?”
“I’m worried about Elliot. My mother isn’t the most reliable person, as you’ve noticed. If you’d let me check on him, I’ll be a much better host.”
If I’d expected to awaken some kind of protective instinct in my husband, I would have been deeply disappointed. “Would you stop obsessing over him? He’ll be fine.” A vein I haven’t noticed before throbs on Warwick’s temple. “It’s not like Alice is dancing the polka with him. She’s keeping an eye on him while he sleeps. You really need to loosen up. No boy likes to have his mother hovering over him constantly. Trust me on that.”
Someone sucks in a breath, a gasp that makes us both spin around to see who it is.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Genny stands a few feet away, looking mortified. Warwick grins, the threat gone from his voice. “Don’t be ridiculous. You could never intrude, Genny dear. We’re always thrilled to see you...aren’t we, darling?”
At a loss for words, I perform my bobbing-head-on-a-stick routine. Smile and nod. Nod and smile.
“And how are you enjoying the party?” my husband asks, linking arms with both of us as we venture back into the wonderland from hell. I have no choice but to follow along, at least for the time being. My confrontation with Caleb will have to wait. And sadly, Elliot will, too. I send up a silent prayer that he’ll be okay.
“It’s lovely. Everything’s so pretty. I can’t get over it. That’s why I was looking for you. I wanted to congratulate you both.”
“Well, that’s very kind of you. Did you hear that, honey?” Warwick jostles me, his body blocking Genny’s view so she can’t see how aggressive he’s being. “Isn’t that nice?”
“Very nice,” I manage. My mouth is so dry my lips stick to my teeth. I probably look terrifying, like one of those mummies whose teeth are forever exposed in a grimace.
“You could both use another glass of champagne. I’ll be right back. Try not to miss me too much.”
It’s a relief when he goes. I sink into a chair, hating my husband more than ever, but even worse is the critical voice inside my head that wonders if he’s right. Am I smothering Elliot? Will my drive to protect him just end up hurting him? Will he grow to resent me like Warwick resents Eleanor?
“Are you all right? You’re not looking so well.”
To my dismay, Genny takes the seat next to mine. Instead of her usual gloating, though, she sounds genuinely concerned. But maybe she’s acting, too. There appears to be no shortage of Academy Award contenders around here.
“I’m fine.” My mouth wavers as I struggle to hold the smile in place. “It’s been a long day, that’s all.”
“I can understand that, but is everything okay with Warwick? It looked like he—”
“Here you are, ladies. Just what the doctor ordered.” My husband hands her
a glass of champagne, but Genny hesitates before taking it. I hold my breath. If she says something to him now, he’ll never believe I didn’t betray him. And betrayal is an unforgivable sin in the Taylor-Cox clan. You can beat your wives and neglect your children—just don’t ever talk about it, for the love of God.
Eleanor’s fairy lights are reflected in the champagne, glittering like stars. The effect is magical, and yet, there’s something wrong. I bring the glass closer and sniff. There’s an odd, acrid odor and it’s not bubbling so much as foaming.
Looking up from the glass, I find Warwick glaring at me. He recovers nicely, raising his own champagne in the air. “To Elliot, the new heir of the Taylor-Cox clan.”
“To Elliot,” we respond, clinking our glasses with his. There’s no choice but to drink. As soon as Warwick turns his head, I pour the rest of my champagne under the table, hoping they won’t hear the noise over the music. They don’t.
My mind reels as I watch my husband chatter away with Genny, doing his best to charm her. I no longer find him the slightest bit attractive. Though I hadn’t been under any illusion that his Mr. Nice Guy act was legit when I’d married him, I’d since seen levels of depravity from Warwick I’d never thought possible.
My eyelids are already growing heavier. My brain feels fuzzy, and I shake my head to clear it, nearly toppling off my chair. Damn. Whatever he used, it was strong. I didn’t drink more than a couple of sips.
“Whoa. Careful there, my lady.” Warwick steadies me, propping me upright. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you’re cut off.”
I look at Genny but her face blurs in front of me, becoming two women and then three. I want to beg her to help me, to tell her there is something wrong.
But what was it again? For the life of me, I can’t remember what I was so worried about.
“What’s wrong with Sarah?”
“She’s fine. Just had a bit too much to drink. It’s my fault, I’m afraid.” Warwick pats my hand. “That last glass of champers pushed her over the edge.”
Help, my mind screams. Save me from Warwick. He drugged me; he’s evil.
Every time I try to form the words, my tongue swells in my mouth. It’s exhausting. It’s too much: the party, the music, the glitter. The wonderland begins to spin, faster and faster, until I have to shut my eyes.
I retreat into the darkness, pulling away from Warwick, grateful to escape.
* * *
A low rumble awakens me. As I struggle to sit up, a blinding pain shoots through my head. What’s wrong with me? Where am I?
Tears have dried on my cheeks and my mouth feels like it’s coated with glue. Water. Have to get water.
This time I brace my hands against the mattress, slowly rolling into a sitting position. Wincing at the sunlight streaming through the windows, I hear something mutter next to me.
Warwick is passed out beside me, mouth open as he snores. How did I get here? What happened?
A sliver of memory returns to me. Warwick had been attached to my hip, never letting me out of his sight. Whenever we had a moment to ourselves, he whispered in my ear, telling me what he’d like to do to me when the party ended. I’d ignored him, thinking only of Elliot Then he gave me that glass of champagne...
Elliot!
When I slide out of bed, a cry of pain escapes my lips. My body feels battered, as if hot embers have been pushed inside. My nerve endings shriek, outraged. I’m not surprised to find I’m naked under the sheets, though I can’t recall getting undressed. That asshole.
