“I’m not convinced that’s true, but either way Helen does recognize it.”
“If she’s foolish enough to date such a creature, she has to expect me to voice occasional disapproval.”
Cyrus sighed. He hated Ethan. Hated him. Agreed with every negative comment his father had ever made about the young man Helen had been dating for the last year. He did his best to hide his feelings from Helen, however, since he didn’t want it to end up destroying their relationship.
“I don’t suppose you’ve discovered anything worthwhile yet in that regard,” his father said, looking as tired as Cyrus felt.
Cyrus shook his head with that heavy twisting in his gut he always felt about Ethan. “Nothing we don’t already know.”
“He’s not cheating on her?”
“My investigators can’t find any evidence of it.” Cyrus’s fist tightened at just the thought of the selfish, arrogant boy cheating on Helen. “But, if he wants to marry her for her inheritance, he’s not likely to risk alienating her with an affair.”
His father nodded thoughtfully.
They had no proof, of course, that Ethan was pursuing Helen primarily for the fortune she would inherit, but Ethan’s wealthy father had cut him off with nothing, something Cyrus had discovered shortly after the boy had started dating Helen. So he’d always suspected—and his father had as well—that Helen was Ethan’s way back into a life of wealth and ease.
Cyrus was convinced his mind could have been changed if Ethan had shown himself to be a strong, intelligent man and a generous, loving boyfriend. But, in Cyrus’s perspective, he was neither of those things.
“Something will have to be done,” his father said, “I refuse to let that creature marry her and get his hands on her fortune when she turns twenty-one.”
“We still have some time. I’ve always hoped the relationship would end naturally.”
“If it doesn’t end naturally, then something will have to be done.” Drake’s voice had turned almost dangerous. “I will not let him touch her money.”
“I won’t either.” Cyrus felt torn and worried and kind of sick about the whole thing.
“I will do anything to keep that from happening.”
Cyrus held his father’s eyes. “It sounds like things might be cooling between them,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “Helen hasn’t wanted to talk about him for the last month or so, and she sounds kind of depressed.”
Cyrus didn’t want Helen to be sad, but if temporary sorrow meant she would get rid of an unworthy boyfriend, then he was pretty sure it would be worth it.
“Good. If I have to put up with another weekend of that Barnacle constantly pawing at her, then I will have no choice but to run myself through with her Renaissance dagger.”
Cyrus laughed and then left the library in better spirits.
His life had gone downhill in many ways since Helen had started dating Ethan, but at least mutual hatred had brought him closer to his father.
* * *
Cyrus had just gotten another cup of coffee and glanced out the window to see if there was any sign of Helen’s arrival when a voice startled him from down the hall.
“Cyrus,” Helen said, approaching him in a stylish black trench coat and a bright red bag that matched her scarf.
“Hey, kid,” he said, smiling at the sight of her, even as he noticed that her eyes were more shadowed than they should be and her smile wasn’t quite as glowing as it used to be.
She dropped her bag, and he barely managed to put his coffee down on a console table before she hugged him hard.
He hugged her back, a clench in his chest easing as he felt how genuine and needy she felt.
Earlier this year, he’d been worried that her relationship with Ethan would inevitably pull them apart, but things had gotten better in the last few months. They’d talked more on the phone, and Helen had even returned to her old habit of sending him funny little text messages at random times of the day.
She felt like herself now as he held her—not like some distant stranger.
When she pulled away, her long, loose hair got tangled in one of the buttons on his shirt. It took some doing to get it untangled, and by the end Helen was laughing and clinging to the fabric of his shirt.
She wore subtle make-up, diamonds in her ears, and an antique snowflake pendant made of diamonds and one central ruby at her throat. She was thinner than she’d been as a teenager—thinner than he liked to see her, since he assumed the weight loss was Ethan’s influence. So her high cheekbones were sharply sculpted, making her lips look fuller and more sensuous.