Clinging to the headboard, I ease myself off the bed and stagger to my closet, careful to keep my legs as far apart as possible as I walk. I pass a tattered heap of clothing on the floor and vaguely recognize it as the remains of the designer dress I’d worn to Eleanor’s party.
From the quality of the light coming into the room, it’s late morning, perhaps even the early afternoon. Why did no one wake me? Where is everyone? I move faster now, growing more and more frantic about my son.
Pausing to slip on a nightgown, I tiptoe from the room, trying my best not to wake Warwick. Hopefully he wouldn’t be sadistic enough to prevent me from going to Elliot now, but I wasn’t willing to gamble on it.
My arms ache to hold my little boy. I’ve missed him so much. The past evening had lasted an eternity. Thank God it was over. I’m tired of entertaining, tired of pretending the life we live is anything worth celebrating. As soon as everyone leaves, Warwick and I are going to have a nice long chat. One thing I know for sure—things can’t remain the way they are.
The silence of the house is eerie. Hurrying down the hall as fast as I can manage, I wonder again where everyone is. I can’t even hear the staff bustling around, chatting while they work, and they’re always here.
The door to the nursery stands open, the room beyond it dim. The mobile over Elliot’s crib tinkles a tuneless lullaby. Dread weighs heavy on my heart. Something is wrong. I tell myself not to be silly, but call it a mother’s instinct or whatever you like, I know I’m right.
Bracing for the worst, I approach my son’s crib.
It’s empty.
Unable to accept it, I tear the bedding aside, ripping his sheet from the sleeping pad and throwing it on the floor. His giraffe tumbles out of the crib and lands at my feet, looking astonished.
In my panic, I call for the one person who’s supposed to love my son as much as I do. At the moment, none of our other issues seem important. “Warwick!” My chest constricts with fear. “Warwick.”
Soon I hear his feet slapping against the hardwood floor. He appears in the doorway clutching a sheet around his waist, his chest bare. “What is it? What’s the problem?”
“The baby—he’s gone. Elliot is gone.” Pacing the room, I’m tempted to destroy it, but there’s no point. Elliot can’t even crawl yet. He’s not going to be hiding under the crib or in the closet. Someone must have taken him. Alice! Oh, my God, not Elliot. Not my little boy. If Mother did something to him, I’ll kill her. I turn on my husband with a ferocity that makes him retreat a few steps. “I told you it wasn’t safe to leave him with Alice. And now look what’s happened. This is your fault. You should have listened to me.”
His eyes widen. “You really think your mother would hurt Elliot? That’s crazy, Sarah. She’s his grandmother. And why are you freaking out?” Warwick indicates the bedding strewn over the carpet. “So he’s not in his crib, so what? That’s not an immediate reason to panic. I’m sure he’s fine.”
“You’re always sure he’s fine. That’s the problem. Now he’s not fine anymore. Does that make you happy?”
“Of course not. What are you talking about?” Warwick frowns. “This is nuts. You don’t even know where he is. Did you try to find him before you started screaming your head off?”
“No one would take him somewhere without checking with me. They know better than that.” But as I say the words, I’m already second-guessing myself. Maybe Warwick told everyone not to wake me. Maybe Alice decided to take Elliot out onto the veranda with her.
Warwick is correct. There are lots of innocent explanations. But dread still has my heart clutched in his freezing fingers. Elliot is in trouble—I’d bet my life on it.
“I heard screaming. What’s going on?” Bridget appears beside Warwick, her forehead creased with worry. She stares at the mess I’ve made of my son’s crib. “Sarah, what are you doing?”
“She’s been having a fit, is what she’s been doing.” Warwick readjusts the sheet around his waist, pulling it tighter. “Maybe you can talk some sense into her, because I give up.”
“Where is Elliot?” I ask her, near tears. “Please, tell me you know where he is.”
“Of course I know where he is. I wouldn’t let anyone run off with him. You know me better than that.” Bridget puts an arm around me and hugs m
e to her. “Your son’s just fine. You were both out so late we didn’t want to wake you. I fed Elliot and your sister took him for a walk along the beach.” Seeing how panicked I look, she hands me a tissue and rubs my arm. “Oh, you poor sweet thing. I’m so sorry. I should have known this would frighten you, to find his crib empty like that. I just figured I’d hear when you were up and about.”
Warwick shoots me a look of disgust, his upper lip curling. “I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to get a grip. I’m going back to bed. The next time you decide someone has kidnapped our son, call someone else.”
Resting a hand on my back, Bridget helps me to the rocking chair. “I really am sorry. I wouldn’t have let them go if I’d guessed it would scare you this much. But your sister seems to know you better than I do. She must have figured you’d be worried. See, she left you a note.” Bridget bends to retrieve the folded square of paper from the carpet. “I’m surprised you didn’t see it when you came in. I left it right there on the mattress.”
Somehow that doesn’t set my mind at ease. My common sense is warring with my mother’s instinct, saying I should stop being silly, fearful of everything.
But as soon as I read it, it’s obvious my instincts were right.
The wind is blowing, Sarah. Soon the bough will break.
“What is it? What does it say?”
It was Maisey. It’s been Maisey all along.
The realization makes me nauseous. I’d trusted her—confided in her, told her everything. How could she betray me, the one who’d looked after her? The one person who’d always protected her, no matter the cost?
Bridget tries to block me from leaving, but I shove past her, crumpling the note and throwing it at her feet. “Tell Warwick,” I yell over my shoulder as I rush out of the room. “Tell him our son is in danger.”
It’s going to be some work to convince him, especially since he now apparently believes I’m the hysterical mother who cried wolf. But the note should help. Hopefully he’ll get that it’s not a joke.