He could hardly recognize in the woman in front of him the little girl he’d found on the side of the road nine years ago.
The clever, laughing, green eyes were the same, though, and so was the tender softness of her mouth.
For a moment, Cyrus felt a surge of attraction so strong it blurred his vision, and it only intensified when her hands slid up and down his chest as she tried to smooth out the wrinkles she’d put there.
Her eyes lowered, almost shyly. As he looked down, he noticed the garish ring on her right hand. A gift from Ethan, although thankfully not an engagement ring.
His gut dropped sickeningly, and he stepped back—forcing the attraction down with ruthless insistence. This was Helen. Helen. And, even if she hadn’t been in a relationship with Ethan, she’d still be completely off-limits to him in that way.
He'd done some things he wasn't proud of in his life, but he wasn't willing to descend that far.
“Where’s Ethan?” he asked, saying the name as a reminder and a punishment too.
“Still in the car.” At his questioning look, she tightened her lips. “He’s on the phone.”
Cyrus could read displeasure in her expression, so he assumed for some reason the phone conversation was a point of contention.
“Everything all right?” he asked, very carefully. He wanted to know. Wanted for her to know he was there if she needed any help. But he didn’t want it to seem like he was prying.
She’d made it very clear on more than one occasion that her relationship was none of his business.
“Yeah,” she said. “I guess. It’s just…” She trailed off, looking away and biting her lower lip in a way she used to do as a child.
He had to force himself not to prompt her. Several months ago, when he’d been trying to subtly find out whether Ethan was planning to get a job—since the boy had graduated college and was still making no signs of job-hunting—Cyrus hadn’t been subtle enough. They’d gotten into a two-hour fight that had ended with Helen’s not calling him for almost a month.
“It’s fine,” she finished half-heartedly. She reached down to pick up her bag. Then she smiled at him fondly. “It’s really good to see you, Cyrus. I’ve missed you.”
There was no particular reason for her to miss him, since they’d seen each other as much this year as they had many of the years since they’d met. But it had felt different, and Helen must know it as surely as Cyrus did.
“I’ve missed you too,” he said, speaking only the truth. He reached over to take her bag and walked with her up the stairs to her room.
When they reached her room, Cyrus set the bag on the bench at the foot of the bed. He turned and gazed down at her as she took her coat off. She wore tailored gray trousers, high-heeled boots, and a fitted silk sweater in a red that matched her bag and scarf.
She evidently no longer cared that she wouldn’t blend in with the jeans and sweatshirts of a college campus. She wore the expensive clothes well, but Cyrus preferred her in more casual clothing—mostly because it was easier to remember how young she actually was when she dressed like a teenager.
“Did you ever feel,” she began, a little hesitantly. She dropped her eyes, her lashes spreading out against her fair skin. “Did you ever feel, when you were married to Rose Marie, that…”
Cyrus’s breath caught in his throat. When she didn’t continue, he prompted, very softly,
“Did I ever feel what?”
“That you kept running into brick walls?” She stared up at him, her eyes far too big in her pale face.
“All the time.”
There wasn’t anything else he could say. They stared at each other silently, sharing some sort of poignant understanding.
Then he left, feeling tired and worried about her. And also, despite himself, a little bit hopeful.
It was too early to start to count on it, but maybe Ethan wouldn’t be around for long after all.
***
Ethan was late for dinner.
He’d evidently gotten another call—or maybe it was the same call that had lasted for over an hour—but when Helen came down for dinner, she said Ethan was finishing up a phone call and would be down in just a minute.
Drake frowned at this announcement, and his frown deepened as the minutes continued. Cyrus tried to make conversation, asking Helen about her internship at a prestigious D.C. magazine. But Helen looked increasingly uncomfortable and kept glancing at the stairs and at her watch. Drake was becoming visibly annoyed.
Cyrus could have strangled Ethan—if for nothing else than for being stupid. He was quite sure if he’d been dating a woman he had good reason to keep happy, the first thing he’d do was discover the small things he could do to ensure her family wasn’t annoyed with him.
For Drake Owen, arriving on time and dressing appropriately for Christmas Eve dinner were two of those things.
When Ethan finally descended, it was clear he’d missed the mark on both of them. He wore black jeans and one of those obnoxious woolen silk, long-sleeved t-shirts that he must consider his trademark since he wore them all the time. This one was steel-gray. Like all the others, it fit very closely to show off his ostentatious muscle development.
Cyrus supposed he was considered handsome. He’d spent much of his early life in Paris, and he still put on a continental air, one Cyrus felt was simply ridiculous. He was three years older than Helen and always seemed to be smirking.
Cyrus had hated him when he first met him. Ethan had been wearing another one of those clingy shirts when Cyrus and his date had met Ethan and Helen at a trendy downtown restaurant. Cyrus had hated him when Helen had arrived unexpectedly at Cyrus’s apartment one evening, to gush about how Ethan had just given her two dozen roses to celebrate the anniversary of their first meeting.
But, for some reason, Cyrus hated Ethan more now than ever before as he casually strode over to stand beside Helen and pulled on her long, sleek ponytail in a gesture that was somehow possessive and dismissive both.
Drake didn’t say a word. He just turned to walk into the dining room. Cyrus tried desperately to think of something to say but was too distracted by wanting to punch the smirk off Ethan’s face.
Helen had shot Ethan an annoyed glance, but she now looked kind of flustered. Cyrus figured she was embarrassed by Ethan’s behavior. He'd always been similarly embarrassed when Rose Marie had made a scene or shown herself to be less than civil.
At least, Helen was recognizing something wrong with her boyfriend’s behavior. Earlier that year, Ethan could do no wrong in Helen’s eyes. Even something as gauche and offensive as French kissing her in the middle of dinner had earned a giddy giggle from Helen.
She’d been in the first wave of infatuation then, though. She wasn’t anymore.
* * *
Cyrus was relieved when dinner was over. They’d managed a civil conversation by mostly just ignoring Ethan, but Cyrus didn’t want to push their luck and have the holiday dinner turn into a fight, which was what would happen if either he or his father spoke their mind.
So he was shocked when his father suggested drinks in the library after dinner. When Cyrus looked at him in surprise, his dad just arched his eyebrows at him blandly. Since there was no way to politely refuse, they all traipsed into the library, where the 20-foot Christmas tree filled one corner and a fire was blazing in the fireplace.
Drake poured out the Scotch, shooting Cyrus a challenging look as he handed Helen a glass too.
Helen took it without question. She was only nineteen, but legal drinking age didn’t mean anything when Drake Owen was around.
Helen suggested a game of pool, which his father accepted. Cyrus was quite determined not to get trapped talking to Ethan, so he sat down at the piano and idly rolled through some scales and arpeggios. Ethan had been fairly quiet all through dinner—maybe recognizing that he was in disfavor—and now he sat in a cushy leather chair, sipping his Scotch and watching the others play.
Cyrus started a classical piece on the piano but couldn’t concentrate enough to do it justice, so he gave it up and just vamped.
Helen had already finished her Scotch, which meant she must have gulped it, but she didn’t refill her glass. She’d taken off the jacket and her sleeveless top showed off her pale, toned arms as she lined up the cue for her first shot.
Both Helen and his father were good players, so Cyrus split his attention between the piano and the game. There was some conversation, but it was mostly innocuous, and he relaxed a little as it seemed a blow-up wasn’t likely to occur.
He’d be more than happy to see his father grind Ethan to pulp under his well-shod heel. But there was no guarantee that Helen would take their side in an argument, and it might end up alienating her completely.
Cyrus wasn’t prepared to risk that.
After a while, as he watched his girlfriend play with clean efficiency, Ethan commented, “I didn’t know you played pool, babe.”
And that was another thing Cyrus hated about Ethan. He called Helen “babe.”
“I’ve played from time to time,” she murmured, without looking back at him.
Cyrus glanced over at Ethan and briefly caught a look of absolute boredom on his face. Then the expression disappeared as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and started to text someone.
Improvising some chords, Cyrus tried to land on a melody. He strummed a bit, thinking something sounded familiar, but he couldn’t identify the familiar note.
Helen straightened up suddenly, glancing back at him. She looked amused, which was nice to see, so Cyrus strummed through the same series of notes.
Her mouth twitching with suppressed amusement, Helen suddenly burst out with the first lines of “Trouble in River City.”
Cyrus blinked in surprise, Drake turned with a surprised jerk of his head toward Helen, and even Ethan lowered his phone and stared with his mouth opened.
Then Cyrus choked on a laugh, recognizing the words and why the chords earlier had sounded familiar. Helen must have thought he’d been playing them on purpose.
“You don’t know the whole song, do you?” he asked, giving her an intro.
Helen slanted him a look of amused condescension, as if she couldn’t believe he’d questioned her knowledge of old musicals. She cleared her throat and launched into the entire song about dangers of pool among the youths of River City, using the cue as a prop and adding hand gestures as necessary.
She was obviously just having fun, and the song was mostly fast-talking and therefore didn’t require a very skilled voice. Cyrus was enjoying watching her so much, marveling at how she had every word and every beat pitch perfect, that he often forgot to keep up the piano accompaniment.
His father, of course, had stopped playing as soon as Helen had begun the song. He stood watching with cool interest, but Cyrus could tell he was mildly impressed and he even gave a bark of laughter when Helen got to the “frittering” section.
Once Ethan had figured out Helen was just singing a song from The Music Man, he rolled his eyes and went back to his phone.
Cyrus focused enough to build up the musical momentum at the end of the song, ending with some very impressive chords. Helen laughed delightedly when she finished, obviously having had a great time, and his father even gave some slow applause.
Since the song had broken the earlier tension and lightened Helen’s spirits considerably, Cyrus moved immedi
ately into the Sisters song from White Christmas, since he knew Helen had known all the words to that one since she’d been ten.
She made a show of being reluctant to sing again, but he insisted and his father spurred her on by drawling that he doubted she could manage this song as well as the other.
So she sang the Sisters song, effortlessly singing both parts and running over to grab a small Bohemian tournament shield from the wall to use in place of the big blue feather fan. By the time she finished, Cyrus was laughing so hard he could barely play.
His father had started shooting balls into the pockets again, but Cyrus could tell he was mostly paying attention to Helen.
When she finished and took an exaggerated bow, his father straightened up. “Test her on something else,” he said to Cyrus. “I’ll just finish the game by myself.”
Although his tone was wry, Cyrus was pretty sure his father wanted Helen to do another. Cyrus thought for a moment, searching his repertoire of songs from musicals, which wasn’t exhaustive, and trying to land on one that he thought Helen would know.
There was a certain element of a challenge in this—Cyrus was well aware—and he didn’t want to choose a song Helen didn’t know, since that would mean a kind of victory for his father.
He chose “Luck Be a Lady,” since it was from a musical and was well known, thanks to Frank Sinatra. Helen had no trouble jumping right in. She was only an average singer, but she wasn't afraid to ham it up, and it was remarkable how she perfectly captured even the enunciation of the original performers.
Cyrus had noticed that, although Ethan would occasionally look up and laugh or smile supportively, he was mostly focused on his texting. While his father was pretending not to enjoy it but actually was, Ethan was just the opposite—not paying attention but acting like he was.
Helen was mostly singing to Cyrus, since he was the one openly engaging with her. But she was obviously aware of both other men, and her song faltered and then ended when Ethan’s phone vibrated and he picked up it with a low voiced greeting.
When Cyrus saw Helen’s crushed expression, the surge of anger he felt for her clod of a boyfriend actually drove him to his feet.
Eight Christmas Eves Page 9
